#everything else is just a consequence of that

[sunderwight]

KPop Demon Hunters theory on the Honmoon & Rumi's powers:

Okay so I am like 75% sure that Celine was full of shit when she said that the Golden Honmoon would remove Rumi's patterns. Rumi seems to be a largely unprecedented hybrid so it's far more likely that Celine herself doesn't know what will happen to her when the Honmoon is fully sealed, especially given that the Honmoon has also never been fully sealed either. It's unclear what all the ramifications of that would be and those ramifications just being purely positive and happening to have the ideal outcome according Celine seems implausible.

To that end, I think the real reason that Rumi's patterns kept increasing as the Honmoon got closer to completion was because something else was going on. The patterns seem to connect to Gwi Ma and the Honmoon seals away everything connected to Gwi Ma, so the most plausible supposition based on that information is, I think, that anything with that Gwi Man connection would get permanently sealed away with him by the Golden Honmoon.

But are all patterns indeed connected to Gwi Ma?

I think not, actually.

Rumi doesn't hear Gwi Ma the way that other demons do. This could be because she's spent her entire life on the other side of the barrier, but as we see with Jinu, Gwi Ma can grab demons connected to him and yoink them across whenever he feels like it. It could then instead be that Rumi was protected by Gwi Ma's ignorance of her existence -- she didn't hear him because he never even thought to look for her -- but if that was the situation, then Gwi Ma definitely would have grabbed her as soon as Jinu reported on her patterns.

Even after Rumi goes full demon, she doesn't seem to be connected to Gwi Ma or susceptible to his influence.

So my theory is, Rumi's dad was a demon, yes, but not all demons are connected to Gwi Ma. Gwi Ma is just one demon king, the one that the hunters focus on especially because of his habit of devouring souls (and because their powers seem to work especially well on him). The patterns are demonic but only those who have made bargains with Gwi Ma have their demonic natures bound into servitude to him. Thus, Rumi is not connected to Gwi Ma.

But Rumi is connected to the Honmoon. For the past five years she's helped strengthen it. Her voice is part of it and her soul is part of it. When her demon powers start to manifest, they ripple through the Honmoon.

So I think Rumi's patterns were starting to spread because her powers were increasing, because she is a demon connected to a massive spiritual network that is powered by human souls. Her voice failing at the same time was a consequence of her anxiety and burnout, not the patterns actually doing anything to her singing (except indirectly). In fact the reason her demon powers were getting stronger was because the Honmoon was getting stronger.

A fun idea to go with this interpretation: if Rumi's voice hadn't given out and Huntrix had rested up and resolved some stuff before properly completing the Golden Honmoon, Rumi would have still ended up going Full Demon Mode because she would have unwittingly created like a perfect base of power for herself. She would have become a demon king, comparable in might to Gwi Ma. Maybe that's even part of what was going on -- through her connection to the Honmoon, that was sealing Gwi Ma away, Rumi was also unwittingly taking his power for herself. This gets way more fanfic-y but I think it's quite fun to contemplate. Rumi thinks she's going to turn herself full human and instead she ends up usurping a millennia-old demon king and stealing his seat of power. Surprise!

[jayktoralldaylong]

I wouldn’t say I’m more eloquent or smarter but I’ve been having brain rot about this idiot for three days and I have to talk about him!

Kizaru is truly a pathetic wet mop of a character, and I believe that all of Oda’s characters re intentional to reflect a certain part of the world. ESPECIALLY the officers in the Marines.

We’ve got Garp who’s always talking big about changing the system from the inside but he has been inside that system for nearly 50 years and has changed absolutely NOTHING. 💀 A symbol for the good that allows evil thrive by just doing nothing.

There’s Akainu who doggedly believes that he’s doing the right thing. But in his attempt to burn down evil and narrow it to simple shades of black and white, he is also destroying all the good things of the world and therefore achieving zero success when it comes to ‘Making the world a better and safer place.’

Aokiji/Kuzan is a war criminal. He has done terrible things in the name of the government and justice, but he represents the population that is strong enough to grow the balls needed to walk away. He is staring all of those atrocities in the face, he is accepting them and whatever consequences come from them. Not only has he swallowed the hard pill that he is wrong, he is swallowing the even harder pill of figuring out what he wants to do about it, even after already dedicating so much of his life to the wrong doctrine.

Now Kizaru (I fear this will be long). Kizaru is at the Kuzan stage. He is at the stage where he realizes that everything around him is wrong or bad and so much of their justice is a lie. And although he knows this, he does not accept this.

To put it in simple words, he is running away. 💀

He is not Akainu who doesn’t even realize that his ‘justice’ is just blind dictatorship. Kizaru is fully aware of the people they are hurting, and he’s not cold about it either. Hurting people hurts him too. Yet he will still hurt them. Why? Because he has spent give or take thirty years hurting people.

And to make the choice to turn around, to turn away from that beautiful painted fake lie of justice, and to face the ugly bitter misery that is your legacy…. Ooooh it is tough.

Agh, my thoughts are spinning in circles. I don’t know if I can say it right.

See, he knows the predictable very straightforward path of a Marine which is kill, kill, kill, fight, fight, fight until karma finally catches up with him. He gets paid a decent salary, he has a scheduled time of work and expectations, he has a team that will sort of back him up no matter what (because the Marines is a cult that suffers together). As chaotic as it is to be a Marine, it is an easy and very predictable lifestyle (or at least it used to be).

So knowing all this, when he looks ahead and sees a path where he does not obey the rules of this easy life, it opens to a rainbow of….darkness. 💀 (which is interesting for a man of light). He has obeyed the rules his entire life, because the rules are predictable. Because he has them so memorized that he knows the exact punishment for each time he steps out of line. It is comfortable, it is complacency, it is knowing a system is corrupt and believing there is nothing you can do about it.

Because he KNOWS, the second he steps out of line, the second he disobeys, with his power level, he becomes public enemy number one. 😅😂 And this sense of self preservation is selfish but selfishness is not his inherent trait. His outlook on life seems to be

“I know the rules and I’m following them. If everyone else conveniently did that as well, then I would not need to hurt anyone.”

That’s the first thing he says to Sentomaru. He says they should not have been studying the void, because now they’ve become criminals, and he cannot overlook criminals. It is a clockwork of years spent in a corrupt system and the comfort of the predictability of that system.

Kizaru is the system of people in power that push the narrative that they are powerless. His category is almost as bad as Garp. Garp is worse because he’s not changing shit, he’s actively recruiting, and he’s got family constantly affected by the Marines. I genuinely do not know what Garp is still the Marines. 💀 He should just leave!

That aside. Kizaru seems to have…nothing else going for him. And he’s just used his hands to destroy the only other thing that he could fall back to.

The path of reconstructing learnt bigoted views is not easy. It’s even harder treading that path alone, or as a criminal who will end up right where he started (fighting the friends that he made in the Marines). And Kizaru never fights to kill anyone. All of his interactions with the other characters, he only fights to kill when he is ordered to. But he’ll have to fight to kill as a pirate cause his former friends would definitely be fighting to kill.

The open seas is a place with no support. And there is no possible way that Kizaru will leave the Marines without a bounty on his head. 😂😭 I’m surprised they haven’t drawn one up for Kuzan yet with the way the World Government is.

(All I do on this app is yap)

So yes, he did kill Vegapunk because it was easy, because he’s always chosen the easy thing to do that will cause him the least amount of stress.

But here is the kicker.

This time, it wasn’t easy. This time, even after completing the job, he is still stressed. And now he’s going to live with that stress and that memory and that knowledge for the rest of his life. Some say this might finally be the straw to break the camel’s back and ooooh lord I hope so. I hope this decision haunts him worse than Ohara haunted Kuzan. I hope he can’t close or open his eyes without thinking of Vegapunk, because finally, for the first time in his entire life (because most of his friends are in the Marines or work for the Marines), finally Kizaru has become a victim of the system that he has so doggedly served. And it is eating him alive.

Kizaru is a very fascinating character and I love seeing this example of this type of person.

In the beginning of this arc, he also admitted that he's just a tool of the government and the celestial dragons. It's like, he's fully aware of what he is to the government and to people. He's fully aware of all the atrocities they commit and he commits in their name. He's fully aware that most of what they, and he, do and stand for is wrong and awful. He just doesn't care. Or at least just doesn't care enough to do anything or even think for himself. He's lazy. (Yeah that's the whole thing with his character). Dangerously lazy. It seems like he does have feelings on what the government does, like he doesn't like/want it, he cares about these people who he considers friends, he's sad to see them get hurt. But he chooses to be "a cog in the machine" and never stand up for anyone or fight back.

He's knowledgeable of all the horrible shit the government does, doesn't even like it himself, but does nothing. Actually he does worse than nothing, he does whatever they want him to without complaint, and because it's easier I guess? Easier than fighting back? Easier to just do what you're told than fight for people's lives.

