#So. I suppose I will simply. Continue. With it.

[esjayess]

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face

More of this, it seems. I just can’t get this AU out of my head, and every single post I see that includes Darlene gets dust in my eyes. Weird, right?

Anyway, here’s a brief meeting I imagined between Crampelter and Ford in the aftermath of Darlene’s death.

———

Stanford hadn’t believed it when they told him Crampelter had joined the resistance. But here he is, training for the inevitable war. Ford watches as he throws spear after spear through moving targets with unnerving accuracy. Bullseyes every time.

He would’ve eaten them all alive if he’d been in the arena.

Crampelter grabs another spear from the rack. Just as he draws it back to throw, he meets Ford’s eyes. He blinks once, then lowers the weapon.

“Stanford.” He greets cautiously. “I heard you were around here somewhere.”

Ford doesn’t respond, only glaring at his childhood bully. He bites his tongue to keep himself from asking whatever happened to calling him a six fingered freak? Are they on a first name basis now? Why did no one tell him? Instead of any of that he stays silent. Crampelter seems to take that as an invitation to continue. He fiddles with his spear almost nervously.

“I…saw what your brother did in the games. For Darlene. I’m glad-”

“It should've been you.” Ford interrupts harshly. He doesn’t want to hear Crampelter say he was glad that Stan was in that death arena so he could comfort a little girl in her dying moments. “Stan would still be here if you’d done what you said you would. And so would she. It was supposed to be you. It should’ve been you.”

Crampelter pauses. He glances down at the spear in his hand, as if considering the words. Without warning, he turns sharply and chucks it full force into the training dummy, knocking it off its stand and pinning to the back wall ten feet behind. He straightens, tilting his head as if admiring the shot.

“Yeah. Maybe it should’ve. But she would’ve died either way. Whether I won my games or not she would’ve volunteered later. They would’ve been proud to watch her die. Or proud to watch the boy die. That’s why they do two tributes, isn’t it? Every district has to lose, even if they win.”

Ford blinks, temporarily taken aback. He wouldn’t have anticipated such musings from Crampelter, even though he must have been allowed to join up for a reason. Ford had voiced his suspicion when he first heard Crampelter was here, but the higher ups had seemed certain he wasn’t some kind of spy. It doesn’t change anything. Ford lets his eyes harden again. “Why?” He demands. “Why did you back out?”

Crampelter must’ve been expecting the question. He simply shrugs. “It wasn’t worth dying for.”

Figures. It’s about the answer Ford had expected. All the same, it fills him with rage. He throws up his hands. “And you realized that then? Seriously?” He snarls. “Every day of our lives you swore you were gonna win some day. You used everyone in that damn district as target practice. Darlene looked up to you. She volunteered because of you.”

That clearly strikes a nerve, as something pained flickers in his face. Ford keeps pushing.

“You’re not a coward because you didn’t volunteer for the games, Crampelter. You’re a coward for everything that came before. You’re a coward for taking that long to notice it was all bullshit. You could’ve seen it before then. You just didn’t want to because being a future victor gave you the imaginary right to treat everyone around you like shit. Including Stan, who did what you didn’t have the guts to do. You spat on him every day of our lives, but he is stronger than you ever were. And now everyone knows it.”

Crampelter barely seems to be listening, looking past Ford at the dummy embedded in the wall. “I would’ve volunteered for her, if I could.”

“Well you couldn’t.” Ford says, forcing every bit of blame he can into the words. It feels good to blame someone who’s right here. Someone he can spit directly in the face of. “And now she’s dead.”

Crampelters eyes snap to his. There’s a ghost of that familiar grief in his eyes. He looks like Shermie when he gets that look. Shermie, who had already started grieving his youngest brother. Who begged Stan to fight when they said their goodbyes, but walked out of there knowing that he wouldn’t. The comparison makes Ford uncomfortable. Laid atop the achingly familiar grief in Crampelters eyes is the familiar fire that everyone thought would win him the games someday. What a joke that was. Ford glares right back at it, until Crampelter turns away. “I’ll be sorry when Stan dies.” He says casually. “We both know he doesn’t have it in him to win, and he’s not likely to hold out long enough for this little rescue mission of yours. I figured I’d tell you that I’m grateful for what he did, since neither of us will ever see him again.”

