#this hurt me to write lmao

[practically-an-x-man]

anti-honesty hour: who's your least favorite oc? >:3

Aw man, how can I even begin? They're all just so awful!

I mean, what's the deal with Madison? She's just such a boring character. Like ooh, okay, you ran away from home, big deal. You got your mutation enhanced and you go cry about that, boo hoo, it happened to Hank too don't be so emotional. I mean seriously pick a lane, are you tough or are you a crybaby? She's so inconsistent.

Ugh or Kestrel, I don't know what I was thinking when I created them. I mean, changelings as a metaphor for autism AND queerness? That's so cliché and boring! And they're just so whiny, it's like they're totally useless without Warren around to help them. What a damsel in distress, and totally not an interesting character.

We're not even going to talk about Quinn. I mean, there's just way too much going on there. I mean, you're trans AND disabled AND punk AND a pickpocket? It's like I picked out their character traits using a dartboard, nobody's actually like that! It's forced representation and just SO unrealistic. Especially since she's tall and non-op, it's like I'm trying to shove her transness down everyone's throat. I should've sanded them down a bit and maybe then she'd be a little more palatable to the audience.

[doctorsiren]

give this angle another tri

[stevebabey]

totally didn’t expect the other part to do well at all but 😳 apparently i don’t know steddie fans. as such, have a part two <3 part one is here again, look out for the borrowed hunger games lines

“You’ve ruined your life, you know that, right?”

The kitchen had been basking in the lull of the quiet morning before Eddie had spoken up, breaking the silence. Steve blinks, realising he’s been zoned out staring at the swirling bubbles atop his mug of coffee and look up at Eddie across the table.

“Doing what you did.” Eddie continues. There’s this slight in his voice. Steve figures it’s not really aimed at him.

Chief Powell had agreed to not release the details of the case to the public for obvious reason. However, it went without saying that of the cops working the case, not all would be so free-thinking. There were plenty who deemed leaking the alibi and letting the town devour Steve’s reputation a more than fair consequence.

And, well, Eddie didn’t have any reputation left to tarnish or save.

Steve takes a sip of his coffee and lets the warm flavour coat his tastebuds as he tries to puts his thoughts in the right order.

He knows how Eddie sees this— sees it as this burden that he’s imposed on Steve’s life. That he had been able to accept it at first, the whispers of freedom tempting enough that he could be selfish enough to gasp them.

Then yesterday afternoon, Steve had come back from Bradley’s Big Buy with dried yolks splattered across the windscreen and regret howled through Eddie like a hurricane, fierce and wild. Realisation of what Steve had condemned himself to— no- what Eddie had condemned him to finally sunk in.

Steve can tell he’s been stewing on it all night. In the couple weeks he’s been here, staying in under the Harrington roof just down the hall from Steve, he’s surprised by how easily his brain has tacked on to Eddie’s habits. His little Eddie-ism’s. That’s what Steve calls them.

Like how Eddie’s nose will twitch if there’s something on his plate he doesn’t like, but he’s too polite to say it.

How he thumbs up and down the edge of a book when he’s reading, completely entranced. Doesn’t even notice his moving, twittering fingers.

How he’s always so much twitchier the morning after a sleep laced with terror after terror. It gives him away before Steve even see the bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his face.

Steve recognises that one from himself, from back when he’d gone through it all for the first time. The flinch is unshakeable when you’re convinced it’s all going to come back— that the world is going to tear itself up and spit out monsters you haven’t even dreamed of.

Today, Eddie isn’t twitchy like that. He’s tired, a sunken in face that comes from a bone-deep aching tiredness. He picks at his breakfast, bitterly avoiding the eggs on his plate.

And Steve can’t pretend to understand how Eddie grew up — can take his guesses but ultimately won’t get near the experiences he knows Eddie has lived through. Steve has only ever been on the other side. Stayed silent while someone else through snide comments and used the word fag like a jagged blade, to cut someone down.

So, he doesn’t know. Not even a year with Robin as his best friend and all her knowledge could’ve prepared Steve for the startling fear he’d felt when coming out of the store to the sight of a group of boys around his car, cartons of eggs in hand. One with a crowbar.

They would’ve smashed his windows if he had come out a minute later, he’s sure of it.

It had been like getting doused in icy water — the Letterman jackets on all of them, the sneers, still jeering taunts as they’d scattered across the parking lot. Steve had felt the bile rise in his throat as he got in the car and sat, staring at the steering wheel, his slimy fear melting and mixing with his anger.

Eddie’s point of view suddenly resounded within Steve in a way he hadn’t known before. Standing on tables, hollering about conformity, leaning in to every foul rumour about him— like a person drawing to full height, making himself as big as possible, to scare off a bear.

Steve gets that a little more now.

So, when Eddie tells him you’ve ruined your life he knows what he’s trying to tell him. Except, Steve doesn’t know how to say lightly that he’d gladly ruin his life to save Eddie’s. It’s too much — but Steve always is. Always loves in these big heavy ways that are too hard to handle.