[revelboo]

Hi revel!!! So I had an idea for a scenario for either various or just 1 bot but im a transman and im a full blown himbo. Like kinda short, but a lot of muscle and freakishly strong for my size 😭 sometimes I freak out my much larger husband with my strength cuz he forgets because of how short I am. Anyways I was just wondering how like Rodimus, ES Megatron (my faves<3) or any other bot/s of your choice would react to that. Ty for all that you do for the transformers Fandom <3!!!

Sure!

Strong

ES Megatron x Reader

• Watching him fumbling absently around on his desk, you put your shoulder against the nearly empty energon cube and push. Bare feet squeaking on metal as the cube slides with a rasp and he looks over at you in surprise. “Thank you, little one,” he rumbles softly, that little crease between his optics making you want to smooth it away with your fingers as you smile breathlessly.

• “Any time,” you say, grinning as you resume restlessly pacing and he picks up the cube, testing the weight. Every now and then he’s seen you jog circuits around the edge of his berth or stretch out to push yourself up with your arms. Training. Likes watching you move, the way you can bend and stretch. Like right now, one arm extended over your head as you bend slightly, stretching. So fascinatingly flexible compared to him.

• “We could spar sometime,” he says, lifting the cube to drink and you wrinkle your nose. Knowing how one sided that would be. You like to workout, to push yourself, but he’s still a lot bigger than you are even mass displaced. You’d done track and wrestled in high school and after graduating, you’d tried to hit the gym in the mornings. Lifted weights and ran on the treadmills, because you could listen to music and lose yourself to the routine of it. It was your breathing space from everything else.

• “Would you let me win?” You ask and he laughs, tapping a servo against his cube. He’d like to lie. Say that he’d play spar and let you pin him down just to see you smile, to build up your confidence. But he knows he’d pin you down and claim you as his. Rut against you until you’re both spent. And then do it again. Servos flexing on the cube until it starts to bend with a little crack and he eases up.

• ‘I’d dominate you,’ he counters on a growl, a servo sliding against the side of the cube, optics brightening. ��Conquer you.’ And your smile becomes wicked. “You can certainly try,” you challenge as you give him a slow once over. Brows lifting as he smiles, you dance backward on his desk, hands up gesturing for him to bring it on. Knowing you can’t win, but with consequences like these, you don’t mind losing. Don’t mind getting a workout before the real workout either.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

whump details: travel on foot

so your whumpee has escaped their whumper. What now? Maybe they've been rescued by friends, or are lucky enough to have access to a vehicle or other transport system. If not... They're on their own. Likely on foot. And if they're going any sort of distance, there's going to be consequences on top of everything else.

Things that will slow a character down:

- existing injuries

- poor footwear

- adrenaline crash

- moving for more than an hour without food or water (or less if they're already malnourished)

- weather

Injuries your character may develop that complicate things:

- wear and tear to joints; hips, knees, and ankles

- blisters. A seemingly minor part of life but they will make walking hell for at least a few days

- overuse injuries for legs (and back or shoulders if they're carrying any supplies)

- possible dislocations in the leg joints, especially if they have prior weakness/injury

- old wounds becoming aggravated/complicating their movement

Recovery after the initial escape:

- a very fit character could cover 20+ miles relatively quickly. (Think marathon runners.) But even if your escaping living weapon or soldier can put out that much effort for the initial burst, they'll likely be incapacitated to some degree afterwards. If they aren't able to consume calories/drink water during this, they will crash HARD. Perfect time to have them collapse just outside a remote farmstead or cabin :)

- rest, food, and water are the most important things for recovery. If they collapse without any replenishing, they'll be practically bedridden by the time they wake up. Maybe they have to keep pushing because there's no other choice, but they will be worse for the wear

- a character used to travelling long distances will recover quickly with the proper tools. A character who isn't is going to be feeling the effects of their escape for weeks afterwards, if not months. They may struggle to walk for several days afterwards, and might come out the other side with long term injuries ---maybe even permanent ones

[orellazalonia]

Slow to Forgive

Summary: Bucky reports back to the team as he copes with what has happened among her, you, and everything else that has occurred. Meanwhile, a few people gradually start visiting you, trying to reconnect in their own different ways.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The others were already gathered when Bucky returned.

He stepped through the door with that same steady walk, but something about his posture was tighter now. Like tension had settled into his spine and hadn’t left. Steve noticed it first. Natasha second. Sam leaned off the wall, catching the subtle difference in Bucky’s expression.

No one said anything at first.

Just waited.

“She’s not panicked,” Bucky said finally, his voice low as he moved to the table. “She’s calm. Like she’s already made peace with what happens next.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Did she give you anything?”

“No intel,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “No locations, no contacts, nothing we can use right away.”

“But?” Bruce prompted, reading between the lines.

“But she believes she’s right.” Bucky leaned on the table now, both hands braced against the edge. “Every word out of her mouth was confident. She doesn’t think she betrayed us, she thinks she exposed us.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Did she admit to leaking the access codes?”

“She didn’t need to. She didn’t deny it either.” He exhaled. “She didn’t even sound angry. Just… disappointed.”

Sam muttered something under his breath and paced to the other side of the room.

Wanda looked up quietly from where she sat near the terminal. “She hurt you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to hers, and for a second the mask cracked. A flicker of something raw passed through his eyes before it disappeared again.

“She was good at pretending,” He admitted. “And maybe I was good at letting her.”

Steve’s brows drew in, thoughtful but firm. “You think she’s still playing us?”

“I think,” Bucky began carefully, “That she meant everything she said. And that’s what makes her dangerous.”

“Conviction,” Natasha murmured.

“Yeah.” Bucky straightened. “She’s not waiting to be rescued. She’s not scared of the consequences. She really believes she did the right thing.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “So… what now? We sit on our hands while she philosophizes us into another blind spot?”

“We keep her locked down,” Natasha said firmly. “And we dig. Every file, every trace, every soft point in the system she could’ve used.”

Steve nodded slowly. “We can’t take any chances.”

Wanda looked toward the far hallway, where the containment wing lay silent behind reinforced doors. “She was always so kind,” She whispered. “It’s strange how kindness can be used like a blade.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t move.

He just stared at the map projected on the center table, a faint blinking cursor where the organization’s last known base used to be.

“I don’t think she regrets it,” He said. “And that’s the part that scares me the most.”

The new room they’d put you in wasn’t a cell. But it wasn’t anything cozy either.

It had walls. A bed, a bench, and a chair. There was even a sink, a screen, and a light that never fully shut off. Just bright enough to make sleeping feel unnatural. Just soft enough to keep you awake wondering when someone would knock and say it was time for another “talk.”

You sat curled up in the corner of the narrow bed, legs tucked to your chest, back pressed against the wall. You weren’t restrained, but the silence weighed heavier than metal.

Nobody had said much since the breach. No one told you anything. And so, you didn’t ask.

You were used to being forgotten, even here, even now.

So when the door slid open, you didn’t look up right away. Not until you heard his voice.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, stepping just inside the room. “Mind some company?”

You blinked. Then nodded once.

He didn’t sit right away. Just glanced around, eyes scanning the room and then you. Not with suspicion. Just quiet concern. His expression was gentle, like someone walking into a room where grief still lingered and not wanting to stir it too hard.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Define okay.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. Something close to a smile.

“Fair.”

He finally stepped over and took the chair, spinning it once before settling in backward, with his arms resting on the back like he always had a way of making everything feel casual. Even this.

“They told me you were still here,” He said. “Didn’t feel right that no one came to check in.”

You said nothing.

“I figured… after all this, you probably didn’t want another interrogation.”

That got a small, huffed sound from you, something resembling a laugh, or the ghost of one.

He glanced around, then leaned in slightly. “So I thought I’d do something crazy.”

You tilted your head.

“Just come in here and talk to you like a person.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, he added, “Or sit here in case you didn’t want to talk at all. I’m good at both.”

You swallowed. The words felt stuck in your throat. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. At the kindness in his eyes. The warmth. Not pity or duty. Simply kindness.

It undid something small in your chest.

“Why?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

Sam didn’t pretend. He sighed and leaned back a little.

“Because no one did before,” He said. “Not enough.”

You looked away.

“It’s not your job.”

“Nope,” He agreed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Silence stretched between you. But it wasn’t sharp or cold. It settled softly.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” He replied gently. “That’s why I did.”

You blinked rapidly, jaw tightening as you tried not to feel too much. He noticed you didn’t feel like talking yet so he stood slowly, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“I’m not gonna push you,” He said. “But if you ever want to talk or sit or just complain about the food, I’m around.”

He paused at the door.

Then glanced back, his tone a little lighter.

“Oh. And I brought you something.”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled a granola bar and a pack of trail mix out, placing them both on the small ledge beside the sink.

“Not gourmet,” He said with a wink, “but better than those ration bricks.”

Then he left. No big goodbye. No expectation. Just a quiet kindness in the space where silence had taken root.