Without another word, he turns to walk away, not bothering to retrieve the spear or the dummy. Ford watches him leave, glaring at his retreating figure until he turns the corner. Ford huffs out a breath once he disappears, before turning around and heading back to the lab. He’s not worth the energy it would take to argue with him. Crampelter doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Not about that, anyway.

They're so close. Stan is gonna hold on just a little bit longer, and Ford is not gonna lose his brother.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Morning routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

This is incredibly Yan nanami coded, and I refuse to apologise

@snail-day you understand the vision

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

There is starting to be a routine to these days now.

He likes to let you sleep in most mornings, preferring to get up himself to do the chores and get breakfast ready for the both of you. Today he has chosen to make you a treat and go for pancakes, allowing them to come to room temperature on the kitchen table while he gets you up.

Your routine begins with the unlocking of your hand cuff while he peppers your face with kisses. Even though by now you've mostly settled into your role as his sweet little lady, he cannot be too secure. (Especially after the incident with you trying to break open the child safety locks in the bathroom cabinet) he always without fail will check for any bruises or sores to kiss better as you lay limply in his arms. You used to be much more of a wriggler he remembers but he supposes you probably still have some of the sedative in your system. No worries, he can simply carry you to the bathroom. Sitting you down onto the little shower stool he installed after your last accident caused you to hobble round the home for a few couple months. He decided the stool was a good precaution to avoid any further accidents between you two.

He unbuttons your sleep shirt easily before turning the water on, making sure it's just perfect before he cleans you off from the night before. Taking extra care when his fingers graze your inner thighs to only wash off the memories of last night with a tenderness he didn't show you then. Tilting your hair back to rinse shampoos and conditioner- a small fortune spent on what goes into your routine. Once you're clean it continues, he wraps you warmly and sits you down to your ten step skincare routine. Always setting a two minute timer exactly for him to brush your teeth. You're still so lethargic for this, opening your mouth without resistance. Before you'd end up spitting out blood by the end of it, but now he can be much more gentle.

Again he carries you to the bedroom, drying your hair before he picks out a new outfit for the day. Your wardrobe consists mainly of sundresses, not because he prefers how you look in them. But because they are just far more accessible for the both of you, easier to slip on and off. He helps you up again, you can walk now but he just wants to be safe when it comes to you, taking your arm to carefully lead you to the table.

By now your pancakes and hot chocolate are lukewarm as he cuts them into bite sized pieces. Gently feeding you as he calls out sweet little praises, dabbing at the syrup that falls down your chin with a delicate sigh. Your eyes don't react much to this anymore, each swallow is wary as if you wonder which bite will contain the sedative that keeps you frozen on the sofa while he is at work. But if you refuse to eat he is not above forcing nutrition into you by any means necessary. For all the gentleness that he performs now, it has cost you every sharp tooth and nail you fought with.

Once the plate is clear he gives you the little cup of your vitamins and pills. He tries to make sure your diet is well rounded but unfortunately it is hard to keep your vitamin d levels up from within the flat. Perhaps one day the two of you will have a garden with a tall fence around. Then maybe you could go outside for a bit each day, maybe without supervision. But for now you'll only feel the sun on your face through an open window. The pills have changed since you first were brought to your new home, originally it was only sedatives and birth control. One to keep you complacent and the other because a baby right then would have not helped you to settle down. Now the sedition is at a much lower dose, carefully weaning you from it to avoid any long term effects, and the birth control has swapped places with the prenatal vitamins, just in case any happy accidents occur. On some days they change, after your last accident he withheld any pain relief for a week to make sure you learned the lesson properly. He wouldn't want to have to teach you again.

He takes the cup up to your lips waiting for you to swallow them, you open your mouth when finished to prove no pill was stashed away. Your obedience is rewarded again with another flurry of kisses, trailing down your neck to the collarbone. He only stops once his alarm goes off, reminding him to leave for work in ten minutes, grumbling as he fixes his tie and loads the dishwasher.

