#when it's objectively better that what we had before

[great-septimus]

Hey, so I don't want to be that guy, but when are we going to acknowledge that Akechi was right?

No, I obviously don't mean about the things he was very clearly wrong about. I'm referring to the things he says in interviews about the Phantom Thieves. I hate how many people switch up after playing through his betrayal who previously agreed with his views, because nothing he said is wrong and nothing he did changes that fact. He speaks in the TV Station on the objective facts that he should know about, and with or without the context of his form of justice those facts stay true. It's a fallacy to claim that his form of justice being universally less approved of makes the Phantom Thieves better by comparison, or discredits anything he said. I don't think the Phantom Thieves are evil, or that they should necessarily be imprisoned, but I do think that they are not morally sound. They're kids. Prior to his betrayal I think he served his purpose well, but it's easy to disregard the validity of his words when you find out that he's a murderer. With the knowledge he SHOULD have had (and that many DID have), everything he says is true. And honestly? It still can be true for basically the entire plot of the game. Mishima's confidant tests the thieves in that way. They could have changed the hearts of anyone who's not a persona user, for any personal reason. It's a slippery slope.

I'll use these three options as an example for why he's right:

"They're justice itself" is just subjective and incorrect, because justice as a concept is individualized and given how each Phantom Thief has different reasons for being one it's ridiculous for even them to say. Their first target was before they even formed a group, and Ann was ready to kill Kamoshida. The others were not even going to step in, and they were going to respect her choice either way. All the members are so different, so this is an insane claim to make.

"They're necessary" is wrong because to say they are necessary is pretty disingenuous to all "justice" that has ever happened BEFORE they existed. I don't believe that the Thieves were a necessity per say, and personally I think their actions can only be judged on a case by case basis. Some Mementos targets for example have issues that stem beyond what they have done. Now they have their desires stolen but still have the issue that pushed them to immortality in the first place, plus a shitton of guilty baggage. The Thieves only help with the atonement, but not the push. How many of those people didn't just go right back to their past behaviors? How many of them got worse in other ways? Think about Futaba, she felt so guilty for something she thought she did, she formed a palace to condemn herself to die alone. To claim the Thieves are necessary to reform society implies that their method is the most effective, and I think that's a lot to claim for something they don't understand.

"They do more than the cops" I almost agree with. Legally the police in Japan in this game anyway (yes I'm aware it extends to reality in many ways, but I'm referring to just the game right now) are corrupt and flawed for the most part, but the thing I don't agree with is that this makes the Thieves a better alternative. They're not. For the same reason Yoshizawa says later, the Thieves can only do so much as vigilantes, and to imply that society should rely on these faceless nameless flawed people to fix society is not any better than what they have now. Especially with the method being unknown, potentially unsafe, and easily exploitable. I cannot be the only one who if the Phantom Thieves were real, would be extremely alarmed by the prospect of a group of vigilantes "changing hearts" right? It's so vague, and the pattern is dystopian. At least police methods are familiar

What I'm saying is that they're kids, and it's kind of insane that this game places Akechi as the narrative foil for the Thieves in their message and then makes it so easy to disregard because "he's an assassin so how could he know anything about justice". The Thieves don't either, and Ann was nearly a murderer. If the bar is "don't commit murder when you're infiltrating someone's mind" then it's far too low. I wouldn't trust a group of adults with this power to reform society, even less a group of teenage vigilantes. I'm 19, and I find this odd. And Strikers frames them as even more righteous, and it bugs me even more in that game. At least Royal has the third semester to give a bit more nuance to how big of a responsibility Ren was given, but that's also very frequently misinterpreted.

I love this game, and I love this fandom, and I have thoughts that get weird and ranty. I apologize, but I hope you all found this as interesting as I did.

[kumkaniudaku]

Just For You

Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?" 

None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance. 

It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun. 

Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.

He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!" 

"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice." 

With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework. 

Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face. 

If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts. 

Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?" 

"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep. 

Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure." 

"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen." 

Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that." 

"Let's start with housing and work from there?" 

"I'm following your lead." 

One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan. 

Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry." 

"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."

"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."

Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen. 

While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings. 

Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least. 

In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere. 

Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day." 

"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads." 

Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot. 

He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl." 

Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship. 

Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking. 

"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite." 

Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is." 

"How come?" 

"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?" 

Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots." 

"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?" 

"Well, I ain't say all that!" 

Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes. 

She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!" 

Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time. 

"What's your favorite food?" 

"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!" 

How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before. 

Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic. 

In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets. 

Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole." 

"No way! How'd you guess that?" 

"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance." 

"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?" 

Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one." 

"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?" 

Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.

Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one." 

Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.

"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat." 

Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point."��

"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly." 

Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple." 

"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again." 

"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way." 

Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again. 

"Terry, I swear! Be serious!" 

Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!" 

Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers. 

"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?" 

"That's what we should name the kids." 

Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation. 

He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!" 

"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –" 

"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?" 

Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving. 

She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?" 

"By the couch, Treece." 

Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.

The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!" 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.

Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.

—————-

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[sinbiis]

i'll always remember you / i'll always remind you

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ caleb x reader

⟢ synopsis : no matter what, caleb has always promised to remain by your side. he was there when you were both experimented on as children. no matter what happens, caleb will always remind you of who he is. he’s someone near and dear to your heart, after all. but it’s okay if you’ve forgotten, he’ll always remind you, no matter how much you've grown.

⟢ a/n : okay so, i may not make this like the song just because i really need a break from it 😪i can’t make it a repetitive thing. this story will contain some themes from the song, such as lyrics, meaning, etc., but we’re hoping to stray away from it! this will also probably be my only caleb fic (for now), until we get more information on this man. little fun fact, his birthday is two days after mine, so we’re both geminis (we would butt heads ngl) but i love my crazy obsessive gemini :) 

⟢ warnings : mentions of death/resurrection, swears, mentions of experiments, slight mentions of child ab*se

⟢ w.c : 5.1k

©sinbiis, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Caleb (7), Y/N (5)

Before Caleb came around, it was just you.

You, who were caged as if you were a wild animal. Your ankle is bound by a heavy chain, which keeps you from exploring too far. But how could you? It was too dark, you couldn’t see anything. All you could do was sit huddled in the corner, quietly sobbing to yourself after another experiment was tested on you. All because you had a rare condition that affected your heart. 

But one day, as you were nestled into the soft yet firm mattress with a thin blanket wrapped around your tiny body, you heard the caged door open. As if on extinct, you quickly sat up, immediately facing the door in nervous anticipation as to what would happen. But no males in white lab coats came. Only one, as a matter of fact, and he was holding the arm of another small child. The small child, which you presumed to be a boy, walked in reluctantly before the cage was closed and locked behind him. You two were now trapped together. You didn’t sense him as a threat since he was no bigger than you. However, you felt weak. You knew that if something were to happen, you’d be defenseless. 

As the small boy approached you, you gripped the ends of your blanket, pulling it closer to your body before engulfing yourself with it. Maybe if you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see you. 

Your little hands shook as you heard his footsteps approach you… but nothing happened. Peeking through a small crack in the blanket, you saw the little boy kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on his lap. No pointy object with that green liquid..

“Hello,” he starts, leaning in a little closer to get a better look at you. But you were weary of others, so you pushed yourself back further in the cage before your back pressed against the cold metal. The quiet clinks of the chain drew his attention, his small hand reaching forward to grip the part that attached to your ankle. “Does this hurt?” You only gave a brief nod, willing yourself to keep your foot in place. He didn’t seem like a threat, so there was no need to pull back. But you weren’t too sure... “Hmm..” he hums to himself, getting a closer look. There was a little keyhole, but if he could just find something to jam it with, perhaps he could free your foot. But with what? There was nothing nearby, nothing on the floors. All you had was a dress made from thin fabric, with a little pin that read ‘001’. 

After some time of looking around on the floor, he slumped next to you on your bed. While he lay flat on the cushion, you kept yourself sitting and out of the way, still on edge as to who he was. “W…” When he hears your soft voice trying to speak, he sits up, his body facing you as he waits. “W.. Who are you?” 

With a gentle smile, he moves over to you until he's kneeling by your side.

“My name is Caleb.”

… 

The next morning, Caleb and you were under the shared blanket, sleeping. His hand was protectively resting over your waist while you huddled close to his body for warmth. But that was short-lived when keys were heard trying to unlock the door. In an instant, you sat up, huddling back into the corner while Caleb was trying to make sense of why you rushed off. As two males entered, one held a clipboard while the other held small cuffs. The scientist with the clipboard unlocked the cage and remained back while the other made his way to you. He unlocks your chained ankle only to cuff your hands in front of you as you struggle and beg. Caleb, in an attempt to help, ran over and kicked one of the scientists in the back of his knee, causing the male to fall forward. “You little shit,” he cursed, shoving Caleb back onto the mattress. The other scientist whisked you away, your cries echoing in the dim room. And poor Caleb who could only watch in fear and desperation– you being dragged away to who knows where.

The previous scientist who had shoved Caleb off stood back up, dusting off his pants of any dirt and debris. “You’re lucky we don’t start experimenting on you until next week.” He scoffs before heading out of the cage. He locked it behind him and left Caleb alone in the dark room.