So instead, he shrugs and says, “Consider it a trade.”

Eddie cocks his head, like a dog, just an inch.

“For following me into the lake and saving my life.”

Eddie scoffs and his head lolls back dramatically like what Steve’s said is ridiculous. “Jesus H Christ, dude, you saved yourself. I told you that I would’ve been too cowardly to come after you if Birdie and Wheeler hadn’t gone in first.”

He mutters the word cowardly with a hiss.

“Well then, a trade for drawing the bats away.”

“You mean the time I nearly became hamburger helper for the bats?”

“Christ, Eddie,” Steve scoffs. “I didn’t take you as someone who fished for compliments so hard.”

Eddie frowns, dropping his fork with a clatter on his plate. “I— what? I’m not- I don’t even—”

Steve cuts in. “You helped us and you saved my life, whether your horrible little brain can admit that or not. So,” He sits back in his chair with another little shrug and sips his coffee. “Equal trade.”

Eddie frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “No, not equal, Steve. You don’t get what you’ve done you— ugh, you just don’t—”

He huffs, cutting himself off, clearly unsure of how to voice his frustrations. He slumps back in his chair and eyes the eggs on his plate again with a glare this time.

Steve waits a moment and hopes he isn’t overstepping when he says, voice quiet, “I know, Eddie.”

Across the table, Eddie’s eyes raise to meet Steve’s and he doesn’t sound smug, he doesn’t sound angry, he just sounds defeated when he speaks.

“Do you?”

“Maybe not quite the extent of it until yesterday but, yes… I know.”

His words sink it and Eddie looks… affronted. His eyes get a little wide and a tremble finds his lips. Like the whole time he’d been convinced Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been getting into, that the reality hadn’t set in— that any moment he would rescind his alibi and throw Eddie to the cops and let them snap the cuffs back on him.

Steve hates that expression. Loathes that Eddie is so surprised that anyone would do this for him — something as important as keeping him alive and out of prison. Steve hates it because he knows it means that somewhere along the way, somebody had convinced Eddie that nobody would.

So, if he’s got to be the one to convince Eddie that someone will— that he will make the effort, will put his neck on the line because… well, isn’t that what Steve does best?

He’ll do it gladly.

Eddie picks up his fork and stabs his fork into the egg, the buttery yolk spilling onto the plate. Steve takes it as a truce, as him meeting him in the middle.

"So,” Steve swirls the mug in his hand and swills another sip back. Swallows it and takes a page out of Eddie’s book and goes the joke, leaning forward, forearms on the table. “If I’m gonna be your boyfriend for the foreseeable future I should probably know more stuff about you. Y’know, like, uh, the deep stuff.”

Eddie’s sunk back down in his seats but at Steve’s final sentence, he perks up. A smirking sort of grin crossing his face and Eddie twists a piece of his hair in front of his mouth. He hasn’t kept eating yet, too focused on the conversation.

"Uh-oh, the deep stuff.” He’s got that teasing tone in his voice. “Like what?"

"Like...” Steve scrambles to pull something from his brain. “Um, what’s your favourite colour?"

“Oh well, now you've stepped over the line."

Eddie’s sarcasm melts into a chuckle as Steve laughs, ducking his head instinctively. When he lifts his gaze, he’s relieved that Eddie looks a little lighter. Not much but a smidge of difference — Steve can see it if he squints. He’s sure it won’t be the last conversation they’ll have about this but for now, it’s settled.

Curiosity piques in Steve and he tries to sound casual when he says, “No, really, what is it?”

Eddie blinks and curls his hair around his finger once more, tugging it lightly. He seems to be considering his answer, eyes dropping to the sweater Steve’s donning.

“Yellow.” He finally says. “Not mustard but, y’know, lighter. Colour of the moon on Halloween or…”

“Cheese?” Steve suggests.

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, the right kind of cheese, sure. What about you? Favourite colour?”

Steve considers it — for the longest time, it had been red because Tommy had told him that red or blue were the coolest colours to like, way back in third grade. No one has asked him since then.

“Pink, actually.” Steve admits, hand coming up to brush across his nose, trying to hide behind the motion. He envies Eddie’s long curls suddenly. He feels the need to explain, more words rolling off his tongue. “Like, y’know, when the sun starts to set, like all dusky, it’s just… nice.”

Eddie’s staring at him peculiarly, his lips parted yet quirked up in this faint smile. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d call it awe. Breaking his stare, Eddie chuckles again, finally properly picking his fork up to finish his meal.

“Steve Harrington.” He murmurs warmly, more to himself. His lips twitch with a smile. “You just keep surprising me.”

—

some people wanted more 🤲 uh get tagged idiot - normally i don’t do taglists but u were all so kind as to reply to the post & i didn’t get a chance to say thank u for ur lovely words! this is my thank u! have sum more!

