#so it does bother me when people use it just to like....add weight to their outrage with a piece of media

[rollercoasterwords]

okay, so. i was just thinking about the thing people do, when they sort of confuse triggers and squicks

like, a squick is something you don't like, or feel disgusted by, right? and so some people are saying they're triggered by this or that, when they actually just don't like it?

i think it's got something to do with the fact that nowadays, 'triggered' is used as synonymous as 'mad'. like, obviously not everyone does it. but the younger generation, especially, they do use it that way, and they just throw around the word triggered when they're actually just mad, like, 'i triggered someone' or as a sneer, when someone's mad, like, 'oh, he's triggered!'

maybe that's why the meaning's sort of lost, now. because people are confusing the two. and there's also the thing where people confuse critical thinking with criticism, and it's not the same thing, but at it's core it's just. people being ignorant.

a lot of problems today are caused by ignorance, actually. and unwillingness to educate themselves. and also audacity and entitlement.

yeah unfortunately i think problems being caused by ignorance is not new lol

but i agree that the word 'triggered' has been stripped of a lot of its weight in a way that is....not great. it's interesting because i think it actually started with older generations of people going "ugh look at these millenial/gen-z snowflakes getting triggered" and making fun of what was previously a very necessary and useful term and then that sort of devaluing of its weight combined with its simultaneous colloquial spread has now led to the term becoming something that is thrown around a lot more casually to the point that i definitely do think some people don't understand the difference between being upset by something and being triggered by something.

and honestly that does bother me because it makes it more difficult for people who are actually dealing with triggers to be taken seriously. like i am very happy to be at a point in my life where i don't get triggered easily, but there was a time when i was dealing with some shit and would often get triggered by things that seemed totally innocuous to the people around me, and i literally didn't feel like i could say "sorry that's triggering for me" because i'd get laughed at or have people roll their eyes. like it felt embarrassing to me to try to talk about a very real and serious experience that was severely impacting my mental health and emotional wellbeing because it had been memed so heavily. so....yeah. i do wish more people understood that "triggered" isn't just a blanket term for "all emotional distress" and is rather a term that is typically linked to past traumatic experiences or like...specific manifestations of mental illness, and not just anything that makes u feel bad in the moment. i have encountered things that have made me feel extremely, viscerally upset, but still have not been triggering to me, y'know? there's a difference between those two things

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Super Soft!Simon Riley x reader - You're terrified that Simon's not making safe choices when he's on deployment, so he comforts you. (fluff, allusion to future smut (barely), drunk johnny, cod inaccuracies)

Johnny recounts the tale of their hard-earned achievement—a victory, as they have deemed it—with a number of beers in his system that you’ve long stopped counting. As he sits at your kitchen table, he is looser, giddier, freer with his words, and spares no detail of your boyfriend’s selfless acts of bravery during their last deployment. Acts that got him shot at; one of those bullets finding their home.

You’d be proud of him, if not for the fear that built up over months from recurring nightmares and an overactive imagination—all of which had you losing the love of your life. But that’s not out of character. You think about yourself, you think about your boyfriend, before you think about the lives he saves when he’s away from you. Maybe it’s wrong, or unfair, but you can’t help it.

While Simon’s work is not something he ever kept secret, you don’t need the reminder that the preservation of his life is not always his priority. It can't be. There are other factors that dictate his future. He has a team, people who depend on him. He has responsibilities and orders to follow. Control is often snatched from his fingertips. And so, what does that mean for the two of you? 

You don’t care to think about it. Not tonight. Not at midnight from a friend who should have passed out on your couch hours ago. So you stretch, yawn, and excuse yourself for bed before your brain implodes from any more of Johnny’s ramblings.

Simon knows. He spent the night squeezing your hip each time you tensed in his lap at Johnny’s words, and now, as you stand to head to the bedroom, he holds onto your hand until your fingers slip from his. Deep brown eyes are filled with guilt and apology and all you can offer in return is a slight upturn of the lips that barely qualifies as a smile.

Away from the men, you cry in your and Simon’s shared bed, waiting for him to encourage Johnny to the couch. There's a few more loud laughs, a whine when Simon cuts off his friend's alcohol supply, and then a final groan of acceptance as you hear the springs of your couch squeak under the weight of a muscled body. It’s only when the animated snores of your drunk friend reach your ears that the door to your room creaks on its hinges.

Simon’s footsteps are thumps muffled by carpeting. From your peripherals you see him shed his clothes as he moves to you. Shoes, then t-shirt, then jeans, until he's in his underwear and settling onto the mattress behind you. 

His arm slips under yours around your waist and he tugs your back to his chest, into the cocoon of warmth. 

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” he asks, gruff and thick. His voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your spine as his breath brushes your ear. “That my life is over.

“Everything I want, everything I need—none of it matters anymore. All because of one look at a woman who was too busy with her friends to notice me,” he says. “I thought, I'm ruined now. If you leave this bar right this second, I won't be able to forget you. And if you don't leave, I can't ever let you go. I didn't know your name and you had me ready to change my whole world for you.”

You sniffle but don't bother to wipe away the tear that escapes. “That's insane, Si,” you whisper.

“It is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss just under your ear. “But it happened. I let you in and you latched on to my entire existence like this beautiful, little parasite. Just like I wanted you to. My life ended and it became our life. 

“I don't take a single step without considering you. Not here and not there. So if you think I don't try to be careful when I'm gone, you're wrong,” he tells you. “I try for you. I try for us.”

Yet, ‘trying’ means he still gets injured; he gets another circular scar to add to the healed knife slashes and the burned patch on his upper arm. ‘Trying’ is not always about picking the safer of two options, but about optimizing luck, which is rare enough as it is. And that terrifies you.

“What if you step wrong not knowing that it's wrong?” you ask. “What if you think it's right and then you're gone? You can't tell me that will never happen.”

Simon sighs. “No, I can't. But you trust me, don't you?”

Turning in his arms—your nose nearly nudging his—you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Of course I do.”

“Then don't mourn me while I'm still here, love,” he breathes against your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod, because you’d do anything for him. 

“Good girl.” Simon smiles lightly and slides his palm from your back down the length of your arm. He squeezes your fingers, then moves further, tucking his hand into the front of your underwear. “My girl,” he whispers and presses his lips to yours.

A/N: i dont usually write different stuff but i felt like it so i did

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Real or not real

Minho x fem!reader

Set partway through scorch trials (movieverse)

Not the hunger games clickbait oop

Summary: they fake a relationship. thats it. just wanted to try the fake dating trope

Warnings: language, minor injury (some blood, but not heavily described)

You lean your weight against a wall, panting tiredly.

You've just hiked through pitch-dark tunnels and over a sand dune to get to the city, and you have no idea how to find your friends, or Marcus.

You and Minho, like Thomas and Brenda had missed the ziplines when WCKD raided the warehouse.

As the building crumbled around you, the four of you had leapt down an elevator shaft, and been separated by rubble at the bottom.

Brenda had told you and Minho to go out through some tunnels behind.

Which leads you to now.

"We need to-" you let out a cough, and your throat feels paper-dry. "We need to find the others."

"Yeah," says Minho. "Shuck."

"What?"

You turn to see Minho craning his neck, trying to look at his own shoulder.

You walk closer and see a gash about as long as your hand, cutting from over his shoulder to a little way down his back.

"Shit," you mutter. "Okay, we're gonna get some help, and then find everyone."

"Sounds like a plan," he responds.

"Does it hurt?" you ask, before immediately regretting it.

"Never mind, stupid question." You shake your head.

"For your information, it hurts like hell," he tells you. "Luckily, I'm a shuckin' badass."

You snort. "Alright tough guy, let's go."

⭒----⭒

You get into town and see a few people milling about.

Everyone is covered in dirt and sweat and wearing tattered clothing, with grim facial expressions, so you and Minho fit right in.

"Hey, do you-" The man brushes past as you approach him, and he doesn't look back.

"Y/n," rasps Minho, looking worse by the second, bleeding heavily and clearly in a lot of pain. "No one's helping us here."

You turn in a circle, taking in your surroundings properly.

A few people spare you a glance. Most don't even bother.

Looks like you'll have to pick your target.

You spy a pair of young women, just a bit older than you.

One of them has a hard face, like the rest of the people.

But the other looks at you and Minho, before looking away quickly.

She's got grief in her eyes and a gold band on her ring finger.

"Okay," you say, taking Minho's hand. "Follow my lead."

"What?" he hisses as you walk over to the two women. "Y/n, what are you doing?"

You shush him and approach them with your face schooled into nervous, fearful expression.

"Excuse me, could you please help us?" You keep Minho's hand clasped in yours.

