#things that are just fucking weird: everything else. what the fuck.

[niechys]

I'm sorry. I'm so not sorry but also so so so sorry. But I can't stop thinking about it.

from @keferon tf mecha universe

(Also if you don't want me tagging you please do tell. I didn't want to bother, just want to credit cuz it's glorious)

it's because of this post.

Happened after This event

I'm sorry in advance for all the grammatical errors.

I also don't know wo else would be the science guy to take this position of explaining the thing. I feel like there has to be someone else that's not Shockwave too. Sorry to all of Brainstorm's fans out there. I think he's not a bad guy. Just too excited for the possibilities.

---------------------------------

Something lingers inside that mech. Although there is no hard evidence of a human soul or spirit or ghost haunting it, most people who had anything to do with Vortex agreed that it was best to believe its first pilot never leave the cockpit of his mech. After all, nothing else would explain the freak accidents constantly killing all but the latest pilot.

Human are prone to be superstitious. It's normal to believe in something like ghost in the machine, really.

But one would not think a man of sciences such as Shockwave would take the rumors seriously. No one knows if the scientist really believe it or not. He

Regardless of the rumors' validity, it sure did inspired him.

"You're kidding me" Swindle stood, blinked, looked at the incomplete repair of Blurr's mech then back to the technician in front of him. Brainstorm was prattling on at speed faster than Blurr's F1 record.

"Not kidding. Why would I kid? This is a great breakthrough. Lives can be saved and there are much we could do with the tech, I don't know why it never occurs to me or Shockwave that the neural link tech could have been used in this way---"

Swindle turned his brain off during all the scientific mumbo jumbo all and only really heard him again at "It's nothing all that weird really. Some people disagree, but you can't go against Shockwave when he put his mind to it. If you think about it, it's just like Vortex"

"What?" Swindle blinked again.

"Vortex. That mech, I mean the mech's first pilot, crazy psycho, crazy good at slicing up kaijus"

"I know who Vortex was. I worked here when he started piloting. What did that asshole has to do with this?"

"Oh, everything. If, a big if. If that guy's consciousness was still in the mech like people been saying"

"Haunted" Crossing his arms, he narrowed his eyes at Brainstorm. The technician corrected him.

"Lingering consciousness. Either way, Blurr is in much better shape than Vortex. Brain still intact . So is most part of his body. We wired him to the neural link to allow him control of the mech. So when we are ready, he can still go about his task from within that mech"

"What . The . Fuck"

Swindle's eyebrow twitched. No, it's NOTHING like Vortex's case. The asshole died and probably refused to leave this world. Blurr, on the other hand, was still alive. Sure he wouldn't be the same. Maybe he would be scarred for life, paralyzed from the waist down or something. But hardwiring a person to a mech?

"So, you were working with Blurr before now, correct? That's why we would like to bring you in as his handler. Not like you have to do maintenances and stuff, just take care of him and, the publicity and all that. Like being his manager" With that, Brainstorm handed him a folder before excusing himself.

The guy wasn't bad most of the time, Swindle thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, his passion for science overshadowed the moral compass.

Like how he wished that his own greed would take precedented in his state of mind. They must have thought he would jump at the chance to milk more profit from Blurr. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this bad if that was the case.

He wanted to refuse. Profit be damn, even he didn't feel right. Blurr saved them. He should be allowed to preserved his humanity, his dignity. Not preserving his brain in a jar inside a mech. If the pilot died and the mech is reparable, you find a new pilot. If the pilot lived but can no longer pilot, you also find a new pilot. Not..this.

But refusing means they will bring someone else on board to manage Blurr. He's pretty sure he wouldn't like that.

Fuck

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**note. Blurr is not reduced to brain in a jar. Most of his body is intact, just hard wired to the mech.

I tink they can add robot parts to him later all stuff. But since they probably value Blurr as a money cow pilot first. If they can't use his face, they can still use his mech.

Sorry again ehehehehehehehehehe

[leftoverghosts]

i am drowning

there is no sign of land.

Patrick's announcement hit you like a tennis ball to the gut. He had just gotten back from winning the junior US Open, but instead of celebrating together, he was ending things between you. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your heart as you struggled to make sense of it all. This wasn't the end of your relationship, though.

patrick zweig x reader. patrick x tashi. mentioned tashi x art.

warnings: angst. like angst for the sake of angst. sex at the end. some curse words. not for minors. p in v sex. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. patrick sleeps with reader for a bed.

nori says: hiiiiiii, i've been lurking in the challengers tag and now have something to contribute. this is heavily inspired by the break up scene in whiplash. it just feels so patrick coded. also, i love tashi, it's not her fault that the boys were weird about her. send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 4,818

2006, September. Per Se Restaurant, Manhattan.

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.” Art had told Tashi, and Patrick had responded with “I do not”.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe your dad let us use his reservations. This is the coolest thing ever! I feel so grown up,” a cheerful voice interrupts Patrick’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment. Sitting across from you now, celebrating his triumphant win at the Junior US Open, he can't ignore the guilt and doubts that gnaw at him. Though you were never officially a couple, there were undeniable feelings between you two and Patrick had pursued you relentlessly. He couldn't resist your sweetness, especially since you’ve been friends for so long and despite being just a teenage boy with wandering eyes fixed on tennis skirts, even he understands that you genuinely care about him.

Patrick thinks with all the agony that the thing between his legs can muster, that he’s an asshole, that he shouldn’t of fucked up this situationship only to chase after a girl who made him compete for her attention. Part of him hates himself for betraying your trust and pining after someone else, but the other part of him is drawn to Tashi in a way he can't explain. She gets him, but more importantly, she understands true tennis.

Patrick fidgets with his cup of water, tracing your name on the condensation as if it holds some sort of salvation. But deep down, he knows that no amount of apologies or excuses can change what he has done.

"Listen, I have to be honest with you," Patrick finally speaks up, his voice strained with emotion.

You pause, feeling a sense of unease settle in your stomach as you wait for him to continue.

"I can't keep pretending that this is going to work out. My dreams of becoming a professional tennis player are consuming more and more of my time and focus. And when I am with you, all I can think about is training and winning matches."

As his confession sinks in, your world tilts on its axis. The realization hits you with startling clarity - his passion for tennis surpasses everything else in his life, casting a shadow over what bloomed between you. You always knew that tennis was important to Patrick, but you never fully understood just how significant it was until now. Your mind flashes back to all the times you thought tennis was just a hobby for him, a way to cope with his parents' high expectations. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you realize that this is not how you imagined your relationship with Patrick ending. You try to hold back your emotions, but they overflow despite your best efforts.

"You'll probably start feeling like I'm ignoring you and get mad that tennis is more important to me than our relationship," he continues, regret evident in his eyes. "And if you ask me to ease up on my training, I won't be able to comply because this is my passion. It's what I was born to do."

"Where is this coming from, Pat?" you ask, your voice trembling with hurt. You had never wanted to come between Patrick and his dreams, but now it seems like there was no other option.