You stared at the snacks for a long time. And then, finally, you let yourself smile.

Just a little.

Even with Sam’s little visit, deep down, you really didn’t expect anyone to come back.

That was the rule, wasn’t it? People check in once, feel a little better about themselves, and then move on. Let the silence do the work. Let the person behind the glass fade back into being no one again.

But when the door opened again the next morning, you looked up; and this time, you blinked in quiet surprise.

Clint Barton stepped in, hands full of something that smelled like breakfast. His brow lifted when he saw you curled on the bed, alert.

“Morning,” He said, like this was normal. Like the awkwardness didn’t exist.

You sat up slowly, confused. “…Hi?”

He held up the bag. “Wanda said you liked blueberry muffins. I figured she wouldn’t say that unless it was true. So, uh… here.”

He crossed the room, setting the bag gently down beside you on the bed. Then, very deliberately, he stepped back. Giving you space and letting you decide what came next.

You looked at the bag. Then at him. “Why are you here?”

Clint scratched the back of his neck. “Sam told me you hadn’t really eaten. Thought maybe real food would help.” A beat. “And… to be honest, I feel like an ass.”

You blinked, surprised at the honesty.

He shrugged. “I was one of the people who got used to you always being quiet and efficient. Thought that meant you were fine. I should’ve known better.” His voice lowered. “That’s on me.”

You looked away. The muffin bag crinkled softly in your hand, “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” Clint said, half-smiling. “But we can sit in mutual awkward silence if that helps.”

You let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it cracked the shell a little.

He pulled the chair closer and sat without ceremony, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to talk about anything heavy,” He assured. “You want to tell me your least favorite cereal? We can do that.”

You studied him. Really got a good look at him. And for once, no part of his expression or demeanor was guarded. So you offered, quietly, “I think the off-brand fruit loops taste like sadness.”

He grinned. “Strong take. I respect that.”

A pause.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if I’m staying.”

He nodded, gaze soft. “That’s okay.”

You looked down at the muffin in your lap, hands curled around the warmth of the bag. “But I… don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” He said without hesitation.

And you believed him. For the first time in a long time, you really did.

The punching bag didn’t help Bucky.

He’d already changed it out twice that week, not because it tore, but because hitting it stopped giving him the quiet he needed.

Sleep hadn’t come easy either.

Not since that conversation. Not since her voice started echoing in his head again, so calm, so certain.

“You saw her breaking. You cared. But you didn’t reach out.”

He’d wanted to yell, to argue and push it away. But the worst part was… she was right.

He had seen it. The way you dimmed. The way you shrunk in rooms full of heroes and went unseen. And he'd noticed. He had meant to check in. Had meant to say something.

But he hadn’t.

Because other things always came first. Because you weren’t loud about needing help. Because he was focused on someone else.

And now? Now he kept hearing about how Clint stopped by. How Sam brought you snacks. How Bruce gave you books to read. And Wanda? Wanda just sat beside you in silence some days.

Like they all remembered you now, when it no longer counted the same.

He hadn’t visited yet. He just couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know what he’d say.

Because when he finally looked you in the eye, he was afraid you’d see the truth. That it wasn’t the betrayal from her that cut the deepest. It was how he had let you slip through his fingers without ever reaching out.

And he didn’t know if there was still time to fix that.

The lights in the corridor were dimmer at night.

Maybe to soften the edge of your confinement. Maybe to make the long hours feel less sterile. Either way, the hum of the overhead bulbs filled the space like static.

You didn’t look up when the door opened. You’d gotten used to the rhythm of footsteps by now. Sam’s easy presence, Wanda’s almost soundless approach, the calm echo of Bruce’s shoes.

But this was different.

It was heavier. Slower. Familiar in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes lifted to find Bucky standing in the doorway. His hands were in his jacket pockets. Shoulders tense. His eyes flicked briefly to you before settling on a spot near the floor.

Neither of you spoke at first.

He crossed the room quietly, but didn’t sit. Just stood there, a little too close to the wall, like he didn’t trust himself to come closer.

You watched him for a moment then lowered your gaze. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

He exhaled, the sound rougher than he meant it to be. “I wasn’t.”

That surprised you.

“I didn’t know what I’d say,” He continued quietly. “Still don’t.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, restless. “I’ve been trying to figure out when I stopped noticing you. When I stopped saying more than hi in passing. When you became part of the backdrop.”

Your throat tightened.

His gaze looked at you then. “I think you used to smile. Maybe not often. But when you did, it was real. You looked like someone who could still hope.”

You didn’t answer.

“Then it faded,” He murmured. “And I noticed that, too. And I didn’t do anything.”

You pressed your nails lightly into your palms. Just to feel something.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You whispered.

“Because I think I liked you,” He said.

Your breath caught.

“Not like… falling-for-you liked. I mean, maybe. But mostly I saw you. And I let that mean nothing.”

Silence thickened between you.

Bucky stepped forward then, just one step, and crouched beside you.

“I thought I was good at spotting people on the edge,” He said. “After everything I’ve been through, I thought I’d know. But I missed it with you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. There was too much in your chest. Guilt. Anger. Longing. Sadness. A million things you didn’t have the right words for.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” He added gently. “Hell, you don’t have to say anything at all. I just needed you to know that… I should’ve been better.”

You didn’t look at him right away.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you were afraid you’d break all over again. And you’d done enough of that in private. Battling quiet grief. Handling silent disappointments. The kinds no one noticed, the kind no one had to.

Bucky stayed crouched by the chair, close enough to feel but not close enough to lean on. He gave you space. He always did, even when it was too much.

Your hands stayed in your lap, clenched lightly, fingers curled around the fabric of your sleeves.

“I used to…” Your voice wavered. You cleared your throat. “I used to imagine what it’d be like if you saw me.”

You could feel him shift slightly, not toward you, not away. Just enough to show he was listening.

“I don’t mean in some dramatic, love at first sight way,” You said quickly, eyes still locked on the floor. “I just… wondered what it would feel like to have your attention. Even for a minute, a full genuine minute.”

Silence.

Your hands trembled but you pressed on still.

“And then I stopped imagining,” You continued softly. “Because even when I was in the room, even when I worked, helped, covered for people; I was never someone worth looking at. Not to you. Not to any of you.”

That part cracked out sharper than you meant.

You finally looked at him. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“I wasn’t waiting for a confession,” You said. “I wasn’t waiting for you or them. I’m not that naive.”

He opened his mouth, but you kept going.

“I just wanted to matter.” Your voice broke on the last word. “Not because I was loud, brilliant, or charming. Just because I was me.”

He closed his mouth again.

“I tried not to care,” You said. “When you talked to her, smiled at her, looked at her like she was the only one in the room.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed.

“And one of the worst parts?” You leaned back, blinking hard. “She was looking at me. Watching me disappear and she still let me go.”

A long silence stretched between you.

“I know I’m not innocent,” You said quietly. “I made my choice. But I didn’t do it because I hated you or anyone. I did it because I didn’t think anyone would come…”

He let out a shaky breath. “I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t.”

You didn’t say it cruelly. You said it like it was the truth. Because it was.

He stood slowly, step by step, as if gravity had doubled. His eyes were full of something heavy, unreadable.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” He reiterated.

You nodded. “Good. Because I don’t know if I have it yet.”

Then he left, solemnly.

And when the door slid shut again, you finally let the tears fall, not because you were angry.

But because you still cared.

And that might’ve been the cruelest part of all.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @avivarougestan @saoirses-things @itsmejen @saucysasha2035 @smokescreen1000 @poiscntree

[f0point5]

F1 really loves collecting drivers with extreme daddy issues cause first it was Max then George and now Yuki? like why are these parents excessively mean to their children especially Yuki who was literally just 17.

I am always surprised that people are surprised by this.

You have parents who are remortgaging their homes for their 12 year old’s hobby. That’s unhinged. Like, that’s so ridiculous, no normal sane parent is putting that kind of pressure on a child. Fathers who are sacrificing their own careers to be present for their child’s hobby. Fathers who are sacrificing their child’s education for a hobby that has a statistical impossibility of turning into a job. That is the behaviour of parents who do not do parenting like everybody else. The choices you have to make for your son to become an f1 driver are choices that are made overwhelmingly by fathers who are over-invested in their son’s racing career.

And grown men who are over-invested in the career of a child are going to have these outbursts. Because children are not psychologically equipped to be managing careers with adult consequences. They are children, they will fuck up, they will lose, they will have days where they do not try their hardest, days when they’re tired and annoying and full of teen angst. And that cannot be okay when you - the father - are aware that you’re standing ankle deep in mud in buttfuck Italy to the tune of 30,000 euros. You will be frustrated, disappointed, and you will feel personally offended and angry because your kid has “wasted” this opportunity (never mind this is just a kid being a kid, because to you they’re not just a kid now they’re an investment, they’re the horse you’ve bet on).