"We can't," says one of them cuttingly.

"Please," you beg. You slip your arm around Minho's waist, ignoring his sharp inhale. "My boyfriend is hurt."

The one with the ring shakes her head sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"Please," you repeat. "If it gets worse... I can't lose him." You're only partially acting at this point.

She hesitates. "Where are you guys going? Do you have a home?"

"We're looking for our friends," you say.

She slides her gaze to the other woman, who sighs. "Fine."

⭒----⭒

They take you and Minho to their little apartment, where you follow Cindy into a storage side room to find a first aid kit.

You learn that they're sisters; Cindy, the one who took you in, and Jennifer.

You hold up the first aid kit as you and Cindy walk back into the main room.

"Thanks," says Minho, reaching out to take it.

"Hey," you smack his hands away gently. "Obviously I'm doing this. Your shucking back is sliced open. How would you even reach?"

"Fine." He sits in a chair, turning his back to you. "Thank you," he adds begrudgingly.

You gingerly shift the ripped pieces of his shirt, trying to get a clear view of the wound.

"Just take the damn shirt off." You jump at Jennifer's voice, looking over to where she's standing in the kitchenette, casually sipping from a chipped mug.

Cindy is busying herself at the counter, clearly trying to give you some semblance of privacy in this one-room apartment.

"Uhh-"

"I'm looking away," says Jennifer, turning around. "Prissy kids," she mutters.

You look at Minho, unsure of what to do.

He shrugs, speaking so only you can hear. "If I'm your boyfriend, it shouldn't be nothin' you haven't seen before."

You heartrate skips a beat as he lifts the hem of his shirt, and mentally shake yourself.

He's injured, for shuck's sake.

You help him guide the shirt carefully over the wound, and open the first aid kit.

⭒----⭒

When you finish cleaning and bandaging, Minho leaves the shirt off, cause it's still crusted with blood and covered in dust.

To reiterate: Minho leaves the shirt off.

You keep moving around, finding jobs to do in the apartment that don't involve any sort of proximity to Minho. And his shirtless self.

Shucking hell. What is happening?

You help Cindy make dinner and jump up to help Jennifer bring in supplies.

"Here," says Jennifer, tossing Minho a shirt.

He puts it on and flops back down onto the couch, looking exhausted.

You remember that you've both been up since yesterday, and being in pain is clearly very draining.

Cindy catches you watching him. "Go sit with your boy," she says, smiling.

"Oh, I can still help around if you-"

"Please," interrupts Jennifer, rolling her eyes. "He's been watching you all afternoon like a lost puppy. We're fine here, go give him some attention for god's sake."

You blush slightly, and Jennifer rolls her eyes again before you move to the couch beside Minho.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Y/n..." he murmurs, leaning over so his head rests on your shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle. It's strange to see Minho like this. He's usually so cool-headed, and snarky, and loud. This is all soft and sleepy, and it's kinda... cute?

Wow. Apparently you think Minho's cute now.

Are your fake feelings becoming real?

The thought of actually being with Minho sends a thrill through you; equal parts fear and hope.

You shift carefully so you don't disrupt him, moving so you're lying on the couch with him.

He instinctively wraps his arms around you, still asleep, and you just melt into it.

Whatever. It'll sell the whole dating thing anyways.

⭒----⭒

You go out onto the balcony to help Cindy take down her laundry.

The ring on her finger glints in the sunlight as she reaches up.

"Did you have someone?" you ask carefully, gesturing at the ring.

She smiles sadly. "I did."

She pauses a bit. "You can ask, you know."

"How'd you lose them?" you ask softly.

"He was bitten by a Crank. Shot himself before he could go crazy like the rest of 'em. Didn't want to let me watch." She shakes her head.

"You need to hold on to Minho, alright? You're lucky to have each other. Love is nearly impossible to find these days."

You look down. "I don't know if..."

Cindy huffs out a laugh. "You don't think that's love? Sweetie, you should see the way he looks at you."

"H-how does he look at me?" you breathe.

She grins at you. "The exact same way you look at him."

⭒----⭒

"So, where exactly are you guys going?" asks Jennifer that morning.

"We're looking for a guy named Marcus," says Minho. "We think he'll know where our friends are."

Cindy and Jennifer exchange a glance.

"Look, whatever rumour you've heard about him, it's a lie. Marcus isn't helping anyone, he's bad news. Trust us," says Jennifer.

"You don't wanna go looking for him," agrees Cindy.

You flick your gaze to Minho's before leaning forward on the counter.

"If he's harmed people, he could be doing the same to our friends. We need to find Marcus," you say insistently.

"...what if we snuck them in from the back somehow?" suggests Cindy, looking at Jennifer.

"You'd have to get out quick," Jennifer tells you. "Find your friends and leave immediately."

You nod. "Alright, it's a plan."

⭒----⭒

Cindy and Jennifer lead you to the back door of a building.

"It'll be better if you get away from here as fast as possible," says Jennifer.

"So this'll be goodbye," continues Cindy.

You thank them for everything, and they wish you luck.

Then you and Minho step into the building.

You keep your hand linked with his as you push through a crowd of bodies, refusing the dubious-looking drinks.

"Y/n!" Minho calls.

You turn, but you can't hear what he's saying over the pounding music and noise.

"What?"

He rolls his eyes and pulls you closer, speaking directly into your ear.

You suppress shivers as his breath sends tingles down your neck.

"Over there," he points to an office. "Maybe we can find information."

You slip through the door, locking it behind you and switching the lights on.

You see a bunch of documents full of payments and signed agreements.

"What the..."

"He's sending kids to WCKD," you realise.

"Shit," says Minho, staring down at the papers.

You both jump as someone tries to open the door. You hear keys jangle as the person moves to unlock the door.

You turn to Minho with a panicked gaze as the door unlocks with a click.

Then, you're being pushed up against a wall, and Minho's lips are on yours.

Holy shit. He's kissing you.

And it's not just a gentle peck.

He's got his arms gripping your hips, and his mouth is crushed against yours, moving in a way that's messy but good.

You respond naturally, fisting his shirt in your hands and kissing back.

The door swings open.

"Oi, you kids! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, sorry," you say, breathless in a way that's way too real.

"We were just-"

"Get out." the guy cuts Minho off, pointing out the door.

You stumble out, unable to keep your laughter in.

Minho yanks you into a quieter corner, grinning too.

"Hey, sorry about that," he says. "I was just-"

"I know," you say. "Just covering for us. Was a good plan anyway. Okay, we should go-"

"What if it wasn't just a coverup?" Minho grabs your wrist as he speaks.

"What?"

"What if I wanted to kiss you for real? What if I liked you for real?"

You hold his gaze, searching his eyes.

Then you lean in and kiss him, feeling fire warm you from your fingertips, which hold his face, all the way down to your toes.

"Oi!"

You spin around in surprise.

"Thomas?" exclaims Minho.

"Shucking hell, we've been looking for you guys!" you say incredulously.

"What, lookin' for us down each other's throats?" deadpans Newt.

"Come on, the others are outside," says Thomas, tugging Minho's arm.

"What happened?" you ask as you step out of the building.

"Brenda and I were in there too," explains Thomas. "Newt and the rest of 'em found us. And we got the Right Arm's location from Marcus."

"We just needed to find you two lovesick idiots before leaving," finishes Newt.

You smile at Minho, and he squeezes your hand.

Newt rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you guys sorted out your klunk, you were driving the rest of us mad."

"Come on, let's find this safe haven."

Hello, thanks to all for reading! Hope you enjoyed this one!

Requests are open if you have any ideas ❤

[jasntodds]

Petrichor Chapter 6 Teaser - Full Chapter coming 08/09

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb) Teaser Words: 1,648  Chapter Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, ptsd, panic attack, blood, canon violence, bruises Summary:❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞ Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now. A/N: I've been rearranging chapters 6-9 because of what I want to happen in chapter 7 so here we are with a teaser lol If the format is wonky, I'm sorry. I literally hate this post editor with a burning passion and it's giving me all of the problems atm You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

It wasn’t that Jason was violent. That was never it. He could pick a fight just as good as the next person. But it was out of survival. It wasn’t because he liked the bloody and bruised knuckles. Or coming back with his body covered in shades of navy and maroon and the pain that went along with it. It was how he had to survive. Fight or die. Fight or let people take advantage of him.

He was small. He got lucky he grew taller as he got older but he was a small kid. It was either learn to fight and take what he could or get taken advantage of or die trying. It was learn to fight and hold his own or deal with whatever his dad would dish out or the new guy his mom brought home that didn’t really like kids. It was never that he wanted to be violent.