“It’s been building up for a while.” In the midst of shattered expectations and unspoken regrets, Patrick's gaze meets yours fleetingly before retreating, unable to withstand the weight of your hurt and disappointment. The truth hangs heavy in the air - priorities laid bare, futures diverging like roads leading into different horizons. "Because sooner or later, we will start resenting each other for not understanding our priorities. It's better to end things now before they turn toxic."

"I can't believe this, I thought we were in this together." Your palms are clammy and your heart races as you try to process everything. You had been nothing but supportive of him, rearranging your schedule whenever he came home from the academy just to spend time with him. But now he’s telling you that it wasn't enough.

"We were, but I wanna be one of the greats.” He sighs.

“And would I stand in your way?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I would, you're sure about that?” You ask, wishing this would just stop. “Yes.” He reaches out to take your hand, but you pull away, unable to bear his touch after what he's done. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his face contorted with guilt and sadness, and the knowledge that he’s a liar. That this conversation is only happening because he’s chasing greatness and Tashi Duncan.

"I'm just a naive girl to you, aren't I? Someone who will never measure up to your grand ambitions.” As the words tumbled out of your mouth, your voice quivers with hurt and disbelief. You couldn't comprehend how someone that you love could make you feel so worthless. “You'll leave me behind as you chase after greatness," you cried out, feeling utterly small and insignificant in his eyes. “You don’t understand me. You never have." His accusation is like sharp, dagger-like punctuation mark, ready to cut off any lingering hopes and pierce through the heart of your relationship.

You look at him, feeling a mix of anger and heartache. "Why did you even bother pursuing me then? If your tennis career was always going to come first?"

"I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never should have said those things."

His apology hangs in the air, hollow and insufficient. The bustling restaurant fades into the background as you try to comprehend the sudden change in your reality.

"Sorry doesn't fix this, Patrick," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick runs a hand through his curly hair, frustration etched across his face. "I know, I know. I'm messing everything up. It's just... there's so much pressure. The tennis, my parents, the academy. And now..."

He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You lean forward, searching his face.

"And now what, Pat? What aren't you telling me?"

Patrick's blue eyes meet yours for a moment before darting away. "There's someone else," he admits quietly.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, each shard piercing your chest with unbearable pain. The revelation hits you like a serve you never saw coming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You struggle to find words, your mind reeling from the betrayal.

"Someone else?" you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation around you. "Who?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. "Her name is Tashi. We met at a party after the tournament. She's... she understands tennis in a way that—"

The name strikes a chord of recognition. Tashi Duncan. You've heard whispers about her – the rising star in the tennis world, known for her fierce determination and unmatched skill on the court. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late-night phone calls, the distracted looks, the growing distance between you and Patrick

"That I never could," you finish for him, bitter understanding washing over you. Of course. Of course it would be someone from his world, someone who could match his ambition step for step.

"I think she could make me really happy," Patrick says, his voice pleading for you to just get it.

“You know, I really do hope that you make it. I hope you get to be number one or whatever,” You let out a wet scoff, he could have at least let you finish your meal. “But I’m glad that I’ll never understand you, Patrick.”

With those words, the conversation comes to a halt as you both sit in stunned silence. The waitress brings over your food, but neither of you have an appetite anymore. Patrick pushes his plate away, his stomach churning with guilt and regret. He realizes now that breaking things off like this is a mistake, he’s a coward, he shouldn’t have met up with you in person.

2019, August. Parking lot of a Roadside motel, New Rochelle.

Patrick slams his fist against the side of his beat-up Volkswagen Tiguan in frustration, feeling the sting of anger and disappointment course through him. His phone remains pressed to his ear, waiting for you to pick up, but it rings on with no answer. He begins and deletes a desperate text to you, twice, before finally you're calling back and he answers on the first ring. “Hey! Got a weird favor to ask you. Your new place is near Westchester, right?” His voice trembles with nervousness as he taps his fingers anxiously against the car door.

“A whole year, that’s a new record for you. Run out of money already?”

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, trying to use some charm or magic to convince you. “You know how the tour goes. I’ve been struggling to stay afloat. But uh, how’ve you been?” He forces a smile through the grimace as he thinks about his current financial state - a checking account with only $70 left. It’s a far cry from the greatness he once promised he was leaving you to pursue.

“Go to hell, Patrick.” The line goes dead and he pulls the phone away from his face, staring at it in disbelief as if willing you to call back. He knows you, so he waits anxiously until a notification with your name appears again on the screen, accompanied by a new address.

Same day. Private residence, Bronxville.

Everyone knows that Patrick's parents have stopped providing financial support for him, and even though your own father would be furious if he knew you were aiding this deadbeat, you can't bring yourself to let him go without. It's only the occasional bit of cash for gas or food, but Patrick always finds a way to repay you in ways that you didn’t even know you needed. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you that hangs heavily in the air.

Despite everything, you can't turn him away completely, even knowing he will never truly change. Tennis is his first, great love and with the Donaldsons in town, you can't help but think Tashi might still be his second. And you, you are nothing more than a temporary lifeline – a benefactor to someone who will never truly appreciate your sacrifices.

His heart races with guilt and desperation as he parks his car and approaches your door. He knows he doesn't deserve your help, but the familiarity of these meetings brings a sense of safety.

You watch from your living room window as Patrick's battered Volkswagen pulls into your driveway. The sight of him emerging from the car, all scruffy charm and desperate energy, sends a familiar pang through your chest. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the encounter to come.

As Patrick approaches, you open the door before he can knock. He stands there, looking simultaneously sheepish and hopeful, his eyes searching your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks for... you know."

You scoff at his attempt at gratitude, your bitterness cutting through the air like a knife. "Is that supposed to be a thank you? I didn't know you knew how to use manners," you retort, your tone dripping with resentment. It's not like you to be so angry, but Patrick always has a way of bringing out the worst in you.

You step aside, allowing him to enter and close the door after him. Patrick's eyes dart around your new place, taking in the tasteful decor and the obvious signs of your success.

"Nice place," he comments, his voice tinged with a hint of envy.

You shrug, maintaining your emotional distance. "It serves its purpose."

Patrick nods, fidgeting with the hem of his worn t-shirt. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and shared history.

At thirty-two years old, in the final stages of your cardiology fellowship, your father still treats you like a child who is expected to become an astronaut neurosurgeon, or some other fantastical career straight out of a Barbie movie. Meanwhile, your mother constantly laments about not having any grandchildren to spoil, as if that is the sole purpose of your existence. You often snap back with sarcastic remarks, such as suggesting that your cat could use a new diamond-encrusted bowl, a sharp retort that only serves to deepen the tension between you. The truth is, you yearn for an escape just like Patrick did. If you had any talent for tennis, you would have run away long ago.

Patrick clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I, uh... I really appreciate you helping me out. I know I don't deserve it, after everything."

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're right. You don't deserve it. But here we are."

He takes a step closer, his gaze intense and pleading. "I never meant to hurt you. Everything just got so complicated, with tennis and Art and Tashi and—"

"Don't." You hold up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear about her. Or about tennis. I’m not sixteen drooling over you anymore. I don’t need to pretend that I care. That's your world, Patrick. It always has been."

