#whatever choice he makes on how to end this is right

[harrywavycurly]

Loving a Killer: Tuesdays are for Dancing

Masterlist: Here

Pairing: Killer!Harry x wife!reader

Tag List: @umadirectioner

CW: Language, mentions of ways to harm someone, mentions of weapons, mentions of drugs (it’s a pain medication that Harry doesn’t know about), threats, and as always Harry and Mitch kill people for a living in this series.

A/N: I had to come up with a way to introduce y’all to Niall and this just seemed to fit? It’s dramatic but in a fun-ish way or at least in a fun way for this series.

Summary: Mitch gets a call while him and Harry are at work and it leads so some dramatic events that let us get introduced to your nosey cubical mate that is the one and only Niall Horan✨

“I say we use the zip ties on his ankles.” Harry suggests as he places a hand on his hip while running his free one through his hair as he stands in front of a fold out table littered with different objects he packed with him for this evening’s job. “Makes it easier to move him to the trunk if his ankles are tied together and the zip ties haven’t let us down before unlike the-”

“I get it okay? Rope only works in the movies but how was I supposed to know that?” Mitch says in an attempt to defend his choice of wanting to use rope on a man’s hands and feet a few jobs ago, but it ended up being a massive issue because the rope kept coming undone as they moved the body from the living room to the car and then to the woods to be disposed of.

“It could’ve worked if you knew how to properly tie a knot.” Harry states as he reaches for the bundle of zip ties while Mitch just rolls his eyes as he walks over to the man lying on his back in the middle of the basement.

“Let me guess-” Harry turns to look over his shoulder as Mitch bends down and grabs the knife from next to the man’s wrist, placing it in his open duffle bag near the table. “You know how to tie a perfect knot?” He questions making Harry just shrug as he looks back at the table so he can count out four zip ties, deciding it’s best to do the wrists as well just to be safe.

“I mean I’ve been known to be able to tie a decent knot or at least one someone can’t wiggle their way out of.” Mitch doesn’t miss the slight suggestive tone to Harry’s voice as he talks or the small smirk that tugs at his lips when he turns to hand him two zip ties so he can get started on tying the man’s wrists together while Harry works on his ankles.

“Really? She’s into being-” Before Harry can even shoot him a warning glare to watch what comes out of his mouth next, Mitch’s brows are pinching together as he moves the zip ties to one hand so he can reach into his back pocket of his jeans for his phone. “Uh hello?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he begins to zip tie the man’s ankles while keeping a watchful eye on his bestfriend who in all the years he’s been working with him can count on three fingers the times he’s ever answered the phone while on a job.

“Yes-yeah he’s with me.” Mitch gives Harry a quick glance making Harry get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What? Uh-uhm okay yeah yeah we will uh-yeah be right there uh huh-bye.” Harry is already done with the man’s ankles and standing up by the time Mitch is hanging up and sliding his phone back into his jeans.

“What happened?” Mitch runs a hand over his face with his free hand before he looks at Harry who is packing his backpack up, preparing to leave the moment Mitch explains what the phone call was about because he can just tell whatever it was about isn’t good.

“That was Niall-”

“Niall? As in my wife’s coworker Niall?”

“Uh yeah so apparently she goes to-”

“To dance lessons on Tuesdays? Yeah because that’s the night we work late and she doesn’t like to be home alone at night that much. Now what the fuck happened? Why did he call you?”

“Well if you would just let me talk I would happily tell you.” Harry sends Mitch a glare as he shoves the last of his stuff into his backpack but Mitch just ignores him as he quickly finishes zip tying the man’s wrists together.

“Niall went with her tonight because he was bored and I guess something happened and he thinks her toe is broken? But she’s okay and-and Harry dude where are you going? I drove us here you asshole!” Mitch shouts as he scrambles to get to his feet and grab his duffle bag before Harry is at the top of the stairs that lead to the kitchen of the man’s house.

The thing is Mitch knows Harry well enough to know he will absolutely leave him here if he doesn’t make it to the car fast enough so Mitch skips every other step and barley makes it into the passenger seat before Harry is putting the car into reserve and heading towards where he already knows you’re at. Harry doesn’t bother looking at how fast he’s going or how quickly the lights change from yellow to red as he runs through them. The only thing running through his mind is getting to you as fast as he can because until his eyes land on you and he sees for himself just how badly you’re hurt or hopefully how not hurt you really are, he can’t focus on much else.

“Traffic laws are still in effect by the way and I’m pretty sure you’ve already broken three of them.” Mitch reminds his friend who he knows is just in a panicked and probably slightly angry state of mind over the fact you got hurt and he wasn’t there to stop it from happening or make you feel better the moment it happened.

“Yeah well coming from someone who just stabbed a man not even two hours ago I think traffic laws are the least of our worries.” Harry argues with a casual tone that makes Mitch just let out a chuckle as he shakes his head.

“You just always have to be right don’t you?” This gets a small smile out of Harry as he briefly looks over at Mitch with a shrug.

“So…Niall has your number?” Mitch lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes making Harry grin because he can see the tiniest hint of a smile wanting to form on his face, he knew the two of them hit it off when they met a few weeks ago at the festival but he hadn’t heard much else about it because well Mitch isn’t one to share details about his personal life unless Harry really pushes for them.

Mitch knows Harry is only asking about Niall as a way to distract himself so his mind won’t wonder off to the darkest corners and start imagining the worst possible scenarios the two of them could be headed towards even though the only injury either of them know you might have is a broken toe. So Mitch decides that he’ll be nice, he will let Harry in on some bits of information regarding the Irish brunette man he was forced to meet at an event he only agreed to go to because of the promise of cookies and the chance to indulge in carving into something for fun and not for work, Mitch has always enjoyed a good pumpkin carving contest. But he also isn’t going to give this information up easily, so he thinks of something Harry can do for him in exchange for it.

“I’ll tell you about it if you actually stop at the next red light.” Mitch offers causing Harry to let out a huff as he reluctantly lets off the gas just a bit, his way of silently agreeing to the terms his bestfriend gave him making Mitch loosen the death like grip he has on the passenger side door handle.

Niall is a ball of nerves as he looks at the door of the bar waiting for it to burst open and to see your husband walk through it, he chews on his bottom lip as he looks down at his phone and sees it’s been five minutes since he’s called Mitch so he knows that’s probably way too soon for Harry to arrive considering both of them were at work when he called. He wouldn’t feel so nervous if the last few times he saw Harry he was just a little more friendly because the thing Niall doesn’t understand is how someone who works with computers and is a certified tech nerd can be so terrifying but that’s exactly what Harry is to Niall, terrifying. He knows the moment Mitch and Harry walk through the door he is going to be getting some hard glares and probably a nasty comment or two so he’s just trying to prepare himself the best he can.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a good color I just said it’s unusual that’s all.” Niall’s head shoots up at the sound of Mitch’s voice as his eyes land on the door just in time to see Mitch walk through it with Harry following close behind him.