He was just angry with the world. Robin gives him the outlet. Robin lets him be violent in a way that’s productive. Robin lets him choose violence. Robin lets him pick fights that matter. Robin lets him let the anger and the violent side of him be a good thing instead of something that hinders him and something people find to be annoying and a nuisance. Robin has given him so fucking much including that outlet and he can’t lose it. And he just gets so fucking mad when he thinks about it. He's mad about it being taken away and mad at Bruce and a little mad at you for getting to use his outlet as your own, even when he knows that’s not fair.

It's the anger that always got the best of him. Not the violence.

“Where’s your head, Jay?” You ask, looking over your shoulder from the targets as Jason sits on the floor behind you.

Jason snaps away from his thoughts, looking over to you. “What?” He furrows his brows up at you.

“You're quiet and you’re never quiet unless something is bothering you.”

It's only been a few days but you know him better than anyone. It's been rough for him not having Robin. He wasn't Robin, technically, in San Francisco. He wasn't supposed to be anyway. He was supposed to be taking a break but that didn't seem to bother him as much as it does now. You're not entirely sure what the difference is this time but whatever it is, you've got this feeling that there's something more going on. Something's poking at his head.

Jason shakes his head. “Want to get back out there.” Jason scoffs.

You nod. “Yeah…” You suck in a breath, looking at your target full of knives before you move to sit in front of him. You match his position, stretching your legs out right beside his with your hands on the floor behind you to hold your weight. “You sure it doesn’t bug you I go out?” You ask.

Of course, it bothers him. That's his thing. But, it's yours, too. Maybe it wouldn't sting as much if you weren't going out with Bruce. But, there's nothing he can do about it and it would be wrong for him to even try. So, he bites his tongue about it.

“It’s fine, it’s your thing, too.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, but if it bothers you, I can wait until you get Robin back or I can just go out on my own.” You offer.

The first night Jason was benched, Bruce asked if you'd still join I'm for patrol. Jason assured you it was fine. So, you went and you talked later about it. He swore up and down it would be fine. You like to go out on patrol. You like to help people and who is he to try and take that away from you? You'd never do that to him.

“You think Bruce will be okay with that? You going out on your own?” Jason quips.

You grin before you let out a laugh. “Well, probably not anymore.”

Jason furrows his brows, his eyes scanning over your face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You bounce around how to tell him about your conversation with Bruce earlier without including the stuff about him. It's hard because on the one hand, you respect Bruce but on the other, he can be a little insufferable. And Jason looks up to him for reasons you don't really think you'll entirely understand. It's not your place to speak poorly of him to Jason. So, you tell him but you hope he doesn't ask what sparked the conversation in the first place.

“We, uh, we had a moral disagreement today.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you raise your brows.

“Ah,” Jason nods his head. “That why you don’t wanna go out tonight?” The moral disagreement doesn't surprise him. He knows how you feel about all of it but he is a little surprised you even brought up to Bruce.

“Amongst a few other things but yeah. I think he might think I’ll kill people now.” You roll your eyes.

Jason lets out a snort. “What the hell did you even say to make him think that?” Jason shakes his head. “Wait, let me guess.”

“I’m listening.” You gesture a hand for him to continue.

Jason clears his throat. “You should kill the Joker. He’s a piece of shit maniac clown who kills people for fun. He should be dead.” Jason grins at you. “Sound about right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You groan through a laugh as you tilt your head back. “No.” You shake your head at him. "I said he was a homicidal, psychotic, sadist." You state. "And that he should die, yes." You mutter softly while Jason lets out a booming laugh.

He is certain you'll never let it go which he doesn't blame you for. He gets it. He doesn't like his dad but a part of him still wanted to go after Two-Face. Dick went after Zucco. Parents are killed and their kids want to take revenge. But, he also knows you and he doesn't think you'd ever actually try to kill anyone, but especially the Joker. You have more self-preservation than that.

“And he said something about we don’t cross that line or whatever?”

“Yep.” Your eyes widen as you nod your head. “Him and Dick think it’s ridiculous as if Dick didn’t feel that same way, ya know? But it’s the Joker. So, uh, I might have said his death is inevitable.” You scrunch your nose and maybe that was the wrong choice of words.

Jason eyes you carefully and there is something going on with you, too. It's one thing to have the moral disagreement with Bruce but to actually say anyone's death in inevitable seems a little off. Jason's so wrapped in his own anger, he's started to wonder if he's missing anything with you.

“Okay seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Jason nudges your leg with his.

“Nothing. I don’t think I really meant it or anything but I kind of wonder if Bruce thinks I’m serious and thinks I’m like a ticking time bomb or something.” You roll your eyes.

“Did he take the shit from you? The suit or anything?” Jason questions and he is getting increasingly more curious what even started that whole conversation and got you mad enough to say anything to Bruce.

“No. Why?”

“Then he doesn’t think you’re gonna out and kill people.” Jason chuckles. “He'd take it away and send you to Leslie if he thought you were serious.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” You chuckle softly. “Still don’t wanna go out tonight though.” You shake your head.

Jason pulls his legs to his chest, resting his forearms over his knees. "What started the whole conversation anyway? Did something happen?"

You pause and you hate lying to him. It's the one thing you really don't do with him. But, telling him why Bruce even talked to you, that just doesn't seem fair. You worry he might take Bruce's concern the wrong way. Maybe it'll send him spiraling even further. Maybe it's best if you just keep that to yourself.

"Nothing." You shake your head. "It's nothing, really." You assure him before you suck in a breath. “Seriously though, if you have a problem with me going out, you can tell me.”

The switch back the topic at hand does not go unnoticed and that's also uncharacteristic of you lately. You tell him everything that bothers you and what leads to it bothering you.

"Right, no. I said it's fine." Jason states. "If something's going on with you, you'd tell me, right?" Jason questions.

You nod your head. "Of course. Nothing's, uh, nothing's going on. You need to stop worrying." You offer him a cheeky grin and he knows you're lying. "Look, Jay, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't stand a chance out there. I know it's hard being benched and I don't wanna make it harder for you."

He knows you're lying but he can't figure out why you would lie to him about something like that. It doesn't seem important or serious enough to need a lie. Maybe a part of him is even hurt you won't tell him. But, he knows it's not fair to push because you don't push him when he's adamant about not tellin you. He hopes you'll tell him later when it's not so fresh.

Jason scoots closer to you, resting a hand on your thigh. “I’m fine, alright? Go out kick and some ass, with or without Bruce.” Jason grins at you. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I’ll always worry, I love you.” You smile wildly at him.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Jason chuckles softly. “Im fine, I’ll be back out there in no time.”

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[septimusmoonlight]

Anonymous: Imagine you're a young demon or witch who's been doing favors for a while in Exchange for peoples first borns, only you didn't realize that the ones who hadn't already conceived their first borns are all starting to now, and they're all magically appearing in your womb as they are conceived. You've been doing deals for a few years now, hopefully you haven't bitten off more than you can chew

Oho, I like this idea~ I’m going to switch it up a little, though…

I’ll choose demon here. I’m just meandering around the nice isolated cave I’ve turned into my mountainside home, and I pause to admire myself in the mirror - I am rather handsome, ifI do say so myself, and my arrow-tipped tail only adds to the charm. My horns, while nothing massive or extravagant, still spiral away from my head in an elegant way, and I take a moment to adjust my hair around them before moving on to the bookshelf I’m planning to rearrange.

I’m idly wondering which side of the shelf a specific potted succulent should go on when I suddenly feel a strange heaviness drop into my lower abdomen. I pause with a frown, wondering what the hell that was - and then another weight falls, and another, until I realize what’s going on. This is the start of all of the firstborns that I’ve accepted as bargaining chips over the years, arriving in my womb instead of their human parent’s. I wonder, disoriented, if all of these people just happening to be conceiving in a row, and then I figure that it’s just my comeuppance for using magic so flippantly - magic does come with its costs, after all, but I didn’t forsee this.

I stumble over to my bedroom as my belly starts growing, visibly. I wonder why the children are maturing so fast, but then I remember that I’m a demon, and demon-children aren’t even born most of the time; there’s a ritual that has to be done to bring them into existence, but I guess I’m just bypassing it, and their sudden manifestation during a ritual is just turned into this massive baby bump when pregnancy is substituted in. I suppose that, if I were a human witch who had made all of these deals, I would have time to get used to all of these children, to decide if I even wanted to give birth or not…but no such luck, and here I am on my hands and knees in bed, my midsection hanging heavier and heavier.