He looks down, shame and regret etched across his handsome features. "I know. I fucked up. I fuck everything up."

Despite your anger and resentment, a part of you softens at his vulnerability. You've known Patrick for so long, seen him at his best and his worst. And even after all the heartbreak, there's still a connection between you that refuses to die.

"Why do you keep coming back here, Pat?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why me?"

Patrick lifts his gaze to meet yours, and for a moment, you're transported back to that fateful dinner at Per Se, when your world first began to crumble.

"Because you're the only one who really knows me," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "The only one who sees past the bullshit and the bravado. Even when I don't deserve it."

Your heart clenches at his words, the irony in them isn’t lost on you.

“I still hate you.” You say as you step forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. Patrick stiffens for a moment before melting into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "For everything."

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability, of connection. Tomorrow, you'll go back to your separate lives - you to your fellowship and the weight of your parents' expectations, Patrick to his endless pursuit of tennis glory and the shadow of Art Donaldson. But tonight, in the quiet of your home, you can pretend that things are different, that the choices you've made haven't led you down such divergent paths.

As the embrace lingers, the air between you shifts, charged with a familiar tension. Patrick pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, asking a silent question. Your breath catches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips, and you know what comes next.

It's a dance you've done before, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of your lives. And as Patrick leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, you let yourself surrender to the moment, pushing aside the hurt and resentment that has festered for so long. His hands roam your body with a desperate urgency, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour before this fleeting connection inevitably fades away.

You melt into his touch, your own hands tangling in his curly black hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, a clash of tongues and teeth. Patrick's fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the soft skin of your waist.

A moan escapes your lips as his touch ignites a fire within you, a burning desire that consumes rational thought. You tug at his clothes, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in the physicality of the moment.

Patrick responds in kind, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck as you head towards the bedroom. You stumble together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing, until you fall onto the bed in a heap.

For a moment, you stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes dark with want. His lips trail scorching kisses down your neck, his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin.

"Pat," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hands touch wherever they can reach.

He pauses, hovering above you, his eyes dark with desire and something more, something akin to regret. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Tell me you don't want this."

But you can't. Because despite everything, the hurt and the anger and the years of distance, you do want this. You want him, even if it's just for tonight, even if it's a mistake you'll regret come morning.

"Don't stop," you breathe, pulling him back down to you.

Your shirt is discarded, followed by your bra, as Patrick's hands and mouth map the newly exposed skin. He lavishes attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple until they peak into hardened buds. You writhe beneath him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as the pleasure builds.

Patrick's lips trail lower, blazing a path down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, glancing up at you through his lashes, silently seeking permission. You lift your hips in response, and he tugs the denim down your legs, taking your panties with them.

Exposed and vulnerable, you fight the urge to cover yourself, to hide from the intensity of his gaze. But Patrick looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, his eyes filled with a reverence that steals your breath.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs, spreading them wider. "I never deserved you."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, his tongue delving into your folds, lapping at your most sensitive spots. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he works you with expert precision, stoking the fire that burns within you.

Patrick slips a finger inside you, then two, curling them just so as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing in anticipation.

"Pat, I'm going to—" you gasp, your words cut off by a moan as he redoubles his efforts, determined to unravel you completely.

And then you're shattering, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Patrick works you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you come down from the high, your body trembling with aftershocks.

He crawls back up your body, pressing tender kisses to your skin as he goes. When he reaches your lips, you taste yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of the intimacy you've just shared.

"I need you," you whisper against his mouth, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. "Please, Patrick."

He helps you undress him, kicking off his jeans and boxers until he's as bare as you are. His erection springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, and you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, reveling in the velvety softness of his skin.

Patrick groans at your touch, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Condom," he grits out, reaching for his discarded basketball shorts.

You wait impatiently as he rolls the latex over his length, your body thrumming with anticipation. When he settles between your thighs again, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes forward, stretching you deliciously as he fills you inch by inch. A low moan escapes your lips at the exquisite sensation of him inside you, his thick length pulsing with need.

Patrick stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggles to maintain control. "God, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice strained with desire. "I've missed this. Missed you."

The confession tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, the love that never quite died despite the pain and the years apart. You cling to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

He begins to move then, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that builds in intensity with each thrust. You meet him stroke for stroke, your bodies moving in perfect sync, as if no time has passed at all. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the mingled gasps and moans, the whispered words of encouragement and praise.

Patrick's mouth finds yours again, his kisses deep and demanding, as if he's trying to pour all of his unspoken emotions into the press of his lips. Your fingers tangle in his curly black hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter within you.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. Patrick hisses at the sting, but it only seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more frantic, more forceful.

"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come around me."

Obediently, you slip a hand between your bodies, feeling the heat and sweat radiating off of Patrick's skin. Your fingers glide lazily over his chest and down towards the area of need. However, unsatisfied with your own rhythm, Patrick's fingers boldly enter your mouth, collecting the saliva and making you involuntarily gag. Without hesitating, his fingers make their way back down to their intended destination, gently nudging yours out of the way. His thumb finds your clit, tracing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation sends electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to flutter around his throbbing cock.

You arch into his touch, your hands now exploring the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his happy trail.

As Patrick moves within you, his eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you can almost pretend that this means something more than a temporary escape, a fleeting connection in the midst of your fractured lives. But deep down, you know the truth.

This is all you can ever have with Patrick - stolen moments of passion, brief respites from the weight of your respective burdens. Tomorrow, you'll go back to being strangers, two people whose paths diverged long ago, held together only by the tenuous threads of history and desire.

With each deep thrust, Patrick stokes the fire building within you, pushing you closer to the brink of release. The fingers of his other hand dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he drives into you with increasing urgency, chasing his own climax.

"I'm close," he pants, his breath hot and ragged. "Give me another one. Come with me, baby. I’ve got you."

The endearment slips out unbidden, a echo of the past, of the tender moments you once shared. It's enough to send you tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as euphoria floods your senses. Patrick follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he spills himself inside you, his hips jerking erratically with the force of his release.

As your breathing slows and reality seeps back in, the weight of your history, of all the unspoken words and unresolved hurt, settles heavily in the room. Patrick rolls off of you, disposing of the condom before collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you to him.

For a long moment, you lie tangled together, chests heaving, hearts racing in sync. Patrick's weight is a comforting presence, his face buried in the crook of your neck as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.

But as the haze of desire dissipates, reality begins to seep in, cold and unforgiving. You feel Patrick tense against you, his body growing rigid as the magnitude of what you've done settles over him. He moves away from you, tugging on his boxers in swift, mechanical movements.

The silence that stretches between you is heavy with unspoken regrets, with the bitter knowledge that this changes nothing. You pull the sheet up to cover your nakedness, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in the harsh light of aftermath.

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the familiar lines of his profile, the curl of his lashes against his cheek. "What are we doing, Pat?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I don't know," he admits, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I just... I needed this. Needed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, a bittersweet mix of longing and resignation. You know you should put a stop to this, to the cycle of hurt and temporary solace that keeps bringing you back together. But the pull between you is too strong, the history too deep.