And the kids with the most money or the most batshit parents are the ones that make it. Because to make it to F1, these kids have to be pushed to the extreme. They have to give up their education, their other activities, their leisure time, literally everything, to be racing as much as possible from a young age. Children are not really capable of that kind of discipline and commitment on their own. Their parents have to make that commitment with them, almost for them. And again, who’s making that commitment? Who’s forcing them to practice on days when they don’t feel like it, who’s saying “I know it’s your friend’s birthday party but you have a karting championship in Italy sorry I don’t care how you feel that’s more important”? It’s not nice cuddly gentle parenting Dave, is it? It’s Jos Verstappen, it’s Anthony Hamilton, it’s Steve Russell.

Frankly I don’t think there’s a single driver on the grid who wouldn’t be able to pull up a story of a parent lashing out over racing. I think it’s par for the course. I think at a high level of sports for kids there’s tons of parents like this, and the more expensive the sport the more pressure these parents and kids are under. I think it’s just whether or not the drivers choose to talk about it, and most probably won’t. But I’ll die on the hill that it’s absolutely not abnormal in context.

[beetle-ze-bub]

I have this Au idea based on The Deal by Mitski cause for whatever that feels like a Stan Pines song and I can't fully explain why.

Anyways, basically, during Stan's drifter days he stays in some pretty unusual places with more than a few weird characters. So, at some point or another, he somehow hears about this deal you can make with the Night itself. Midnight, walk alone, etc, etc. Just like the song.

Stan has never been one to believe, or even just be interested in spirituality or magic or whatever; that was his brother. But he decides to keep the story in his back pocket, if for no other reason than to have an interesting story to tell people.

But maybe at some point when he's feeling like he's at rock bottom, after something especially bad happened (idk the Tijuana incident or the trunk, or losing his kidney, something like that) – and/or while drunk – he decides, 'Fuck it, I got nothing else to lose', and decides to try the deal just for the sake of it. The worst that could happen is nothing, right?

Like in the song, he tries to give away his soul, because he really is pretty sick of all the hurting and the pain and shit. Also reasoning that, since nothing will likely happen, he might as well go big.

This is where it diverges from the song somewhat. Because for what he'd take I think it'd depend.

If he was drunk and/or in an especially bad spot, I wouldn't be surprised if he said, like the song did, he would only take the consequences. But, at the same time, I think he knows enough about bad deals to realize that if – on the very off chance this is real – he's giving his soul away, it should at least be for something good. Maybe he'd ask to get Rico off his back, or for that million dollars, or make it so he never broke Ford’s project (though I feel like this isn't likely as even in its divine grace, the Night can not change the past. Maybe Stan would even get a feeling somehow, as though the Night tells him this.), or even just to keep Ford safe and/or happy. Idk rn, but yeah.

After the deal is struck, Stan feels lighter somehow. Like something is missing. It's not bad that it's gone. It's not good either. It's just missing.

He'd probably still have the same talk with the bird, but after that I feel like he'd keep drifting across the country. Not out of a need to escape, or hit his big break, but just instinct. Habit.

He'd probably still call his mom, but it's almost professional in how he talks to her, clinical. There's no attachment there, really. He loves her, or at least likes her, to some degree. But it's muffled and smothered, and so, so quiet that he can't make out the sound of it anymore. Like a soft tap at the back of his brain, so light he can hardly recognize it happened. He can't say for sure whether he'd feel much if something happened to her.

Maybe Ford, depending on what Stan wished for, suddenly finds the night welcoming. Something caring and kind and protective of him in a way he can't really explain. Obviously it can't be, it's the night; just a time of day. It's not doing anything. But he still can't help but feel that way.

Or maybe even his life has suddenly gotten so much better. He's suddenly been offered a bunch of grants, people are vying for his research or his reviews of their work. He's being offered hundreds of prestigious positions and people are dying to have him give interviews or lectures. And while Ford is obviously ecstatic, and riding the high of all this praise and his accomplishments being recognized and getting everything he's ever wanted (what about his brother?), he can't exactly… remember, what he accomplished or published that got him all this attention.

But that doesn't matter! He's sure it'll come to him! He's just too focused on his now busy schedule, that's why he forgot. After that he has to get back to his current anomaly research too. But he's sure it'll come to him in time.

Again, depending on what Stan wished for exactly, and even what time he made the wish, maybe Ford sends the postcard to Stan again; whether it's about Bill or something else, idk. But when Stan comes something's wrong. It looks like Stan, talks relatively like Stan.

But he's empty. As though he's been drained of everything Ford remembers made Stan Stan. He was ready for a hot-headed, angry brother. Not this… shell.

If Ford still opened the door with his crossbow, he would be visibly surprised, sure. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in shock, he even took a step or 2 back. But there was no scream. There was no snarky comment or angry blow up at his behavior. If Ford still shone a light in his eyes Stan still pushed him off him and frowned, but he only said “Stop that.” in a mildly upset voice. When Ford apologized Stan said “It's fine”.

…And that was it. No biting remarks or angry glares. Just an awkward silence as Ford stared at this facsimile of his brother.

When he tells Stan he has to show him something he wouldn't believe, he only asks “What is it?” Even when staring the portal down, while, again, he is shocked. It's only in the generic way you'd see in something like a stock photo, or some guide book on emotions. Only in the basest, least-effort way you could get someone to understand you were displaying shock.

Because that's what it felt like, Ford realizes. A display. Like the emotions weren't real. Or if they were, they were so shallow that might as well be. The display wouldn't even last long. The briefest of flashes before fizzling out unceremoniously and disappearing completely.

Idk maybe something something, Ford finds out what happened somehow, goes bird hunting in some fairytale, fae esque trial of character way or something. My main idea was the Stan making the deal and the empty birdcage Stan that comes as a result.

[salmoninnit]

Wish You Stayed

ex!satoru gojo x reader x crush?!choso kamo pt. 1 - pt. 2

The sound of your phone buzzing awoke you from your sleep, with a groan you reach for it and open your eyes slightly. 

Satoru: Morning, you fell asleep in the car and wouldn’t wake up. I brought you upstairs and made sure to lock up before leaving. I left some alka-seltzer pills that are on your bedside table. Feel better

Same old Satoru as he was before, caring and considerate towards you even after not speaking for years. A part of you wanted to see this as a good thing but another part felt like you can’t just go back. People change in 3 years, you’ve changed in 3 years.

Nothing ever can be the same, it can only get better or worse. 

A part of you from last night wanted to see how things played out with Choso while another part of you wanted to run back to Satoru. 

You: morning, thank you for bringing me up and for the tablets. my head is pounding

He instantly replied to your message.

Satoru: Yea of course, need anything else to feel better?

You bit your lip, you wanted to ask for something just to see him. But you knew better to do that to yourself. Him being here, taking care of you? It was asking to become putty in his hands and with how shitty you feel, it’d work and rewire everything. 

You: no ill be fine! thank you for offering :) Satoru: Okay, just let me know if you do

You thumbs up the message and toss your phone on the bed. It was 10 am and thankfully you didn’t have plans. You reluctantly got up and grabbed the tablets he left for you. Letting them sizzle in the water as you go to the bathroom. 

Splashing water in your face after you freshened up felt like falling into a cold pool. You shivered as you patted your face dry. Heading back to your room you drank the water. Feeling a little less groggy as you climbed back into bed. Playing some random youtube video and laying down. 

You don’t know how long it took but you were again awoken by a buzzing from your phone. Sighing you flip it over and see it’s 2 pm and the buzzing was now a text from a random number. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx: hey it’s Choso. did you make it home safe last night? 

A flutter appeared in your stomach as you smiled. Adding his contact and replying back. 

You: hey! yea i did, a friend dropped me off. i drank so much, im suffering the consequences of my own actions Choso: i’m glad to hear you made it safe. how much did you end up drinking for you to feel that bad?  You: i lost count after my fourth round of shots and 3 drinks deep tbh Choso: one hell of a reunion for you and your friends huh?

You giggled as you tried to recount how many drinks you actually had. Kento’s beer, a mojito, two drinks with Choso, 2 shots, another mojito, another shot, another mojito, and maybe 3 other shots? No way you drank that much, your bank account shall suffer and you shall not check it. 

You: yea it was. i’ve seen most of them except one throughout these past three years and so this was the first time we were all together since highschool Choso: that’s nice, im glad you had fun. I had fun with you last night 

You feel your cheeks warm as you giggle. It really was nice talking to him, it was easy and he was kind but also intimidating. He was tall and built, probably not as tall as Suguru or Satoru. But his build definitely matched similar to theirs. 

You: i did too, would definitely take you up on that date you mentioned :P Choso: are you available tomorrow? 5 pm?  You: yea! what is the setting? how should i dress? Choso: anything you want, you’ll be pretty and fit in anywhere i have planned :) You: okay then, i’ll see you then :)

He hearts your message and you send your address to him. 