In the vast darkness of the room, Caleb couldn’t see anything, the only light source that came earlier from the door which the scientists entered... was now gone. Caleb could hear your muffled screams and cries, your pleas to them to stop whatever they were doing to you. But he couldn't do anything. He couldn't break the cage open, hell, he couldn't even unlock it.

It was torture for the both of you, and all Caleb could do was sit there and cry, begging whatever God was up in the sky, to have you return safely.

While you were dragged off to another examination room, your tiny sniffles and pleas fell on deaf ears, not one scientist cared for your safety. Not since they discovered that they could bring you back to life with the new aether core in your heart. 

…

What felt like hours had passed by, and still no return from you. Caleb was growing worried for your safety, what if you didn’t come back? He knew that he just met you, but he knew that he needed to protect you. You were younger, after all, it wasn’t fair for you. It wasn’t fair for the both of you. As Caleb stared off into the darkness, he heard the doorknob turning before it creaked open. But to his horror, you lay limp in the scientist's arm. Not one twitch, he couldn’t see your chest rising. Were you…? The caged door unlocked, and the scientist laid you on the mattress. Caleb was quick to fall to your side, tears streaming down his face as he stared at your lifeless face. What have they done? Why weren’t you breathing?? Before he could demand answers, he saw the scientist pull out a syringe, this time filled with blue liquid, before injecting it into your arm. And just like that, he left, leaving you two alone in the dark. 

Caleb held your cold hand, his face pressed against your stomach as he cried– but a sudden shift in you caused him to pull back. His eyes widened as he watched you wake up, inhaling deeply before bursting into tears once more. 

You hated when they brought you back, it was always painful. But they needed you, they needed to study you, and they weren’t going to lose this opportunity. Not when every other subject rejected the aether core.  They could experiment on you as much as they wanted with no repercussions. You were truly the perfect experiment.

Your breath hiccuped as you cried out, your hands clutching the blanket tightly against your body. But when you tried to tug the blanket to cover yourself, you found it difficult to move. You glanced over, tears blurring your vision as you stared at the boy. When did he get here? Who was he? Was he going to hurt you? You lay still, staring at his figure (as best you could in the dark), waiting for something to happen, waiting for him to say something. “Are you okay? What did they do?” He was quick to speak, and even quicker to lay beside you. 

You could only stare at him in confusion, did he know you?

“W.. Who are you?”

“.. You don’t remember? I’m Caleb..”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Caleb (13), Y/N (11)

Years had passed since your last experiment– yet you still suffered greatly from the consequences. However, a researcher by the name of Josephine took you and Caleb. She had seen what they had done to both of you and insisted to the researchers that she would keep a close eye on both of you– without informing them that your identities would be changed and you’d both be relocated to a new town. 

The date was February 4th, 20XX.

You and Caleb had just returned home from school, the door creaking shut behind you with a soft thud. Caleb, looking a little more distracted than usual, had promised to help you with your assignment after he took care of some ‘personal stuff.’ The words hung in the air, vague and mysterious, and your curiosity quickly turned into something almost urgent. You couldn’t help yourself. You were the type to dig for answers when something felt off, and Caleb wasn’t exactly known for his openness. So you just pushed further with your questions.

‘What are you going to do?’ ‘Are you going out?’ ‘Who’s knocking? Is it for you?’  

“Can you do me a favor, pipsqueak? I left my sweater in the attic, could you go get it for me?” Caleb shoots back, offering a gentle smile as if to hide his motive. “Oh! Yeah, is it the black and blue one with the white stripe on the sleeve?” You ask, already making your way out of the kitchen and to the hallway that leads upstairs. “Yep! I think I left it on the sofa upstairs,” he adds, following at a distance before stopping at the entrance of the hallway. He watched your form head upstairs before he trailed behind a minute later– trying his best to remain quiet and unnoticed. Just as he hears the attic door open and the rummaging around of items, he lets out a quiet apology before the door slams shut behind you. He knew you would’ve followed him, and this was his only way of keeping you safe. Especially since he knew who was at the door– those bullies at school who wouldn’t leave you alone. He needed to deal with them himself before you could.

While you were still searching for Caleb’s sweater, a sudden SLAM was heard behind you, causing you to freeze for a moment before your head turned to look over your shoulder at the door. “Why’d the door slam shut?” You questioned, taking slow steps towards the door before giving the knob a gentle tug. But it didn’t budge. Giving it another tug, this time with more force, you heard the door creak for a second– but still no movement. “I’m stuck…!” You balled your fists before pounding on the door, hoping Caleb would hear from the kitchen. “Caleb! The door is stuck, please help me out!” You cry out, fists still pounding against the door.

Knowing Grandma was out of town for some meeting, you'd expected Caleb to come to the rescue, just like he always did when you found yourself in a tight spot. But hours had passed, each one stretching longer than the last, and still, you were alone—trapped in the attic. The air was thick with dust, the silence almost deafening as you shifted restlessly on the cold wooden floor. Your stomach growled in protest, but you hardly had the energy to care anymore. With a sigh of resignation, you dragged yourself over to the couch that sat neglected, its faded fabric a poor comfort against the creeping chill of the room. Lying down, you pressed your hands beneath your head, elbows splayed out awkwardly, and stared up at the door, half-hoping for Caleb to come bursting through. But the minutes ticked by, slow and unforgiving.

“Please, help me… Caleb…” you whispered, the words barely escaping your throat. The plea felt heavy in your chest, but the sound of your own voice seemed to make the silence that much more unbearable.

Then, as if the weight of the isolation finally broke something inside you, a single tear slid down your cheek. You didn't even try to stop it. The tear landed softly on the couch cushion below, its wetness now an undeniable mark of your quiet desperation. Soon, the tears came in quiet waves, one after another, each one staining the fabric beneath you as your breath hitched with the weight of it all. You tried to stay still, but the sobs came anyway, swallowing you whole, and making the attic feel even more suffocating. 

It wasn’t long until you fell asleep; the stressful situation tiring you out as the night passed by.

…

It was early the next morning, around seven, and you were still fast asleep on the couch. Caleb’s sweater (that he asked you to retrieve yesterday) lay over you, keeping you somewhat warm in the cold attic. As you turn over, you instinctively hear a click before the door slowly opens behind you. Your eyes slowly opened, blinking away the tiredness as you stared at the figure that stood at the door, “...?” You didn’t budge as the figure stepped closer before the soft rays of sun that peeked through the glass ceiling of the attic shined on the male that stood over you. “Sorry, did I wake you?” The male asks, bending down until he is kneeling by the couch. His hand reached out to gently tuck your hair behind your ear, a gentle smile gracing his lips before he wiped away at your drool stain. “...Who are you?” You ask tiredly, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“It’s okay if you’ve forgotten,” he states calmly, “I’ll always remind you.”

“I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Caleb (19), Y/N (17)

Today was the day. Caleb was leaving. It still didn’t feel real, like you were stuck in some kind of waking dream, where time had warped and refused to move forward. Caleb was heading off to study at the DAA to become a fighter pilot. Why? You weren’t entirely sure. He had always been so sure of it, so certain that this was his calling—his purpose. But no matter how many times he said it, the reasoning never quite clicked for you. Fighter pilot? It seemed so far removed from the Caleb you knew, the guy who would rather spend a lazy afternoon playing video games or laughing at inside jokes with you. But Caleb insisted. This was what he was meant to do. His eyes would light up when he talked about it, the excitement in his voice contagious, and you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. How could you? It was his dream, after all.

The DAA was located in Skyhaven, a city perched high in the sky, surrounded by clouds and an endless stretch of sky. Four hours by car, or two and a half if you were brave enough to take the train. The thought of him leaving that day, of that long-distance stretching between you two, hit you harder than you expected.

Skyhaven was beautiful, you’d heard, but it felt so distant. And Caleb? Well, he would be surrounded by others who shared his passion, learning to fly, to fight, to live a life so different from anything you could even imagine. And you? You’d be left behind, caught somewhere between supporting him and the hollow ache of not quite understanding why he had to go.

As you and Grandma take Caleb to the train station, you’re left wondering what you’d do after he’s gone. Sure, you were thinking of joining the Hunter’s Association and had even talked to Grandma about it– but not Caleb. He was still unaware of your decision, and you’d most likely keep it a secret until you were accepted. Knowing Caleb was overprotective, he’d try to convince you to pursue something else, something safer. Something that wouldn’t kill you.

 But if he was going to do something important, so were you.

“--Hey, pipsqueak, you’re spacing out on us. What’s going on in that little noggin’ of yours?” Caleb cooed, gently pressing his finger against your forehead before giving you a gentle push, snapping you out of your thoughts.  Before he could give you another gentle nudge, your hand was quick to wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand away from your head. “I’m just thinking of how I’m gonna survive without your braised chicken wings,” you cooed at him playfully. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make sure he cooks for us the next time he visits,” Grandma states, eyeing Caleb for a moment as if she were saying, ‘You better say yes.’ He only chuckles before gently tugging his arm from your grasp, only to end up ruffling your hair as he nods. “She only wants me for my chicken,” he sighed dramatically. “Well of course, who else is going to make it for me?” 