Now Niall has seen Harry before, he’s met him three or four times in casual settings and once at an office party but he’s never seen him look quite like this. The sleeves of his all black button up are rolled up to his elbows letting him get an eyeful of the tattoos that decorate his forearms and hands, it’s tucked into well fitting black trousers that are held up with a thin black belt while his hair is pushed back and his usual glasses are gone making Niall assume he has contacts in. It’s as if his attire just adds another layer of his already intimidating personality making Niall swallow down his nerves as Harry’s eyes finally land on him.

“Where is she?” Niall feels his eyes go wide at how harsh and deep Harry’s voice is as he walks towards where he’s standing near the end of the bar. He opens his mouth to say something but it’s as if all of a sudden Niall doesn’t knows how to form actual words so he just kind of stands there opening and closing his mouth for a moment making Harry’s jaw clench as his eyes narrow in one of the harshest glares Niall has ever been on the receiving end of.

“She’s in my office.” Harry’s glare softens as he looks away from Niall and towards Jeff who is standing behind the bar cleaning some glasses.

“Thanks.” Harry calls over his shoulder as he rushes past Niall and towards the back office of the bar and that’s when Niall lets out a deep sigh as he turns to rest his hands on the top of the bar finally feeling like he can somewhat breathe now that Harry is out of the room.

“Don’t take it personally he’s like that with everyone.” Mitch explains as he comes up to stand next to Niall so he can place a reassuring hand on his back.

“Is he always so-so intense?” Mitch just shrugs as Niall turns his head to look at him with a raised brow. “Nice to see you again by the way. This isn’t exactly how I imagined it going but I’ll take what I can get.” Niall jokes or at least tries to as an attempt to lighten the mood and he thinks it’s worked when he hears a soft chuckle come from Mitch’s mouth.

“Harry just really loves his wife that’s all.” Mitch explains as he looks around Niall and signals Jeff who just gives him a nod and a smile before turning around to start making Mitch’s usual drink. Niall just rolls his eyes as he turns his body so he’s now facing Mitch with his elbow on the bar and his hands clasped together in front of him.

“Oh come on the man looked like he wanted to kill-”

“What the fuck did you give her?” Harry’s voice is loud and full of anger that’s directed towards the man standing in front of Mitch as he comes barreling out of Jeff’s office. Niall doesn’t have time to do anything before Harry has a fistful of his shirt and is shoving his back into the bar with one hand while his other hand slams down onto the top of the bar allowing him to lean over Niall as he speaks. “You have five seconds to tell me why my wife is in that office acting loopy and dazed out of her fucking mind.” Mitch doesn’t even flinch at how harsh Harry’s tone is as his grip on Niall’s shirt tightens, Mitch just places a hand on Harry’s shoulder which he instantly shrugs off making Mitch roll his eyes.

“Harry you’ve got to-”

“Tell me to calm down and I swear I’ll break his nose right now.” Harry threatens as he quickly turns to give Mitch a look that makes the long haired man let out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “You now have three seconds.” He states as his attention goes back to Niall who is trying his hardest not to freak out at the fact he just heard Harry casually mention breaking his nose.

“She uhm said she-she was in pain so I gave her something to make her feel better that’s all.” Niall explains the best he can with how he’s bent over the bar.

“You don’t know me very well Niall but you should know that I hate to repeat myself.” Niall closes his eyes after Harry’s statement half expecting to feel a blow to his face giving him the broken nose he heard him mention just a moment before. “So just know I’m only going to ask you one more time.” Niall slowly opens his eyes as Harry’s grip on his shirt loosens but only slightly. “What did you give her?” Mitch looks at Niall over Harry’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him and that’s when Niall realizes he might’ve made a mistake.

“I gave her a pain pill I had saved over from my knee surgery that I just keep around for emergencies.” Harry quirks a brow at Niall’s admission as his eyes momentarily glance down to his knees and Mitch knows he’s storing that information for later just incase he needs to use it against the man he still has in his harsh grip. “I just wanted her to feel better I’m sorry.” He blurts out making Harry let out a scoff as he gives Niall a shove as he releases his hold on his shirt.

“Oh well she’s feeling wonderful Niall so wonderful she can’t tell even me what actually hurts or what happened.” Harry says with a dark chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair while he turns to take a step away from Niall. “All she knows is that she feels nice and floaty.” He says as he glares at Niall over his shoulder, Niall stands up and fixes his shirt with a sigh as he glances towards the office door he knows you’re currently behind.

“I’m sorry-” Niall’s apology is cut off by Harry just ignoring him as he heads back towards the office, Mitch just gives Niall a sympathetic look as he follows behind.

“I know he seems like a massive jackass and for the most part he is but maybe if you go back there,” Jeff’s voice causes Niall to spin around and face the bar as he places a shot of whiskey down in front of him, Niall follows Jeff’s head tilt in the direction of his office. “You’ll see him in a different light.” He finishes explaining as Niall reaches down for the shot glass.

“I’d rather not get my ass kicked but thanks.” Niall answers before downing the shot and handing the empty glass to Jeff who just laughs.

“He won’t even notice you’re in the room.”

“Trust me he’ll notice. He fucking hates me man. I practically drugged his wife.”

“If you’re in the same room as her then no. He won’t.” With that Jeff turns and heads towards the opposite end of the bar leaving Niall standing there with no other option really than to just suck it up and honestly he doesn’t want to seem like a horrible friend so he needs to at least go check and see how you’re doing.

Mitch turns to look at the door when he sees it open and he gives Niall a small smile as he leans against the doorframe a few feet from where Mitch is leaning against the wall closest to the door. Harry doesn’t pay him any attention as he kneels down in front of the small couch in Jeff’s office, right in front of where your left foot is propped up on a pillow.

“Baby can you tell me if this hurts?” Niall feels his mouth slightly drop open at the tone of Harry’s voice, it’s soft and gentle, not a trace of the anger Niall heard earlier and the way he’s looking at you is as if he thinks even too harsh of a glance could break you.

“Sweetheart.” Harry’s face breaks out into a playful smile as he looks over at you and sees your eyes are closed but he knows by the way you’re breathing that you’re not asleep, just acting like you are.

“You sound like my husband.” Mitch chuckles as you let out a sigh while still keeping your eyes closed while Harry just playfully rolls his eyes at you as he gently reaches over and puts his hand on top of your foot. “But you can’t actually be him because it’s Tuesday and Tuesdays are for dancing.” Harry just nods with a smile still on his face as he puts a little bit of pressure on your foot while looking at your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Oh is he not allowed to come to these dancing Tuesdays?” Harry asks as he moves his hand further down your foot, still applying pressure and seeing if you show any signs of pain. When you give him a small pout he immediately removes his hand from your foot and rests it on your ankle. “Did that hurt baby?” Harry questions with a furrowed brow as you slowly open your eyes.

“He works late Tuesdays and comes home when I’m asleep.” You mumble sadly making Harry return your pout as he stands up and places a hand on the back of the couch so he can lean down and place a kiss to your forehead. “You wanna know a secret?” Harry just lets out a soft chuckle as he nods his head while you try to sit up onto your elbows. “Sometimes I’m not asleep and I just act like I am.” You whisper making Harry smile at the little giggle you let out when you fall back onto the couch after telling him your secret.