"I can't keep being your escape, Patrick," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I can't keep pretending that this means something more than it does."

He turns to face you then, his lake blue eyes searching yours, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in their depths. "What if it could?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if we could make it mean something more?"

For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it - a life where you and Patrick find a way to bridge the gap between your worlds, to build something real and lasting. But the dream fades as quickly as it forms, the harsh realities of your lives intruding once more.

"I wish things could be different," Patrick murmurs, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "I wish I could be the man you deserve."

Your eyes search his face for a glimmer of the boy you once knew, the one who stole your heart with his reckless charm and unbridled ambition. "We both made our choices, Pat," you whisper, your fingers reaching over to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "We can't go back.”

Patrick moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, shoulders hunched with the weight of his thoughts. You watch him, your heart aching with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for things to be different.

“I don’t even know what you really want from me. I doubt you do either. You’re just latching onto me because I’m something steady to grab a hold of.” Your voice is soft, tentative. “Look at me, Pat.”

He flinches at the sound of his name, as if the mere utterance is a painful reminder of the intimacy you've just shared. "Don't," he says, his tone flat, emotionless. "Please, just… don't."

You swallow back the words that threaten to spill out, the confessions and pleas that will only fall on deaf ears. Because you know, deep down, that Patrick will never be yours, not in the way you want him to be. His heart belongs to the court, to the thrill of the game, to the relentless pursuit of greatness that has consumed him for as long as you've known him. And the more it alludes him, the more desperate he is to obtain it.

And you? You're just a temporary port in the storm, a fleeting respite from the chaos of his life. A reminder of the girl he left behind, the love he sacrificed on the altar of his ambition.

Patrick stands abruptly, reaching for his discarded clothes. He dresses quickly, efficiently, his movements sharp and purposeful. You watch him in silence, a lump forming in your throat as the weight of the moment settles over you.

“Will you stop?” You sit up, pulling the blanket around you. “Just sleep here for tonight, Pat. You’re being difficult for no reason.”

Patrick's steps falter as he turns to you, his grip tight on the fabric of his shirt. His face is a mix of anger and frustration, but then it transforms into a vulnerable expression that catches you off guard. He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a heavy sigh. "I know I shouldn't ask after what happened between us...but will you come watch me play tomorrow?"

[flyflutterby]

The leaks leave me so confused tbh

Ochako isn’t raising her pinkie to avoid floating Deku during that leaked reconnection moment and she wasn’t wearing the gloves that would make that unnecessary. (Also, people are saying it’s the last panel of the epilouge, yet it doesn’t have the usual ending box.)

Jirou has both her ear-jacks in some of the leaks and some characters are missing scarring. There’s one panel where Bakugou’s hand is drawn from an odd angle that lowkey does not look good posing wise (Horikoshi is usually a GOD of drawing and posing hands, so I legit thought that was a fan drawing, until someone said it was apparently a leak?) Also, Todoroki’s face looks like it changes in structure between some of the leaks, but maybe I’m just imagining that?

Then there’s Deku rejecting Bakugou’s offer to join his hero agency so he can keep teaching. It feels like yet again he’s copying All Might to his own detriment, because even if he likes teaching, his arc, focus and drive has always been heroism. All Might becoming a teacher was because his whole thematic purpose was to pass the torch on that would lead everyone into a brighter future. Deku’s motivation has always been to save people as a hero. Furthermore, even if you don’t ship BakuDeku, they have always been thematically tied as heroes.

“Win to save and save to win.”

Wasn’t the whole point of Deku’s narrative was that he was going to destroy himself if he kept going it alone? Yet, he’s pushing Bakugou away after everything is done (Kirishima apparently even jokes that Bakugou got rejected/dumped? Probably not an accurate translation but STILL-!) Izuku feels flanderised, borderline OOC. Bakugou looks so fucking sad and resigned too. I want better for him as a character I watched grow over the years as I read the manga.

To clear things up, I ship BakuDeku, but I wasn’t expecting canonicity.

My problem is that I love platonic IzuOcha. Maybe a part of my reason for liking them was projection, but that’s what media is about. Enjoyment, interpretation and discourse. I can only speak to personal experience.

I lost a friendship with a guy as a young gay girl because people kept joking/insisting I liked him romantically. I pulled away like Ochako did, doubted my sexuality and tried to convince myself the awkwardness was butterflies, before finally coming back to sense. I did not get my friend back after things broke down. I yearned so bad for subversion, for a platonic IzuOcha that overcame the silliness (implanted by a girl who shipped All Might and Midnight because they stood next to each other during the Sports Festival and All for One’s literal spy at the time) to become best goddamned friends and great heroes. It just felt like Ochako didn’t think of Deku like that until someone else said it to her (very much teenaged behaviour).

I initially loved the reconnection scene as their friendship being cemented, as them drunkenly coming together to realise they missed each other. I thought it was so sweet and I was so HAPPY. I read it as drunk but platonic.

Then people kept saying this confirmed IzuOcha canon romantically. I fell down a rabbit hole. I ran through a gambit of all sorts to shitty emotions before I regulated myself to write this.

I’m tired and confused, my dudes. I’m going to stick to my little corner once I got this out. I got exams to prepare for, life to live and a loving girlfriend to hug. Still kinda upset, but my weird, autistic, gay ass can heal.

Stay hydrated and healthy x

[ihni]