The sound of the train approaching had all of you turning your head in its direction, and Caleb was the first to act. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase before he turned to face you. 

“I know you have something for me,” he grins before using his evol to uncover your gift. An apple necklace with a dog tag attached, ‘When U Come Back’ engraved into it. “Wha– hey! You can’t just use your evol to take it!” You're quick to reach for it, only for his evol to raise it higher until it lands in his hand. “Hm, this is something you would get me,” he grins, holding the necklace to you. “Put it on for me?” Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest while you look away, your cheeks slightly puffed out. “You have hands, you can put it on yourself.”

Caleb chuckles, his body leaning forward to give you a better angle, “better hurry, the train’s approaching.” After a few seconds pass, you sigh before giving in. You grab the necklace from his grasp and gently clasp it around his neck. “If you lose it, I’m gonna be mad. And I’m not getting you another one.”

“Then I’ll never take it off.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Caleb (22), Y/N (20)

Finally, the weekend. Usually, you would visit Grandma Josephine– but ever since you became a hunter, you found it hard to visit. You rarely had any free time; if you did, you spent that free time either napping, eating, or exercising. But today, you had some free time, and Grandma had invited you over to eat, stating she had a surprise waiting for you. ‘I wonder what she’s hiding,’ you thought, approaching your old family home. Your hand reaches for the doorknob before twisting and pushing the door in.

“Grandma, I’m home!” Luckily, you didn’t have to search far for Grandma as she sat on her brown recliner with a book in hand.

Removing her glasses, Grandma looks up and says, “Ah, sweetie. You haven’t been visiting often since you became a hunter. Did you miss me?” 

“Of course!” Before you continue, the scent of something savory catches you off guard; it was a familiar scent. “Something smells good. Is it roast pork?” You shrug off your coat, feeling the cold air of the outside world slip away as you hang it on the coat rack near the door. The scent of the food beckons you closer, tugging at your senses in a way that almost feels like home. “Oh! I’ve learned how to cook a new dish. Would you like to try it?” Just as you were going to offer a hand to Grandma, you hear footsteps approaching from the kitchen growing closer.

And then Caleb appeared, holding a plate of food and a small bowl of rice. 

“What happened to the pipsqueak who wouldn’t even pour me a glass of water?” Caleb chuckles, placing the dishes on the table before facing you, “Work has changed you. I should’ve talked you into becoming a hunter sooner.”

“Caleb?!” You freeze, the shock in your voice unmistakable as your eyes lock onto him. You hadn’t expected him—certainly not this soon. Your pulse quickens as you take a few hesitant steps toward him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow at least.”

For a moment, Caleb doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he stands there, his gaze soft but intense, scanning you with an almost unreadable expression. He looks you over, taking in the details—the way your hair falls loosely around your shoulders, the way your eyes widen in surprise.

Finally, his lips curve into a small, almost amused smile as he ruffles your hair. “What’s wrong with comin’ home early to spend some time with you and Gran? Wash your hands, let’s eat.”

…

During dinner, your hunter’s watch silently buzzed against your wrist, causing your attention to shift from the news. ‘A wanderer is nearby? I need to check it out.’ Placing your chopsticks down, you excused yourself from the table, only for Caleb to state that he was going with you.

As you both stroll down the sidewalk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps almost drowns out the hum of the city around you. You glance down at your watch for a moment, noting the time, but your curiosity quickly pulls your attention back to Caleb. He’s walking a little ahead, his strides confident and purposeful, but something about his posture seems different—more guarded, maybe.

“Caleb...” you begin, your voice light but teasing, though there's an underlying sense of genuine curiosity. You slow your pace slightly to match his. “What kind of hunter lets their childhood friend tag along to work with them?” You raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. It’s a playful question, but the edge of your tone suggests you’re not entirely sure whether you should be flattered or concerned. “I’m not tagging along with you, pipsqueak, Just headin' to the store for some vinegar and whatnot.”

Not too long after, you both arrive outside of the corner store he mentioned.

“Alright then. Well, we’re just about to turn the corner. Go to the store and pick up your vinegar,” you tease, crossing your arms before adding, “Oh, and another thing. Better not walk out and start following me when my back is turned.” 

He could only roll his eyes in mock exasperation at your response, the corners of his lips twitching upward in a half-smile. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he was trying to shrug off the teasing. He stepped closer to the entrance, his boots tapping against the pavement with a quiet rhythm, but his pace never faltered.

“Yeah, yeah, secret mission,” Caleb muttered with a playful eye-roll. His voice was exaggerated, dripping with sarcasm as he mimicked the classic lines, “Blah, blah, blah... can’t let unauthorized personnel in on the details.” He paused for a beat, glancing over his shoulder at you, the playful glint in his eyes telling you he wasn’t actually annoyed—just enjoying the banter. "You know, top-secret stuff. Real hush-hush."

A chuckle escaped your lips before you were waving him off. “Hurry up and go already. Oh! Also, I want some snacks and fruit. Take all the time you need!” And with that, he walked inside, leaving you alone.

…

It wasn’t long until you and Caleb were now making your way back to Grandma’s house. But with the ‘accident’ that happened earlier, the air felt thick. There was tension in the air, and it seemed to be radiating off of Caleb as he walked ahead of you. “Caleb, I was telling the truth, it was just an accident. You and Grandma have enough to deal with…” You muttered, gently rubbing your wounded arm. The blade from the man didn’t cut too deep, but it still stung to the touch. Luckily, not too much blood was lost, but it was enough for him to notice earlier.

“I understand you wanna hide it from Gran. We’ve caused her enough trouble since she brought us up together. Now that she’s older, it wouldn’t be a good idea to make her anxious,” he stops in his tracks before turning to face you, his brows slightly furrowed. “But why do you have to hide it from me? Can’t you trust me now that we’re all grown up?” The words hung in the air between you like a weight, heavy and difficult to ignore. Your eyes widened, the sudden shift in his tone making your heart stutter. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. You stopped in your tracks as well, caught off guard, your thoughts swirling in confusion and guilt. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond—what to say to someone who had always been by your side, who had been through it all with you.

“...I don’t want you worrying about me. It’s not often you get to come home these days, so ruining the mood is the last thing I want to do.”

Silence befalls the both of you. The faint sound of the wind blowing and the sounds of nearby birds chirping seemed increasingly loud now. The silence only lasted a couple of seconds before Caleb let out a tuft sigh. You were right; he knew that he didn’t need to protect you as much as he used to. But how could you suddenly turn that off? He ruffles your hair once more before he walks to the front door, leaving you only a few feet behind. “Fine, but hide the blood on your sleeve before heading inside,” he turns back to face you, “since you’re a grown-up now, I won’t cover for you this time.” He then pushes the door open and steps inside, once again leaving you alone.

As you wipe the blood off your sleeve, you approach the door–

BOOM!

Your body is thrown backward, the world spinning violently as your vision blurs. A sharp, ringing in your ears drowns out everything else, and the last thing you remember is the ground rushing up to meet you before darkness takes over.

For a few agonizing seconds, everything goes black. 

When you finally come to, you are left staring at the horrifying image of your childhood home engulfed in flames. The wood creaks before burning and falling onto the ground, the windows shattered as concrete and rubble surround you. You’re in a state of shock; you can’t comprehend what has happened. You don’t even realize what happened– until you see a shimmering object just out of reach. As you lay there, staring at the object, you will yourself to crawl forward– pain engulfing your body as you crawl over glass shards and broken concrete.

But as you reach forward, you grasp the object and bring it close. Caleb’s necklace…

And then it all comes crashing down. They’re gone.

And then everything fades to black.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Caleb (25), Y/N (23)

After being sent on a new mission without your partner, Xavier, you felt a sense of worry. Not because you didn’t trust yourself or your capabilities, but because you would be infiltrating the Farspace Fleet’s Command center. It was located in Skyhaven, an ‘unknown’ area to you. Unbeknownst to you, you had visited Skyhaven before, you just couldn’t recall when or if this sensation of familiarity was true. Everything had been a blur since the incident, but you could never forget your Grandma. But why did it feel like you were forgetting someone else?

You watched from a distance, your eyes narrowing as the fleet shuttle descended, its engines roaring as it touched down with a low hum. The heavy doors slowly creaked open, revealing a tall figure silhouetted against the bright light spilling out from inside. The person stepped out, their movements deliberate and controlled, casting a long shadow as they took their first step onto the ground. From where you stood, you couldn’t make out any details, but the presence of the figure was undeniable—something was imposing about them, something that commanded attention even from afar.

You could almost feel your soul shake at the sight of them. Something about them felt intimidating– but also comforting. 

From this distance, you couldn’t make out what was being said between the Colonel and the man who was kneeling before him, cuffs restraining his hands behind him. Their interaction seemed intense, and before you knew what was happening, the poor soul was sucked into a black hole, most likely never to be seen again.

“Lock down the command center,” the male demands, “we still have an ‘unidentified’ traitor with us.” 

Not too long after, you were brought down onto your knees with the male's evol. An evol that was too familiar.

‘..Caleb?’