@friendlyorange @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @lostinadmiration @life-love-musicaltheatre @oldlovershippiemusic5 @phoeniceae @catateme9 @lolawonsstuff @justagaypanda @pluto-pepsi @whoopstie @scenesofobx @justforthedead89 @musical-theatre-gay @theperksofbeingstjimmy @ikilledabuginthewall @imauselessartist @fridgebaby @lingeringmirth and uhhh @corrodedcoughin cos i still do a little squeal when u rb my tings even tho we’re mewchies :D

[fearandhatred]

i was thinking about this line from my fic:

But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys.

and i came up with this. i hope the vision came through

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

���Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[tennessoui]

it’s like baby gorl there’s no way I, the author who wrote the fic you’re commenting on and who is the intended audience for this comment, am gonna agree with you 😿🙏 some things can just stay on your chest 🙏

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[mo-ok]

🤍 the final batch 🤍

🌠

[vicsy]

maxiel, divorce

somewhat inspired by the latest vlog Daniel posted

When Lando asked, it was nothing but a dumb joke.

"So, who's gonna get Martjin in the divorce?"

Daniel laughed it off, then, and lobbed a padel ball at him. Lando flipped him off, squawking, I'm on your fucking team, mate. On the other side of the court, Martjin patted Max on the back, giving Daniel a faux dirty look. Max said something to him, probably in Dutch, probably devising a convoluted strategy that had no way of actually working. Their net game sucked major balls.

"Alrighty, whoever loses this game admits that Baku was his fault!" Daniel said, awfully cheerful for someone who's been baking in the sun for an hour and a half, but he got that open, full body laugh out of Max.

The win followed by the skin of their teeth, at the cost of Lando's scraped knee and twenty minutes of continuous complaining. Max sulked all the way back to the villa. Daniel pinched the skin over his ribs when it was just the two of them in the spacious room overlooking the sea.

"Aw, you're still such a sore loser," Daniel cooed and it earned him a jab in the midsection, courtesy of Max's custom padel racket. "You wound me, Maximus!"

"And you know what you are?" next thing, Daniel was flat on his back, landing on the bed with the most undignified sound. Max climbed on top, straddling his hips. He jabbed a finger into Daniel's chest. "Je bent mijn alles."

"That's too long just to call me an asshole," Daniel pointed out, a smartass in his own right. He was mostly interested in getting Max out of that horrendous Red Bull polo so he could lick a stripe down from the hollow of Max's throat and press his tongue to Max's puffy nipples.

"I said that you are worse than a sore loser, Daniel."

"Hm. Think someone's using my language skills against me," Daniel pretended to ponder this idea, running his palms up and down Max's thighs. He looked so beautiful in the low lamplight; softer in a way that made Daniel think of home. Gezelligheid. "Say it again?"

Max did, giggling with exasperation, and Daniel repeated after him, horribly butchering the whole phrase over and over again, until Max got sick of it and kissed the mispronounced syllables off his lips. Talking was overrated anyway.

Next time, it's Daniel who says it, no trace of humor coloring his voice.

"Sure, whatever, I'll fucking leave," he shrugs Martjin's hand off his shoulder and dusts the look of pity off his thousand dollar getup. "Guess Max is getting you in the divorce after all, yeah?"

Daniel didn't have the habit to half-ass anything. In the disastrous fallout, he went full scorched-earth and Max answered him tenfold. They took everybody down with them. Standing in the crowded club in Saint-Tropez three months into the aftermath, Martjin lodged in between like the final barricade on the battlefield, Daniel lets his pride choke him.

He doesn't have to possess some exceptional lip reading skills to distinguish Max saying dickhead and coward, gesturing wildly, three top buttons of the white, linen shirt he's wearing unbuttoned, exposing reddish, sunburnt skin. Next to him Lando looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Good, Daniel prefers him as far as possible, maybe somewhere on the ocean floor.

"Daniel, come on," Martjin pleads. The music blaring in the club drowns out most of what he says. Daniel watches his lips move and hears static in his ears. "I'm not taking sides."

But he does. Daniel really could only blame himself but he'd rather eat his racing shoes than shoulder it all by himself. Max was all in, too. He proved it when he went all out.

There was a gaping hole in Daniel's chest and he couldn't tell if the blood on Max's hands was his or if it belonged to the two of them.

"'Course, mate," Daniel lifts his arms up in mock surrender. Each word on his tongue leaves an acid burn. He grabs Martjin by the elbow and gets into his face, manic idea hanging over his head like a guillotine. "Hey, so. For old times sake, can I ask you something? No biggie."

Martjin makes a face but nods. Daniel gets close to his ear and straight up yells that weird, Dutch phrase Max told him a lifetime ago, in a room of a villa that saw them untainted. It never sat right with him. He's sure the pronunciation is royally fucked up but Martjin's stunned reaction tips off an alarm in Daniel's brain.

"Max told you that?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel sees Lando thrust a gin and tonic into Max's hands only to have the glass pushed back, spilling liquid on the floor. Daniel whole body twitches.