Either that alka-seltzer put in the work or the idea of a date with Choso made you feel so much better. 

You sigh as you look up at the ceiling, this was just the start of whatever will be your next few months of whatever the fuck is happening with Satoru and Choso. After 3 years of nothing romantic, all of a sudden two men appear. Even though Satoru hasn’t explicitly said he wants you (you saw him once, maybe you are a bit delusional), there was a feeling in your gut that said he does. The stares, the way he talks a bit quieter when he speaks to you, and the way he just is the old him when you were together. Less brash and nowhere near as affectionate (for obvious reasons), he still looked at you the same way he did before. 

You don’t know if he ever stopped looking at you that way, even when breaking up. Yea it was on mutual terms but the look in his eyes as you agreed to it, held every emotion he still carried for you. 

And he still carried that look in his eyes 3 years later. 

A part of you yearned for it, wish you spoke to him sooner. But you didn’t dare to reach out and neither did he. So what was the point? Still being in love with your high school sweetheart, mutual affection both ways but at the same time, you both loved old versions of each other. 

What if we changed so drastically and once found out, it wasn’t there? Would there be a point in bringing up old emotions from a previous time? From previous versions of you?

You didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it much longer.

So you let the day move on, eating and resting. The alcohol killed you but at least you hadn’t thrown up. Pretty sure the alka-seltzer really did work overtime for you. 

Lounging on your couch at 8 pm, playing a tv show and laying on your side. A knock on your door echoed through the apartment as you lowered the volume of the tv. You made your way to the door and looked through the peephole. On the other side stood Satoru, wearing a hoodie with digimon character and jeans. Your heart did a small flip as you opened the door. 

“Hey”, you said with a smile. 

“Hey, sorry for showing up like this. Wasn’t sure if you had eaten and was in the area. So I got you your favorite - or old favorite pho”, Satoru said as he held up a bag from your favorite spot. 

“It’s okay, thank you. Come in”, you say as you move aside for him to walk in. He takes off his shoes and makes his way to the table. He starts taking out the pho containers and setting them up, then he sits casually in the chair just like he used to before, like it was second nature for him.  

You shut the door and make your way to the fridge, grabbing two sodas, one coke and one dr pepper. Proceeding to the table as you sat across from him, placing the coke in front of him and grabbing your portion of the food. 

“I got you the same as before, hope you didn’t switch that”, he laughed as he opened his container. Popping the top part out and dumping it onto the noodles. Then filling the container with broth. You followed suit and let the noodles soften. 

“You know you didn’t have to do this right?”, you say as you look at him. He’s adorning a smile and now you take notice he isn’t wearing his glasses. His eyes are set on you and speaking a million words. 

“I know but it felt like a nice thing to do, plus I haven’t seen you in ages. Thought it’d be nice to just hang out”, he says as he looks down at his soup. Satoru had debated this for hours since the morning. He was hoping you’d tell him you need something, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat to see you again. Even though he doesn’t feel like he has that right anymore, he was willing to do anything to make it be his right again. 

“This is nice, I honestly was craving this after my shitty excuse for food earlier. Made a burnt grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup from a can”, you laugh as you stir your noodles around, breaking them from their mold of a circle. 

“You could’ve asked, I told you just to let me know”, he says softly as he mimics your actions with the soup. He cracks open his drink and takes a sip from it. “Still remember my likes, like I remember yours”.

“Well hard to forget when we ate and drank much of the same things back then”, you laugh and start eating your pho. 

“Fair enough, it’s like it’s embedded into my brain”, Satoru says as he starts eating. 

You fell into a silence of eating and the only thing being heard was the tv and you two eating. It felt domestic, it felt like it did before. The time changed and yet you’re still here, sitting across each other in the same way, eating the same foods you two would get, and being comfortable with each other. 

As you were finishing your pho, your phone rang on the table. You glanced at it and saw Choso’s name at the top. You inhaled and grabbed it quickly. 

“Sorry I’ll be right back”, you say as you get up and make your way to your room. 

“Hey!”, you exclaim as you make your way into your room. 

Satoru’s ears perked up at how happy you sounded. He had seen the name on your phone and by your reaction, it had to be the guy from last night. With a small groan he threw his head back. Competition wasn’t new for him, he’s always been competitive and good - no great - at everything he did. But he had never dealt with competition when it came to you. 

Having met on your first days of highschool, you two were both nerds. Relating on interests and hobbies, staying up waiting on drop dates for games or going out and buying ridiculous anime items. It was natural for you two to end up liking each other, even your friends saw it before you two did. They bet on how long it’d take for someone to make a move, it wasn’t until before the ending of freshman year that anything was said to one another. 

He confessed first like a lovesick puppy, he had seen you get hit on by some guy in another class. It was the first time he saw you blush at anyone other than him. He felt a sickening feeling in his stomach, at the thought of losing you, at the thought of you being with someone else.

And that’s when he realized he had liked you. He had rushed over to you and told you some lie to pull you away from the guy. He had dragged you outside to where you two would hangout after school with your friends but usually after they left, you two would linger there. 

“I need to tell you something”, he said nervously as he balled his hands into fists. 

“Okay what is it ‘Toru?”, you spoke lightly with a tilt of your head. Eyebrows furrowed as you stared up at him. 

“I-I like you. I don’t know how long I’ve liked you for and maybe it was the first time you smiled at me. O-Or when you gave me my keychain for my phone, or when you laughed at my joke the first week of class. Maybe I’ve liked you from the moment I got to know you. But I just know I like you. More than anyone else, more than my favorite digimon character”, he utters as he averts your gaze. 

You had stood there in awe, shock, and pure bliss. 

“Toru…I like you too. I didn’t think you’d like me back but looking back I might be a bit stupid from not realizing it”, you laugh as he shot his head back to look at you. You were looking down as he stared wide eyed. He didn’t think you’d reject him but at the same time he didn’t think you really did like him.

“Oh..I-I honestly don’t know why I didn’t think you’d like me too. Maybe we're both a little stupid here”, he laughs as he reaches for your hands, embracing them with both of his. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You gaze up at him with a saccharine smile, eyes crinkling from how genuine it is. “Really?”

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Yes really stupid. I think if you don’t answer I’ll bury myself 6 feet under”.

“Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend Satoru”, you giggle as you pull your hands away from his and hug him. He reflexively wrapped his arms around you and picked you up with a spin. You laugh out and so does he. 

Shoko won the bet, she had said you’d two be together before the end of the school year. Kento and Yu had bet you’d get together by the beginning of the next semester. While Suguru thought it’s take another year for you two to even realize it by how stupid you both were to each others yearning. 

Satoru sighs as he replays the memory, he thinks about it far too often. Having replayed every detail from that day, the days before and after. His biggest regret was breaking up with you before college. You hadn’t grown apart, it was all the same but you both wanted to focus on college. He proposed the idea after seeing all the time he’d have with school and the family business, he didn’t find it fair to you to be unavailable constantly. It hurt him to even bring it up, to even think about it. 

But you understood, you wanted the both of you to be successful in your own ways. It crossed your mind but you never voiced it. When he brought it up, you wanted to say it’d be fine and you’d understand his time away. But you knew, it would ruin you two. The lack of seeing each other and affection you both couldn’t 100% show. Would make you two grow to resent it and resent each other for not trying harder. 

So you agreed. The no contact was to not be distracted, neither of you saw each other as distractions, but you both knew it’d turn into it. So there was no fighting, no lashing out; just acceptance. It killed you both and even 3 years later, after graduating and working, you both felt the same way for one another as you did then. 

Satoru tried to move on, tried to meet new people, tried to forget about you but everyone he met wasn't you. Everyone was shallow with no true personality, you were the only one he’d met that fit him like a puzzle. So he stopped trying, he’d get hit on but turn them down. 

Now watching you get excited over someone else was killing him. He wishes he’d come around sooner, yea you met this Choso guy last night but the way you had looked at him when you had talked to him in the bar, Satoru had only seen you look at him that way. 

He knew from Suguru that you hadn’t been with anyone else since him. He reveled in the fact that you hadn’t moved on from him.

As if you’d ever truly be able to move on from one another.

But this factor of running into someone who clicked with you like he once had, had him nervous. Had him on the brink of begging you to be with him. But he couldn’t.

It wouldn’t work, maybe before, back then it would’ve. But he can tell you changed, you’re not as you were before. Not lovesick for him like he was for you. 

He might be too late but that won’t stop him from trying. 

<<previous : next>>

so guess this is my first series on here, not sure if it'll be long or short but lets see how ill do

[twola]

Firewater - Chapter 12

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

So Arthur did what he is apt to do in situations of discomfort. Take a bottle of whiskey to the face.

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The sun hung low behind the red mesas when you and Arthur finally rode back into camp outside Rathskeller Fork. Dust curled in lazy spirals behind your horses’ hooves, and the faint clink of gear settled into the usual campfire murmur. A few heads turned, but no one pressed you with questions. You were grateful for the quiet.