I live alone and my cave is pretty isolated, but I still lean down and bury my face in the pillows just in case someone happens to pass by, bracing myself for the first baby. Demon children are stronger than human young, with more developed instincts, so I don’t even have to push for the first child to start fighting its way out, kicking and squirming in a way that I find uncomfortably pleasurable, my eyes rolling back in my head at the feeling of it stretching my cervix so vigorously.

Even while the first one is still fighting its way out of my pussy - which is, strangely, wet - I still feel more and more children being deposited into my womb, my belly pressing comfortably into the bedspread. The first child slides out of my body, and I don’t bother to do anything with it, knowing how strong young demons are - but I hardly get any time to admire the sensation of my cunt gaping open before the next baby starts scrambling to get out. I moan into the pillows as I push, relishing the stretch as it forces me wide open, and I cum at the sensation of it slipping out fully, clenching tightly and shivering in pleasure. The next one doesn’t appreciate the delay that my climax brought, and is already trying to get out before I’ve even come down from my high - but I don’t even care.

I’ve made many, many deals over the years, and I haven’t even kept track of them all. I have no clue how long I’ll be stuck like this, or how big my abdomen will get - but, as another demon child thrashes its way out of my body, I figure that I don’t really care at this point.

[rreskk]

Been awhile since I asked something 😩

HCS with a fem s/o for the unholy Trinity where they're tall about tall as them or exactly tall

( Franklin is 6 ft and she would exactly be his height while if she wore shoes with any height givin would be taller than the boys- not high heels though ew)

---A/N: Hi hi hi hi, yes high heels suck :(

HEADCANONS: Trevor, Michael, Franklin with a tall fem! reader

Trevor: -He does love a tall woman, especially when they are his height or taller. Something about looking up to a female gaze makes his legs weak. -Trevor will and will always call you “ma’am” during arguments or bickers. -He’ll make you wear platform boots so you can tower over him. -When he gets grouchy or annoyed, he’ll comment the typical “How’s the weather up there skyscraper?” Even though you are both the same height. -He’s happy he doesn’t have to bend down to kiss you! As he’s quite tall, he’s used to bending down and growing backache. You saved him the pain. -“Woah, woah, woah! Them boots? You’re are like… 6’5 right now… Mommy?” -I’m sorry… But he’d say that. FACT!

Michael: -He’s already insecure about his weight so having you as a tall girlfriend would make him… Question his own height. -You’ll catch glimpses of him trying to stand on his tippy toes beside you. -“Woah, honey? You don’t need those platforms. You are fine without them!” -Michael accepts it eventually and grows to like it. -However, he still hides your platforms and shoes that adds to your height. He’ll pretend he doesn’t know where they are… But he knows. -Michael will laugh when you tower over other people. It’s an excuse to focus on something but himself. -He loves it very much though. He just doesn’t say because… He’s repressed. -“I’M NOT INSECURE!”

Franklin: -Out of the three, he doesn’t care about heights. -He will comment every now and then, more of a ponder and chime. -“Damn, you are quite tall, girl.” -Even if you wear platforms, he wouldn’t give two shits. He’ll casually walk around town with his arm holding your waist even though you are towering over him. -He’s used to being around Lamar so your height does not affect him much. (Lamar is 6’7- Canon height!) -Franklin is the most chill so being tall around him is not a bother! -“Shit, you can reach that. Help me out.”

[haveihitanerve]

He was still sitting there, five minutes later, when the Shadowsinger walked in. Immediately, Lucien was on alert. It wasn't that he disliked Azriel, the opposite in fact, but he just didn't know him that well. And, out of everyone, he had the most competition with the silent dark haired beauty. Not that he was competing for Elains affection, but still. That primal instinct in him reared up. Azriel paused when he noticed him, uncertain. Lucien held up his hands. “You're welcome to sit.” he offered. Truly, he had no reason to distrust the Shadowsinger. Feyre liked him and… and for Lucien that was enough for now. “Or keep walking. Im just- relaxing a bit. I can leave-” He hastened to add when Azriel just kept watching him with that inscrutable gaze, but he merely held up a hand. “Stay, if you like.” Lucien nodded, and Azriel slowly sank into one the seats nearby, letting his wings relax and drape over the chair as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Lucien loosed a breath and relaxed, sinking into the cushions a little further. He found he liked the Shadowsingers presence. Some peoples silence had weight to it, and Azriels definitely did, but it wasn't a heavy, uncomfortable silence, rather a soft, peaceful kind. Lucien had never met a more textbook definition ‘mild mannered’ person in his entire life. After a while, Azriel roused himself, sitting up further, and reached for an apple that sat in the bowl of fruit on the table. Lucien watched him silently, enjoying the simple silence they had established. 

“I like you.” Azriel said, taking a bite of his apple. Lucien blinked in surprise as his smooth voice cut through the silence. Not unwelcome, necessarily, but surprising. “Oh?” Lucien arched a brow. “I didn't think you really had much of an opinion on me. Or, at least not a good one.” He admitted. Azriel laughed quietly. “I will admit, i didn't. Not at first. But, that was more aimed at the Bastard, not you.” Lucien nodded, silently aware of the refusal, and respect for Feyre, and himself, by not saying Tamlins name. It touched him, it did, that though they didn't know each other, Azriel would go out of his way to avoid saying Tamlins name for him. “But, Feyre likes you. More than that, she wants you to join us. She wants to be your friend again. And seeing how hard we all had to fight for that privilege, I suppose that makes you worth fighting for, in her eyes. And that makes you worth it for me.” Lucien was marveling at the amount of words the Shadowsinger was saying, more than he had ever heard him speak, so it took a second for the words to sink in. “i- you.” he swallowed, surprised to find tears in his eyes. Azriel cocked his head. “Did she not tell you this?” Lucien nodded, sitting up in an attempt to distract from the water in his eyes. “Yes. but. Its- hearing it is one thing.” he managed to squeeze out lamely. But Azriel nodded in understanding. He finished his apple and tossed it aside, letting it disappear into a wisp of shadow. Lucien tried not to think about how desperately he had craved friendship. Companionship. That after his last lover, and Tamlin, and his family and everything, he wasn't sure he could ever hear someone say he wasn't a waste of space and believe them the first time. 

“You also let the silence hang.” Azriel said, his voice cutting through Lucien's thoughts. Lucien blinked. “I- what?” “the silence.” Azriel nodded at the space between them, somehow conveying the weight of their previous silence. “Most people cant stand it. They fidget. Have to fill it. You just… left it. Its a rare person who does that.” Lucien cocked his head. Perhaps the Shadowsinger was not as quiet and silent as everyone believed. Maybe he had just learned to understand it, and no one had ever bothered to listen to the silence to hear him. “Does it tell you a lot about someone?” Lucien asked curiously, leaning forward. “How they react to silence?” Azriels lips twitched upwards, and he nodded, leaning forward as well. “It tells me a great deal. Most people don't even notice it. Even their own response. But i do. I listen. Silence tells us a great deal more than we ever care to listen.” Lucien cocked his head, considering. “Honestly i thought you just liked it so much because you cant stand the sound of Cassian's voice.” he joked. Azriel stared at him a second, long enough that Lucien wondered if maybe he’d overstepped, if somehow he had misread the situation, if he had said the wrong thing, but then the Shadowsinger roared with laughter, so loud it shook the house, and Lucien could feel it vibrating in his bones. “That is the added benefit.” He finally chuckled, clearing his throat and reaching for the glass of water that had appeared on the table, along with a pitcher. Lucien grinned a little. 

“Az you making yourself laugh again?” Came a holler from outside. “I swear, you're not as funny as you thi- oh.” He paused when he spotted Lucien on the couch, and Lucien felt himself flinch unwillingly. It wasn't that he was afraid, exactly. But Cassian was still The General, and anyone in their right mind would flinch if he looked at them like that. Lucien was many things, but completely insane was not one of them. “Well hello there Foxy.” He greeted, taking a seat without invitation. Azriel groaned, because of course the general had chosen the seat that was right next to, or rather on top of, his, but begrudgingly scooted to the side to make room. “Hello there Asshat.” Lucien replied smoothly. Cassian's eyes bulged in surprise and Azriel bit his lip in silent laughter. Lucien winced, opening his mouth to immediately apologize, forgetting for a moment, after the ease of the conversation he had just had with Azriel, that he was relying on these males, and their charity, when Cassin laughed. “I- well- wow.” he ran a hand through his hair. “I forgot how much of a smartass you were.” he chuckled. “Figures though. Even Az cant make himself laugh that hard. Knew it had to be someone else.” It took Lucien a second to sort through all of the information Cassian was unknowingly dumping in his ears. Firstly, he thought Lucien was a smartass, and by Cassian standards that meant as much as funny, secondly, Azriel was apparently very hard to make laugh and Lucien had succeeded, and thirdly, there was not an ounce of anger or resentment in his voice, nor had there been any disgust or hatred when he had called him Foxy. “so what’d you say to get Azriel cackling like mad?” Cassian asked casually, pouring himself a glass of water. “What did you do to get Feyre so mad?” Lucien countered. “Or, should i perhaps say, not do?” Cassian barked a laugh. “I like you Fox boy.” He nodded to Az. 