…

After being strapped into the cold, unforgiving chair, you were left alone in the sterile interrogation room, the silence pressing down on you. Your wrists were bound to the armrests—helpless, immobile. As you let your eyes wander over the sparse, dimly lit room, your gaze inevitably landed on the heavy metal door. It creaked open.

The man from earlier stepped inside, his presence filling the space. He paused, removing his hat slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a chill through your very bones. The air seemed to thicken as you felt something deep inside you tremble at the sight of him. It was impossible to ignore—the familiar, unsettling feeling that churned your stomach. And then, like a floodgate burst wide open, it all came rushing back.

The laughter. The tears. The quiet moments shared over too many snacks, the kind that seemed trivial at the time but now felt like the threads that had woven your past together. He was alive.

After everything, he was alive.

“It is really you?! Cal-” Before you can get his name out, he cuts you off with his harsh tone. “Show some respect to the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel.”

… 

The interrogation is finally over, and your wrists are no longer strapped down. You feel like you can breathe again.

“Surprised? Sure, it’s been a while, but you already forgot about me?” 

“You… it’s you, right? Caleb?” You can’t stop the tears from flowing, nor can you control how shaky your voice sounds. Everything felt so surreal. He was here.

“Is there another me in the world?” Caleb teases before taking on a serious tone. “Did I scare you?” 

Your hand reaches out to caress his cheek, afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear. But the sudden warmness of his face, the feeling of his hand against your own… it was real.

“It is you! Caleb.. I must be dreaming.” You’re quick to hug him– ignoring the statement he made earlier about you being watched. You didn’t care. 

“It’s me… it’s okay, I’m back.”

Because he was back.

And this time, he didn’t need to remind you who he was.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

©sinbiis2025

[generic-sonic-fan]

Omega's Observations: Shine/Treat

Summary: Omega leaves Rouge and Shadow to their peculiar organic rituals.

For @teamdarkweek. 652 words.

Omega is an observant robot. 

Mobians have this tendency to. . . groom each other. The connotation of that word in his dictionary is associated with mindless animals. It has to do with only the most base of instincts to keep clean and to satisfy an evolutionary urge for touch amongst social species. 

He finds himself averting his optics when he catches Rouge and Shadow on the couch brushing through each other’s fur or pulling out ingrown hairs or combing through quills. Products and oils slathered over their fleshy bodies. Papery masks with artificial fragrances that Rouge buys on the internet paired with fresh vegetable slices over their eyes. His olfactory sensors can barely make sense of it, let alone his optics. 

One would think they would wait until he was out of the apartment, or at least out of the room before they commenced. Rouge has started leaving the comb out on the end table. She will pick it up and start digging into Shadow’s quills without warning. Omega knows better than to deprive them of this ritual, just like food and water and sleep and all the other functions they get strange about when he asks.

So he leaves them to it.

This is not the end of their unusual behavior. 

Omega is an observant robot, and is thus not ignorant about the fact that Rouge just bought a buffer and car wax despite not owning a car. He is not ignorant about the fact that Shadow just returned home with paint brushes and a bucket of paint- the Ultimate Lifeform has never touched any art supplies before beyond Rouge’s old knitting materials since Omega had known him. 

What he is ignorant of is the purpose of such things. A week goes by and neither of them mention it. Then, one sunny weekend, they spring upon him with all strange objects in hand. 

“Surprise.” Shadow says, holding up the can of paint.

“Spa day!” Rouge cheers, wielding the buffer. 

“I HAVE NO FUR OF WHICH TO CLEAN.” 

“We know that. That’s why we bought these!”

“Leaving you out felt wrong.” Shadow says, quieter. 

“. . . ELABORATE.” 

“You always leave when we start.” Shadow continues. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“Now that we’ve got the right hardware,” Rouge brandishes the buffer as if it were a chainsaw, “it’s time for you to join the fun! We should have figured you’d want to look good too.” 

Omega ratchets his optics to the buffer, then to the paint can. The paint is, told by a drop of dried paint on the top, a close match to his original coat. The buffer’s purpose is more obvious.

“ARE YOU IMPLYING I DO NOT ALWAYS LOOK GOOD?” He taps a claw on the edge of the rotary pad.

Instead of laughter, Shadow grimaces immediately. “That was not our intent. I’m sorry.”

Shadow is treating this situation with the sort of seriousness with which he regards other highly emotional subjects. The markers Omega registers in his facial muscles point to as much. 

Mobian grooming ritual, associated with social species, he realizes. 

He did not assume that they would apply that ‘social’ label to him. 

“APOLOGY ACCEPTED.” He replies as quickly as he can. He throws in a “MARGINALLY” to reduce suspicion. 

“Come on, you dum-dum. Let’s get you outside to hose you off. Unless you think you can fit in the bathtub?” Rouge says.

“NEGATIVE.” 

“Figured. You’re going to be shiny head-to-toe once we’re done with you!” 

Shadow grasps Omega’s wrist and gently lifts until his claws are even enough for him to hang the paint can off of. Omega doesn’t stop him. 

“You’ll like it.” Shadow pats his hand.

“Consider it our treat, big boy. A thank-you of sorts.” Rouge takes his other hand.

“MORE RECOGNITION FOR THE ULTIMATE ROBOT IS ALWAYS IDEAL.” He rumbles, before helping them transport the rest of the ‘spa day supplies’ out of the apartment. 

[bestiainfinita]

I had a discussion on Instagram about Eurylochus and wanted to share it here , the post where this conversation happened is irrelevant but it was about Eurylochus and the end of the Thunder Saga, anyways I made a comment and this guy’s responded:

Then I responded with this across some comments (I chose not to use screen caps for most of my things because they are a lot of comments and it might be over the limit of them, and I had the stuff I said saved):

Lol what are you in buddy???

First of all, since the start Eurylochus has had one objective in mind just like Odysseus, Eurylochus wanted to protect the crew and to get them home while Odysseus wanted to go home to be with his son and wife, that’s the main reason the diversion between Eury and Ody happened, because Ody cared more about getting home than about the crew, while Eury cared more about the crew than getting home.

In ‘Full Speed Ahead’ (Song 03) he tells Ody that they are out of food and they need to feed THE CREW so he asks the captain / king what they should do, because that’s is what he’s supposed to do, he proposes attacking and just taking the food because he wants to ensure food for the crew no matter what, this is also proveen in ‘Polyphemus’ (Song 06) when the first thing he says is “There are enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet” he was thinking about the crew again. Then in ‘Remeber Them’ (Song 09) he’s the one who ask “But captain, what do we do with our fallen friends?” because he CARES about the crew.

Also he not only cares about the crew but he cares about Odysseus too (he’s part of the crew but anyways), this is better shown in ‘Luck Runs Out’ (Song 11); “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “I just don’t wanna see another life end” “You are like the brother I could never do without”.

Then in the same song (‘Luck Runs Out’) we understand why he opened the wind bag. He was afraid, he was afraid of the Gods and what they might do to him, Odysseus and the crew; “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “Or piss off this God and infuse us with strife” “Don’t forget how dangerous the gods are”.

Now the Circe thing, y’all have very selective hearing and didn’t understood Eury at all, he is still afraid during this song (‘Puppeteer’ Song 14); he’s afraid of a Goddess, of Circe, he gave those men for dead because they were captured by a literal Goddess, and he is also afraid of what she might to to Odysseus and the rest of the crew if they try to face her; “Think about the men we have left before there’s none, let’s just cut our loses, you and I, and let’s run” “What if she can’t be killed!? — Will you chose to leave?”

By the way, I would like to point out that in this song (‘Puppeteer’) Odysseus says “There’s no length I wouldn’t go, if it was you I’d have to save, I can only hope you’ll do the same…” and Eurylochus responds by literally doing that, by trying to stop Odysseus from going into that suicidal mission, (let me remind y’all that the only reason Odysseus stood his ground against Circe was thanks to Deus Ex Hermes).

And another thing, some of you people like to say Eurylochus wanted Odysseus gone or blasphemy like that, then why didn’t he killed him in ‘Mutiny’ (Song 24), he had Odysseus stabbed and defenseless but he didn’t killed him, he and the crew just restrained him and treated all of his wounds, they didn’t want him dead, they just couldn’t trust him anymore and therefore couldn’t have him as his captain.

Then they said this (ignoring stuff I already talked about):

And finally I finished the conversation and responded with this:

1. I literally addressed the Circe situation in my previous comments, and explained how he gave those men for dead because to save them they would have had to fight a LITERAL GODDESS (remember they just lost 11 ships / more than 500 men to another God), and again, the only reason Ody won / was able to talk it through was thanks to Hermes’s intervention.

2. Again, I believe the treasure was a misdirection, and the real reason was fear, as I have explained before / in my previous comments.

3. If he wanted to forget what he did and act like nothing have happened, he wouldn't even have confessed in the first place, so it's obviously not about that.