Introductions

For @harringrovemicroficandart, November prompt "Moon", 965 words

~~~

”That was so cool! Do you, like, howl at the moon at midnight too?”

Billy didn’t even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes over this stupid kid’s stupid question. He did resist growling though, due to the fact that the kid had just seen him transform back to human after his monthly Change. Wouldn’t want to freak out Max’s new classmate on their first week in town, after all.

Speaking of Max, she was the one to answer (since Billy sure as hell wasn't going to); “What? No, of course he doesn’t!”

Since it was Billy’s first Change in a new territory, she’d offered to stay in the car to keep an eye out in case the cops or curious locals passed by and got suspicious about a strange car on a random road in the middle of the night. So she’d been there when Billy got back after his Run – and unfortunately, she hadn’t been alone. One of her new classmates – a curly-haired kid with weird teeth – had apparently been biking past and seen her and decided to strike up a conversation, and she hadn’t been able to get rid of him before Billy showed up, still half wolfed-out.

Honestly, the kid had taken it pretty well. Anyone else would have screamed and made a run for it at the sight of a naked teen with claws and glowing eyes stumbling out of the woods.

God, Billy wished the kid had just screamed and made a run for it. It would have sucked to have been outed so soon, but at least it would have beat the kid excitedly trailing after him and blabbering, even as Billy walked around the car and putting his clothes back on.

“That’s good actually, that would be suspicious, there hasn’t been wolves in Indiana since, like, 1908. There are deer, though. Do you eat deer? Do you hunt deer?” An excited gasp, then, “Ohmygod, do you turn into a wolf and hunt deer?”

Billy didn’t deign that with a reply. He had Maxine for that.

“What the fuck, Dustin?!” Oh, so that was the kid’s name. “He doesn’t ‘turn into a wolf and hunt deer’ –” Billy pointedly didn’t say anything about the dead rabbit, “– why would you think that?”

The kid made a duh-face that made Billy want to punch him. “I’ve read it in comic books!”

“Oh, and I guess you believe everything you read in a comic book?”

“No,” the kid replied, drawing the word out and sounding way too sassy for his own good, “but I learned about werewolves from them and since that proved to be real, maybe the rest is true too. But if I got it wrong, feel free to correct me. In fact,” and here he shrugged off his backpack and reached in for – a notebook and a pen? “Please tell me everything.”

God help him, Billy was gonna strangle this kid.

Before he got a chance to, though, the rumble of a car engine caught his attention, and soon after the headlights of a car bathed the road in light. All three of them – Billy, Max and the annoying kid – turned to look as the car rolled to a stop next to the parked Camaro. The door on the driver’s side opened and someone stepped out, and Billy realized two things simultaneously:

The guy was his age, and really handsome.

The guy was a werewolf.

The guy must have realized the same about Billy, because his eyes didn’t leave Billy’s even as he addressed the kid. “Dustin, what are you doing here? Claudia sent me to pick you up at the Byers’ house but when I got there, Joyce said you’d already left. You know your mom doesn’t like you biking in the dark by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself though!” the kid said, breathless, “I’m with Max, this is Max, she goes to my school. I found here out here and I thought she’d been kidnapped or something because, like, a girl sitting in an abandoned car in the middle of the night –“

“It obviously wasn’t abandoned,” Max snarked, oblivious to the newcomer’s status since she hadn’t had her first Change yet, “since I was sitting in it!”

“– but it turned out she was just waiting for her brother, and Steve, you’re not gonna believe this –“

Billy and the newcomer – Steve – had been standing stock still since their eyes met, tensed and waiting for the other to make a move, but as soon as the kid began gesturing wildly towards Billy, Steve reached out to pull him behind him.

“Dustin, get in the car.”

Smart – you shouldn’t trust strange werewolves around kids. Which was precisely why Billy had subtly placed himself in front of Maxine.

Dustin protested, loudly. “No but Steve you don’t understand –“

A glance at Steve’s perfect hair, and Billy felt the sudden urge to ruffle some feathers.

“He already knows, kid,” he therefore said, and got to see the kid’s head whirl around and stare at first him, then Steve, then Max, and then back to Steve again.

“What? Have you met already? I thought you were home sick from school these last few days?”

Which must be why Billy hadn’t seen him around yet. He grinned, showing a hint of fang. “A wolf always recognizes another wolf. We can smell each other.” He nodded not-so-subtly to the notebook the kid was still holding. “You can note that down.” He looked up at Steve’s face, and let his tongue run over his teeth.

“You can?” the kid said, and then seemed to realize the implications of what Billy just said. “Wait – Does that mean –?” A gasp, and then a shriek, loud enough for birds to flee the nearby trees. “You’re a werewolf, Steve?!”

[anonymous-existences]

Permission has been given :)

I'd say sorry for the word vomit, but you said to share with you my thoughts.

Here are my thoughts :)

I kinda wanna throw Danny into the Monster Hunter Stories world. Specifically Stories 2, the Wyverian Village atop the cliff.

Maybe he's been needing to reconnect with nature after so long of floating aimlessly amidst the other ghosts, after his parents, sister and friends all grew old and died, but he remained.

He ages so slowly now, that he looks barely 30 when he buries Sam and Tucker, who were already old and gray and tired of everything.

I cannot stress this enough, this man looks like the Hot History Teacher trope, and yet he's just as old as the other senior citizens of Amity Park.

So, he packs up everything he has, all the old Fenton Tech goes into storage in his lair, and leaves through a natural portal. The Fenton Portal was decommissioned when his parents found out. Their research was entirely redone and republished, and the Ghosts stopped invading, partly afraid after his defeat of Pariah Dark, partly out of respect for Danny's ability to wreck them.

Danny goes off, spends a good couple of decades going around the Zone, helping out whenever, and exploring, and eventually just drifting about.

Then, as per canon, the Monster Hunter Stories 2 main character's grandpa, Red, goes off on his journey. Accidentally stumbles across an old shrine tucked away somewhere, one that honoured past warriors. Danny is a past warrior, and one that is more human than most ghosts. So maybe settling down at the shrine to patch up an injury wasnt a great idea.

Brilliant lights and rumbling, the ground cracks open with an eerie green glow, his Rathalos is screeching and ready to open fire on the weird fissure.

A hand pushes out of the crack in the ground, and pulls up a dad-shaped man through the ground. One dressed in crystalline armor and carrying a spear. Slightly singed and bleeding green from a cut on his cheek.

Turns out, Danny wasnt expecting to be summoned in the middle of an exhibition match against Pandora, but now he's looking down at a teenager pointing a sword at him while a dragon-looking thing behind him growls and looks two seconds away from opening fire on him. What else can he do but adopt the little shit? Danny could use a vacation away from the Ghosts, and this kid is on an unsupervised journey across the world.

Danny can totally go on a nice cross-country journey. Amd besides, kid has his own flying mount, and Danny can fly. He's going to wrangle in this kid and keep him safe.

He's a Dad now. Fuck. Wait until Ellie hears about this!

They do the journey, find the odd pink pits of evil light, Danny totally teaches the kid about magic and ghosts, and all the skills he needs to be a good fighter.

And then Red grows up, has his own family, and all. Danny becomes that hermit Uncle that owns a chunk of forest and teaches you to hunt, but always comes down for the family gathering. That is, until Red dies. (And considering the MC in Monster Hunter Stories 2 doesn't even mention parents, maybe they've also died too).

Danny goes into the woods, never to be seen again. Occasionally someone brings words of a tall, handsome man in crystalline armor helping someone and then disappearing before their eyes, but as soon as reports his Terga Volcano they stop. They assume he's disappeared too.

In reality, Danny found that game's equivalent of the elves, and they understand his grief of looking barely over 40 and having mourned several generations of humans already. They live atop a cliff that you need to fly to get into, and don't ask invasive questions about his powers.