“Did Rhys update you about-” “what?” Lucien blurted before he could stop himself. The Illyrians turned him with eyebrows raised. “Sorry.” Lucien muttered, cheeks blazing. “I didn't mean to interrupt-” “don't bother apologizing for it.” Cassian said sharply, and Lucien flinched back. The Illyrian seemed to notice and cowed. “Oh, er- no. Fo- Lucien, i didn't mean it like that.” he tried to apologize, voice much gentler. Az smacked the back of his head. “What Cass is so ineloquently trying to say,” the shadowsinger said in a much better formulated tone. “Is that you shouldn't apologize for interrupting like that. He practically turned his back on you to speak to me, and you were clearly confused by something he previously said, he should have paused to allow you a response and was being rude. You needn't apologize for that.” “you also just shouldn't apologize for interrupting me.” cassian added. Az gave him another smack, harder this time. He gave the shadowsinger an apologetic smile and turned back to Lucien. “Anyway, what was the ‘what?’ for?” Cassian asked, in a piss poor imitation of Lucien's voice. “Oh. i just-” Lucien straightened, then sunk into himself again slightly. “You said you liked me.” Lucien said, and only once the words were out of his mouth did he realize how pathetic they sounded. But neither Az nor Cassian shamed him for it. In fact, there was understanding, and, if Lucien was reading their expressions correctly, barely concealed lethal rage. “Yes.” Cassian said slowly, fighting the creeping rage. “I did. I do.” he corrected. “Like you, i mean. And- i know it might be hard to believe. But i do. We all do.” Az nodded in agreement. Lucien stared at them openmouthed. He knew it was foolish, but Cass had said it so simply. They both had. Neither had put much thought behind it, they had just said what they felt. And that was that they liked Lucien. Lucien couldn't remember the last time someone, besides recently Feyre, had told him that they liked him so simply. Tamlin certainly hadn't. “You made Az laugh, and Feyre likes you. Plus, everytime we talked before,” he shrugged. “You were always a good male Luc. You are.” 

There was a sudden ferocity in his voice and Lucien looked to Az, embarrassed, but the shadowsinger nodded in agreement. Lucien swallowed. “You're a good male Lucien.” He agreed quietly. “And i apologize for not seeking you out sooner. We should have properly introduced ourselves much earlier.” Cassian nodded in agreement, looking sheepish. “Yeah.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, before he held it out to Lucien. “Hey. Im Cassian, my friends call me Cass. You can call me tonight.” he grinned, giving an overexaggerated wink. Lucien snorted, accepting the hand. He had not expected Cassian to start their ‘introduction’ with a pickup line, but it was amusing nonetheless. “Is that a promise?” he asked with a wink of his own, before laughing at himself and shaking Cassian's hand. “I’m Lucien Vanserra. I- honestly don't know what my friends would call me.” He admitted. There was a look in Azriel's eyes that could only be called murderous. But he extended a hand. “Im Azriel. My friends call me Az.” Lucien shook his hand as well, cataloging the feeling of his scars and burns. He had heard what had happened, through some inner connections in other courts, and in that moment he wished he could meet Azriels brothers, if only to punch them in the mouth. “Alright Lucy,” Cassian began, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting them on the table. “Lucy?” Lucien interrupted, then redden. “Sor-” “don't apologize.” Both Az and Cass snapped immediately. Lucien swallowed his apology and nodded. “Sor- um. Lucy?” He asked. Cassian shrugged. “Yeah. Nickname.” Lucien coughed, reaching for a glass of water to wash down the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay…” he laughed, gulping the water down and set his glass back on the table. “So Cassian, what do-” “cass.” Cassian interrupted. “Its Cass.” Lucien drank more water. “Cass.” he repeated softly. Cassian and Azriel nodded at him, eyes soft and yet intent. “What do you do in this city for fun?”

[catchyhuh]

OK, so what do you think of the pair (not necessary a couple) that's probably the least thought over in the fandom: Goemon and Zenigata?

lucky for you the contagious bastard that poisoned me with the knowledge of these people LOVED these two back in the day and baby i’m pulling out the archives for you!!

UM EDIT: SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD A WARNING- BRIEF MENTION OF GOEMON TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF THAT ONE TIME IN THAT ONE P2 EP. IT'S BARELY 10 WORDS ALL PUT TOGETHER BUT JUST IN CASE

the insane thing that i’m just now realizing is that. aside from the pilot film and idk how much we’re counting that,  i think napoleon’s dictionary and the part 2 ep are the only times i can think of off the top of my head where they talk 1 on 1 for more than two lines. and the first one is zenigata bothering him during a movie and the second is him trying to stop him from killing himself. THIS SERIES IS WILD WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT,

zenigata took a while to adjust to how damn quiet goemon is, probably because everyone he hangs out with will start yelling at the drop of a hat, but goemon acclimated to zenigata’s… zenigataness very easily, probably because. everyone he hangs out with will start yelling at the drop of a hat. over time they meet in the middle. and by that i mean zenigata starts using his inside voice when addressing him

i kinda feel like because of the whole suicide in jail scare zenigata is a bit of an unintentional worrisome wilson. well really when it comes to goemon. like of course he’s fine he’s a grown man dude. no his arm is ok. no he doesn’t need you to save the last blueberry muffin for him. its equal parts annoying and secretly charming to goemon like aw :) he does not want me dead. what a solid guy.

i imagine there’s comfort in Not Getting It and being around a guy who also does Not Get It. fujiko goes “ok you both drank way too much. calling an uber” and they both go Huh?? and she goes “you are not driving in that state” “no that’s not the problem what the hell is that” “yes i do not understand. an uber what” and she goes “oh my god.” there’s a sense of relief standing next to the other guy in the room that’s baffled and disgusted by the idea of a fridge having a wifi connection <3

i dunno maybe it’s just because mentioning the pilot has THAT specific interaction spinning around in my mind but they get along very well. not that i can’t EVER imagine them arguing, but it probably doesn’t go very far. i mean the farthest it went was probably goemon just staring at him, and doing the silent “shut up” cue he does where he’ll pop zantetsuken’s sheath slightly, and after a weighted pause zenigata goes “oh i know you’re not threatening to use that toothpick on me” and then they both were like Oh Shit. why’d i do/say that! oops! and then it deescalates. goemon must be the only person who can actually chill zeni tf out without just leaving the room. now that i think about it goemon really is the most mature out of everyone for someone who’s implied to be the youngest of the 5 isn’t he? not that that's saying a lot with these guys

[stardust-arcade]

hey. its ok dim. its just some fun.

No! It's not fun! Dangerous!

+Ow! Dim! Let me back in control!

+Oh fuck.

What? Dim. It's ok. The others are likely to be greeting us. I thought you didn't want to introduce yourself yet right?

Where are they!

Dim. There invisible. You can't do anything. Calm-

I have to protect!

+Damnit. Moon man. You got anyone who could cause a little bit of trouble?

What? Why? Dim just needs to calm down.

+He can't. Is that weird funky programming. Like how those staff bots Just can't stop giving out maps. He literally can't until he does!

Oh dear. I don't really have anyone-

Hello?

Stay bac- aaahhh...

Hi Sun. You look funny? What happened?

Stt-say bbb-ack!

Why you sound funny? You're not being put in time out?

+What in the hell is that thing.

It's are Eclipse, it's the-

Ya? Why Moon calling? Suns acting funny.

Um, yah. That's not really sun. That's a new friend.

New? But same?

Ahhh. They share the same body. Like ahhh-

Oh! They like me! Hello other!

Yyy-our- bii-g.

Yes. I am big.

+Eclipse has a other?

+I assume that's not known.

+No. Is that what the black and orange is?

+I don't know. But you still got a problem of a damn protocol that's unfinished.

Oh, right! Hey eclipse!

Yah?

Can you do something dangerous or naughty?

No! I'm not a rule breaker!

But- It doesn't have to be anything big.

But I'm big?

Well-

Welcome back. Where is our new companions?

Blackstar! Planet! Please anyone do something against the rules.

Ahh ok?

*Black Star climbs up on top of an arcade*.

Black Star what are you doing? You know those arcades can barely take our weight.