“That’s so sneaky of you love.” He teases making you smile as you reach up and place a hand on his cheek. “I’m sure your husband hates Tuesdays and coming home so late he has to eat dinner all alone and can’t even get a goodnight kiss.” He explains as he places a kiss to the inside of your wrist before you pull your hand away from his face.

“You always get a goodnight kiss.” You argue making Harry laugh as he leans down to place a quick kiss to your lips in an attempt to get rid of your fake pout.

“Do I? Are you sure?” He asks as he pulls away making you roll your eyes and let out a huff as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Yes I’m sure because you wake me up and beg me for one because you’ll have bad dreams if you don’t get it.” Harry just nods as he quickly leans down and kisses your cheeks before standing up and turning to grab your purse and shoes off the floor.

“That’s right sweetheart your goodnight kisses keep the bad dreams away so if I have to beg for them then so be it.” You smile as you watch him gather your things into your purse and toss the bag over his shoulder before he turns back around so he facing you.

“Hi.” You mumble as you look up at him causing a dimpled grin to take over his face as he looks down at you.

“Hi baby.” He says as he holds out his hands for you to take to help you sit up. “Ready to go home?” You just nod your head and before you can even ask him for your shoes you feel one of his arms under your knees and another under your arms scooping you into his arms. Niall moves out of the way before Harry has to tell him to allowing room for the two of them to exit the office and when you see Niall you give him a big smile and a wave.

“Bye Niall! See you tomorrow!” Niall just laughs and waves back at you while Harry ignores the interaction as he heads for the door to the bar with the keys to your car in his hand.

Harry knows he’s going to have to smooth things over with Niall at some point but not tonight, not when he’s still not even sure what exactly happened or what exactly on your foot hurts. As much as he hates to say it, he can admit he understands why Niall did what he did because he saw his friend in pain and wanted to help so he did what he thought would make you feel better. He just hopes that Niall will keep his moment of anger between the two of them because he just made you a promise about threatening people and he knows you’ll be beyond upset with him if you find out he threatened your cubical mate. But he will find a time to worry about that later because right now all he wants to worry about is getting you home and then figuring out which movie you want to watch in bed while he makes you dinner and gets you situated before he has to unfortunately return to the man in the basement to finish his job for the evening but he decides that can at least wait until you’ve gone to sleep.

With Harry gone Mitch takes a moment and looks over at Niall who he can tell is struggling with understanding how that man was the same man who had him bent over a bar as he casually threatened to break his nose not even five minutes ago. It’s something everyone who meets Harry goes through because they all come to learn that there’s two sides to Harry and only one person gets the side that involves gentle touches and soft voices and that person is you. But Mitch knows that since Niall is your coworker he gets told stories about the softer side of Harry and even though the past few times he’s been around him while Harry hasn’t been the friendliest he wasn’t ever blatantly an asshole, so meeting the rougher side of him full force tonight was probably a bit much.

“It’s weird right?” Mitch asks breaking Niall out of his trance as he stares at the door you and Harry just went through. “Seeing him like that with her?”

“Is he a Gemini or something?” Niall asks with a more than serious expression on his face as he looks from the door to Mitch who just laughs and shakes his head as he reaches over and puts a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Like with the two people in one body kinda thing?” He adds with a quirked brow making Mitch just give his shoulder a little squeeze.

“Nope he’s an Aquarius.”

[vityaposting]

WRITING REQUEST HIII

what about reader going to viktor to get augmented for a non physical reason - like maybe mental illness or addiction or something (idk dealers choice) and viktor slowly getting to know them over time. eventually reader overcomes their problem, and viktor realises that he likes reader just the way they are - unaugmented or not.

don't feel obligated to do this lol just saw that your requests where open

HI!!!! i love this request so much i decided it needs to be a multi chapter thing (4 or 5 probably?) i got broken up with yesterday so i ATE this prompt up lol

how to heal a rusted heart - mh!viktor x gn!reader - part 1

wc: 2100

You approach Emberflit Alley with no small amount of trepidation. The house is smaller than you expected, shoddier on the outside; shutters hang from foggy, cracked windows, and ivy like claw-scratches makes its way up the worn brick walls. You know—as does every Zaunite you’ve ever met—that there is more to the Machine Herald’s residence than meets the eye. You don’t know exactly how—somewhere, some way, there is a massive laboratory tucked behind the house’s unassuming facade. Maybe a separate underground sector, or even a pocket dimension supplied by the Herald’s knowledge of thinning the barrier between tech and magic. All these speculations are, of course, rumors—you’ve never had a reason to solve the mystery yourself. Until today. Today, you’d snapped.

Your chest still burns with the fury of it all. Betrayal. And to think they’d claimed to love you. Sickly-sweet self-satisfaction rises like bile to the back of your throat, putting a little more power behind your knock on the door. You’d been right. Paranoia, your doctor had proclaimed years ago—a not-uncommon symptom of your particular ailment. Well, was it true paranoia if you were always proven right in the end?

It doesn’t matter. After tonight, you won’t care.

A thickly-accented voice cuts through the speaker above the knocker: “You may enter.”

Ominous. You push away your trepidation, another instinct you’d be free of sooner rather than later. The door is heavy steel—you have to use your shoulder to pry it open, but once you’ve managed its weight, it swings inward for you on well-oiled hinges.

You emerge into a wide space thick with the stenches of metal and oil, cast under an ambient glow in various shades of orange. Lights flicker at you from lanterns on the walls, from faint bulbs hung across the ceiling. A lab bench spans the entire length of the room, which seems impossibly large compared to the house’s outer facade. A pocket dimension it is, then. Maybe. You still can’t be sure. The equipment littered across the bench is foreign and complex-looking.

The whistle of steam and clicking of gears greets you before the Herald himself can.

He’s tinkering with something. Something sharp. He sets it down, turns on his stool, lowers his hood and pushes his goggles onto his forehead. You aren’t quite sure what you expected the Machine Herald to look like under his armor and mask. If he even takes them off at all. Whatever you expected, this isn’t it.

“Good evening,” he says levelly. His voice rumbles in his throat, his accent lending the greeting a soft, alluring quality. He tilts his head, an oddly innocent gesture, considering his reputation. “With what can I be of service?”

The words you’ve been rehearsing for hours lodge themself in your throat, and even a heavy swallow can’t force them out. The Herald is unblinking. Molten orange pupils burn into yours, piercing against his dark scleras. His face is pale and his features sharp—he’s beautiful, you note, not completely willingly—and his frame is thin and willowy beneath his cloak.

“Well?” he prompts, and shame floods you, reminding you why you decided to take measures this drastic in the first place. “Nobody comes this deep into the Lanes just to visit me. Not to say I mind the solitude.”

He doesn’t want you here.

You’re here for a service, scolds the rational side of your mind, a side which seems to grow more and more powerless with every passing week, with every friend you lose, with every burst of rage and every bridge you burn. A service he openly advertises. He allowed you to open the door. He could have… have death-rayed you.

“Mister… Machine Herald,” you begin, horrendously embarrassed at how your voice quavers. The air in the lab is muggy. You wrap your arms around your middle anyway. “I’ve heard of the… the services you provide, and I—”

“Viktor,” he interrupts. “Viktor will suffice.”