"Does it meant that I'm a sore loser or was Max fucking with me?" he asks, straight to the point.

Martjin glances at Max over his shoulder, then turns back around, mouth pulled into a thin line.

"It means," he says, hesitantly. Daniel isn't even paying attention to him anymore, not really. His eyes are glued to Max just standing out there — too close and too far — his lovely lips parted on something unspoken, shoulders tense like he's squaring off for a fight and the look of distress all over his face. Daniel feels sick with it. He wants out. "In Dutch, uh. What Max said, it means–"

Daniel's patient runs dry.

"Fucking, what?"

"You're my everything."

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it.

[setmeatopthepyre]

Okay so I finally watched The Episode and honestly... I'm cautiously optimistic? I know (I know!) the interviews, etc. and i'm not saying they're definitely getting back together. I just think doors were left open on purpose and maybe decisions haven't been fully made yet.

[myymi]

“C’mon, kid.” Sonic sighed heavily from his spot below the tree branch, paws on his hips with his foot tapping impatiently as he craned his neck up in search for his newly acquired little brother. “What do I gotta say to get you to c’mere?”

The kid in question hummed in thought at that, taking this opportunity very seriously. He didn't stay up late on purpose, he didn't even really enjoy doing it, but it had its perks.

“Can we go get candy tomorrow?” The fox asked, peeking his head over the thick tree branch just enough to look down at the hedgehog.

“Seriously, keed?” Sonic frowned up at him, which meant Tails had no other choice. He had to play the card.

Taking a breath to prepare himself, the cub made his eyes as big and as wet as he possibly could. His ears flattened against his head as his twin tails fell limp. He made his bottom lip tremble for safe measure, shrinking into himself as much as he could.

He wasn't sure what the science behind doing this specific tactic was, but it always seemed to work out for him. He'd first learned it by watching the kids in his old village.

He only tried it a handful of times while on Westside, but the grown ups seemed to at least pity him when he did pull this expression.

Tails had suspected The Look™ wouldn't work on the teen, but it seems even the Blue Blur himself wasn't immune. It was interesting.

Sonic groaned when he realized what the kid was doing, quickly looking away. “Don't do that to me, buddy.” Tails thinks he's gotten pretty good at telling the hedgehog’s tone of voice. It was a strange learning process, but now that he knew what it was, he found sarcasm funny.

He did his best to suppress his giggle, deciding to turn it into a pitiful whine instead. His ears flicked at the sound of a defeated sigh, causing him to perk up slightly.

“Fine.” The twin tails began twirling at the answer, pleased that the sad expression worked once again. Sonic rolled his eyes fondly, gesturing for the kid to come down from his perch. “Now c’mere. Bedtime.”

“Okay!” Much more willing to listen to his brother now, Tails spun his namesakes just fast enough so he could lift into the air. As he lowered to the ground, Sonic sat down with his back resting against the tree.

Tails couldn't understand why Sonic liked leaning against things so much. It had to hurt his back quills or be uncomfortable at the very least.

The hedgehog smiled at the younger, gently patting his thigh to call the fox over.

Tails listened to the call, satisfied enough with the promise of candy. He crawled onto the older’s lap, snuggling against his chest as he settled down for the night.

Sonic grunted quietly when the kit’s elbow jabbed into his side accidentally, but he quickly scratched Tails’ ear to keep him from apologizing for it.

“You're a little menace, you know that?” The teen mumbled quietly as the fox finally stopped moving. The younger hummed in response, nestling his head underneath the hedgehog’s chin. “What's your deal with staying up, anyways?”

Tails shrugged, unsure of how to answer. He really didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to give Sonic some sort of answer. “I’unno. Maybe I wanna make sure you stay?”

“Make sure I stay, huh?” The hedgehog huffed, relaxing into the tree trunk. “You think I'm gonna run off on ya?” He asked, a trace of teasing humor lingering in his tired voice.

Tails shrugged again. The answer was no, he knew Sonic wouldn't leave him all alone. But this was the explanation he gave, so he's sticking with it.

“Well, I'm not. So you can go to bed without worrying now.” Sonic informed, carefully adjusting his position. The fox in his lap shifted with him, not wanting to be an uncomfortable weight in the older.

“But–” Tails tried, but his brother quickly shushed him.

“Go to bed, kid.” He mumbled, noticeably much more tired than earlier, “I'll be right here when you wake up, promise.” Tails decided against responding verbally this time, noticing that the teen was teetering on the edge of falling asleep.

He instead snuggled further into his chest, wrapping his two tails around them to fight off the nightly chills.

—

He was so cold.

It wasn't entirely unusual for Sonic to be cold while he slept. If Tails kept ignoring the rest of the world for another five minutes, he could convince himself that the hedgehog was simply hibernating.

Just a quick winter-long nap and then they'd be back to exploring the world again. Right at each other's side, where they belonged.