4. That part was a metaphor, see how it is similar to 'Luck Runs Out' in the way that one was talking as a friend and the other as his title, in 'Luck Runs Out' Odysseus is the one talking as a friend while in 'Mutiny' Eurylochus is the one talking as a friend (we know because he called him "Ody" instead of "Captain"), so he was talking one on one and Odysseus was responding talking about himself about how HE wanted to go back to HIS kingdom HIS son and HIS wife ignoring what Eurylochus was saying to him as well as his concerns (like he did in ‘Luck Runs Out’), then the crew jumps in showing Odysseus that all of the crew thinks the same, that they are all tired, that they are all hurt, and that they are all hungry, something that Odysseus's own suffering has made him oblivious to, and now he tries to talk to the crew, to calm them and convince them, but he has already shown them that his priority is himself, so they ignore his pleading and try to give themselves comfort in the only way they currently can, try so solve the only problem they as mere men are able to, and so they killed the cattle to eat.

[writing-zelda-brainrots]

Winx Club? I haven’t heard that name in years. *slides you $20* got anymore drabbles or HC for the Links and fairy reader?

(If that’s okay to ask ofc. I loved Winx as a child and now I think you got me wanting to watch it again. I’ll never get over how stunning those girlies were 😩)

We love our beautiful and badass girls. I really hoe the reboot will do our queens justice (but I am sceptical).

I know that in the previous fic, I mentioned that [Name] had already earned their Enchantix, but I imagined them in their basic Magic Winx/Charmix form in this one.

--

This was the worst.

As if these monsters couldn't be more disgusting, you just had to get caught in a giant Skulltula's web. It was thick, sticky, stringy and stronger than it had any right to be. And you hated it. Any and all attempts to free yourself only resulten in you gatting more stuck.

Thankfully, you had just enough wiggle room to shoot a couple spells at the few remaining Skulltulas that wanted to sink their mandables into your flesh. But who knows how long it'll be until more come.

At this point, you would rather get swallowed whole by one of those "Like Likes" that Hyrule mentioned.

"[Name], are you okay?" Oh thank the Great Dragon, Wars was here. You were wondering when someone would notice that you were missing from the fight.

"Never felt better." You answered with some sarcasm. "This is so gross."

"Don't worry, I'll have you out in just a moment." He took hold of whatever parts of you weren't covered in sticky web and began to pull.

Wars was undoubtedly stronger than you, so he had a much better chance at getting you down. However, he was pulling too hard too fast and the web just wouldn't let go. It was as if he and the web were playing tug-of-war, but for keeps. Particularly, your wings and the rest of your body were being yanked in different directions. It hurt. A lot.

"Stop! Stop! You'll tear my wings off!"

It was only when you started pleading did he stop pulling. Thought he did still have half a mind to apologize.

The next brilliant idea was to cut you loose. But, to be fair, this one was much more successful. With just a few swipes of his sword, Wars had severed the bits of web holding you in place while staying away from any of your body parts. Thankfully, you were spared the fate of faceplanting onto the rocky dungeon floor when Wars caught you.

"Would you look at that, I caught a butterfly. A big, pretty one, too."

"One more word out of you and I swear I'll blast you."

"Fine, fine, just having some fun." He set you down before mentioning for you to follow. "The others must have already gotten rid of the leftover monsters on this floor."

Sure enough, Wars was right. Everyone - minus the two of you - had gathered in the middle room, each giving their reports from when you decided to split up.

"Are you badly hurt?" Time asked as he saw you coming back, pulling some loose hanging webbing from your clothes.

"I'm okay. But I won't be able to fly until I get this gunk off of me." That's going to be a day to itself.

Time gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Actually, taking a good look around at the group, they all looked pretty worn out. "We'll call it a day. Let's go back into town and get some rest. Tomorrow we clear the rest of this dungeon."

There were no objections.

--

Thankfully, the inn was quiet this evening. You didn't know how much more irritated you could be right now, especially if people were running around and causing a ruckus.

You've already gotten the web from your body, so that only left one thing. The part that you dreaded the most: your wings. Your hair had already been a painful mess to deal with, so you could only imagine what your wings would be like.

"How are you doing?" Sky's (or your self proclaimed "Flying Buddy") voice cut through the silence as he stepped through the doorway. He was probably one of the better roommates to have right now. You'd have to thank Time later for putting you with him instead of Wind or Legend.

"This web's really annoying. And it's in some hard to reach places, too." You grumbled, frustrated. "I swear, if I see a single Skulltula again, I'm exterminating the entire species."

"That bad, huh?" He cuckled a little, but stopped himself when he noticed you slightly flinch as you got another sticky chunk out. "Do you want some help?"

A sigh escaped from your lips. "You know I don't let just anyone touch my wings."

"I've had to help clean Crimson's wings many times before. I'm sure I can handle it." Sky sat down on the bed next to you.

"It's not you I'm worried about." You admitted. "I know I don't have my wings out most of the time, but they're still a part of me, and they're really sensitive."

You've long heard stories of fairies losing their wings, either in an accident or by someone destroying them. Either way, it's a horrible fate for someone of your kind. Yes, they eventually grow back, but that takes time, and it doesn't erase the fact that it was a traumatic experience or that it left the fairy vulnerable and weakened in the meantime.

"You're having trouble and I want to help. Besides, you won't be able to reach some of those places."

"You'd really do that?"

"Of course. What are friends for?" He gave a reassuring smile. "Just lay down and I'll handle it. You won't even notice I'm here."

He had a point, you supposed. Guess he couldn't do that bad of a job. You laid yourself on the bed, back facing Sky.

"Just... Be gentle, alright?"

"Promise."

--

And then, they fu-

Btw, if I have convinced anyone here to watch this show fo the first time or revisit it, my personal reccomendation is to watch the Rai English dub (you can find it on YouTube for free) because it's the most faithful of the English dubs (of which there are 5, apparently, and none of them have the entire series). I would also stop watching after season 4/the second movie. Trust me, you're doing yourself a favour by not watching seasons 5-8.

There are the Nickelodeon Specials that condense season 1 into 3 hour long specials and one that covers season 2, but I really don't reccomend them for new veiwers. Just watch the original full seasons. They butchered my precious season 2 so badly.

P.S Also, you should maybe skip the "Miss Magix" episode in season 1. It has a pretty bad scene that mocks a black woman's natural hair. It's a filler episode, anyway, so you're not missing anything.

[thriller1ruler]

GIGGLY BUG (pt2)

link to pt.1: https://www.tumblr.com/thriller1ruler/773864938651500544/giggly-bug-part-one-ler-gi-hun-lee-in-ho-an

lee: gi-hun, in-ho

ler: dae-ho, jung-bae

(A/N): hi guys!! today i made pt2 ANNDDD hopes that my english got better!! hope youll enjoyy!! so sorry if its short!! a little fun fact abt in-ho's irl actor: he squeezes his eyes alot when he laughs, which is mentioned in this fanifiction. how cute right??

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

As the morning light broke, a new day emerged, leaving behind the remnants of the one that had just passed..

In-ho woke up. the day before...felt like a dream. He experienced a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time- a sense of freedom mixed with a wave of nostalgia. It just felt weird. In-ho looked around rubing his eyes. seems like he overslept.

- 10 minutes earlier..

"gi-hun! tell me about last night! what exactly happened?? i heard you guys and you both were talking about serios things! CMON tell me please!"

"dont be so loud, you're attracting everbodies attention."

it was Jung-bae and Gi-hun. The best friend of 456 was curious if Gi-hun had any secrets to share about In-ho. Jung-bae found this guy really mysterious. He noticed them talking last night but couldn't quite catch what they were discussing before he fell asleep.

"don't you trust me??"

Gi-hun didnt know if In-ho would be mad. Sharing someones most emberassing weakness could not end good. What should he say without sounding naive?

"..." Gi-hun looked down. "he just wanted to-...pffft-! hahaha!"

"don't you dare to lie!"

Jung-bae grabbed at Gi-huns sides, all 10 fingers digging into his friends. Gi-hun forgot that he was ticklish too.

"wahihihit! dohohont!"

Seems like Jung-bae was REALLY intrested about In-ho's little secret.

"ah-ah, your still this ticklish huh?" he teased, poking at gi-huns sides playfully. "coochie coo!! hehe look at that smile, how adorable!"

gi-hun broke into rich cackles, even more cackling at jung-bae's teasing. "tell me, or yknow what will happen."

"OHOHOKAY, ehahaha! i gihihive! i gihihive!"

Jung-bae let his hands go, patting at Gi-huns back. 456 rubed at his sides, wanting the ghost tickles go away, still giggling like a 5year old.

"tell me" he said, looking directly into his eyes.

"there should be something REALLY rare if you're hiding it like this..."

Gi-hun felt nervous, trying not to think about the possible downsides of the situation.

he sighed.

"In-ho is ticklish."

..And thats where the story really began.

Jung-bae and Dae-ho were hiding under the bed, waiting for In-ho to arrive. Their objective was to create a special surprise for number 001.

"hey jung-bae..are you sure that we are gonna do this? In-ho is kinda a rough man, what if the rumor ain't true?"

"psshh, be quiet! i was as suprised as you when i heard this coming out from Gi-hun! think positive, nothing bad will happen. we have nothing else to do, why not popping things up a little then? cmon, its gonna be fun, trust me!" jung-bae told him with a little excitement.

"a little bit of laughter in this empty room would sure cheer up other people..laughter is affective, they say." he thought.