He takes you to the living room finally, placing you down on your side of the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders and a second left over your legs. He reminds you that there is a snack plate and a lunch box ready for you in the fridge for when you get peckish. There are different hobbies to occupy you within arms reach, all of them domestic and soft just as he wants you to be. Embroidery, knitting, reading. The remote is available but he has most things on child lock so there isn't a point. He places a sippy cup of water down on the table as though that's nothing out of the ordinary before he crouches in front of you expectantly.

You lean forward and graze your chapped lips against his forehead. He brightens up and returns the kiss to you with all the passion you lacked.

“Goodbye my heart, I'll call you once I'm on break.”

He reluctantly makes his way to leave, making sure to not slam the door on his exit. Leaving you to collapse into the nest of pillows and wait.

He didn't even leave your cane to help you get around.

[hoiststowline]

_streetwise x reader

[a/n: this sorta turned into a character study, similar to a hot spot one I did here!]

having been somewhat accustomed to being let down, if only to save himself the moping period, he’s learned to not become attached to persons, places, or things. it was not an easy habit to break, it took discipline and the expectation of disappointment to alleviate the brunt of the hit. after some time, the vicious cycle of attachment and heartache left, leaving some unhappiness in it’s disappearance, but not enough to sidetrack him from the task at hand. 

it became an even more difficult tendency to ignore upon settling into routine. Streetwise would begrudgingly admit that he’s gotten comfortable, acclimatized to a lax schedule and an onboard of familiar faces on the daily. even if he butts heads with some of his teammates, he trusts them and finds a sense of normalcy in a somewhat chaotic situation. 

Streetwise hadn’t realized the extent of his newfound ease until just the other day. it happened mid-sentence, pausing in surprise as if to reinspect if he’d just spoken the words he thought he did. 

“What’s with the face?” Rook asks, appearing a bit concerned at Streetwises’ abrupt stop. “I can cover for you, I don’t mind.” 

“I-” he starts, but promptly shakes the shock from his shoulders. “Thank you. I’ll owe you one.” 

the casualness is lost to him, but it’s immensely appreciated nonetheless. he doesn’t like to make shift changes often, vying to hold firm in the idea that he should complete his tasks first before seeking your company. 

some days, though, he’s beginning to find it extremely arduous. especially when he’s away or you’ve become busy, unable to see each other for lengthy periods of time. phone calls are even few and far in between lately, dwindled that Streetwise has decided he’s had enough. 

“Streetwise?” 

pulled from his thoughts prematurely, on reflex his rearview mirror tilts downwards, towards the drivers seat. sure enough, you’re staring right at it, maintaining a focused but worried expression. 

realizing that he’s acknowledging you without uttering a word, you continue. “Are you okay? You seem a little…distracted.”

even if it perfectly defines how he’s felt as of late, it’s not a characteristic he would ever use to describe himself in conversation. Streetwise supposes he finally has experienced how Hot Spot constantly feels, tugged in six different directions and then some. such a burden he’s been shielded from, and to perceive such an overwhelming sense of intrusion into his priorities drives him a little crazy.

so pulling you from your much earned downtime because he’s missed you terribly is not a justifiable exchange, unable to be rationalized. it arrives with an awareness that he’s asked much of you lately, even if your smile upon meeting up with him subsides some of that self-reproach momentarily. 

Streetwise isn’t blind to the copious amount of favors he bargains, not an inordinate quantity, but certainly disproportionate to what he has to offer in return. there’s guilt there, even after you’ve insisted you’d complete his proposition without a second thought. hell, half the time you do it without seeking a reason, simply knowing that something was required to alleviate a stressful situation he’s found himself in. 

that isn’t fair, and he knows it. expresses his concerns about it all the time, ensuring that you never feel cornered. he’d never forgive himself, knowing that you’ve most definitely cashed in personal favors, switching schedules and moving things around so as to better accommodate them and their timetables. you appear to have no qualms in regards to it, an indifferent shrug of your shoulders and the same small smile. “I don’t mind,” 

even if you appear to be unbothered by it, he’s constantly interrogating you to ensure you sincerely aren’t. if there’s something he can’t afford to lose this time, it’s most definitely your trust and relationship, as him being infatuated with you is well beyond an understatement. 