Back to being the best duo to ever touch Mobius. Defeating Dr. Eggman as he failed to gloat about his latest ‘master plan.’ Celebrating afterwards by sitting together on the wing of the Tornado under a sky full of stars, hot chili dogs in the paws.

But it was nothing more than a desperate fantasy. Tails knew that.

Another tear rolled down his cheeks as his eyes opened halfway. He was so tired, but he needed to find Knuckles. He promised.

Nuzzling the cold, dead corpse one last time, Tails crawled out of his brother's lap. He tried to ignore the way his mind hyper-focused on it being the last time he'd ever hug his big brother.

Wiping away his tears, Tails glanced down at his communicator. Knuckles wasn't far, but he had to figure out how to get out of town.

He'd need to make another stop before meeting Knuckles, too. Sonic wasn't the only one the fox needed to lay to rest.

Tails shook away the memory of Vector’s stumbling corpse. He'd see it again soon enough, he didn't need his mind to remind him of all the gory details right now.

He purposefully ignored the gun discarded on the ground. He hadn't looked at it since throwing it away, unable to hold it after having used it on his own brother. His own family.

Tails paused as his paw wrapped around the handle of the back door, hesitating to open it. He took a deep breath and looked back over to Sonic's body, trying his best to not crumble in tears again.

“I love you too, big bro.” He whispered. He looked away almost immediately, the sight too overwhelming for him to bear any longer.

With another deep breath, he pushed the door open as quietly as he could. His ears perked up as much as they could, swiveling all sorts of ways as he checked the alleyway for any walkers.

Noticing the area was clear, he stepped out fully to look above him. He'd be able to fly out of this mess.

He turned back to the door, turning the locks on it before letting it close. He didn't think there'd be anyone coming through this city anytime soon, but he wanted to be sure nobody would disturb his brother's rest.

His paw lingered on the doorknob for a few long seconds before he managed to convince himself to let it go with a silent goodbye. He spun his tails and flew above the buildings, wanting to get away from the building before he could convince himself to fall asleep in his brother's cold arms for the rest of his life.

[raineandsky]

#116

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

As of yesterday, the worst pain the prince had experienced was when he accidentally nicked his finger with his father’s sword three years ago.

Today, that has been replaced with the red-hot agony of a bear trap snapping shut on his leg.

It wasn’t meant to go like this. Get to the city borders and disappear into the wilderness—that was the plan. It’d seemed such a good plan too, from the comfort of his bedroom. Easy.

Yet here he is, thrown to the floor by merciless, metal teeth. It’s more blood than he’s ever seen in his life. He’s starting to feel faint, though whether that’s the sight of his own mangled leg or the pain jolting through him at the slightest move is unclear.

Darkness is throwing a blanket over the sky. Forcing the trap open has proven fruitless, dragging himself back to the road impossible. Every fibre of him, down to his very soul, is crying to rest, to ease the pain, to just have stayed in his ivory tower prison like he always had.

Something yellow—a light!—ripples through the trees. The prince thinks, for a rather depressing moment, that heaven might be approaching, and the warden has arrived to drag him into death. It would explain why he can’t feel his hands.

“Huh,” says the warden, “that ain’t an animal.”

The light is blinding now, the person behind it haloed invisibly in its spray. The prince can see them turn, kind of, to a figure next to them.

“Well, no.” A gruff laugh. “That’s very much a human person.”

The light lowers slightly, enough to get a glimpse at the people hiding in its shadow. Oh—not the warden. A common woman, in fact, her and an equally common man, staring down at him with varying amounts of surprise and annoyance.

“Hm,” the woman says again, thoughtful. “Looks expensive. D’ya think we’d get much for him?”

The prince’s stomach does some acrobatic somersault that almost makes him throw up. He tries to move, crawl away, anything, but the trap sinks its teeth into his flesh even more, like it's trying to stop him escaping. A cry falls from his mouth, some incoherent mix of terror and agony.

One of them says something, but he can’t hear it. He can’t hear anything; blood rushes in his ears—it’s a miracle he has any left to do such—his breathing hard and laced with irrepressible noises of his own suffering. 

Another laugh as the man steps forward and back into hearing range. “We should probably make sure he ain’t from one of those places that’ll lob our heads off for the crime of looking at ‘im first.”

“He looks like one of ‘em, don’t he?” The woman steps too close. The prince scrambles without thinking, and gets the treat of the teeth gnawing harder into his leg. “Let’s get ‘im home, at least. Get the trap, Skat, and I’ll get the bag ready for it.”

“Skat?” The name rolls off his tongue so easily. Both of the commoners stare at him like they’re startled he can speak at all. “You– you were in the royal guard. I recognise your name.”

The man’s stare has turned to a hard glare in an instant. “Where’d you get that from?”

The prince attempts a smile, but the burning pain ripping through him makes it difficult. “You were one of the top knights in your guild. I– I came down, sometimes, to watch you practise. My father adored you. I adored you.”