You cough. His eyes narrow.

“Go on. You seek augmentation.”

“Of the… unconventional variety, I guess you could say. Less of a physical augmentation and more of a…”

“You are at war with your own mind,” he observes. “I can see it in your eyes. Come closer.”

And you do, because there’s something in the rumble of his voice—which is so close to a growl you feel weak in the knees—and the sharp glow of his eyes that draws you in like a moth to a lantern. He gestures to the second stool at his side. You wonder who it’s normally reserved for. Patients? Experimental subjects? A partner, perhaps—or has he always only worked alone?

“You’re tense. Relax.” He speaks with such calm authority that it’s impossible not to listen. “I will not touch you without explicit permission. If it’s only emotional suppression you seek, I may be able to offer a solution that does not require me to lay hands on you.”

You don’t know why this disappoints you.

He tilts his head as he gazes at you, one gloved hand fidgeting with a trinket on his workbench. “Tell me. In detail. What is it you want out of this? What causes you such pain?”

“Everything,” you say. It’s almost a whimper. He raises an eyebrow. Clearing the embarrassment from your throat, you try again. “Everything is… is so much. I’m scared. All the time. I can’t love anyone anymore, I… I’m afraid they’ll all leave me.” Oftentimes, they do, you neglect to add. This won’t concern Viktor. He has no reason to care. “And it can change on a coin. It’s like you said. It’s like being at war.” A war between your body and your brain, you’ve realized, would never be one worth fighting. This, however, seems to be the only way to put an end to things. You look at Viktor plaintively, hoping he isn’t judging. If the rumors are true, he removed his ability to judge long ago.

“Ah,” he said after a silence that seemed to stretch for eons. “I understand.”

“My doctor says it’s an… ailment.”

“That may be,” he says. “As such, you have a right to want to heal it. Procedures with the intent to alter emotions are harder and riskier than procedures focused on the physical. I am happy to give you what you ask for, but you must be aware of the potential consequences. Do you intend to eliminate all emotions, or… only their extremities?”

“Only the extremities.” Life will be much easier, you think, if you never have to love another person again. Amicable acquaintanceship, however, hurts nobody.

“Good,” he hums. “Complete removal is difficult. If I weren’t so stubborn I’d nearly say it was impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried,” he says plainly.

“And you failed?” You don’t know what emboldens you to say it.

“I simply have not yet succeeded.”

You look at him, then, really look at him. And behind those beautiful eyes that glow with the light of a hundred fires, shine with the darkness of a hundred polluted Zaun nights, you almost swear you see your own loneliness staring back at you.

“It’s risky,” he continues. “In the case that something goes awry, do not say I didn’t warn you.”

“Of course,” you whisper.

“May I take a closer look? I’d like to get a feel for the incision site.”

You nod a silent confirmation and bow your head, gripping the sides of the stool. He wheels himself closer. Lifts his hand. You hold your breath.

The Herald’s hands are gentle when they card through your hair, pushing a few strands away from your forehead. His demeanor now is a far cry from the terrifying villain you know him to be—the chaos-wreaking force of evil most of Zaun insists he is. You wonder, as your breathing calms, exactly how many of the tales are wild fantasy, because this soft touch is the realest thing you've felt in a long, long time.

“All I can promise you is that I will be careful,” he murmurs, tracing a line from the center of your forehead to the crown of your hair. “This particular procedure is immensely detail-oriented, even in comparison to the others I’ve performed. To dampen your emotions, I will be altering your limbic system, in the simplest of terms. However, if I am not meticulous, I risk damaging other functions, such as reasoning or memory.”

Truth be told, waking up without any memory of the hurt you’ve endured doesn’t sound too awful.

But, you realize as a shiver runs down your spine—you want to remember this.

“There is another option,” Viktor goes on. You’re forced to draw your attention away from his soft, prodding touches. “Implants in the form of pills. Those, however, I’ve not yet managed to make permanent. They’re finicky, and they don’t last long. You’d have to take them twice a day—one separate medication for each emotion you wish to suppress. I imagine it would all be a hassle. This, however… if you consent, I can perform the entire procedure in one process, and your desired results will be immediate.” He draws his hand back, lightly scratching your scalp—it’s enough to relax, but not enough to hurt. “You don’t have to decide today.”

“No, no. That’s alright. I’ll take the… the surgery.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Finality settles over you like a chilly breeze as he pulls away. You’ll finally be free. Free of heartbreak, of fury, of flaws. There’s something in his mechanical gaze that unnerves you and enthralls you simultaneously. Something human.

“Being that this is a complicated procedure,” he says, “I will have to schedule it in advance. I will reserve an entire day for you and I cannot free the time for a week. A week from today. Is that alright with you? I can give you the medication to temporarily curb your symptoms in the meantime, if you like. It’s experimental, but I am relatively sure of its safety.”

He looks so hopeful. You know the joy etched in the lines of his sharp face is nothing more than the joy of scientific innovation, but it’s endearing all the same. The Machine Herald of Zaun’s urban legends is a completely different person. You find it hard to believe that the cackling, murderous tyrant rumored to haunt the Lanes even shares a name with the man in front of you. There’s a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and a few locks of hair sticking up haphazardly from beneath his goggles. You find yourself cracking a grin for the first time in days.

“No,” you say. Your chest feels lighter. Just a bit. Enough to be noticeable, enough to instill the certainty that trusting your life to the Herald is the right decision—malicious cackle, terrifying armor, death laser, and all. “No, I’ll be alright.”

He crosses his arms over his lap. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he says softly. “But the ache in your heart… someone put it there. I know the feeling. You are not the first to be driven away from loving altogether. I once thought I had a simple fix. I… do not know if it was the foolproof solution I thought it was. I will perform any procedure on you that you wish. But you should know this. Metal is perfection, yes, but love… love can rust the strongest steel.” He swallows, fiery eyes flickering. “I thought I’d warn you. However, I do my best for all my patients, and you are no exception.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. You’re grateful for the lab’s low lighting—it’s unlikely Viktor can see the blush crawling up your neck. “I—thank you.”

“Do you still want this? Even considering the risk?”

He looks at you so softly. He must look at everyone that softly, you realize, but the knowledge doesn’t make you feel any less warm. “Yeah.”

He gives you a businesslike nod, and you can see the Machine Herald’s persona sliding back into place. Cold. Unfeeling. For a moment, though, you saw the truth. “Thank you. I will see you one week from today—be here as early in the morning as you please. I’ll walk you out. Be safe out there. I can only complete the procedure if you return to me in one piece.”

What a gentleman, you think, but you say nothing. You accept with a small smile.

His hand brushes your shoulder as you reach for the handle of the door. Your whole body sparks, as if you’re a machine already.

“Goodbye,” he says. “And best of luck. I will pray that the next week treats you kindly.”

You almost want to hug him goodbye—out of thanks if nothing else. You hold yourself back. “I’ll see you then.”