Streetwise discerns himself as a difficult study, so for you to be able to observe his worries is something marvelous and frightening all the same. the latter only because he knows he’s rapidly approaching the point of no return, if not already there, and has come to terms that he is absolutely in love with you. so the give on your end makes him feel abusive of your kindness, as nothing he can do will make the circumstance feel good, per se, as he’s so terrified to lose you. 

eventually, he remembers to answer. 

“I’m fine.” he hums, struggling to sound sincere. “Sorry. I swear, I didn’t intend to ignore you when I asked if you were busy.”

you carefully assess his words, mouth opening to answer, but he beats you to it. “Okay, maybe I am a little distracted.” 

“Something on your mind?” you return, a familiar genuineness permeating. “I’m here to talk, if you’d like.” “Hey, that’s my line,” a jest, followed by a warm laugh. “I do feel a little bad about dragging you out tonight. Actually, a lot of bad. It’s late, and I’m sure you have things to do tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to feel bad,” you insist, fingers finding the leather of the seat, meant in a comforting gesture. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.”

in turn, Streetwise studies your words carefully, before mumbling a single word. “Promise?”

“I promise,” you respond, that beautiful smile never wavering. “I did miss you.”  something hitches, likely his voice box. “Kinda the reason for my call. I missed you so much.”

[mephone-1]

do you have any sort of plan for if/when you get a chance to get onto the ground? (as in out of hq and not just somewhere else in the air either)

Hello again, Anonymous.

I. Hm.

I. Am not sure what I would do if I were able to get away from Meeple Headquarters. I. Have spent most of my. Active. Time within this building.

I. Suppose I should. Begin thinking about this query. I do not think I will be able to return to Meeple Headquarters once I am in the. Dragon-ship, even if. Cobs. Is no longer there.

Hm. I. Suppose. I would. Enjoy. Staying with someone I am familiar with, at the very least. I believe. I will have to. “Move into”. A. “House”. If I am to get onto the ground. If that is the case, I would. At least. Prefer. If I were to. “Move into”. This. House. With someone I recognize. I believe it would be. Pleasant. If I, MePhone3G, and MePhone3GS were able to stay together. Though, I believe it would also be. Pleasant. If I were able to stay with. Lucky. As well.

Perhaps. If we are able to. We could all stay together. I would. Greatly. Enjoy that. :

[giselles-dumping-hat]

So Act 3 is going great,

[lunarharp]

pretty & cute witch men

[camellcat]

I love spuffy as much as the next guy but ohhh my gawddd I really kinda wish it had been buffy wil and xand to finish the fight. they started it together, and while they've always had outside help, I just think it would've been so good if each of them had their own big important parts to play since this was the last we get to see of them

[iamdeltas]

Season 8 of Brooklyn 99 did not have a lot of good writing decisions, but one writing decision that I definitely appreciate now is the decision to not write a pregnancy arc for Rosa despite her actress, Stephanie Beatriz, being pregnant at the time. I don't know for sure why they made that decision--maybe it's because they realized Rosa having children wouldn't make sense for her character, maybe it's because they didn't think there was enough space for a pregnancy arc on top of the other storylines they were (poorly) attempting to tackle in a season that would only be 10 episodes, maybe it was combination of both. But either way, it was definitely a good decision from a character standpoint to not force a pregnancy arc on her simply because her actress was pregnant, even if it meant they had to put Rosa in loose, baggy clothes to hide Stephanie Beatriz's pregnancy. I hadn't really appreciated this at the time because, well, I thought it was an obvious decision. Why would you write in a pregnancy just because the actress is pregnant, if it doesn't make sense for the character? But now, looking back, I am much more appreciative of the writers for doing this. This newfound appreciation certainly has nothing to do with a certain show I'm watching now deciding to write in a stupid ass pregnancy arc for a character that makes zero sense for the character, just because the actress is pregnant, as if they forgot that TV and movies have been covering up IRL pregnancies and letting pregnant actors' characters still be not-pregnant for decades!