“You’re the boy prince?” It comes out almost immediately. A connection made. A recognition. The prince could laugh with relief if he weren’t already crying. He nods quickly. “Wh–What’re you doing out here?”

The woman snorts behind him. “Sounds like a fat sack of cash,” she mumbles.

The man ignores her. “Don’t answer that; it doesn’t matter. Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, huh?”

“Are you serious?” The woman scoffs as the man sets his gaze on the bear trap. “We’ve stumbled across our biggest catch yet, and we’re just throwing it away? We could be absolutely minted off him and you want me to just send him on his merry way?”

“Well, Gvette,” the man says flatly, “do you really think anyone’s gonna wanna buy something that looks like it’s been dragged through ten inches of mud?”

That gives her enough pause for Skat to don a smug grin and shoot a quick wink to the prince. “Open the trap, will ya?” he adds.

It isn’t gentle. The woman—Gvette, the prince assumes—rips the trap open and lets its barbed teeth tear through any part of his skin they haven’t already. Skat holds him, almost vice-like, as he squirms and cries against Gvette's heartless freeing of his leg. He can’t help but bury his face into the man’s shoulder when Gvette first wrenches it apart.

Skat grabs his hands to try and help up to his feet. The prince shivers at nothing. “Am—” His voice catches when he puts a little too much weight on his leg. “Am I dead?”

“Well, I ain’t one for talkin’ to spirits,” Skat says brightly, “so I’d assume not.”

“I can’t feel my hands.”

There’s a pause that’s a little too thick. “You’re cold, kiddo. You’ve been lying in an inch of wet mud.”

Gvette takes the prince’s arm, rather reluctantly, as Skat pulls a blanket from his bag. He swings it open and onto the prince’s shoulders in one easy move. “A’ight,” he says as he ushers Gvette away to retake his spot at this side. “Let’s get you warmed up and into some new clothes, maybe.”

So we can get you home hangs unsaid in the air. That, or so we can see how much people are willing to pay for you.

Neither of those are an option.

They might want his leg healed before they try anything. That would give him time, and it’d certainly give him a means of escape.

The prince clings to the old knight, with no other choice, and prays that the man’s warmth to him is true.

(next part)

[incesthemes]

happy wincest wednesday!! i'm curious about what you think might happen to sam and dean's relationship in a world where they never find john in season one (eg. azazel kidnaps him to take him off the chessboard, he dies on an obscure hunt without lining up the clues well enough for s&d to follow him, etcetera). where would that major lingering question leave them? in terms of wincest, do you think john's death was necessary to "allow" them to act on their codependency, or would his absence push them together regardless?

OK please excuse any typos, i AM writing this with a cast on. anyway HAPPY WINCEST WEDNESDAY!!!!! this is such an awesome prompt, you've definitely got me thinking.

based on my understanding of seasons 1-2, john actually serves more to drive sam and dean apart than being them together, mostly in the way he serves as a symbol for sam and dean's fates, which are diametrically opposed. by pursuing john, they are pursuing the fates given to them, and those fates dictate a retelling of cain and abel: dean is supposed to kill sam, who has become a monster. it's only when they abandon john that they can avoid their destinies—which is why, in season 2, dean is successful at avoiding his fate (for the most part, starting from 2.09), but sam is not. sam, rather, is following a path he believes john would have wanted for him by continuing to hunt (he completely made this up in his head which is still so funny to me), but in reality pursuing the hunt continues to push him down the road azazel wanted for him. and this is why, during their "honeymoon" phase circa 2.10 to 2.17 (and ambiguously continued into 2.20), sam is the one driving most of the conflict, while dean takes an emotional, supportive role to reassure sam that he doesn't have to succumb to fate. dean has, in these episodes, fully abandoned his fate, while sam still clings to it and introduces doubt into dean's mind through his own self-assured convictions. and this is paralleled by dean fully abandoning his father and the duty john saddled him with, and by sam wanting to honor his father by continuing to hunt down azazel (and hunt in general).

and we see this in season 1 as well: every time john makes an appearance in some way, it furthers the plot. and the plot is sam's fate (dean's fate isn't truly introduced until season 2, and so dean exists sort of ambiguously and as a result lacks narrative agency throughout season 1; his decisions make no impact on the story and sam alone drives the plot forward). john is a symbol for azazel, functionally speaking, and azazel is a symbol for sam's fate. john is azazel is destiny. thus why sam and john are so deeply paralleled and intertwined: they all come to reflect the same thing. in this way dean is the true outsider to the conflict pertinent to the story, and he's treated as such throughout the first season. he makes his mark instead by parroting john, by becoming his mouthpiece in his absence. his own individuality is constantly pushed to the side and suppressed until 1.18 allows him to finally move forward into some semblance of personhood, which is what he needs in order to finally defy john in 1.20.