Well I was told to do something against the rules, So why wouldn't I? Also may I ask why I'm dooo-ing thisss!?

No climbing on company structures.

What the-! Sun what are you doing?! Let me go.

That's not sun, That's our new companion.

Don't break the rules.

Ok??? What is going on.

Oh dear God, I'm back.

Can you get your hands off me?

Oh yes. Agh.

What just happened?

+I'm sorry.

+It's ok.

Programming loop apparently?

Loop?

Yep.

For sun?

For my new headmate Dim. Apparently they panic when in danger or for certain security concerns.

Well that seems like an issue.

Well as long as no one's breaking the rules it probably won't be an issue.

Sun... It's still an issue.

Arragh! Whatever. Dim didn't even want to say hi. So I'm going to clean up the daycare.

...

I heard there were two new companions?

Yes. I have a head mate too. He technically is also called eclipse, But he's okay going by it Cade. Do you want to come out and say hi?

Sure. ... Hello. I'm Cade. I don't really care about what any of you do, Just don't bother Dim.

The guy with the security protocol loop?

Yes. New AI's struggle. Don't you dare make him feel bad for struggling.

Ok, Mr Dad.

Hahahah! May as well live up to something.

Ok. Introductions all over. Why do we have new people?

Because I forgot to add some constraints to my online job website.

I'm assuming that constraint is taking AI.

Yes. I am okay with a transfer but... There are other places to ask for help rehoming an AI.

Like what?

I'm pretty sure there's a library that works with a mechanic that takes AI in.

Is that where you'll be putting them?

Well. No. I'm definitely building there bodies. And I don't mind more people here. We just don't really have a lot of open applications. So you'll definitely have to look around more for a job Cade.

+Fine by me. And I can probably find some sort of band or security job for Dim.

Sounds like a plan on your side.

So you just going to build them bodies and let them chill until they get something figured out?

Pretty much.

Well. At least the newcomers have a home. Welcome to your temporary home Cade. And Dim I guess. Other than the awkwardness of the security protocol. Was there any other reason why he didn't really want to say hi?

He struggles with all sorts of communications. That's why.

Oh.

Well hopefully Sun doesn't fuck him up with the bad type of communication.

I'm sure he won't. Might even help him having a mentally young AI follow him around. Setting a good example and stuff.

+Are you saying you're going to use Dim as some sort of mood adjuster?

No! I'm just saying Sun acts differently around kids. So you might have an easier time Blackstar.

I hope so.

+What got in his pants?

+A lot of bad history.

+Ah! Maybe he needs a dad too.

+I think he just needs somebody who can care for him. Not necessarily a dad.

+And you're forgetting that that's the point of their whole existence. To care.

+Well. Good luck convincing him then. He hasn't even taken Planet as his sister despite the fact they practically act like siblings now.

+Well. I'll certainly try.

[aurumacadicus]

Just saw a post of a TikTok saying cardio/running doesn’t make you skinny and as someone who runs regularly I want to add something without derailing the post.

Most of the thin people you see in pictures/on podiums were thin before they started running. If they weren’t, they also changed their diets substantially in conjunction with their exercise. People who run competitively or do long distance running want to be as fast as possible and to do that isn’t just physical; it’s caloric, too. To run long distances and run them well requires fuel. Every time I pick up running again (I’m a fair weather runner, I hate being out in the cold), because I don’t eat before my run, I am starving by the time I get home. Yeah you’re burning calories, but extended running is a strain on the body. It’s why long distance runners carry snacks (nutrient-dense stuff made specifically for running) that they eat at certain points of their runs to make sure they have the right amount of fuel for their bodies.

My older sister, when she trains for marathons, has bought a meal plan to make sure she gets the right amount of food for the distances she goes. I have a copy somewhere I can get a picture of to show you if you’re interested. The food is healthy but it’s also calorically dense. Carb loading isn’t a joke, it’s something common in long-distance runners. My mom has made offhand remarks that she’s surprised my sister isn’t skinnier with all the running she does and I’m just like. Have you seen how much she eats? She’s constantly trying to top her marathon PR and to be fast as fuck you’ve got to be fueled as fuck. This year she’s training for a half-Ironman so I get the feeling if she’s not working out she’s going to be eating.

So like. I’m sorry if I ever made you think I ran to lose weight and that you could too. I run because my sister runs and we like to do it “together” (she zooms around the track and waves each time she passes me, I huff and puff and feel accomplished because I did something, we finish at the same time and complain about the same fucking insects that bothered us). I run because it doesn’t require a gym membership, just a good pair of sneakers and a sports bra, which I already own. I run because I like the way my legs look after I build muscle on them. I run because I also have a drive to beat my 5K PR and have dreams of running a 10K.

I do not run because I want to be skinny. That’s just setting myself up for failure. I burn three hundred calories maybe when I run and I eat it all back because I’m not in a position to change my diet right now. And I’m okay with that.

[vaspider]

See, there's the thing "spider"- its not your place or your job or anything but your annoying fucking hobby to report me being on tumblr! My existence in the jumblr tag isnt harassment and I will not be leaving! People can block me but if I have to remake again youre annoying them not me! I have a macro. You need to block the tag "oxford comma forever" and move the fuck on! I keep replying to you cause YOU keep it going. Be the supposed adult you lie about being, sweatie 😘

Directly interacting with people who have blocked you is harassment. Creating a blog with my name to impersonate me (like you're doing now) is harassment. And you know that, because you're doing it to try to upset me. You've said as much to me and to other people. The fact that I find it tiresome and not upsetting in the least seems to really get to you, because you keep returning over and over to try to bother me and my partners. Sending my kid's name and an address I haven't lived at for half a decade and comments about the Father's Day posts on my FB to us as, what? Proof that you're the one digging around in my Facebook obsessively to try to doxx me and my family? ... o... okay, sure? And you think that makes you the mature adult?

Like... okay?? Good job, you've proven you're a gross creeper who can't just leave people alone?

If you would simply not interact directly with the people who have told you that they don't want to interact with you, we wouldn't know you exist. I don't follow the Jumblr tag; I don't go into tags pretty much at all and never have. I read my dashboard and almost never anything else. I find out about your new blogs when you interact directly with one of my friends or with me, and then, yeah, I report you, and I block the blog, because, to be clear:

That's what I'm supposed to do.

If you just... left alone the people who have told you "I don't want talk to you," we would never find out about your next blog. Every single one of your blogs I've personally reported to Tumblr Staff is because you've directly interacted with someone who blocked you and told you in so many words to never contact them again, and either that person explicitly asked me to add that interaction to the ongoing ticket that I have open, or that person was me.

I don't care if you're on Tumblr. I really, really, really don't. None of us care that you're on Tumblr. You are a deflated tube man of a human being, and we don't care about you.

What I care about for exactly as long as it takes me to report a blog and roll my eyes is that you are obsessively harassing people I care about.

So, yep, I'm going to keep being the adult: I'm going to report this, too, and block this, too, and move on with my life. And the next time you directly interact with me or those friends who have previously blocked you, I'll repeat the process.

I suggest you move on, too. There is nothing to be gained for you here. You can't hurt me, you can't upset me. Nothing you say to me is novel or painful; it only reveals your own insecurities. Why are you obsessed with the idea of "another man sleeping with your wife," for example? You keep using it as an insult, which doesn't say anything about me, about my daughter's dad, about my partners... but it does say a lot about you. Why are you obsessed with the genitals and sexual habits of people who you've never met and will never meet? Why are you obsessed with what I call myself? Why are you obsessed with my pronouns, my political affiliations, my age? You keep trying to misgender people, to insult me based on my age or my weight... and, like.

It's just... pathetic. I really just feel very sad for you and how very empty your life must be.

This behavior is just... sad.

[eternallibrary]

Officer Log 3 - Clarence Clayden.

Name: Clarence Clayden Callsign: Zero. Birthplace: [ Information Forbidden ] DOB: [ Information Forbidden ] Height: 184 cm

Maintenance Protocol: Subject refuses any and all maintenance, even the mandatory checkups we usually require for things like the common cold. During times like these after 3 days of inactivity, a message is to be sent to the officers of the branches under him indicating that he has taken a sick leave and is isolating himself.

Even as he is so smart as to pick up many things quickly, appealing to common sense and logic in these topics is fruitless. No further meddling is to be done unless someone decides to act more mature than a toddler avoiding a vaccine.

Personal Notes.

Zero is an interesting case. I’m somewhat annoyed, but due to the terms of our agreement I cannot add anything accurate to his official document. Is it paranoia? Is it because he wouldn’t bother with such a thing anyway?