[wackywatchdotcom]

What’s ur favorite Pomni headcanon… mine is she needs glasses like SO bad

OH MAN im not sure what my Favorite is, a lot of my ideas for her are so vague but theres def some ideas i DO have for her

like above all else ocd pomni forever…. its smth i think about so much i like the idea that she has really 'strange' obsessions . i need more characters to have really weird obsessions that dont make sense i dont see it ever despite it being a not uncommon ocd experience so i like to imagine pomnis like that

aside from that tho imo she HAAATES bright colors. like on one hand its like a sensory thing that she finds them overwhelming but i think she also just finds them unpleasant and dislikes them. her fav color is red but she feels like thats just a color she generally likes, but in terms of general palettes she haaaates when everything is bright, she likes more muted colors

i also like the idea that she doesnt listen to music. it feels odd enough in a grounded way that it feels right for her

her needing glasses is SUUCH a good hc for her. ive seen it here and there and every time im like yeah............ yeah. also cus her eyes are literally slightly larger than her hands. and yet. it makes me think shed eventually try to ask caine for glasses but is putting it off because she doesnt trust him to give her glasses without there being some sort of catch

[bossthebicon]

no, actually my least favorite thing about watching thai dramas while speaking & understanding thai... is that the dialects never match up 😭😭😭 if a character is from a non-central province, they'll have their whole family speak in northern/southern/isaan dialect while the main character, who's played by an actor from bangkok, will unexplainably not have any remnants of his native dialect when he speaks even though he was born & raised in the area and often time never even left... that shit breaks the fourth wall to me, like... why even hire an actor who doesn't fit the role fully, I don't get it 😭

[pokimoko]

Listening to instrumentals from the silly doo-wee-ooo show is actually something that can be so painful.

[thebirdandhersong]

well mark that down as situation 2938489 that I don't know how to handle

[maxiwaxipads]

Romarriche - “Your company is one of a kind… I would never lie to you. I would never say a half-truth or be quiet.” “What is it in your mind, Merold?” “Hearing your voice, complaint or not—it is music to me either way.” Merold - “If there is one constant in this world… Let it be you.” “You’re the cruelest and the kindest thing that happened to me.” “…If only you continued to look at me like that.” Romarriche - “…Merold?” Merold - “But~ It’s only a minor case of bad-mood-itis.” “So Romarriche, spoil me with a spar, will you?” Romarriche - “Merold.” Romarriche - “Look at me.” Merold - “…” Romarriche - “Is something… Wrong?” Merold - “Instead of a spar…” “I might want to lie down on your lap after all.”

[aizawashuichi]

hate hate hate that I am no longer used to write on my phone.

[amtrak12]

I do find it fascinating how many readers take a character statement as the Absolute Truth and don't consider there may be layers of hidden meaning tucked beneath the surface. This happens over and over again in my Lucifer fic, particularly with Chloe's dialogue.

The most recent example is when she said 'Our relationship doesn't matter. Rory's more important.' and some readers were like 'Doesn't seem like she's very interested in a relationship with Lucifer. Where does she think Rory came from then? Doesn't she realize if she doesn't sleep with Lucifer, Rory won't exist in the future?'

When the context of this argument and that line is it's the DAY after they learned this toddler is their daughter from the future and a mere TWO WEEKS after Chloe learned angels were real and her partner was the literal, actual Devil. This woman is stressed as fuck! Do you analyze the romantic feelings you've been suppressing since the object of those feelings rejected you when you're stressed as fuck? Cause I sure don't! She's in survival mode right now! I thought that was obvious??? STOP TAKING ME AND THE CHARACTERS AT OUR WORDS! WE'RE ALL LIARS IN THIS NARRATIVE!

[chikoyama]

She’s been in a state of comatose for years.

The doctors inform Chiyori that the chances of her mother waking up are next to no.

Even if she did, her organs would no longer be able to function well on their own. She’d be hooked to support equipment for the rest of her life.

It’d be expensive to keep her alive. She’d require assistance for everything — from eating to going to the bathroom.

There’d be no point for her mother to live, they tell her.

It’s with deep regret that they advice Chiyori to cease the life support that’s been keeping her mother artificially alive all these years.

In the end, Chiyori decides to unplug.