The last thing you see before the door shuts behind you are his eyes. Two pinpricks of light in the darkness of the Lanes. Mechanical though they are, you realize they still crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

[sweetkpopmusings]

miserable (you & me) | h. hyunjin <3

a/n: i have had these blurbs in my drafts FOREVER. "miserable (you & me)" is a song i've had on repeat since it dropped. i'm also a sucker for angst, so please enjoy these self-indulgent posts (they all have happy endings, i promise!) there will be one for each member, so stay tuned <3 pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1k | warnings: none really! | pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

난 가망이 없는 미래에 손을 뻗어 날 부었네 / “i stretched out my hand towards a hopeless future and poured myself out”

of course it would be raining right now. the day’s weather had been normal, a smattering of clouds above and an overcast glow hinting that the weather might take a turn for the worse, but nothing was set in stone. that turned out to be true in a more literal sense, hyunjin realized, while watching people mill about on the street below with freshly opened umbrellas. he scoffed. what did you think would happen? what did you think would change?

the answer was nothing. but i had no choice.

you and hyunjin met up for your usual weekend get-together, returning to a favorite drink spot of yours after a few weekends of schedules keeping you apart. he had missed you so dearly, something that became achingly clear when his whole body lit up from seeing your face peek through the entrance. you noticed the buzz in his body when he greeted you, a sweet laugh escaping your lips. hyunjin’s heart melted at the sound, collapsing even more into endearment when you said, “i missed you a ton, too.”

a moderate number of people took up the tables and seats in the building, so there was a comfortable hum of casual conversation surrounding you. hyunjin, as always, was so closely tuned into the sound of your voice, he would’ve believed you if you said the place was completely empty. it was clichéd for sure, but he was enraptured by every single thing you said. he loved listening to all your thoughts, stories, jokes, anecdotes; whatever you were willing to share with hyunjin, he’d accept with open and grateful hands. you both laughed as you finished telling him an embarrassing story your friend shared with you the other day, and, so you could take a sip of your drink, you asked hyunjin, “how are you?”

without skipping a beat, hyunjin answered, “i’ve liked you for the longest time.”

seeing as that was quite the unexpected answer to your question, you froze. your brain buffered, face showing barely any expression, except maybe shock or confusion. hyunjin, perhaps realizing what just occurred, reacted with wide eyes and frantic apologies. if his confession hadn’t stopped you so sharply in your tracks, the endless refrain of i’m so sorry! i don’t know why i did that. i’m so stupid! would have drowned out the words he spoke so naturally. you didn’t have time to process, but you tried to protest against hyunjin’s incessant apologies. this, it seemed, was fruitless.

hyunjin, with shaking legs and fumbling hands, gathered his things. 

“hyunjin, what’re you–”

“i should go, y/n,” he responded quickly, too quickly for him to mean it.

your heart broke at the way his voice cracked when he said your name, “no, just stay for a minute. please, i–”

his chest tightened when please fell from your lips, but he couldn’t bear the idea of you begging him to stay, only to tell him you didn’t feel the same. yes, it was immature, and, sure, it was probably selfish. yet all hyunjin could think to do was leave. so he did, his goodbye all staggered breaths and darting eyes.

you turned in your chair, barely catching his gaze as he raced to who knows where, “hyunjin?”

his eyes caught yours, and he ripped them away before he lost his foolish resolve. he hoped he offered you a soft smile, something to say i’m sorry for this. i just want you to be happy, and i guess this is me trying to make sure you stay that way. the adrenaline rush meant he couldn’t feel his face, though. he had no way of knowing what he looked like when he looked back at you. 

hyunjin’s whole trip home consisted of pleas for his legs to move faster. if his steps hit the ground hard enough, he could ignore all the scolding voices inside his head until he was safe in his room. if he were honest with himself, he was outrunning the look of shock on your face, and the way your voice fell when you asked him to stay. hyunjin, as he caught his breath in his room, realized that running away from you meant he ended up in front of his window, facing a future of heartbreak. a sardonic laugh broke free from his lips. maybe if you did it the right way, at the right moment, you’d be looking at them instead. maybe you’d be thinking of something other than angsty plotlines for the strangers passing by on the street below. 

“or maybe i could be hurt much worse,” he whispered to himself. 

that was the last sound that shared space with hyunjin in the room. he sat, mind racing and leg bouncing, completely silent. until someone knocked on the door.

hyunjin shuffled to the entryway, instinctively opening it at a familiar knock, only coming to when he saw you standing before him. of course, no matter how hard he tried, his body would always end up right in front of you.

ignoring the way his deflated figure twisted your chest up in all the worst ways, you chided, “you know it’s rude to confess to someone and leave immediately after, right? you didn’t give me a chance to respond.”

you huffed as you spoke. hyunjin couldn’t help the endeared smile that graced his face when he watched your frustrated, furrowed brow turn into a cute, unintentional pout. 

he thought, they are more precious to me than they’ll ever know, and he admitted, “you’re right. it was very rude of me. while i may not deserve to hear it after the way i acted, would you mind telling me what you were going to say?”

your shoulders relaxed as the familiar shine in hyunjin’s eyes returned. his beautiful smile came back too, as he watched your face light up with a reply he’d only ever dreamed of before.

“i like you too, hyunjin. i have for the longest time.”as though his hands weren’t shaking from anxiety a mere five minutes before this moment, hyunjin reached out to you, pulling you into his home and into his arms. when you accepted his invitation and melted into his embrace, hyunjin thought, i’ll pour my heart out to them again and again, if it means we’ll always end up right here, together.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[forbiddensonoftheseagod]

𓆩 "Never the favorite... Always the 'hero'..." 𓆪 - Percy Jackson

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Perseus, the only Greek hero with a happy ending.

But have we ever thought of Perseus Jackson?

Perseus Jackson, the hero yet never someone's favorite.

Perseus Jackson, the boy who never asked to be half blood.

Perseus Jackson who's lost his mother right before his eyes, thinking he'll never see her again.

Perseus Jackson who- aha, really- happens to be the first choice in getting the pressure of this world on his shoulders.

Of the gods, but never his friends has he ever been their favorite. No, never has been.

And who could blame him, honestly? Who’d want to consider him his favorite if the supposed hero can’t even do the one thing heroes were known to do?

He can’t even live up to the name he was given, the name of a hero who achieved everything and got everything he wanted. Yet what about the boy, who got-

Just pain, with every step and choice he made and took? What about him?

There’s nothing special about him that makes him the ‘favorite’ material, everything about him screams ‘hero’, but never really… Oh I don’t know?

How about just a boy who only wanted to be a normal boy, live like a normal boy. And perhaps be loved like a normal boy?

A boy who’s broken promises even when he doesn’t mean to, led to the hatred of others and rightfully so, he thinks. Percy doesn’t blame Nico for yelling the words “I hate you”, because he let the son of Hades down.

He’s let everyone down because that’s all he’s good for, not being a hero but rather just a disgrace to being even called one. No, no.

Percy Jackson is anything but a hero, anything but anyone’s favorite. He’s a failure, his entire life he’s done nothing but fail.

Percy Jackson failed since the age of twelve [12]. He’s only led behind a path of failure, a path filled with reasons that make it clear he’s clearly not worthy of keeping people close and much less considered as a favorite.