He becomes their best Hunter, but rarely needs to be sent out, only to chase off invasive species or poachers. Danny hates poachers and their cruel methods.

By the time game story happens, and the MC arrives at the volcano, they're received at the village entrance by warriors, as happens in canon, and get to meet their commander, a tall, regal-looking man, with a spear over his shoulder and crystal armor covering him. He's glaring and giving out orders to bring the intruders to the village, but he's very soft-spoken towards the Rathalos accompanying the MC.

And then the kid takes off their helmet and Danny feels his entire world freeze. That's...that's impossible. He knows those eyes, but on a much older face. On the face of a son he couldn't get to in time.

The MC gets to witness the tall, scary man suddenly look pained by so much grief, falling to his knees and asking them about their grandpa Red.

I kinda wanna have the MC be a girl, specifically so Danny, who raised a feral son and his Monster friends, now gets to be a dad to a girl, and oh Ancients, what do girls in this world even like?

Turns out, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and she likes to climb everywhere. Instead of a bed will sleep comfortably on her Monster friends, and she's more likely to end up covered in mud and sticks, than anything he's expecting a girl to like.

Except, this go around, you get tired veteran and his emptional support feral child. Imagine Geralt raising Ciri, if young Ciri had the attitude of Dick Grayson along with the love of nature of Damian al Ghul Wayne.

This kid was half raised by her village's Monsters, because she refused to sit still and kept running off to go play with the baby Monsters in the Stables, and eventually got semi-adopted by the adults.

Picture this:

"Kid, please get down from there! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a slight headache coming. Somehow, his great-granddaughter had found her way up the cliff with the help of a bunch of vines, a knife, and clinging to a particularly big Konchu.

"Not until I find it!"

"Find what? Kid, what are you looking for that could be worth a broken arm or leg?"

And thena the kid is wrenching something out of the cliff face, tipping over backwards further than her improvised rope can bear. It snaps, and she goes falling, leading to a fussing Danny flying up to catch her, holding her against his chest, too terrified for words.

Sure, later the kid is going to realize she almost died AND made her great-grandpa almost have a heart attack if he still could get those, but for now she's safe in his arms, her prize of a particularly shiny rock is in her hands, and they're flying without riding on a Monster's back.

"Let's do that again!"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!!"

Just...girldad Danny, who looks like the Hot Teacher, but is too Scarred by The Horrors to consider dating, having to contend with raising a feral girl who's somehow even worse than raising her grandpa was. And she keeps trying to set him up with single older women, except Danny's got almost, or already well over two centuries under his belt.

He's the Hot Immortal Lover, and doesn't understand that everyone they meet would happily be All Over That if he only let them. And now the Handsome Immortal has a child. Oh no, he's hot AND a good dad!

HOLY FUCK!! AHEIRBRIBAIE this was a good read. I love it. I don't understand some of the terms but I'll gobble it all up either way.

(I kinda wanna see Dan -Biased-)

[quillkiller]

can we have some nsfw bartylus hcs

bad sex bartylus my beloveds…..

ive talked about this before, but they always regress to their adolescent teenage selves with each other. they’ll just forever need each other in that impatient desperate way, needy and a little pathetic, skin on skin and over befor it even began

they can count on one hand probably that they’ve managed to go ’all the way’ because they always get lost in their attempts to get closer, grinding on each other, panting into each others mouths and gasping and uncoordinated and better than anything they’ve ever done with anyone else

barty will tell regulus about everything he wants to do to him, how he wants to lay him down and open him up with his tongue and take his time, but when push comes to shove he loses his entire mind and his need for regulus and skin on skin overpowers any sort of swagger he was trying to muster up, and he’s rutting into him and coming in his pants before he can even get them off <- it makes regulus crazy every time, that he can turn barty into this pathetic impatient mess, feeling barty’s impatience against his own body, letting him use it to get off

regulus is pliant and so needy, grinding in bartys lap and coming within a minute being the best sex he’s ever had, barty whispering filth in his ear and hands on his hips, regulus whining and losing all of his self restraint, only wanting to get closer and closer, barty being the only one who’ll ever see him this way

it’s always a little bit gross and weird. they’re both sexually active and have quite a bit of experience, but it all goes out the window whenever they’re together. doesn’t matter if someone fucked regulus like the perfect gentleman the other week, it will never measure up to the overwhelming all-consuming need he feels when barty pins him to a wall grunting and uncoordinated thrusts against regs ass and comes almost immediately. regulus never comes harder than the pathetic ruined orgasms with barty embarrassing sounds spilling out of him and he cant stop them. doesnt matter that barty lets someone else suck his dick, he can’t come unless he’s thinking about how hard reg bit his lip last time so that he started bleeding while he was coming grinding in bartys lap

barty doesnt really do relationships, but regulus does. he has this idea that he has to be with the perfect person to make up for how awful he is, to make up for his own self hatred. <- cue james potter. barty lets regulus do his thing, and is always just one call away, so… reg can’t stay away from barty, no matter how hard he tries when he’s in a relationship. he texts barty at 3am when james is asleep next to him and sneaks out to let barty push him face down in the backseat grinding against him, reg grinding against the seats, until they both come in their pants. he lets barty fuck him in james’ bathroom when he throws an anniversary party for regulus. invites him over when james is still at work under the pretense of ’hanging out’ but like.. they both know what he means :/

anyway. they’re needy and pathetic and urgent and desperate and unable to take time with each other to ’make it good’ but it’s still better than anything either of them will ever have with anyone else.. ���

[didnt-hear-idsb-live-again]

I don’t know how to even begin to talk about this and the thousand and 8 conflicting feelings I feel about it but. At my high school reunion my Homoerotic Codependent Toxic AF Ex High School Best Friend™️ (if u don’t understand this concept I can’t help you) showed up and I’d been thinking about what to do about it if she did for weeks and I still was totally undecided and felt weird about it the entire time, but. At the end she was putting her coat on to leave and I was kinda like fuck if I don’t talk to her now right this second I’m never speaking to her again in my life, so I literally walked up to her and said “I don’t know what to say but I can’t just have you leave not having spoken the whole night” not knowing wtf was gonna happen next and we both kinda started crying immediately and went aside to talk for like a half hour and we just caught up and. I don’t know what to say because I’ve got a LOT of unresolved feelings about and am literally fucked up forever because of everything that happened between us; she’s like the point of Where It All Went Wrong for me but. Being able to speak to that person who I haven’t been able to acknowledge for 10 years and hear about her family and reference the inside jokes we had when we were 14 and hear someone talk about how fucked up my family is with me and REALLY appreciate and commiserate with how those things developed over my life in a way that virtually no one else can was probably the singular most important event of my entire adult life and I’m not really sure what to do with that

[orleans-jester]

There’s nothing slow about cold water. Not the way that it gets into your skin, into your pores. Not the way that if so much as a drop gets into your system, it feels like your esophagus and lungs are being attacked with a thousand stinging knives. It’s not refreshing like a cold shower or a dip in the pool. It’s pure pain. It was fight or flight when you couldn’t do either because you were too fucking cold to move, your muscles growing stiff, freezing.