Dae-ho was a little bit worried. he wasnt in the ler mood, it was the opposite. what if he would be the next victim? as if he made this plan! "think postive! its 2 against 1! nothing bad will happen!..yes. nothing bad will happen!"

In the frontman's mind, he was searching for his new friends. He could have sworn they were sitting together and talking about various topics not a long time ago. Where could they be now?

oh, nevermind. In-ho couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. "are they hiding from me or..?" The frontman noticed them both hiding under the bed, giggling like children, believing he couldn't see them. "alright, let's play hide and seek then, I guess.."

"oh-uh he's coming towards us! it's now or never!" Dae-ho quickly alerted to his friend. "alright then..on the count of three, we will jump out and tickle him to pieces!"

"guys...is this some sort of game you are playing on me?.." In-ho said, trying to get them out of their hiding spot.

"are you ready?" jung-bae double checked. "Sir yes sir!" dae-ho said, felt like his life based on this surprise, his self-assurd rising up a little more. will this actually work?..

In-ho slowly approached the bed, where Jung-bae and Dae-ho were hiding. "what are you guys up to..?"

Without any second thought of guilt, they both slowly counted to 3.

"1."

"2."

"3...!"

Right before In-ho could get any closer, Jung-bae and Dae-ho jumped right infront of him, causing them all to fall down on the floor.

"oh-, alright the fun is done, you guys got- mEhehEhe-?!"

Just when he tought it was over, the frontman started to feel a funny sensation going trough his body,..again.

"whahahat thehehe?! nahahaha!"

"oho, you were right Jung-bae! he is ticklish!"

"told you~" he said, looking at in-ho who was laughing uncontrollably now.

"gi-hun, i swear when i catch you.." In-ho was cursing in his mind, it was morning, it aint the right time! he had to think about something else and not in the situation he is right now!..

"wahihihit! 2 agahihinst onehehe isnt fair! QUIHIHIT IT, ahahaha!"

He closed his mouth with one hand, and with the other one trying to get away with all this..tickling.

"ah-ah, where do you think you're going? nothing's gonna save you now!" jung-bae teased with a evil smirk, pulling him back again. in-ho lost it.

"i think he's about to explode..look how red he is! ah, i know! these fingers are just too much aint they??" dae-ho added.

the frontman is blushing? yh no way.

"STAHAHAP! i cahahant!..!" in-ho squeezed his eyes, his laughter going mute.

"wait, i just wanna test out one more thing..." dae-ho sounded mischievous..this wont end good.

"what if... i tickle you here?" he scribbled his fingers around in-ho's stomach. dae-ho could feel in-ho's legs kicking a little behind him, now being in a giggly mess.

"PLEHEHEASE!"

"begging already?? how naive.." jung-bae chuckled, knowing he would beg right away in the first place.

"and..what about here?" dae-ho's cold hands touched number 001's neck, scribbling softly than anything else. there was the point where in-ho screamed with laughter. He scrunched up like a turtle, squeezing his eyes more, hoping that no guard can see him right now..

"wohoo! jackpot! he got all shy!"

in-ho hasnt laughed like this for ages. since when was he this sensetive??

this will not end easy. he should think of a plan..

"HeheEHEY juhuhung-baehehe! ihihif you hehehelp me getting thihihis back on dae-hoho, ihihi will maybehehe foRGIHIHIVE yohohou! ahahaha! beHehe fast wihihith yohour thohoughts!"

oh-uh.. this is not good for dae-ho...lets wish him good luck, shall we?

thanks for reading! •u•

[arcenciel-par-une-larme]

Here are some old "favourites" off the top of my head:

4. Beauty is subjective! / God looks at the heart!

Yes, I know that God looks at the heart. Thank you for providing a truism which does not prove your argument. Five points from Gryffindor.

The fact that God looks first and foremost at the hearts of men does not mean that He is indifferent about what man creates and to what standards, nor does it prove that there are no artistic standards beyond the bare minimum of a good heart. The absence of art criticism in the Church is what has gotten us to the point where we are witnessing the growth and proliferation of Christian trap, if you can fathom it, and nobody bats an eyelash.

Also, let us concede for the sake of argument that beauty is, indeed, subjective. Even so, have you bothered to ask the people in your church whether they would like to rent a deconsecrated church instead of an IMAX theatre to hold services? Did you bother to ask them whether they would actually like worshipping in a concrete nuclear bunker before you went and built it (which means that they are now stuck with it whether they like it or not)?

5. Modern buildings are cheaper than traditional ones!

I doubt that the churches who built houses of worship like this were swimming in money, mon ami. It might interest you, by the way, that sublimity is not a matter of extravagance, but of order, proportion, and ornamentation. The beauty of buildings like this licks most of the modern architectural world hollow.

Also, "modern" does not automatically equate to modernist.

6. Art is just a secondary adjunct to worship. Treating it as anything more is idolatry.

Boy, this is an intellectually dishonest guilt-trip if I've ever seen one! Ten points from Gryffindor, and on the rather likely chance that Paul Washer is among your regular sources of spiritual guidance, do yourself and your family a favour and repent.

Beyond joking, however, your belief that the art which we employ in worship is not subject to rules of propriety or beauty, and is merely a "secondary adjunct" which we may as well get out of the way in the cheapest and most effortless way possible, is a thoroughly modernist and utilitarian presupposition which you have accepted WITHOUT proving it with reference to the Bible. The earliest that you can find this sort of mentality in the Church is the time of Calvin, and even there I doubt that people would accept an "anything goes" mentality with regard to what buildings we build for our churches.

7. There are millions of hell-bound souls thirsting for the gospel right as we speak! Why bother with trivialities?

How many times do we have to tell you, old man, that these "trivialities" have brought countless people to the Christian faith, and sustain them in the same?

When people are on the verge of abandoning all hope in life due to complicated problems and life difficulties which do not simply go away with a couple of sermons or a weekend at an apologetics conference (primarily because they are problems of the heart, not of the mind nor of virtue), you had better HOPE that there are some beauteous "trivialities" to keep them adrift and help them re-focus on Christ.

8. Beauty and art carry no objective meaning! It's all in the eye/ear of the beholder!

There are settings of Psalm 94 which are set to music almost indistinguishable from love ballads that one would hear in Hollywood romcoms. There are Mass settings which literally rip off the title music from "My Little Pony". There are renditions of the Easter Sequence set to Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", for cryin' out loud. If you believe that all those are A-OK, there is something seriously wrong with your aesthetic criteria.

Also, returning to the issue of architecture: imagine that you had to live for 6 months in a 800-year-old vicarage in Norwich, and then for another 6 months in a postmodernist tower block. Try it if you can. Then come and tell me how "subjective" the issue of beauty is, even from the point of view of personal experience.

9. Would you rather have a beautiful building for a spiritually dead church, or an ugly building for a thriving and Spirit-filled community of souls?

My brother in Christ used False Dilemma!

It's not very effective...

10. Form follows function, you know!

Congratulations on providing yet another conversation-stopper sophistry which is based upon modernist presuppositions and proves absolutely nothing. Fifteen points from Gryffindor.

Riddle me this, if you will: what is the function which we serve in public worship? Is it not the administration of the most aweful and immaculate Sacrament, and the preaching of the word of the Thrice-Holy God of the universe? Does not that function then indicate that the form which serves the function should be fittingly majestic and inspiring?

In reality, what you most probably mean when you say this is "form is subjective, only function matters", upon which I will refer you back to questions #4 and #8.

11. So you're saying that you consider house churches and underground believers in Africa and Asia spiritually inferior to Englishmen with their high and mighty cathedrals?

No! That's not what I said, that's certainly not what I meant, and you know that darn well! Fifty points from Gryffindor, and go straight to Logic Gaol without passing "Go" and without collecting £200.

Most of the low-church Protestant arguments for having plain, simple church buildings and services strike me as deeply unserious.

"We should be spending that money on evangelism!"

Beauty is evangelism. Theophilia and Clamavi de Profundis are a solid 25% of the reason I'm not Protestant anymore.

"We should be spending that money on helping the poor!"

As Jesus said, "leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to Me" (Mark 14:3-6, Matthew 26:7-10). And, while you might point out that Jesus said He would no longer be with the disciples (Mark 14:7, Matthew 26:11), He clearly accepts the premise that giving expensive things to Him is a virtuous act.

"Jesus said to worship in spirit and truth!"

How does "spirit and truth" equal "plain and simple" unless you go by way of Gnosticism (spiritual = incorporeal) or just flat-out reading your opinions back into the text?

[unmotivational-motivation]

"we cwant change, but all at once": whinge merchants

no, it's not perfect or go as far we would like, or long term fit for purpose, but it's better than what we have now. Your non-contribution has been noted, now kindly piss off

[xxplastic-cubexx]

now i aint ever had no one on the enemy team call me out.... lol ...... abysmal they say this right as the mvp screen pops up too.....

[great-septimus]

Hey, so I don't want to be that guy, but when are we going to acknowledge that Akechi was right?