From failing to see the signs of what was bound to happen at twelve [12], to the inability of being a decent brother to Tyson. From being the reason Bianca died to being the reason Zoë had died, to being the reason Lee Fletcher and Castor died.

From being the reason half of camp had died during the cold days of war.

Perhaps he had been better off dead? Yeah.

Perhaps Percy deserved to never have been put into this world, to never have been received as the son of Poseidon. The scorpion should’ve killed him, or perhaps he should’ve let the sirens shred him to bits.

Maybe Nico would have successfully killed him the day he shouted how much he hated him, he’d be fine with him just leaving him there, too. Because that’s really all the ‘hero’ deserved.

The ones who died in his place were the actual heroes, not whatever the hell everyone makes Percy out to be. The Oracle had whispered it herself, once.

Percy is not a hero.

It was Luke, it was Silena, it was Ethan. The Apollo cabin, Castor.

Jason…

…

He should’ve died that evening, back at the forest with the scorpion. He’s let so many die, how could you possibly call him your favorite?

Perseus Jackson is nothing but a fraud, as Clarisse had yelled once. He’s made so many cry because he was unable to keep something so simple

A promise.

So when he says the next time, “I promise.”

He means he won’t. He won’t promise to stay alive.

He can’t even.

[astteriskk]

DRDT Theory : Recycled/Sacrificed Cast Members

[BACKGROUND]

So, in V3 (specifically in the 6th trial), it's said that the rest of the cast can leave if two people choose to sacrifice themselves.

At first, they think that sacrifice means death until it's revealed that the two sacrifices will move on to the next killing game.

You guys know where I'm going with this, right?

[THE SURVIVORS]

XANDER MATTHEWS

The first and more obvious option for those who sacrificed themselves in the last game is Xander.

Now, he has the personality for self-sacrifice.

But, if I remember correctly, they were originally going to vote for the sacrifices before Kiibo and Maki stepped in.

Either he was voted to be the sacrifice, or he volunteered himself (with or without knowing what it really meant.)

(isn't it funny that he might have volunteered while one of his canon likes is volunteering?)

Main Reasonings:

•This dialogue in this scene makes more sense if he was in a killing game

“Them” could be the other people in the killing game. Of course, “her” is… well, I won’t spill just yet.

And, most of all, he says that he has to end the killing game. How the hell would he end a killing game without having been in one? (don’t answer that)

•When was this?

Why would he be in the same outfit, while having both eyes?

It makes sense if he was in a previous killing game, doesn't it?

(while we don't see both his eyes, he doesn't have the strings of the eyepatch)

EDEN TOBISA

Eden is the less obvious choice, but it makes sense when you think about it!

Just like Xander, she has the type of personality that would sacrifice themselves. Although, I can’t see people voting for her.

Main Reasonings:

•First of all, there’s the similarities between her handwriting and the handwriting of the note that Xander received.

Also, I know a lot of people think that Xander wrote that note. But just look at it.

The T’s are the same, the E’s are the same, the A’s are the same. Don’t deny that it’s a strong, and the most likely, possibility.

I’ve mentioned it before (in a different post), but the handwriting thing makes much more sense in this context.

And similar to Xander, an image of her past self is seen wearing the same outfit.

Why, why, why?

Why would the two of them have images of their past selves wearing the exact same outfits?

Oh, wait a second.

In V3, we see Rantaro’s past self. He was wearing the same outfit that he did in the killing game. And he was a member of a past game too.

And it’s not like we haven’t seen them in other outfits. Xander has been seen in another outfit in his bonus episode.

I really don’t know if I’m making sense at this point but it works in my head so whatever.

•Why is this secret so mundane? (At least in comparison to the others)

Wouldn’t it make more sense to say something about what she did to Xander?

Of course, that could just be because they didn’t want her to know about something she did during the missing year.

But it could also be because it happened during the last killing game.

That one’s a stretch but I just thought I’d put it out there.

REASONING FOR BOTH OF THEM:

Why specifically these two?

Dev didn’t have to post the colored picture of Xander.

It’s clearly important.

Same for Eden.

One final theory that could be connected to this:

Why would he say this?

Unless he knew Teruko in the past, of course.

My guess is that Teruko was named the mastermind during his game. Whether or not she actually appeared, who knows. But she was to blame (supposedly) (to his knowledge) for the killing game. And apparently, killer her would do something important.

This ties in to the note that told Xander to kill Teruko as well!

My final thing is just a guess, or maybe a call and respond.

Who do we think were the survivors of their game?

My first guess was maybe a couple of the AltDRDT characters, but I’m not sure.

Let me know if you guys have any other evidence for this theory!!

(thanks to kubz scouts for the screenshots of v3)

[mae-lou-ron]

More Than That

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Summary: Something has been on your mind, but you should have known your lover Rex would see right through you.

WC: 1,150

CW: A little angsty (secret relationship, anger over the tragedy of the clones, pining) with a happier ending, hurt/comfort, a side of fluff, sweetheart Rex, mando’a words.

A/N: here’s 1,100+ words that literally fell out of my brain after I got out of work tonight. Lately I’ve been thinking too much about the clones creation (as one does) and I guess this is where it decided to come out 🤷🏼‍♀️ Barely proofread. Also don’t come at me if I got the mando’a sentence structure wrong kthnx.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = 93.5% sure that means I love you. source

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Meshla?” Rex's gloved fingertips brushed the inside of your arm, pulling you from your distant thoughts and into the familiar whirlwind of sensations his touch always ignited in you. Not just his touch, everything about him from his warmth to his scent to the sound of his voice had a magnetic effect on you.

Instead, you stiffened and gently pulled away, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Rex... sometimes I just can't think straight when you're touching me," you murmured, regret coloring your voice. "I'm sorry." You stepped back, and he let his hand fall to his side.

His eyes softened, concern in his gaze. "Hey," he said in a low voice. "It's okay." He removed his gloves and extended his hand, leaving the choice to touch him up to you. "Talk to me?" he encouraged softly. You took several steadying breaths before sliding your hand into his, his touch now grounding you as he guided you to the stack of crates in the corner.

Rex waited for you to sit before settling next to you, the small space seeing you pressed together from shoulder to knee. He then sat stoically at your side as you sorted through your thoughts.

Anger bubbled into your throat at your own selfish feelings—the fear of losing Rex suddenly in battle, and the anguish in knowing that if he survived to the end of the war, the cruel reality was that the Kaminoans had engineered the clones with a half life. It wasn't fair. Yet, you refused to say anything that might make Rex feel compelled to console you about the tragedy of the clone's existence—one he was already well aware of.

“It’s something I need to make peace with myself, Rex.” You smiled softly up at him. “I know you’d swoop in with a daring rescue if you could, but you already have to bear so many burdens…let me keep this one for you.”

Rex regarded you carefully, his golden eyes searching your face. You loved how his eyebrows furrowed so deeply when he was trying to sort you out.

He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before brushing his thumb across your cheek. The tender gesture made your heart ache, knowing that even these small moments of affection were stolen between duties and battles. His touch lingered, as if memorizing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips.