Arthur dismounted first, offering you a hand. You took it, boots crunching on the dry earth. The ride from Tumbleweed had been heavy with silence — not quite tense, but thick with everything left unsaid.

You tugged your shirt tighter around your waist, your hand brushing instinctively over your belly. You weren’t showing much yet, but already you felt different. Like a taut wire had been pulled inside you, humming with a secret.

Arthur cleared his throat. “You uh… hungry or somethin’? Could see if Pearson’s cooked somethin’ edible for once.”

You shrugged, forcing a dry laugh. “Pearson’s stew’s got a fifty-fifty chance of killin’ us both, and now I’ve got someone else to consider.”

Arthur flinched slightly, but he hid it quickly. “Right. We’re not tellin’ nobody yet.”

“Not yet.” You folded your arms, meeting his eyes for a brief, shaky moment. “You know how they are.”

Silence hung heavy between you.

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “what now?”

“Now we act normal. And you stop lookin’ at me like I’m gonna break.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “You ain’t gonna break... But that’s your fault, gettin’ all full of consequences.”

You rolled your eyes. “Full of consequences, huh? Is that what you’re callin’ it? Pretty sure you were the one who gave me this consequence.”

Arthur’s grin deepened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ain’t wrong.”

You shook your head, cheeks flushing. “Careful, Arthur. Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll make you rub my feet later.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst job I ever took.” He tipped his hat back. “You sure you’re alright? You ain’t… sick or nothin’?”

“No worse than usual. Tired. Nauseous if I smell Pearson’s stew. But I’m fine.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You tell me if it changes. Don’t go actin’ tough just for pride.”

You nudged his boot with yours. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He grunted in agreement, and for a while, you stood next to each other before breaking off and heading to your separate tents for the day.

-

The fire burned low, the camp quieting. Arthur leaned back on his elbows, a bottle of whiskey half-empty by his side, and you lay on a blanket nearby, eyes tracing the stars. You and he had crept a little ways out of camp and set up out of earshot to be alone.

All of this - so new, so strange. You didn’t quite know what to do with it. You didn’t quite know what the two of you were. You didn’t quite know what to do about his child growing within you.

So Arthur did what he is apt to do in situations of discomfort. Take a bottle of whiskey to the face.

He took another long swig and then offered the bottle.

“Don’t think I’m supposed to be drinking,” you said.

He snorted. “Guess I gotta drink for two now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that how it works?”

“Hell if I know,” he said with a grin. “Ain’t exactly father material.”

You shifted onto your side, propping yourself up. “Well, I ain’t exactly mother material neither.”

Arthur met your eyes, voice dropping low, slow with whiskey. “When you think about it, it really ain’t your fault this happened.”

You blinked. “Excuse me? Didn't you just this morning say it was my fault gettin' full of consequences? All you did was-”

He smirked, cutting you off. “All I did was—what was it? Right. Just split you open on my cock till you were beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your mouth went dry. “Arthur—”

He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “You remember that night? Riding me like your life depended on it…”

You swatted at his boot, trying not to laugh or melt.

“You’re drunk.”

“I am.” He grinned wickedly. “Drunk and thinkin’ about how sweet you sounded, whinin’ over me like that. Bet I could still get you like that now.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Arthur—”

“You’d let me.” His voice was husky. “You’d fight it, act all annoyed, but you’d still let me.”

“And if I didn’t?”

He leaned in, voice a low growl. “Then I’d talk you into it. Slow. Put my hands on you real careful, tell you how good you feel, how tight—”

You shoved your hand over his mouth, heart pounding.

“Arthur.”

He laughed, caught your wrist, kissed your hand. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’, unless you want me to. But damn, you look at me like that, you won’t be able to keep me outta your bedroll.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the heat rising comfortably between you. Arthur shifted closer, the firelight flickering on his face. His lips brushed yours — soft at first, then hungry.

You tugged him near, your hand tangling in his shirt. He groaned low, fingers tracing your waist before sliding beneath your skirt.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t.”

His mouth moved to your throat, your collarbone. His hand pressed between your thighs, gentle but demanding.

“You sure?”

“Do I look unsure?”

His voice dropped. “You look ready to get fucked right into the dirt.”

You playfully bit his shoulder, and he growled.

Clothes came loose, the night filling with ragged breaths and whispers. When he pushed inside you, it was with a curse and a growl, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re always so tight,” he muttered.

You wrapped your legs around him, voice breaking as you begged him not to stop. His pace quickened, the world narrowing to nothing but skin and breath and the narrow channel of your body.

You came first, wild and raw, and he followed close behind, pulling out and spattering his release in the crease of your thigh.

The fire cracked and popped as you lay tangled, breathing hard.

“You really are trouble,” he said.

“You’re worse,” you replied.

-

Morning came too soon.

You rolled over and your stomach revolted. Your mouth went dry, nausea washing over you like the tide. Barefoot and dizzy, you stumbled behind a scrub bush and bent over, heaving until your throat burned.

“Dyin’ or just wishin’ you was?” Arthur croaked from behind you.

You glared blearily. He was sitting up, shirt half-buttoned, hair wild. His face was pale and drawn.

“Who let the goddamn sun in?” he grumbled.

“You did,” you snapped. “With your loud, horny mouth.”

He flinched. “Don’t say it like that. I ain’t got the strength to defend myself.”

You dry-heaved again, “My insides feel like they’re floatin’.”

Arthur groaned, pulling himself next to you. “Mine feel like they’re on fire.”

You looked at him, miserable. “That’s what you get for drinkin’ half a bottle and dirty talkin’ a pregnant woman.”

He smirked weakly. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You tried to shove him, but missed. He laughed and flopped back onto the dirt anyway.

“You throw up?” he asked.

“No, I just came out here to pray.”

He snorted. You shook your head, stomach still rolling.

“I feel like I could throw up just from existing.”

You both sat, sharing silence and misery.

“Think they noticed we weren’t in our own bedrolls?” you asked.

Arthur snorted, wincing. “If they did, they probably just assumed we got eaten by cougars.”

“Wish one had eaten me.”

He turned to you, eyes dark and wild even through the haze. “You still look good.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Like what a cat dragged in.”

You laughed once and curled forward again. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m gonna puke again.”

“Sorry, darlin’. Guess I’ll just suffer next to you like a gentleman.”

And so he did, hands resting on your back as you both endured the worst parts of the morning.

Eventually you sighed, your stomach settling as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, “You really knocked me up, huh.”

Arthur grunted. “Yep. Sure did.”

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

James angst finally 🤡

It was meant to end anyway. All those fleeting moments, everything had always been heading toward an end. James knew nothing was permanent, and everything was uncertain.

From the moment he met you to this very day… was it karma? Who knows. In order to gain something, you must lose something else.

He had achieved his goal. The 4 Crews were rising on the horizon, and the plan was unfolding just as he envisioned...

As smoothly as it could go.

No one left to pester anyone.

No one to stick a lollipop into someone’s mouth.

No one to annoy or disturb.

You were gone.

Gone with the wind.

Arguments, fights, tension simmering under the weight of teenage pride.

You didn’t like the man he was becoming.

Didn’t like the direction all of it was heading.

Violence masked as ambition. Brutality disguised as the future.

Normalcy had become a distant memory, something untouched and long forgotten.

You craved peace, something stable, something real.

As cliché as Goo called it, or as boring as Gun dismissed it.

You still wanted it.

Even when you told James, he’d always say, “One day. Eventually.”

But that day never came. It only drifted further away, like a mirage in the desert...

Close enough to see, never close enough to touch.

When you finally pleaded, demanded that you wanted no part in this anymore,

You swore secrecy to Charles Choi

That you'd never reveal anything,

That you just wanted to breathe in peace and be left alone.

Charles didn’t mock you. But he did in his own twisted way.

He just asked, “What about James?”

Ah… James.

You had thought about it.

Pondered, mulled over every possibility.

But whenever it came up, James would brush it aside..

Or worse, say something cruel to mask what he truly felt:

Hurt. That despite everything, it still wasn’t enough for you to stop questioning and simply trust him.

Fear. That you would actually leave,though he’d never voice it aloud.

And that fear came true.

You left.

No word. No note. No goodbye.

Not even a final look.

Just gone.

Bitterness lingered on his tongue, anger wrapping around his heart.

And yet, he knew.

He knew.

Because James Lee always knows !

The next move. The next play. The next consequence.

And this time, despite knowing, he had been too late.

Or perhaps…

A part of him had always known that he could never give you what you so desperately wanted.

So much for a young boy shouldering the weight of everything...

The expectations.

The execution.

The bloody past.

The sinful future.

But you were there, weren’t you?

You were always there.

In the rust of summer, when the plan wasn’t perfect and the anxiety of uncertainty loomed, you held his hand, telling him it’d be alright.