Figaro literally only had the strength to get that Leo line out before everything else was taken from them. They weren’t able to help scramble onto the land with Willem and Nelly’s help, just laying on the ground, soaking wet, taking heaving breaths that hurt with each new inhale. That feeling when you have some very minty gum and then breathe in cold air? That times a thousand. With KNIVES.

And yet, not once throughout this adventure, did they ever think ‘Man, I wish I didn’t agree to this.’ Not once did they fault Willem for bringing them to this crazy other place with the cold and the weird fairies and Cap’n Hook and Peter Pan. This was better than a movie. This was like Pan’s Labyrinth with Targaryen hair! Even shivering, even with skin reddened from the cold, and teeth chattering, and blue lips, they didn’t regret a diddly damn thing.

They were muttering to themselves though. “Okay, what horror movie nuh - knowledge do I have th-that can help?” They said, stumbling on frozen feet to get towards the more stable land while Willem was calling for his aunt. “The Thing - keep up on blood tests. F-Frozen - know y-your ski-lift hours, and don’t jump down d-dozens of f-feet expecting to land on your f-feet, and don’t fall asleep w-with your skin on cold metal. D-damnit, that’s not helping. Uhh - Th-The Shining, Hedge Mazes in the Winter are never a g-good idea. Dead Snow - always b-be prepared f-for Nazi zombies. Jack Frost - don’t bathe in melted snowmen..”

As they walked to find the sun and some firewood, Figaro’s toes definitely feeling the cold, not even realizing how numb they were until they started to painfully warm up. They didn’t know which was worse. The freezing or the warming. So they more waddled, trying to keep their toes from touching the ground with each step. With red-tinged fingers, they undid their coat too. They didn’t have to take Clopin’s survival class at the Magisterium to know wet clothes were a hinderance.

They just let the coat and pack fall onto the ground for now, leaving it behind. Wasn’t like they couldn’t raid some outdoors store in Feral for another one. Fire though - fire. “Damn, why did I sp-spend all my t-time learning cu-curses rather than f-fire.”

They exhaled warm air into their hands, rubbing them together, wishing they were Ellie right about now. That would come in handy. Actually - for the first time, they felt a little bad for not being more of a help in this whole thing, other than emotional support. But that was quickly pushed to the backburner. Self-pity was not Figaro’s style. Then they started to strip down even more. They didn’t see their body as a sexual object, so stripping down was almost the same as just a guy taking his shirt off. They left their Trailer Park Boys briefs on, though.

“Iorek - will be damn p-proud of us, I think,” They said, looking to Will, their short hair pressed to their face. “And well-jelly that we did it with s-such grace.”

They clung close to Willem though, almost appearing needy, just because they needed that damn body heat. Still cold but slowly thawing as everything around them did as well. As Spring sprung.

“D-Don’t be,” Figaro said. “We’re the motha-fuckin champions. Look what we did. Mostly you b-but I’ll take some credit.” They bent down and ran their fingers through the grass, wet but still growing. The flowers. They plucked one and put it behind Willem’s ear so it created a bright splash of color against his dark, wet hair. “And we always have the d-door still. If we need it.”

“I’m lie - B minus percent sure that I’m going to lose a toe or two, but I thi-think I’m warming up.” The shivering wasn’t so bad as they found a patch of sunlight. It was helping, little by little.

Only Figaro could pull off a quip like that. Hook’s hair indeed. But they weren’t wrong. Willem thought to himself he did have good hair, didn’t he? He ran his hands through it as he thought about it. Maybe he’d thank the ol’ man for this hair someday.

“I do have pretty good hair, don’t I?”

But the world got away from him too fast before he could think on it long. The ice and snow were melting from everywhere. Before they knew it, they were sloshing down a pixie white water river. This was so not the plan, not the plan at all.

If this adventure had been fun at all this part wasn’t. Drudging through the blizzard was one thing, but getting submerged in ice water was not it. So not it. Maybe he managed to get to shore after all that, but now they were chattering and as they looked at poor Figaro Willem felt guilty for the first time for bringing them along. The suffer together motto was really pushing them to the test now.

“I’m sorry Smalls. But don’t worry. You may be Leo, but I’m not Rose. I’m your DaFriend.” He growled. “I’ll never let go.” He pulled as hard as he could flittering his slopped over wings that were drenched.

Luckily, Nelly could fly in the wet cold like a boss bitch. Her wings weren’t real being a doll. She flew on happy thoughts and pixie dust alone. Nelly grabbed the back of Willem and they both pulled. Three big heave hoes later and Figaro was pulled to land.

Willem quickly helped them take more steps back from the water line before it gave way again. He wanted to make sure they were all on stable land.

He didn’t know what to do or how to even dry off. Everything was wet from his whole body, his clothes, his pack, to all of the surrounding forest as snow kept melting around them.

He hugged onto Smalls just thankful to be alive at first. Then it dawned on him he didn’t know where Periwinkle was. He started to look around and call out.

“Peri! Aunt Peri!”

His teeth and lips were chattering as he called out with a frantic look on his face afraid, she’d gone under.

Nelly would point way down the now raging river. Willem was holding Figaro and himself as he squinted as hard as he could.

“It’s her. Way down there. She made it. She’s climbing out of the river.”

Relief washed over him, but they were still stuck with the pressing problem of hypothermia like this.

“Come on Smalls. We gotta, I don’t know. Get out where the sun is blazing down on us.”

That was all he could manage to think of at first.

“Build a fire if we can find anything dry. Nelly, go look. And-and… and check on Peri.”

Nelly buzzed off like a little bee on a mission for something dry to help while Willem looked up tried to help figure out the best place for them to dry out themselves in the sun.

“It is pretty bright. It’s weird how I can feel the heat of it and still feel this cold at the same time.”

The ground where there was snow would look like puddles of muck like swamp the ground was so wet. It would look like a flood was draining. He pulled his cold soppy shirt off in some attempt to warm up not having it against his skin as they waited for Nelly when things started to keep changing rapidly.

“Uh… Sm-m-malls?”

The snow wasn’t just melting. The flowers were growing. It was like spring was springing. It was more than just the sun was shining.

The Nevers were coming back to life.

He started to smile despite everything. “Maybe we should do jumping jacks? Keep moving?” No matter how much it hurt. No matter how fast the sun or Pan’s wake up was making things happen.

“Or maybe a polar bear plunge never hurt anybody?” He was trying to look at it from a different angle. “What would Iorek say?” His shoulders were still shivering though.

Back in Pixie Hollow all the pixies were getting excited. They hadn’t been informed yet of Willem’s plan. All they knew was Wild Will and those traitors stole Pan right from the Hollow, their blue dust, and even heard Hook was back which made Will seem all the guiltier. They were all in a terrible depression over it deciding how to proceed when out of nowhere here they were all out dancing in the middle celebrating the weather. Could it be? Oh! Could it be?

Rumors were flying that Pan somehow escaped and was coming to save them all. There never seemed to be a proper rumor for how he awoke when after all this time no one could figure out how to wake him from his endless sleep. Like the dwarves with the Snow White the pixies dwelled on the site of the missing glass coffin like a memorial to the worst tragedy ever to befall Pixie Hollow. Wild Will’s face, the son of Captain Hook and even Figaro’s was in the mind everyone as enemy number one.

What was happening with Pan and Hook? Battling their way out of the labyrinth. The moment he awoke he was up to his old tricks and calling Hook a codfish. Hook was no lost boy. He’d have made his way out and the pair were swashbuckling sword fighting… er hook and wooden knife fighting their way through the Nevers. Pan was trying to get back to his boys and Hook was trying to kill Pan while signaling to the crew back on the Jolly Roger.