“There’s something else.” he said in a low voice. It wasn’t a question.

You chuckled a little at how intensely perceptive your sweet Captain was becoming lately. He was spending too much time with Ahsoka. You sighed, steeling yourself for what you were about to say.

"You've always meant more to me than those moments we were able to steal away. I know we agreed it was best to keep that way but…Rex I…I can't pretend anymore," you said softly before locking eyes with him, chest tightening, knowing that opening this conversation would likely prompt him to end things—he was far too honorable to drag you through whatever anguish he thought might lay ahead.

Rex's eyes fluttered closed, a flicker of what looked like pain crossing his features before he schooled his expression. He took a deep breath, his hand tightening around yours. "I understand," he said softly, his deep voice thick with emotion. "But I need you to know something first."

“That it’s over?” you quipped, voice cracking. Kriff. You swore you wouldn’t shed tears in front of him. He’d just want to try to fix something that neither of you had the power to change.

Rex's eyes softened. "No, cyar'ika. He sighed and you felt his hand squeeze yours gently. “That I love you." His voice was low, earnest, filled with an emotion that made your heart pound.

Your head snapped up to regard him as you processed his words. Love? That ember for him that you'd been so carefully guarding, afraid to even name, was suddenly thrust out in the open. Your eyes searched his face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but you found only sincerity and a rare flicker of fear in his gaze.

"I know our situation is… complicated, but how I feel about you isn’t."

"Rex, I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. The words you'd been holding back for so long threatened to spill out all at once. "Stars, we've kriffed up," you burst into a fit of watery laughter, your deep anxiety finally bubbling over now that he'd confessed what you'd been so afraid to.

Rex chuckled softly, and you loved how the sound rumbled deep within his chest, how his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Maybe just a little," he admitted, bringing your hand to his lips. Ever the gentleman. "But I wouldn't change anything." His eyes slid over to yours, vulnerability and hope shining in them. "So, what now?"

“I wish I knew…” you wiped at your damp cheeks with your free hand.

A sly look crossed his features, “Well…usually when someone tells you they love you…”

“You usually say it back," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears still glistening in your eyes. Your heart raced as you took a deep breath, gathering your resolve.

“Ner cyare…” you murmured, reaching out to touch his face. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum…”

Rex's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and joy flickering across his face as he recognized the Mando'a phrase tumbling from your lips. His grip on you tightened, and he pulled you closer to press his forehead against yours. His voice a low rumble as he responded, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika."

Lost in the warmth of him, the weight of your shared confession settled over you like a comforting blanket. This moment eclipsed all your previous encounters in this room. Even if just for a moment, you glimpsed a future where you could truly cherish every precious moment with Rex, even knowing how short your time together might be.

"May I kiss you now, meshla?" Rex murmured, his eyes flickering to your lips.

“Please…” you breathed.

His lips met yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as if you were something precious. The kiss was slow, sweet, and filled with all the still unspoken words you’d both been harboring. When you finally parted, Rex rested his forehead against yours once again, his thumb brushing away the remnants of tears on your cheek.

“Be mine,” he whispered against your lips. “Ner cyare…”

You smiled against him, your heart overflowing with love and hope despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. "I've always been yours," you whispered back, sealing your words with another tender kiss. The galaxy might be at war, but in this moment, wrapped in Rex's arms, you found your home.

[rablovergirl]

Hey! I love your content loving the moonwater stufffff. You should write something where regulus is jealous because Remus is hanging out with Sirius even though they haven’t been a thing in over a year so regulus has to remind Remus why he’s the black brother Remus is dating (aka regulus being a little jealous slut when it comes to Sirius and remus’s friendship)

ur onto something...

there are a fee ways this could go.

either Regulus sees them talking and laughing and smiling and gets jealous so he decides he's going to flirt with James and barty right in front of remus to make him jealous. It results in an argument (shocker ik) and regulus threatening to go fuck someone else.

"I have people falling over themselves to get a chance with me and you have the fucking nerve to want my brother? James and barty... they said they would let me have both of them at once. They want me so badly, all I have to say is 'fuck me' and they’ll be worshiping me in seconds. So remus it's your choice, you can have me, no one else will ever touch me again, I'll do whatever you want, please you so well or I could walk out the door straight to james or barty and you can go off and play happy fucking family with my brother."

"I don't want sirius, regulus. Let me show I want you. Let me remind you how well I fuck you yeah? Make sure you know that no one could ever fuck you as well as I do."

It ends with regulus being worshipped from head to toe (but also being spanked for flirting with other people), the whole thing is really just an excuse for regulus to feel wanted.

THE OTHER WAY IT COULD GO is regulus sneaks up into remus' room (lets pretend its not a dorm) and starts fingers himself on the bed waiting for remus to finish his conversation and come up stairs.

When he does, he has to admit it's a present surprise but..

"Not to say that I'm not thoroughly turned on right now but didn't we agree it's against the rules to touch yourself without my permission love?" remus is smirking down at him, loving the concentrated look on the other boy's face. He knows regulus isn't getting the right angles at all, his fingers aren't long enough.

"well you were too busy conversing with my brother so I needed to take things into my own hands." and he's SO STUBBORN.

"baby, we both know that you aren't making yourself feel good. Let me help."

"No. You're going to watch while I make myself come and remind you how good I am to you. Remind you why you chose me."

[the-great-papyru]

been thinking about how going through and getting used to the resets would genuinely limit flowey’s ability to do… well, basic things. like form conversations.

think about it. he’s scripted everything. and he’s had all the time in the world to work on scripts, too.

what if he hears someone talk, and through unrelated circumstances they say something they usually say in another, unrelated scenario. like… i dunno, when toriel gets killed in a certain way, she’ll say something along the lines of “how could anyone do something like this?” and flowey’s prone to responding with “oh, you haven’t even SEEN what i’ve done to papyrus!” because he knows if he does she’ll remember papyrus’ name and, if he times it right, warn sans, and that has a snowball affect that leads to his run being much more interesting.

and then toriel says the line post-pacifist for whatever reason (maybe she’s reading the news) and absentmindedly flowey immediately responds with his usual reply.

he gets several strong looks, and papyrus checks his back to make sure flowey didn’t attach a sticky note with the words “kick me” on it again.

or, okay, he’s used to thinking through responses until he finds the perfect one. sans gives him a “heya” and he spends 2 minutes trying to figure out what he means by that greeting, what he knows (flowey’s been struggling maintaining his pre-prepared facial expressions lately for some reason, no idea why) and how to respond in a way that doesn’t let on that he knows sans knows, but also let him know that he’s not letting down his guard, not to mention figuring out what face to say it with… by then, of course, sans has muttered a brief “uh. okay then” and walked away. and flowey can’t just reload to finally let loose his carefully crafted reply like he’s used to, either.

he honestly probably finds it easiest to talk to frisk. he doesn’t have a running tally of their likes and dislikes. so he doesn’t have enough to base lines on, and he’ll sometimes even end up saying the first thing that comes to his mind. crazy.

also. i don’t know about you, but when i get multiple choices in a video game i often choose the clearly “wrong” answer just to see what people say. you can’t progress after choosing it, anyway, so there’s no real loss.

i wonder if flowey has that same mentality. it might do a lot more than make people angry, though. like… let’s say toriel asks him “what would you like to eat for dinner today?” and he goes with eggplant parmigiana, he hates eggplant parmigiana it’s gross and chewy and obviously the wrong answer. and he just wants to see what she’ll say before he reloads and chooses the right answer (snails). he realizes too late what he just did.

so yeah, flowey would really struggle with talking, i think. it’d be a learning curve for sure. he’ll figure it out, of course, but it’ll take a while.