i just realized this is a lot of context and not an actual answer lmao but basically all of this to say, i don't actually think john's death was necessary for their codependency. it took root in them around 1.11, long before they actually "found" john in 1.16. and it was 1.18, an episode which had little to do with john directly, which allowed dean to break out of the mold he had forced himself into. the act of choosing each other, specifically over john (who represents fate), is what allows them to achieve codependency. the moment where they choose to exist in a codependent relationship indeed is one where john is still alive, in the season 1 finale. sam chooses dean over john, in doing so abandoning his fate, and they solidify their deeper connection. it is in fact john's death which causes sam to falter in this conviction because of his desire to honor john's memory (again by just making shit up in his head about his father. i love him), and this decision has massive ramifications throughout the rest of the season.

if, instead, they simply lost john and never found him, i think a lot of the john-generated conflict would have been avoided. and john generates a lot of conflict for someone who shows up in just a handful of episodes, because he is a symbol of destiny for both of his children, pressuring them in equal amounts but in completely different ways. without that pressure looming over their heads, i think pretty much all of the conflict in season 2 could have been avoided: sam wouldn't feel the need to keep hunting azazel despite throwing away his fate and likely wouldn't be so resistant to dean's persuasions; dean wouldn't be torn between duty to his father and duty to his brother; john's memory wouldn't have caused the problems it did in the first half of the season (especially 2.02-2.04). assuming the rest of season 1 played out roughly the same even with john's absence, it would stand to reason that they would still choose their codependency, and they would settle into some kind of fucked-up domestic bliss—probably continuing to hunt small-scale until azazel inevitably forced their hand anyway (tenacious bastard). sam giving up on his revenge quest would settle most of the enduring conflicts in season 2, and sam only doesn't do that because of john's death.

of course, this makes the assumption that abandoning john is still their active choice. i think that's a reasonable assumption to make because they had begun the process of extricating themselves from their father way, way before john ever shows up or before the end of the season where they achieve codependency. for dean this looks like rebellion, defiance against the iron grip john has around him. and for sam this looks like forgiveness, which he steadily accomplishes across season 1. by 1.20 they no longer define themselves by john but by each other, and it's a mere two episodes before they make the final plunge into each other. it has little to do with john and much more to do with themselves and their interactions, their natural conflict and their unique resolutions. giving up on finding dad seemed to already be something dean was working towards by the time john showed his face in 1.16 (he was resistant to pursuing john single-mindedly and preferred to focus on the smaller hunts, both out of deference to john and out of his own desire to save people), and sam's gradual forgiveness of john began as early as 1.08. so really it was specifically his absence that allowed them to come together, because the groundwork for their extrication began without john and it bloomed despite john. he is the axis around which they are turned, but it is the process of overcoming him which allows them to choose each other. they replace their father with their brother (and in 2.03 sam even offers to replace john very, very literally, by "filling the hole" john left behind in dean) and this replacement—literally, as their father and the man who raised them, and figuratively, as the symbol for their destinies—is the foundation of their codependency.

at the same time, this doesn't exactly look at the potential conflicts that would arise with john's absence. there would be little plot movement without him there driving them forward; they would remain stagnant, and that stagnation could disallow the blossoming of their codependency through a lack of choices and decisions. it is of course the deliberate choosing of brother over father which inevitably drives them closer—in 1.11 it's sam choosing to save dean instead of finding john; in 1.16 it's dean choosing to send john away instead of braving the world together; in 1.20 it's sam and dean both standing up to john in equal measures; in 1.21-22, it's sam choosing to let azazel escape. without john exerting pressure on them, sam and dean sit comfortably without moving, together but with a marked distance between them. which was exactly meg's plan in 1.16: they weren't moving fast enough for her liking, so she used john as bait (the three of them were mutually bait for each other, rather) to force them to make decisions.

so it's sort of a double-edged sword. they steadily come together and twist themselves around each other without john there to drive them apart, but at the same time it is john's active presence which allows them to take definitive steps toward their desired state of being (codependency). without the pressure john exerts on the narrative, their progress is slow, and they're too nervous to make those drastic leaps from step to step without some external force pitting them against each other. in that way they're a little too comfortable with each other (a lifetime together will do that for you), and they have to be unavoidably forced out of that comfort in order for them to commit to anything. john is both the driving force for their codependency and the wedge hammered between them, which sums up his narrative role so poetically if you ask me.

so like, tldr (seriously), i think if john went missing and they made the active choice to stop looking for him, they still definitely would have the potential to achieve codependency, but it might take them a much longer time to do so, especially with azazel's meddling (because he, of course, wants them to kill each other—that's their destiny after all). without something to rotate around, they risk stagnation, but it would likely be a comfortable stagnation with steady, if slow, progress toward a better, closer relationship. i wouldn't say the end product would ever be healthy though, because it's clear early on that their ideal relationship with each other is that of codependency, and so they are constantly striving for that end goal. and like, thank god for that, idk what i'd do if they were normal about each other 💦

[blossoms-phan]

will never pass up the opportunity, so! i am asking. what are your phanfic recommendations?