Or is it because detailed chronicling of a life is only reserved for those who would be missed?

He probably assumes he won’t be. As it stands to him, he already is a dead man walking. He has accomplished what he set out to do, and is just waiting until I collect his dues.

Indeed, he must see me as the Mephistopheles to his Faust.

And I suppose I am. But as he sees me as someone who is loathsome, I can say the same for him. Our virtues and our sins are intertwined. And when I destroy him, something I love will be destroyed in turn. So, I am writing this as a testament to scar the rest of time. So the stars, and the broken path I walk on will know I had another half. And they will know I miss him dearly.

He was so fragile when we met, and it was so long ago I’m not even sure if the stars that surrounded us have still been burning. A young man with a fire in his eyes, bright, brilliant. He alone stood as a shining beacon in the immense darkness of ‘me’.

He was battered, worn, and his shoulders hung with the weight of everything he placed on himself. He went on a knee, offering his very life to me. I have seen him. Clarence Clayden was a man that had suffered immensely before this very moment.

His kindness spelled the death sentence of his men. His wits and strength of will were no match against opponents far greater and crueler than he. As he had been reminded again, and again, and again. While he was untouched, he still felt the heaviness of blood on his hands.

All of his splendor of will shown before me was the final rallying cry of his spirit before it plunged into the bottomless pit of despair.

Most people would call this the hand of fate. But it was simply what I had to do. I would be betraying an echo of myself if I did not. I have suffered, I have failed. And I do not want someone to experience the same if I could help it.

As nothing in this world is kind, I asked him to make good on his oath.

He would achieve what he desired, at the cost of his own blood, at the cost of his own humanity. He would achieve the world he promised his family. Without endless strife or conflict. Without a single child who knows what ‘cruelty’ even is.

Just as the dawn comes, just as the sun will set, he agreed. Of course he would. He didn’t, doesn’t, and won’t ever know better. He races to such kindness for other’s sake like a moth to a flame.

I feel like I should thank him to an extent. I managed to do something good with myself under him. Building the concept of ‘Alterna’ away from the destruction that ravaged the rest of the universe. He got what he was looking for.

But I still worry about him.

That’s why I even thought this was worth writing about, right? This sort of single-mindedness will just lead him to destruction. If not to my hands, then to his.

If it were up to me, I’d find a way to stop or prolong the inevitable. Someone who is as kind as he is does not deserve to stretch himself until the point of breaking. He does not deserve to have the fate he has handed himself on a silver platter. For he is a good person, having made sure of the prosperity of many eons to come.

I’m so sure I’ll be the one turning against him because of this.

While he is kind, while he is good, I am his pure antithesis.

A beast led only by instinct, choosing to assist him on a whim. Led only by its own selfishness.

I’m saving some pain by mourning ahead of time, really. Because when our goals become too incompatible to match, I will be there to demolish everything he has worked for. This shining city on a hill we live on, the lives he has saved. It will turn to ash, and it is going to be my fault.

Because I don’t think I’ll ever accept what he’s done to create it. He holds his own guilt at a distance, willing himself to close off his heart and complaints. Closing his eyes at the blood he’s spilled ‘for the sake of everyone’. Then deleting all those safe delusions and letting himself suffer in repentance. Night, after night, after night.

He’s selfish for letting me hear that. Just as I am selfish with my wish for him.

Foolishly, callously, the one thing I desire is to see him sincerely happy.

I will be kept quiet until I find a day to ensure that.

And when the day comes, I will let myself drown in ‘bliss’ as he and I die.

[neonsix67]

My lamb!! (This pic has already been posted by @spotlightstudios per my request because I thought I wouldn't get around to actually posting about it, but here I am so awe well)

My little thing ♡

Physical concept explanation -

-> As always, I live to add a tail to everything I can but I mainly did it here because it helps me understand how to be more expressive with this specific creature, because I'm not the most comfortable with drawing animals.

->I mainly used the Tarot fleece for this because that the fleece I main-ed, but I did just unlock one of the second round of fleeces so idk...that may be subject to change but I really do like the design of that one for the Lamb.

->Can't really see it, but this Lamb has some heavy eyebags. Earned through extreme devotion and hard work, the stress of managing 24 idiots 27/7 has its weight over time, and never being able to sleep, eat, or die has some more...visible side effects.

I didn't change a thing with Narinders' design, at least not his Bishop design. I expect something a bit more...indulgent when I get to his defeated follower form.

But now a quick question (not really heavily ruling on answers but I am a little curious) but I have this idea for another Lamb OC/self-insert. Adding her would mean the existence of another Lamb with this version of the story, and I would likely pair it up with the other Lamb, or should I keep the Lamb of this one as the last and just make this other one a separate story? So the question is-

My version of the lore under break

Okay so I am running very heavily on a family dynamic here. Spot can advocate... but the whole idea is that Narinder kinda adopted this thing and it was SO gosh dang grateful that it worked, lived, and breathed for him. It wasn't long that Lamb starting viewing Narinder as a sort of father figure, never having one for itself since lambs were hunted down to extintion. Lamb would use every death as an opportunity to see Narinder and tell him about the Cult, or the most recent crusade, or just what sort of people Lamb has been meeting, anything to keep his attention.

The first time Lamb called him "Dad" was a slip up, quick and accidental, but Lamb never really apologised, and seeing that Narinder didn't really get mad at the title, Lamb just kinda kept calling him Dad, and eventually even gets cute with it and calls him Papa Nari (this is a reflection to me playing the game...but I met him one time and was like...yeah that's Papa Nari, no one can tell me otherwise). Eventually Lamb hangs around enough during that little bit of time that it takes for it to be resurrected it begins to talk to Aym and Baal as well, who both, seeing that their Master favors this one, oblige to conversate with. It wasn't much longer after that that Lamb began to really view the two as older siblings, playing knucklebones or sharing cult dynamics like a sort of gossip with the two.

As time progresses and the Cult grows, so does the family dynamic, and the Lamb is viewed as Papa Nari's golden child, which doesn't really bother anyone other than Narinders siblings, who catch on that this Lamb is successfully a killer by nature and is learning to be loved by The One Who Waits. Slowly, as they each fall to its blade, does it really sink in that this mission may succeed in the Fifth Bishops' favour. Well, that doesn't quite sit right with Lamb... what will happen when they complete Papa Naris' mission? Don't get it wrong...it WILL complete what was asked, but Lamb has this nagging fear and anxiety that this happy afterlife, this second chance at a real family, will be stripped when they kill all the bishops and provide with Narinder the freedom he so deserves.

So far, that's all I care to type out for now, but boy has this been lingering on my mind for the past couple of days.

Oh and quickly back to the idea of a second Lamb! Spot! Know that this doesn't stop me from crossing our headcannons together. In my mind, your Lamb still exists somewhere out there and just ticks off Papa Nari by not doing anything killing wise. It does not like it one bit but doesn't mind it enough seeing as it makes Papa more proud of it when it continues with the mission.

[aerodaltonimperial]

(A companion to this ficlet, because I am wild and unstoppable.)

“He’s a freak,” Tony Nese says, with the sneer he’s so fond of and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s leaning back against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Just look at him. What normal person looks like that?”

“He’s also a menace,” Mark Sterling offers, though it’s hard to believe much with the brace wrapped around his neck. “He’s taken seriously by management when, what, you aren’t? He’s got everything you deserve to have, and he shouldn’t have any of it.”

Hook doesn’t listen to them.

They don’t pay attention to how closely Danhausen watches him, the way that Danhausen’s eyes light up when Hook enters a room. They weren’t the ones to sit backstage with the bag of chips in their hands, staring down at a birthday bow carefully, lovingly tied, one of the strangest, kindest things Hook has had happen to him in awhile. They don’t see the way Danhausen smiles when Hook can’t figure out a response, can’t wrap his tongue around the words—the way he always allows Hook the space to get his thoughts in order.

++

“He’s, uh, a little odd,” his dad says, which is probably the nicest way he could think to phrase the actual opinion in his head. He’s got his phone in one hand and a coffee in the other, and an expression like he’s not sure why Hook is doing any of what he’s doing but he’ll grudgingly go along with it anyway. “You know. Just…not really up there, maybe.”

“The cursing is a bit much,” Ricky adds. Tactful; Ricky’s sort of good like that. But it’s still not particularly welcoming, and Ricky shrugs. “I mean, he can do whatever, right? It doesn’t really involve us. You can get out once the match is over, Hook, and you’ll never have to look back.”

Hook doesn’t listen to them.