In autumn, when the leaves fell and the cold crept in, when he came back bruised and bleeding—you worried like hell.

In the frost of winter, when the world froze around him. he pulled you close, the same hand that destroyed lives now keeping you warm.

In spring, when the world bloomed again, he promised to take you to your favorite spot.

You kissed and laughed like fools.

Utter fools.

Blind to what was coming.

Now—

He tosses aside the extra lollipop he always carried, just in case.

The spare cash in his pocket, meant for something you'd like on the way to school.

The pendant he planned to give you, now worthless in his hand.

He throws it all away...

Not just in frustration, but in understanding.

Deep, aching understanding.

That maybe this was for the best.

Maybe you were better off in your normal, quiet, “boring” life.

Maybe he couldn't bear to see the toll it was taking on you.

All this violence.

All this blood.

So, even as his heart bleeds,

Even as his heart swings back to you like a compass with nowhere to point,

He knows.

You made your choice.

Bruised and battered by it, but resolute.

If only there was peace.

If only you were just two ordinary teenagers.

If only he wasn’t turning into the monster he never meant to be.

If only you had stayed,just a little longer.

Between all the if onlys, the maybes, and what ifs.

There exists a place for just you two.

But right now…

That place isn’t here.

Not yet 🥀

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x11, "need to know"

#hacy conclusion plus a gag-off at the end.

this one is of biblical proportions.

big moment for one of wilson's strongest, destructive traits - never letting something lie. but more on that later. while i really enjoy this one (are we tired of hearing that yet?), i found that there is a lot of collateral damage as a result of house and stacy departing that's never really explained. like mark supposedly setting his rehab "back three months"? that's like...a big deal!

i'd name the dominant theme of 2x11 avoidance, but it doesn't come from who we'd expect to avoid everything emotional at all costs. house is desperate for 1) stacy to make a choice between him and mark; and 2) to tell mark what they did. house values truth, of course, but he ordinarily avoids any territory that involves emotional truth. it's safe to say then that he's eager to pounce on this emotional truth because, to him, it's entirely stacy's responsibility to handle the situation.

but, again, house's desperation for mark to know about their now full-blown affair really captured me. this is the first time we've seen him being outwardly emotionally needy in real time (and in his own special way). house wants the major emotional commitment of exposing him and stacy's shared transgression. i even wonder if house wants stacy to go through a little bit of emotional pain, re: what he said to wilson in 1x22. through all of this, he wants to be someone else's number 1. if stacy can come back to him, after all they endured in their old relationship, then he can't be all that bad, right? he doesn't have to change, right? (wrong!)

house frames the choice to stacy in clear, powerful terms: "it's not easy, but it is simple." that really stuck with me.

obviously, things aren't that cut and dry, especially not where stacy is concerned, a character who's so concerned and adept with grey areas. 2x11's patient, margo dalton, has a dilemma that mirrors stacy's, albeit with life-threatening consequences (typical house md equivalency). the heart of margo's medical emergency comes from the intersection of her fertility treatments and her paradoxical birth control use. rather than confess to her husband ted that she doesn't want to have children, she's majorly harming herself yet still begs house and co. to keep this from her husband. she chooses, against house's advice and demands, to undergo needless surgery to remove the benign tumor in her liver to keep up the lie.

this dilemma coincides almost exactly with stacy's, as does house's opinion about it. stacy's safe option amidst her relationship lies is to maintain the go-between, to try to have her cake and eat it, too. she still plans, until the very end of the episode, to move away, back with mark, with this burning secret between her and house.

the irony is that, when she finally does choose to leave mark for house, he undoes the decision, implying that margo's husband may have very well left her if he found out about the birth control secret. i love when house md isn't afraid to show people being ugly.

sela ward is just incredible in this scene, btw.

only the audience knows exactly what's motivated house to undo what he's longed for this entire season - his encounter with mark (which is why i have beef with wilson in this episode). mark confronts house, at first seeking advice about how to preserve his relationship with stacy, as it grows increasingly strained from what MARK assumes is his disability. but house knows the truth, that stacy is shutting him out in favor of house.

visually, this scene is brilliant, not just because mark tries to pulling himself up the stairs and falls into house's arms, but because of the power politics at play.

mark, physically weaker right now, has the emotional hold on this conversation, whether he knows it or not. he's postured below house, but he's stronger. it looks like he's Kneeling At The Altar Of House (a frequent occurrence), seeking help and/or absolution, but house experiences this, instead. he realizes the error of his ways.

what's more, though, is the introspection this spurs in house. he literally and metaphorically stands in between stacy and mark. he's the major hitch in their relationship; he is the in-between in terms of their mobility. as mark pulls himself upright, house realizes that mark refuses to be stagnant, physically or emotionally. he is doing the rehab that house refused to; he is putting in the work that house didn't/couldn't post-infarction.

all that is to say that i think 2x11 is especially tragic in how it portrays house's perception of himself and his disability. he tells stacy that things would never work out between them because he can't change, ignoring the fact that the very nature of his decision to let her go signals change! house sees himself exclusively in terms of pre and post-infarction. in his view, he's just Stuck Like This now, and that's heartbreaking.*

the patient story also wraps up some of the disparate moments of 2x11 via paralysis. in order to perform an MRI at the top of the episode, foreman and cameron inject margo with a paralytic so her muscle spasms won't mess up the results. foreman described the treatment to ted: "essentially cuts off the brain from the muscles." i relate this to, first, stacy's head/heart divide (acting on emotionally impulses vs. being rational about mark), and, second, decision paralysis.

stacy can't make a choice between mark or house until pushed up against the wall, yet, meanwhile, cameron's indecision over reading her HIV results sets up an excellent background thematic development. in the end, her fear wins out, and she avoids the result completely, only for house to sneak the big reveal. much like how he pushes stacy, he pushes cameron, going beyond what's even remotely appropriate and violating her privacy, mind you.

i'm disappointed in 2x11 for reducing this scene to such a quick interaction. it's very important, and characterizes house's capacity to care for his fellows/friends in a negative, painful way, probably the same way that was so grating to stacy back in the day and would continue, should they stay together now.

OKAY FINALLY: wilson spent all of 2x11 All Up In Everyone's Business And Being A Hypocrite. why does he care so much about all of this?

i think there's 3 layers of an answer to that question, and they appear in the following order: selfishness, deflection, and, despite everything, care for house.

wilson tells stacy (in a very iconic scene imo) that, last time she left, "i was the one stuck picking up the pieces." while this does relate to a post i literally made last night about how wilson's work in his friendship with house goes unheard and underappreciated, by 2x11, we don't have a basis for that yet. here, he sounds mostly upset that his friend is careening for another exhausting breakup that wilson will have to suffer through, by extension. persona layer number one - check!

but we're not stupid. we've seen the way house md is ramping up wilson's cheating. we know the other shoe is due to drop soon. he's so appalled by stacy's behavior (which! uh! it takes 2 to cheat! james!) because he sees himself in her. his retort that she can't do this because "you're married" is laughably stupid, and stacy ate with "not to you!" wilson is much more interested in stuffing his nose in other people's affairs than investigating his own (maybe because this one is especially egregious lol) and wishes he could exhibit the morality he pushes upon stacy. persona layer number 2 - check!

this makes the switch-up with house all the more insane. wilson goes from flaming stacy for being irresponsible and toying with house (girl. introspection) to gossiping about how house could potentially win her back in the same day. and then he says something so batshit crazy and SOOO wilson that i was gagged even before their scuffle at the end of 2x11:

house: "she's not gonna leave mark in the middle of his rehab. too much guilt."

wilson: "she left you."

oh he hates her. misogyny abound, wilson's earlier complaint that he would be the one who will take care of house post-breakup rings very hollow when wilson implies 2 scenes later that he would do it again. that he was upset about house's pain. that he blames stacy. never once does wilson point the finger at house for damaging things with stacy in the past.

this post is already so fucking long but i have to talk about the elephant in wilson's adjoined office: him rolling (a horrible) joint. why did they do this? is it for grace? is it to show that he's not Mister Nice Guy Oncologist? because i got that much. i won't make a phallic joke. i swear i won't. but just know that one is on my mind.

ok now for the gag-off, the scene that echoes 1x18 and sets the stage for their future toxic shouting matches.

at first, i completely disagree with wilson's diagnosis. he claims that house "has no idea" why he let stacy go, and he sent her away "because you've got to be miserable." EH. WRONG. we saw in house's encounter with mark that something real shifted within him that motivated his decision, at least in part, which is why house retorts with something brilliant:

"that kind of psycho-crap help get your patients through the long nights? or is it just for you? tough love make you feel good? helping people feel their pain?"

translation: you're just assuaging your own guilt here. don't put it on me. you don't know what led me to this choice.

but because wilson can see to the heart of house, i think it's this fraction of vulnerability that puts him onto the real problem, which i agree with, painful as it is: "you don't like yourself. but you do admire yourself. it's all you've got, so you cling to it. you're so afraid if you change, you'll lose what makes you special. being miserable doesn't make you better than anyone else, house. it just makes you miserable."

he's the clear victor. house is reliant on his status quo, the one made up of his own misery, and actively fears anything that will threaten it. two things can exist at once: he made the choice to leave stacy because it was the right thing to do, but, to wilson's point, i think this was secondary to the real fear he had of reopening all those old wounds because he cannot envision himself changing for stacy. this is reinforced by this shot, that emphasizes house popping some vicodin in silence:

in his classic way, wilson berates house here, banking on the tough love house mentioned. but deep in there is some compassion since wilson is the only person who can break through to house. it's compelling that they make this so clear in 2x11, at the tail end of the stacy saga, when house has closed himself off to emotional vulnerability.

and this all makes no mention of how wilson is just very psychosexually obsessed with house lmfao but we don't have time for that rn.

this uh. does not bode well for future wilson-heavy episodes. sorry this was so long, and if you got to the bottom of this post, just now that there is a special place for you in my heart.