While the pixies were celebrating the weather and Willem was just thankful, he and Smalls were alive and that his plan was working, he’d saved the Hollow, Hook was getting word to Pirate Cove that Wild Will was a traitor. Everything he’d worked for in the magic door at Funky Town was being torn apart for the Nevers, the pixie’s safety, his mother’s home that Tink abandoned herself, and for Delta’s alliance with the pixies in Feral. As Willem watched the flowers grow and even though he was smiling that this phase of the plan had really worked, the chill that was down to his bones felt more real than ever as the reality of what this was going to damage crept up in his heart.

Where were his happy thoughts going to be now?

It was the first time in all this that pirate admitted to Smalls, “I’m a little scar- worried.” He’d been terrified of his father all his life all while he was his right hand, but he knew he might have just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed again.

“We can fix this. There’s always a next plan.” He nodded as if to reassure himself of being able to handle whatever came after this. “We did the right thing. You okay?” He asked as he kept watching for Nelly to come back.

[discordiansamba]

bad reality AU where aang fails to successfully energybend ozai and this somehow leads to him distorting reality and creating a version of it where he already rules the entire world as the phoenix king. the spirits can't let this happen but the avatar is Unavailable at the moment so they just have to turn to their next best (and only) option-

-Zuko.

the last thing Zuko remembers, he was fighting Azula. now he's definitely not in the courtyard of the Fire Nation palace. he has no idea where he is, actually but he's pretty sure the figures surrounding him are all very important and powerful spirits. great. what did he fuck up this time?

turns out this isn't because of his fuck-up (astonishing) but because they need him to enter ozai's new reality and free the avatar from his control. because energybending is apparently a thing, and aang tried it and failed. which is a lot to take in. he asks the spirits why they'd choose him, and the ones with faces just sort of awkwardly look at each other until one of them admits well. your father sort of... erased you from his reality?

zuko: ...yeah. that tracks.

it's great for the spirits because it means there's a gap in the new reality they can just slip zuko right in. in order to set things right, he'll need to find his friends- ozai has surely scattered them all, and they likely won't remember anything, but we have preserved shards of their consciousness. if you can get them to trust you, you can return them and they can aid you in your quest.

they have also hidden a piece of aang's consciousness among the shards. if they are able to reunite, they should be able to save the avatar's spirit as well, but they must all be together for it to work. but be warned- if a year should pass, then the new reality will become permanent and he will gradually cease to exist.

also. we are very sorry. we can only return you to where you were in the previous reality.

zuko: wh-

(zuko spawns in the fire nation courtyard, in the middle of a ceremony lead by Fire Lord Azula, attended by her father, Phoenix King Ozai)

zuko: oh.

[necrotic-nephilim]

what's fun about shipping Tim with Dick, Jason, or Damian is he has, at some point, hallucinated all of them to comfort himself. even when he doesn't like them or particularly get along with them, he has to imagine/hallucinate them just so he has the power to go on. Tim's concepts of the Robin mantle and what it should be is so fun, because he respects the others through the Robin mantle. Tim worships Dick because he was the first Robin. he wouldn't be Robin if Jason hadn't died in the mantle. and a lot of his frustration with Damian is he feels Damian isn't honoring the mantle correctly. when you ship Tim with the other Robins you can't divorce their identities as Robin from it because Tim will always see them as a Robin first and that's so fun and fucked up. like.

batman (1940) #456

Tim perceiving Dick as *Robin* cheering him on, not Nightwing, which is the version of Dick that Tim actually knows? that's just. wild of him. he will always view Dick as Robin first, his personal hero but also the original of the legacy. his love for Dick is shaped by that.

and then of course, even when he's hallucinating/imagining Jason cheering him on, it's *still* through the lense of being reminded how Jason failed? subconsciously believing that Jason got himself killed because of his actions, and that being a lesson for Tim to learn from? Jason isn't a person to Tim, he's a moral lesson about how to be Robin. any potential idolization he could have of Jason isn't because he loves Jason, it's because of the lessons Jason's death taught him.

and then, even though him hallucinating TIm is from the New-52, which makes characterization all kinds of questionable, i do think it makes sense for TIm to hallucinate/imagine Damian after Damian's death in an attempt to cope with it.

teen titans (2011) #18

to an extend, he sees Damian's death as in part his own fault. and even hating Damian, Tim needs the comfort from this to cope with Damian being gone. he's angry that Damian even was Robin, and has to learn something from Damian's death and how it impacts the Robin mantle, and teenage heroes as a whole. like, Tim can pretend he hates Damian all he wants, even getting taunted by the image of Damian, but there's still an underlying love to their relationship.

i think that's just the fun of shipping Tim with any of them. you will never divorce Tim's views of them from the Robin mantle and how fucking Unwell he is about anyone else who's been Robin before or after him, to the point he has to hallucinate them comforting him when he's at his lowest. it's always going to be a little unhealthy, a little toxic, and driven by Tim's relationship with being Robin as well. i need more Tim being weird about Robin in these ships.

[dailyloopdeloop]

loop and mirabelle. That's it that's the ask

DAY 84: enrolled in the gossip wars

[lovelyrotter]

ill probably delete this in a minute but ive just been fuckin boggled by what ive seen across tumblr in the last few days in particular. its why i havent really been around. like holy fucking shit, its really like some of yall just dont want a chunk of the trans community to exist. like some of yall are thisclose to saying it verbatum. way too many already have. 'shut up sit down be quiet and smile for us' type shit, gee where have i heard that before. oh yeah my entire life cause i was forcefully gendered as someones daughter. shock horror i know. you might be surprised to remember and/or learn that very few trans folks know theyre trans before we're 5, or even 10, and that that gendered experience stays with all of us in both/either small or large ways. either bc we literally dont have a solid identity yet (bc we're very small children), dont have the words, we're repressing it out of fear from how others will treat us, we're actually enjoying or enjoyed being another gender in our childhood, or we just genuinely didnt fuckin know until shit lined up later in life. weird isnt it that transmascs dont pop out as 6'1 brick shithouse cis men when we're born so yall know for certain that we're confused lost girls/women oops i mean big dangerous scary men. its almost like we're transgender too. none of yall actually know what intersectionality is or means

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

The ethel cain irony epidemic rant is so real SO REAL i could sound off on that subject i could write a novel length essay it's neat how she said she wants to make a video on it cus for the past few weeks i was thinking of making a video on it TOO i just never committed to the idea since my feelings on it align w the subject matter which is: Who even cares , thats the whole issue, everything is supposedly "Not That Serious" theze days So why say anything. I hope she does make a vid on it though. nihilism & cynicism thinly veiled as irony is ultimately what pushed me offline (as in, not scrolling) since august and as glad as i am to be free of it all it's also still existing whether i engage or not & it is not exactly an encouraging landscape for sharing everything i've been working on for months so hard with all my most earnest efforts . . .

[daylighteclipsed]

Remember how ReCoded just casually drops the fact that this is a “true memory” from the heart of Destiny Islands even though we literally see Riku get swallowed up by darkness in KH1, we watch it happen with Sora before the islands get totally wrecked like this, so how could Riku also leave through this portal afterwards

[moe-broey]

Every day I wake up, I'm full of inspiration and ambition, I lollygag a bit, I kinda skirt around it, I actively avoid The Thing I WANT to do. Then I just kinda give up and do something else.