No, I obviously don't mean about the things he was very clearly wrong about. I'm referring to the things he says in interviews about the Phantom Thieves. I hate how many people switch up after playing through his betrayal who previously agreed with his views, because nothing he said is wrong and nothing he did changes that fact. He speaks in the TV Station on the objective facts that he should know about, and with or without the context of his form of justice those facts stay true. It's a fallacy to claim that his form of justice being universally less approved of makes the Phantom Thieves better by comparison, or discredits anything he said. I don't think the Phantom Thieves are evil, or that they should necessarily be imprisoned, but I do think that they are not morally sound. They're kids. Prior to his betrayal I think he served his purpose well, but it's easy to disregard the validity of his words when you find out that he's a murderer. With the knowledge he SHOULD have had (and that many DID have), everything he says is true. And honestly? It still can be true for basically the entire plot of the game. Mishima's confidant tests the thieves in that way. They could have changed the hearts of anyone who's not a persona user, for any personal reason. It's a slippery slope.

I'll use these three options as an example for why he's right:

"They're justice itself" is just subjective and incorrect, because justice as a concept is individualized and given how each Phantom Thief has different reasons for being one it's ridiculous for even them to say. Their first target was before they even formed a group, and Ann was ready to kill Kamoshida. The others were not even going to step in, and they were going to respect her choice either way. All the members are so different, so this is an insane claim to make.

"They're necessary" is wrong because to say they are necessary is pretty disingenuous to all "justice" that has ever happened BEFORE they existed. I don't believe that the Thieves were a necessity per say, and personally I think their actions can only be judged on a case by case basis. Some Mementos targets for example have issues that stem beyond what they have done. Now they have their desires stolen but still have the issue that pushed them to immortality in the first place, plus a shitton of guilty baggage. The Thieves only help with the atonement, but not the push. How many of those people didn't just go right back to their past behaviors? How many of them got worse in other ways? Think about Futaba, she felt so guilty for something she thought she did, she formed a palace to condemn herself to die alone. To claim the Thieves are necessary to reform society implies that their method is the most effective, and I think that's a lot to claim for something they don't understand.

"They do more than the cops" I almost agree with. Legally the police in Japan in this game anyway (yes I'm aware it extends to reality in many ways, but I'm referring to just the game right now) are corrupt and flawed for the most part, but the thing I don't agree with is that this makes the Thieves a better alternative. They're not. For the same reason Yoshizawa says later, the Thieves can only do so much as vigilantes, and to imply that society should rely on these faceless nameless flawed people to fix society is not any better than what they have now. Especially with the method being unknown, potentially unsafe, and easily exploitable. I cannot be the only one who if the Phantom Thieves were real, would be extremely alarmed by the prospect of a group of vigilantes "changing hearts" right? It's so vague, and the pattern is dystopian. At least police methods are familiar

What I'm saying is that they're kids, and it's kind of insane that this game places Akechi as the narrative foil for the Thieves in their message and then makes it so easy to disregard because "he's an assassin so how could he know anything about justice". The Thieves don't either, and Ann was nearly a murderer. If the bar is "don't commit murder when you're infiltrating someone's mind" then it's far too low. I wouldn't trust a group of adults with this power to reform society, even less a group of teenage vigilantes. I'm 19, and I find this odd. And Strikers frames them as even more righteous, and it bugs me even more in that game. At least Royal has the third semester to give a bit more nuance to how big of a responsibility Ren was given, but that's also very frequently misinterpreted.

I love this game, and I love this fandom, and I have thoughts that get weird and ranty. I apologize, but I hope you all found this as interesting as I did.

[skrunksthatwunk]

just found out rascal (babycat)'s been with his owner this whole time instead of my roommate which is. something. :|

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Kafka

[kbwrites]

“Who did this to you?” A deep voice echoes, vibrating around the walls of the throne room. On the opulent throne sits the owner of the baritone voice — Ryomen Sukuna. The king of curses, resting his head on his arm as he looks down at you, too scared to look up from your feet.

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He warns, your body hasn’t ceased shaking. Your uniform is tattered, the rips in the fabric revealing deep purple bruises. Uraume was the one that found you, unconscious in the butlers pantry. After waking you up they brought you to the throne room. So there you were, kneeling at the feet of your king.

You arrived to the estate a year ago, your life as a servant was agreeable. Lord Sukuna treated all his servants well. You were loyal, efficient and pleasant to look at, it was only a matter of time before he started to notice you.

At first he requested you be the one to serve him breakfast. Then it became lunch, and suddenly you tended to all his meals. He demanded you for everything, his bathing, dressing. He could do all of these things himself of course, but he prefered your gentle hands. His personal attendant, not even Uraume, had seen the king of curses at his most vulnerable... but you had bared witness to all of him.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me who. Then why?” Ryomen slowly rises from his throne, his looming figure towering over your kneeling body. He lowers himself to your level, one hand reaches down to lift your chin. Firm yet gentle he forces you to look up at him, your eyes meeting his red ones. Your once flawless skin is covered in bruises. His eyes darken.

“They t-think you favor me.” Is all you can manage to get out.

Word spreads around the estate of course. And plus Sukuna didn’t exactly hide his preference for you. You didn’t sleep with the rest of the help, you were given a room connected to his. ‘In case he requested your presence in the night’ but the reality was he slept better knowing you were near. You didn’t eat the servant food, you dined in the great hall. At a separate table he had made for you. All of these things on full display for the others to see, it wasn’t long before the insults started. At first it was the odd ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ being mumbled in passing. Then an accidental shove into the wall, always followed by a curt “sorry”.

But today? It was your birthday. You had only mentioned it to Ryomen in passing one day at breakfast. He never understood the need for such a useless celebration. You went about your duties for the day, when Uraume found you and handed you a small box. And there on display for everyone to see, a beautiful beaded bracelet made from polished cherry wood. A token of appreciation ‘for your hard work’.

A gift from the king of curses.

“What’s so great about you anyway?”

“Lord Sukuna’s bed-warmer gets everything she wants!”

They punched and kicked, throwing you into the pantry. The group of servants you once thought of as your family. Clouded by jealousy, hatred towards you — the lord’s favorite.

Ryomen Sukuna, the epitome of ruthlessness and malevolence, softens his gaze. He looks upon your trembling form with… pity? His moment of weakness is replaced by an unreadable expression.

“You have been relieved of your servant duties. You will stay here in my quarters from here on out.” It’s a demand, leaving no room for objection. Your eyes well up with tears looking up at your king, his other hand wipes them away. He rises, walking towards the door, his back facing you.

“Get up. Uraume will tend to your injuries. Once you are well, we will visit the servant’s quarters. You will point out those who laid their filthy hands on you, and I will kill them.”

part 2 out now!!

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

You decide to sleep on the couch after an argument

love and deepspace

characters: Zayne, Sylus (pt2 with Rafayel and Xavier here)

note: they might be a little mischaracterized so bear with me.

Zayne

Usually, arguments with Zayne don’t get this heated. There was no yelling, not on his part at least, but he could be really cold with his words when he wanted to be. Not that you were any better. Some things you said hurt him to no end. So you came up with a decision - to sleep on a couch tonight. To be honest, it was more because to be petty, than not wanting to spend a night beside him. You gathered your pillow and blanket and got comfortable on the couch, which made Zayne sigh out loud when he entered the room.

“What is this?”

You turned your back to him as an answer. Another sigh comes out of his mouth. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you acting like a brat doesn’t ease anything at all.

“I know you’re mad, dear but is this necessary?”

No answer.

“Alright”

He left the room and before you could convince yourself that you didn’t care he was back with a blanket of his own and took a seat in an armchair. You turn your head towards him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess we’re not sleeping in bed tonight”

“I’m not. You can go”

“I believe I didn’t stutter”

You scoffed and turned around again.

“suit yourself”

Minutes pass and sleep doesn’t come to you. Whether it’s because of an uncomfortable couch or an absence of his arms around you is hard to say, but after turning around thousands of times and still not being able to sleep is frustrating.

Finally, Zayne had enough of watching your struggle.

“How about we go to bed?”

“No” came your response after a second of hesitation. With a small amused smile on his face, he hovered over the couch.

“What do you say… I take you to bed and you can curse me out for it tomorrow?”

You shifted a little but didn’t answer, which made his smile widen. He gathered you in his arms and your lack of objection was all he needed to take you to your room and tucking you in bed. Even though you seemed to warm up he didn’t know how far he could push you, so kneeling beside the bed to be on your eye level he started:

“If you still need space I can-”

“Stay”

He smiled at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Okay”

He got up and kissed your forehead before slipping in beside you and pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter

"Shh, we'll talk about it tomorrow... but I'm sorry too"

You smile a little. You two will sort this out tomorrow.

Sylus

What Sylus says, goes around. His word is the law. This is what he’s used to. That's how it's always been.

Then you came into his life and even though he’s still in charge of how things go in the N109 zone, you just need to say the word and everything will be how you like it. No questions, no hesitation. He would give you the world if you so much as whispered the need. Whatever you want, whatever you need, he will make it happen.

Unless, when it comes to your safety. Now don’t get me wrong. Sylus knows you can defend yourself and then some. But when it comes to the N109 zone, there are things Sylus knows better than you. Additionally, The fact that you can be reckless in your battles does nothing to help ease his worries.