[doctorweebmd]

look i think the thing people forget is that My Hero Academia is not a typical shounen. Its purposeful. Its well written. Horikoshi does not DO throw away plot-lines. He doesn't ignore plot holes. Over the past 10 years he has proven, time and time and TIME again that this is an incredibly thought out, narrative-driven brilliant story that has taken popular tropes and preconceptions and turned them on their head.

Have a little faith.

[magpie-trove]

%

[quietwingsinthesky]

im thinking about clara’s ending, though. like, on a very self-indulgent level, i do enjoy that she gets to live (kind of) and time travel and get an immortal girlfriend to do it with. but on another level, i’m kind of curious… why? given how much emphasis this episode and the last put on how clara herself made her choice and didn’t want the doctor to go through all of this to bring her back, i mean she’s horrified by it, both for his sake but also for the sake of her own memory that was used to bring him to this point. and then, of course, the exchange at the end with Me and the Doctor, “summer can’t last forever” “it can if you have a time machine”, that is so obviously meant to be this desperate, denying plea from the doctor to a universe that can’t care about the time he wants because it doesn’t even have enough for itself to keep living, and an immortal who has all the time in the world and can’t even remember all of it, even remember herself most of the time.

which. it’s just odd, then. that the episode ends with clara getting to have that forever summer. you’d think it goes both ways, not just that the doctor can’t run forever but neither can clara. she says they’ll be going back to gallifrey eventually, but words are a bit cheap against her literally running away with the last second of her life in a time machine. (and uh. given what eventually happens to gallifrey. lol. lmao. girl no one is putting u back there ever.)

i don’t think i’d call this a criticism exactly. just a strange choice to make, that the ending there seems completely at odds with everything else Heaven Sent/Hell Bent have been about. that this grief and denial are so destructive, and to no one more than themselves. but then clara escapes through a loophole anyway.

[absolutelyarealperson]

I think Boston got a happy ending. He's getting a fresh start, and everything in the finale just felt like it was setting him up to leave for America with no regrets or loose ends.

He apologized for the things he did wrong, and pointedly did not apologize for the things he didn't do wrong. He's a messy boy and I love him for that, but he absolutely did some things worth apologizing for, so I'm not mad at the fact that the show let him apologize. He did everything he could to repair his relationships with his friends, and for the most part, he did repair them. Cheum is happy to welcome him back into the group. Ray is still protective of Mew, and is always going to side with Mew over Boston when forced to choose, but he doesn't seem to harbor any hard feelings of his own. His friendship with Mew is irreparably broken, and that's kind of ok with me. It's true to life; some relationships you can repair, and some you can't. But Boston did what he could. He doesn't have to hold onto guilt or wonder what would have happened if he reached out.

The friend group dynamic was never going to go back to what it was before, because Boston was leaving the whole continent. There was always going to be a shift. We were always going to end up with all of the others getting close and having experiences together without Boston there. But he fixed things enough that they're staying in touch.

And he and Nick broke up a bit earlier than they would have. But they would have broken up anyway. That relationship always had an expiration date. Boston set it up that way on purpose (I feel like knowing it had an ending was the only way he could give himself permission to even try for the first time, but that's probably a whole other post I could make). And he got to learn about himself. He likes romance; he can fall in love. It's just that romance and sex are two completely separate things for him. And he's moving to NYC! You know he's going to find some like minded people and figure himself out further, and find fulfilling relationships that work for him, now that he knows more about his wants and needs.

And it's so much better that Nick didn't follow him to New York. I cannot see that ending well. Because once Boston and Nick both learned enough about themselves to have an open and honest conversation about what they wanted in a relationship, it was clear that they loved each other AND they wanted fundamentally different things. Somehow a clean break for a reason other than the move to America feels better. They're not holding on or trying to stretch out the end so it hurts more or longer. They loved each other. It meant something. And it ended. The end doesn't make the rest matter less.

And Boston, a Boston who learned and grew from the events in this series, is planning to be totally out in America, away from his dad. No more hiding. No more worry about black mail. He's the person taking the photos and choosing to make them public as art.

Everything about the finale just felt like it was setting Boston up for a fresh start in the best and cleanest way possible. Repairing the ties that could be part of his support system, even across continents. Cutting ties that were only going to hold him back or hurt him worse. Letting him get things off his chest, so he could leave without regrets or what-ifs. I think this episode was so good to Boston.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

IGNORE ME I'M SORRY I KEEP TALKING ABT IT i'm just so not used to my cat not being around and it kinda kills me inside to not hear him walking around or meowing or sleeping at the bottom of the staircase anymore... it used to be like a nightly routine where i'd go downstairs and make myself a drink and give him some water and now i just. don't even wanna go down there anymore.

[regionalatbest]

it's odd looking back at all the things you wrote about someone

[kavehater]

I agree with absolutely everything she said his in game model is not as good as I envision him to be 😭 like fanart carries him FRRR but it’s honestly so sad ppl see the coolest ever character and be like yaoi 😋✌️how about NOOOO !!!! 😭😭😭 gosh this is so !!!! He has so many deep important aspects to himself, he’s so full of contradictions and despite it all he’s still one of the most kindest characters

[rin-tezuka]

!!THIS IS NOT A VOTE BLUE POST, TOP COP FANS GO HOME!!

I think things like this end up exposing the straight lines this view takes. Vance is like, obviously a White Birthrate Guy, and half the coverage of his run has been dedicated to how much he fucking loathes (presumably white) childless people. But like, as can be seen clearly here, Birthrate Guys don't really care about the copious amounts of kids they have. Because that's not the point of the ideology - the point is using these children to breed more (white) children, and thus "out-breed" the Other. Why give a shit about listening to your kids interests - here he is, publicly disparaging one of his sons on a podcast, because he interrupted him on a phone call. I wouldn't say that telling your kid to "shut the hell up" when he's trying to talk to you about something he enjoys is like, good parenting or whatever.

But besides that, being a Birthrate Guy dedicated to pumping out as many White Babies as possible just is a straight line from what's currently in vogue with conservatives and white nationalists in the Anglosphere - full, unending control of your kids. Look at the growing homeschool movement talking about "not co-parenting your kids with the State". Look at the demands that schools communicate every choice a child makes to their parents. Look at the push to ban transgender existence in schools! Look at the push to remove transgender and "woke" teachers from classrooms! They don't want kids! They don't want human beings! They want tools! And luckily for them, the entire concept of the Family has been centered on giving them tools instead of children - of course they're not people, they're a constructed class without any rights whatsoever, and what little time they get away from their parents is now under an insane culture war siege.

It's all connected!