ask (honoured!) and you shall receive bestie! quick preface: i returned to the wonderful world of reading phanfic around the start of this year and have admittedly missed out on years of incredible work i am now catching up on! also in terms of what i read i generally lean towards current-era fics, canon compliant/fluff/smut- although i'm always taking recs from lovely moots/whoever, you may find this isn't the largest range (no aus/long chapter fics or whatever) but this is just a selection of what i've discovered/loved in the past few months and i hope to make more of these as i discover more writings!

shoutout to everyone on here for their recs, all the incredible fanfic writers and the peeps at @phanfictioncatalogue for their work and accessibility and being the reason i discovered so many new fics/tropes i now love <3 ok lets get into ittttttttt

"you look at my face a lot" by natigail: i credit this fic for getting me into reading phanfic again in 2024 <3 one of the first ones i read post-hiatus and i've returned to it countless times! it makes my heart jump, just so sweet and so them. the slittening(s) were such an iconic moment i can't believe it's been 6+ months since them but i love the little moments like dan describing phil's hair colour to a sephora worker, always wanting to know more about each other and the soft intimacy.

"the angel in the marble" by ivylakes: OHH MY GOODNESS this one is artttt. this one is my fave of the post-phlondeing fics i can just see and feel everything that happens, the loving, lazy intimacy, and following this week's t-shirt events it absolutely cements my HC that angel is a nickname for our philly. introspection, hair-kissing, body worship- i eat it up (im having a thing for mirrors in fics rn so there's also that)

"slumber party" by possumdnp: if i wasn't already clear reality-based fics really just do it for me and i love this one!! slumber party is one of my favourite recent-ish gaming vids and i just love the cozy comfort vibes of having a sleepover and getting a little flirty with your best friend/crush going on 15 years <3

"after the birthday stream" by trashcanfromgallifrey: the birthday stream ignited something in all of us but this is just such a perfect depiction of (possible) events after hehe. feels so them, just love the loving intimacy and shower activities and fluffy endings with cake <3 (shoutout hannah ily!!)

"lovers, keep on the road you're on" by possumdnp: another personal fave. japhan 2019 is EVERYTHING to me, this is so lovely and well-researched and i just go in between reading this and watching the stories from it when i want to cry and book a flight to tokyo

"welcome home! (never leave that long again)" by natigail: this one is just soooooo soft and sweet and fluffy. so heartwarming and one of the many wad reunion fics that has my heart <3

ok i'm going to end up including all 40+ of my bookmarks (not a lot. but working on it hehe) if i don't stop myself so as much as i could write paragraphs about all of these just know that my PPA test is positive and i was probably sweating/giggling/kicking my feet at all of these so here's a speedrun list of pure smut (sorry it's a lot of what i read lmao):

"juxtaposition", "slow down", "sensitive", "some kind of mood" and literally everything written by the force that is intoapuddle

"come light me up" by JudeAraya (perhap not pure smut but I loveeee the teasing and characterization in this so so dan ugh)

"appreciation" by Scuddleduck

"a little vitamin D" by Spring_Haze

"good for you, good for you" and "under my thumb" by dvp_95

"lucky" by iihappydaysii

i could keep going but for now i'm going to stop here! i'm sorry if this is messy i have no idea what i'm doing with linking and stuff but i hope this introduces at least one person to a new fic they end up loving! i lurked/read sooo many fics before finally creating an a03 account only a little over a month ago so i def might be missing some i've forgotten to go back and bookmark! shoutout to all of these writers (i could include multiple works from them all u ppl are amazing)- again i'm soo open to discovering more phanfic and want to expand my horizons, i've started to read some chaptered fics i didn't include on here but will reblog more current reads where i can! also if we're moots pls shamelessly promote your works i'd love to check them out! need to start commenting more too but ok ok wrapping it up

[raayllum]

me asking myself if callum would torture someone for information if rayla or ezran's lives were on the line

[possamble]

Thank you for writing the (messy but neccessary) farcille breakdown. You handled it so wonderfully aaaaaaaah!! Like the other anon I was wondering how far "rock bottom" could get (because chapter 4 already felt pretty rock bottom) but. Yeah. That's pretty rock bottom, huh. The tragedy of loving someone but the other person not understanding <- this applies to both of them.

I think it was really neat how you flipped the question on who's reaching out to who with the academy flashback and the final scene with Namari, because... Marcille clinging onto Falin really is just a reversal of their academy days, isn't it? To everyone who met them after they reunited, it was always Marcille chasing after Falin, but to those who were at the magic academy, it was Falin chasing after Marcille. From picking flowers and berries to eat together, inviting Marcille out to see a play, and generally monopolizing her free time... I'm sure any of them would say the same thing as Namari, but in reverse. No wonder everyone thinks Marcille is just another friend to Falin. They weren't there to witness her pining /j. Idk!! I was rereading the chapter and the academy flashback girl was like "why do you hang off of Marcille so much" and I screamed to myself, "hey wait. HEY WAIT."