That was the reason for the heated argument tonight. Sylus with his harsh words and snarky remarks always finds a way to infuriate you. So you two go on and on for half an hour now and none of you seems to back down. You storm off to your room and take your things to get comfortable on the couch. However, on your way out Sylus blocks your way. He raises an eyebrow at the blanket and pillow in your arms.

“Now, what exactly do you think you are doing, sweetie?”

“move”

“I asked you a question”

“I’m not sleeping beside you- Sylus” you exclaim as he hoists you over his shoulder. you punch and scratch his back but to no avail.

“Careful with your claws, kitten”

He drops you on the bed climbing over you.

“Now listen, this is what will happen. You will stop acting like a wild kitten and sleep beside me. I am sorry for hurting you but we will discuss it tomorrow, when we are both a lot calmer. Understood?”

You don’t want to give in so easily. You also don’t want to sleep without him tonight. So you nod avoiding eye contact. He, however, doesn’t accept it and raises your chin with his finger to make you look at him.

“Use your words, sweetie”

“Yes”

“Splendid” He removed himself from you so you could get under the blanket. He laid beside you and pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest.

"Sy... I'm sorry too"

"So I'm Sy now?"

This man.

"Nevermind, you're still a prick"

You try to remove his arm but he holds you tighter as he laughs.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sweetie"

You felt him kiss the crown of your head as he caressed your shoulder with his thumb. you return to your previous position and listening to his heartbeat, sleep lured you in soon enough.

[loves0phelia]

Hi! I don’t know if you’ve watched part 2 of outer banks yet, and if you didn’t this request is a spoiler!!

Can you do JJ Maybank’s sister seeing him die and Rafe is just watching her break down and he’s comforting her while she cries in his arms? I’m sobbing over JJ right now 😭

Thank you!

Gone

Summery: outer banks season 4 episode 10/the anon

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS, death, grammar mistakes.

A/N: i also sobbed, i cant believe it and thank you for requesting love youuu.

The sandstorm hit suddenly. The air was thick, nearly solid with dust. You stumbled forward as the wind blew strongly, You screamed, begging JJ to come down before something terrible would happen but even if you pulled the scarf tighter across your nose and mouth every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass making it hard to speak. 

Everything was clouded and your goggles were smeared with sand dust. It was impossible to see your brother who was up high on that statue trying to find the blue crown you, the pogues and Rafe have been risking your lives for.

“Come down JJ!” You screamed as loud as you could, hoping he could hear you over the screaming wind. 

A surge of panic rose in you, he wasn't listening, only going higher and higher to reach the top.

“Hurry please!” You screamed again as the sandstorm was getting worse and worse. Squinting your eyes you could see JJ finally descending the statue after a while, carefully holding on to the rock.

“JJ, holy shit are you okay?” You rushed forward to him as he stumbled around frantically.

“I'm good! I'm better actually, I'm great. Look!” he yelled over the storm and held up the blue crown, it felt like a dream having it in front of you.

“No way, you found it” You both looked down at the dusty historical crown in silence for a second, sinking in it the victory that was so rare when it came to you and your twin.

“We got it!” He cheered, pumping his fist, jumping into place from all the adrenaline. The victory cheers didn't last long though, the next thing you knew shots were fired at you from the group who wanted to steal what was rightfully yours.

“Run, run, run” JJ shouted behind you as you ran through the sand blindly and desperate to find shelter.

The sandstorm roared with life around you, Yours and JJ's footsteps vanished almost as quickly as you made them, erased by the wind.

You coughed, your lungs stinging as you struggled to run down the stairs you had found leading inside the monument. 

But suddenly, a shadow appeared out of the storm. A strong hand gripped your forearms and in a sudden movement, your back was pressed on your “father's” chest, an arm around your neck holding on tightly, cutting your airflow and a sharp blade pressed into the side of your face.

“JJ!” you called out, trying to get out of his grasp.

“Let her go!” JJ shouted, his voice trembling with anger. He lunged towards you trying to rip you away from him but he only pressed the blade harder making you cry out. But Groff only shook his head.

You cried, struggling, and your heart pounding as Groff’s grip tightened. You fought against him, but his hold was unbreakable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Groff hissed, his gaze cold and unmoved. “Always standing in my way. Well, this time, you’re not going to stop me. Give me what I want”

“Let her go” He begged.

“If you had listened, we wouldn't be here JJ, you could have had everything. WE could have had the life we deserved as a family. All three of us. But now you get nothing. Nothing at all” Chandler pants like a maniac.

“I already have everything,” JJ says, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have everything I ever wanted. You want the crown? Sure, take it. I don't want it. Just let my sister go.”

“Give it to me, hold it out” He reached toward JJ for the precious object, his grip on you not loosening.

In a swift moment, an exchange was made. Groff grasped the crown, and JJ pulled you out of his arms.

“I got you” JJ breathed out with relief, like a weight was removed from his shoulders. He hugged you protectively. Holding your head against his shoulder like a shield. But then again, the victory was cut short.

“JJ, y/n” you were interrupted by the voice of your father, his call made both of you separate and turn to face him, JJ’s body still shielding you from further harm.

“It's a shame…you and I” You furrowed your brows and a gasp came out of your mouth when the sound of flesh being pierced rang out. 

“You should have given me the rope” Time was moving at a slow pace as the scene unfolded. Groff twisted the knife in JJ's stomach before pulling it out rapidly and running out into the desert.

"JJ!" You screamed, your voice raw with terror. You saw JJ stumble back, his hands flying to his side. Dark red blood was spreading through his shirt and across his fingers, and the sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut.

The world narrowed to the scene in front of you as you watched JJ fall, his face contorted in pain. 

“No, no, no” you cried, desperation thick in your voice.

You rushed to JJ’s side, catching him just as he stumbled. He looked up at you, his face pale and stained with tears.

“It's okay JJ, it's okay” You pressed into his wound, shaking terribly, sobbing when he let out a pained groan.

“No, please” you murmured, pressing your hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

“Hey, hey,” He whispered, his voice breaking. “Take care of the others for me, okay?”

“No! No” Your breaths shakes, your chest tight with sadness.

“I love you, y/n. You're the best sister anyone could ever have.” His gaze was beginning to drift, his eyes unfocused, and the strength in his grip was fading. Panic clawed at you.

“I love you, please don't go” you begged, but it was pointless he was already gone.

“No! No, no. Please! JJ, please” you shaked his shoulder weakly.

“John B!” You screamed, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen your lungs were getting.

“Pope! Rafe!” Your hands gripped your brother refusing to let go.

“Please JJ!” Your heart shattered completely, a part of you gone forever. Your brother, your twin, your best friend, the other half of your soul, gone. 

“Please” You pressed your forehead against him, your tears falling over the blood-soaked shirt.

The pogues came running towards you, sinking to their knees, calling out to him, crying, sobbing, mourning.

Everything in you gave out as you held onto him, you couldn't even fight when hands grabbed onto your shoulder to bring you away from your brother's corpse.

Your body fell limp into Rafe's lap. His hands held your body up as if he was your lifeline. 

“It's gonna be okay” He whispered against your forehead but you barely registered any of it, only sobbing, and screaming in pain against him. 

The Pogues stood in a tight circle, all eyes fixed on JJ as if somehow their stares alone could bring him back. But no one spoke, and in the heavy silence, the truth crashed over them, settling deep in their bones. JJ was gone.

Kiara’s shoulders shook, a small, trembling motion that quickly overtook her entire body. She fell to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as she fought to hold back the sobs. 

Pope was beside her, his eyes frantically looking over the scene, he didn't want to believe any of it, as if it was a cruel joke.

John B stood, rigid.  His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and his jaw was set, teeth gritted as he tried to hold it all in, to keep the pain from breaking him apart. 

Rafe's arms wrapped around you gently, his hand resting on the back of your head as he let you fall into his chest. You buried your face in his shoulder, the grief and sorrow pouring out in waves as he held you.

He didn’t speak of the rivalry, the old wounds and the bitterness between your families; none of that mattered now. At this moment, all he saw was your pain, and he was there, his own heart breaking a little as he watched you crumble.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you weak and exhausted, Rafe pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something you’d never seen in him before—softness, understanding. 

“It's okay,” he murmured, his voice a promise, his hand gentle as he brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You sat on the sand as a fire crackled in front of you, you had just buried him, the silence was thick nobody wanted to believe the truth. 

Your head pounded, even when you were softly laying on Rafe's legs using them as pillows. His calloused fingers gently rubbed your hair and you tried to concentrate on the movement in an attempt to forget about the previous moment but you failed.

“Groff said he was going to Lisbon” Rafe whispered above you, making your eyes open and looking up at him. His eyes met yours and he continued.

“If he was my friend or my brother… I would go after the guy that just killed him” The mention made your heart burn but he had a point.

“He's not wrong” Kie whispered, agreeing with your inner thoughts. You snuggled against Rafe's legs one last time before sitting up and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“JJ would already be on his way to kill him if it was one of us,” you said and everyone's eyes snapped towards you, those were the first words you had spoken since it happened. 

“He'd get even,” John B added.

“Let's get revenge,” you said, your voice more confident than it was before, you felt a hand grasp onto yours and slowly you turned your head to face Rafe. He nodded and tightened his grip in a comforting way, never letting go.

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