[honeyteakaros]

au where Hermes burns down Cyllene as punishment for Luke

If Apollo's "involvement" in the second war leads to a six-month-long punishment named Lester, it's weird how Hermes seems to get off scot free for Luke (and honestly, Ares too for the bolt). And yeah, I've seen theories where it states Hermes didn't break the ultimate non-interference laws and therefore was not punished, buT! I think it would make sense if anyone who had any involvement in any war WAS punished, just kept their mouths shut about the details.

so what would be hermes' punishment for luke's actions in the first war? i propose this:

Zues should make Hermes burn down his birthplace. destroy it. wipe it off the map. kill whatever was left of his mother's earthly connections, thereby locking her and her sisters into their celestial forms, never to step foot on the earth again. It's the death of an immortal, and how chilling is that? According to Apollo, there is a power in birthplaces, but for a bastard of Olympus, it is only a stain of a reminder of where they came from.

(putting the rest under the cut bc its long lol)

ig there would be 3 main things that Heremes would take away from this:

showing Hermes that Cyllene is the consequence of his own actions. May Castellan, Luke Castellan, now his mother, who else? Everything he has touched has turned to ash, and any life he has entered has been led to ruin. ig this mindset would also shine a different light on Hermes' deadbeatness, in a way.

1. Enforces the consequences of Zeus' non-interference rule.

Scaring Hermes into inaction by punishing the results of his rare action (giving Luke a quest, speaking to him that literal one(?) time, telling May about the oracle) would also handily explain why the hell he was so absent during the giant war and the entirety of toa. Like, communications are down and messaging systems are in complete disarray, isn't that Hermes' domain? Why the hell isn't he doing anything about it? Well, that's bc he knows what happens when he disobeys, and at this point, he's running out of family to lose.

2. Prophecy is set in stone

This punishment would also unknowingly (to Zeus) create a mindset of the inevitability of prophecy in Hermes. Aka, the literal opposite of what Apollo and his trial's entire deal. Aka Zues' entire deal! !!!This is negative character development for Hermes gang!!!

If we go with the idea that Hermes knew about Luke's fate since he was a baby, and his giving Luke that quest was Hermes trying to change his son's fate... Then it almost sounds like one of the only times Hermes broke his father's non-interference rules was in an attempt to change Luke's fate. But not only did it blow up in his face spectacularly, but if that quest was a fundamental canon event in Luke's spiral into vengeance, then this is a classic tale of a hero meeting his end on the path he took to avoid it.

Not only has Hermes failed to save his son in what he believed was a futile attempt to go against prophecy, but he has also doomed his homeland in his rash actions. By punishing Hermes through Cyllene, it enforces the idea that his ever daring to think he could change fate has inadvertently brought the mountain to its ruin.

Furthermore, Zeus' choice of Hermes' birthplace as the target is uniquely tailored to hit where it hurts the most. A forest fire can go burning on for years, after all, and a mountain of ancient trees surrounded by boundaries of the boundary god could theoretically go on burning forever. After the deed has been done and the entire mountain is up in flames, from that point onwards, Zeus would only have to point to a ruined Cyllene to quell whatever mere suggestion Hermes has of stepping out of line.

3. zues proving to hermes that he is ultimately his father's son

if nympths in the rrverse are physically bound to a certain place, then maia and her sisters would have both their stars in the pleiades constellations in addition to mount cyllene.

Say, would the offsping of a nympth and a god be a minor god themselves? another nympth? a monster? who knows? in reality, their entire existence hinges on mortal belief and how humans perceive them, but parentage still plays a role in how their stories are told. so therefore the only olympian with a nympth for a mother would also reasonablly assume that there is a peice of him, like his mother, is tied to that mountain. weather or not thats actually true doesnt matter, what matters is when cyllene burned and hermes stood at the foot of the mountain and did not burn with it, to him it was the dreaded proof that he was no longer his mothers son. that he has left behind everything good that he used to be, and through his very own efforts, somewhere between his childhood in that cave where he dared dreamed of something greater, he has forfeited what made those dreams worth chasing in the firat place. through his own efforts, he has become something terrible. he has become his fathers son.

.

.

.

all this is to say that rrverse zues may be evil, but bros not uncreative lmao. isolating Hermes through cutting off some of the last of his support system (by his own hands, no less) not only ensures Hermes' reliance on Zeus but also Hermes' reliance and identification with Olympus as a whole. also ensures that when the time comes for Apollo's punishment, there's already a hurt there that's ripe and ready to be dug into.

Apollo's been banished to mortal-hood? oh boo hoo, what a tragedy (compleatly different hc but i think hermes honestly would've had a much easier time adjusting to mortalhood compared to apollo at first, mainly due to the nature of hermes' domains). Oh, Apollo nearly keeps dying as a mortal and is prophesied to perish at the jaws of Python? well, fuck, his head for his crimes is what he deserves, is it not? While Apollo's punishment is a thinly veiled assassination attempt, Hermes' punishment would be to isolate him further.

There was already a jealousy here that could be amplified to the nines post-trials. I think it's due to the sheer fact that Apollo came out of his punishment better off than how he began, divine and golden and shining once more, even though he has defied their father again and again and has acted as an antithesis to everything he once preached. To Hermes, Apollo's death-defying ascension makes the fact that while Apollo effortlessly gets everything, the only thing Hermes has received for his troubles is a dead mother, dead son, and a homeland in ashes.

[free-fart-avenue]

Yay! Info dump! I am glad I had a pretty good guess. And thanks for not giving spoilers, am very excited for more fics! (Make me cry some more, please)

I have thought a little about Fate. This one doesn't seem to see him as a toy or someone to take the consequences from Ink, she just has him as a tool. My question is though, does she think he is doing good? He seems to get breaks, though, clearly he is mostly unaware of everything, so it may just be slight blips of a little less pain to him. But are there times he gets shocked anytime he slows down or Fate straight up controls him? I know both probably happen, but does that happen often?

Also, what would Error be like while controlled by Fate? Are his movements more mechanical? Brutal? Is he still awake and aware when she controls him or is he forced to sleep? Maybe he can just rest while she controls him body to destroy more. Would she start getting upset if she has to control him more often because he just can't keep up? Too much to destroy, too many wounds and too much pain to be able to do a good job.

Would she end up replacing Error? Say, someone with destruction powers, stronger and more willing comes along, would she cast Error aside? Or use him to keep destroying a little extra, no matter how small the amount? If she does end up throwing him aside, would he slowly run out of sedatives, or would she revoke everything she gave him? The legs, the respirator, the sceen. Would he lose all of it because she has no use for him anymore? (If nothing else, this paragraph is the main thing I want answered. Understandable if you don't reply to everything.)

And further, if the events in "Now they see my blood on their slippers" didn't happen, would they begin to think there is a reason behind the destruction if they see universes start to fall apart, and a not fully repaired destroyer comes and makes sure the universe falls quicker and without pulling others with it. Would they catch on when he keeps coming back clearly still broken. Maybe the events did happen and Fate controls his body to get back to the Anti-void after everything, but he is still needed to destroy afterwards. The next day, after everyone saw his face and his blood when they beat him to a broken pulp, he limps into another universe to destroy it. Maybe his respirator broke, so he is shaking and getting shocked everytime he slows down. Hmm yummy angst...

These are ramble thoughts added throughout my day when I had breaks from work, so it may be a lot, repetitive, or just not make sense. Sorry if that is the case. And if these are too many questions or questions you don't want everyone knowing the answers to just yet, we can slip over to dms. Up to you tho.

Reference sheet for my cyborg FGoD!Error! Bro's really going through it and he can barely comprehend it

[mintaikkcorpse]

"How can you not care that we're living in such a historical event?" I've been living in historical events since 1st grade, it's literally just life atp.

[sysig]

Justify away (Patreon)

[ar-mage-ddon]

this was simply the inevitable result of my brainrot