They don’t see the way Danhausen’s eyes glint right before he lands a move no one expected him to, the thing they tend to forget about because they’re so wrapped up in his antics. They don’t notice the way he watches Hook while they’re training together and factors Hook’s strengths and weaknesses into their sparring, the way he never tries to change how Hook fights, but instead adapts around it. They don’t see the way he smiles, at the ground, at his hands, when Hook compliments the way he moves around the ring, a competitor who knows exactly who he is within the ropes, the way he preens as though Hook’s approval carries more weight than the rest of the world's.

++

"He's so weird though," one of the production aides whispers, a stack of papers in her hands. She looks like she's been given the honor of distributing time cues for the show and dislikes the assignment greatly. "I mean, there are a lot of weird people here, but he's…really, really weird?"

The other aide nods; doesn't try to argue. "For sure. I'm always a little afraid he'll try and curse me or something. What do you think he looks like under the paint? Maybe he's even scarier."

Hook doesn't listen to them.

They haven't seen the way Danhausen relaxes after a shower, toweling his hair to keep it from falling across his bare forehead. They don't see the way his whole face crinkles, the way his skin gleams pink after he's scrubbed the paint clean, the way it looks impossibly smooth; the way Hook wants to lean in and run his fingertips across his cheek. They don't hear the way Danhausen’s laugh grows the funnier he finds something, the way he throws his head back with the force of it; they don't see how just hearing it tugs Hook’s mouth into the mirror of a smile.

++

"What a loser," Austin grumbles. He's standing next to the vending machine trying to find change in his pockets, and Hook doesn't bother to offer him any. "Ugh. I'm so sick of his stupid jokes and his dumb names. All he does is make our life worse."

"Ought to kick him out of the company for being so useless," Colten says. He finally takes pity on Austin and hands him some quarters. "What's the point of him being here, anyway? He's a joke. No one takes him seriously. No one would miss him if he left."

Hook definitely doesn't listen to them.

They don't see how open and hopeful Danhausen’s face twists when Hook leans against him, setting his head on Danhausen’s shoulder. They can't hear the little gasp he makes, surprised and excited and happy, when Hook kisses him, works his mouth apart slowly, takes his time mapping out the shudder of his breathing as he exhales. They can't understand the way Danhausen’s hands cling to Hook’s shoulders, the way he holds Hook with so much reverence, the way it seems, sometimes, as though he's constantly afraid that Hook will tire of him and leave.

++

"You've really wasted some of your time, you know that?" Lee Moriarty tells him, running a hand through the short curls of his hair. "You could have been a lot more if you hadn't spent time running around with a clown."

Big Bill nods. Hook wants to punch his fucking teeth in. "He isn't even worth thinking about."

"Besides, he's so selfish," Lee adds. "All he cares about is money and himself."

Hook doesn't listen to them.

They certainly haven't experienced the way Danhausen kisses trails down Hook’s chest, his palms sliding across Hook’s waist, the bare skin, tracing the curve of his tattoo. They've never felt the way it's overwhelming, absolutely maddening, when Danhausen takes Hook fully in his mouth and settles there, humming just because he knows the vibrations nearly tear Hook apart, rattling all the way down to his toes. They've never heard him groan when Hook fists his hands in Danhausen’s hair in a desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm a little longer, tugging because he loves the way it summons a whine from the back of Danhausen’s throat, just needing to hear him, feel him, drink everything in before release runs him sideways like a gut punch. And they've certainly never seen the way Danhausen slides his fingers along Hook’s face after, as Hook is coming down from the high, tipsy and jelly-legged in his most vulnerable state, an impossibly sweet caress that says I'm here, I've got you.

++

"Oh, you have plans?" Jack says. He sounds disappointed, and it's a little unexpected. No one ever really sounds disappointed when Hook turns down invitations. He only ever gets them out of obligation anyway. "I guess I just thought we could, uh, go out and celebrate our win, you know?"

Then he shrugs. "I mean, it's fine. I sort of…well, I sort of get it. He's important to you…right?" It's a question that isn't, because Jack already knows the answer. "You…care about him."

Hook sort of listens to him, but only because he's the first person who seems like he might understand.

But even still, he doesn't know the way Danhausen rolls into Hook’s arms in the middle of the night while he's asleep, unconsciously seeking Hook out like a beacon. He doesn't feel how Danhausen’s kisses linger on Hook’s skin, tiny moments of adoration, seconds where he matters to someone, truly matters. He doesn't hear the way Danhausen whispers against the shell of Hook’s ear as the sun comes up, the sweet nothings that Hook will swear up and down he doesn't need, doesn't like, but prick at the corners of his eyes anyway as he gasps and rolls to give the other more space to continue.

++

Hook doesn't really care what anyone else says, when it all shakes down. He's never bothered to change himself for the opinions of others, and the only one he would do it for doesn't ever ask him to be anything else. Still, sometimes he wonders, wrapped around Danhausen’s torso like a starfish. "Why me?"

"Why Hook?" Danhausen repeats. His eyebrows rise in neat arches. "That's a silly question."

"Is it?" Hook doesn't think so; in fact, he's a little desperate to hear the answer. He thinks he might settle something beneath his skin, where doubt still trembles, cords of fear he wishes would fade away. "But you have an answer, right?"

Danhausen turns to face him, his thumb trailing along Hook’s cheek. It's so fucking sappy. Hook loves it, even when it makes his skin heat. "Of course, it's silly. There was never anyone else, only Hook. That's like asking why the moon is in the sky. Danhausen has only ever wanted Hook."

Hook thinks of the way Danhausen sends ridiculous texts with little meaning simply as a way to keep them connected; he thinks about how Danhausen gives all of the sweet treats he's gifted to Hook instead, but secretly, so Hook doesn't ever have to answer questions from curious onlookers; he thinks about how Danhausen always crawls into Hook’s room, no matter how late the filming ends, no matter how many bruises he's sustained, because neither of them want to spend the time apart; he thinks about how Danhausen writes looping messages on the hotel stationary if he leaves earlier, simple platitudes that mean the world.

Hook mouths a kiss against Danhausen’s shoulder, and smiles into his skin.

[weatherman667]

Sea of Stars

Boring, Boring, Boring, and current year (aka boring). Clearly made by people who have heard of turn-based RPG's, but never actually played them.

The game is absolutely intent on making the two main characters equally important, which is boring. Yes, some games have done that well, and they do it by making contrasting characters. Tidus and Yuna. Vaan and Ashe.

Well, Sea of Stars has a male character born on the sun solstice with a female born on the moon solstice, and they are the most boring implementation of what is an interesting idea. It's like Avatar the last smurf bender that managed to make giant half-naked catgirls boring.

The female character hits harder, because current year.

The main plot gets lost in five seconds when you flashback to high school. Because that's what I want to do in a fantasy game, flashback to high school.

The high school undermines the narrative weight of the Solstice Warriors. The high school is also empty, because... people aren't that likely to be born on the solstice?.. or because they spent too much time giving the main characters complex pixel animation to not even bothers giving the others basic animations? Or even just standing still?

The game also forgets it's... a video game. The introduction would work better as a block of text in the prologue of a book than it would in a video game.

The video game hijacks the tutorial for backstory that adds nothing to the game. Yes, it's beautiful, but they but a lot of effort into making the most boring sequence beautiful.

When you finally get to the actual tutorial, the gameplay is... designed to be boring. Your characters only have enough mp to cast one spell, and then you have to use your basic attack a few times to rebuild the mp. It talks about how important it is to strategically use your magic, but then only lets you use your magic once in a 3-4 step cycle. So, it's not strategic. It's part of a combo you need to do to stop enemies from casting. God, this is giving me flashbacks to Remember Me. Remember Remember Me? No? That's for the best. The short version is that it requires on annoyingly long combos, and nothing you do matters other than trying to do the same really long combo over and over again.

Apologies to anyone that this triggered memories of this horrible game.

Yes, the combat is similar to South Park: The Stick of Truth. In one way it's even better. But you know what The Stick of Truth is? Fun. It's fun from the moment you select your class. It's fun from the moment you select a name, (and then Cartman choses to ignore it and call you Douchebag).

Hell, FFX has a warrior named sun and healer named moon, and has even less abilities when you start the game, but managed to be fun. And enthralling. And harrowing from the moment the first animation plays.

If you are going to have two generic audience surrogate characters, like Sea of Stars does, then just let the player pick one as their avatar. But no, they decided to follow the current video game Feminist zeitgeist of making two equally important, and equally equal characters so that all the characters can be equally equal.

Or, give me Rikku, who's a fragile speedster, and can disable mechanical enemies in less time than it takes to lift your sword.

I'm not asking for the world, as in the last year, I have played a number of turn-based RPG's with even worse pixel graphics that were much better in every way.