#anyway back pain can go explode and die

[steakout-05]

ok genuine question: does experiencing noticeable back pain that happens often, actively hinders me and usually makes me need to sit down when doing painting, crafting, standing over a table or cleaning my room constitute as a physical disability?

this question might sound a bit silly considering that if i have to sit down in the first place then yeah it probably is disabling me, but a part of me is doubting myself, because i can otherwise function "normally" (don't like using that word but i can't think of another right now) and sometimes the amount of back pain i have fluctuates. sometimes it hurts like a bitch, sometimes it's barely noticeable. another part of me is just generally curious to see what some people think about this topic.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[localapparently]

/ orv novel spoilers until up to ch 468

Wherever one will be, the other will rush over to protect them

Ok.! Time to go insane about shin yoosung (I love Lee gilyoung too but I need to talk about shin yoosung otherwise I will explode.)

every so often at least thrice a week I think about how attached yoosung is to dokja it just turns my heart inside out. Like she really just started off thinking she was better off dead, and no one wanted her, and then han sooyoung shows up and threatens to kill her and she thinks "oh. I kind of deserve it." and what does dokja do? He protects and saves and nurtures her. Which is already very heartwarming right?

And then she learns about this future self of her from the 41st round, gets 41st sys' memories of pain and feeling neglected by 41yjh, literally everyone wants to kill her, and also her future self is this monstrous beast who's wreaking havoc, the man (yjh) whom her future self decides to stake thousands of years on wants to kill her as well, and future self has already killed herself like once. And so this is like a whole ass onion of layers that are reinforcing her mentality that she's unneeded and she should die and everyone wants her dead and the world is better off with her dead, right? And WHAT DOES DOKJA DO. WHAT DOES DOKJA DO. HE

1. Protects her immediately, putting himself between her and yjh's sword

2. "yoo Joonghyuk if you hurt her I won't forgive you"

3. Protects her future self (who has done terrible things and was also forsaken by the person she struggled so desperately to help)

4. Due to trust in dokja, this causes kimcom to all protect future sys as well without hesitation

5. Gets pissed on behalf of scenario enforcement upon 41sys and promptly uses a good chunk of his riches to beat up the dokkaebi

6. (sys isn't aware of this but I'll add it anyway) saves 41sys soul from the dead and reincarnates her into a baby which he raises with care

LIKE HE SAVES HER, SAVES HER AGAIN, SAVES HER FUTURE SELF, BRINGS HER FUTURE SELF BACK TO LIFE, LIKE I'm overwhelmed. Can you tell? He said "you are needed, I won't let you die" in like 20 different languages, and I just. I cannot even begin to fathom how much that meant to shin yoosung, she's so young yet she told dokja he could kill her, omg her and gilyoung r rlly besties for lifers because why are they both fucked up, please.

What am I even talking about it's almost 7am

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 91

Part 1 Part 90

Eddie’s not thinking. Observations are floating into his mind too fast for him to categorize them, just snapshots of blinding confusion and color. Click – the explosion of pain when his knuckle impacts strangely against Hargrove’s jaw. Click – pain blooming against his ribs, sending him sprawling atop Hargrove’s chest. Click – he’s on the pavement, Perkins’ crawling atop him, pointy elbow jamming into his throat as she winds back to slap Hargrove hard enough in the face to send his head ricocheting into Eddie’s side. Click – Hargrove’s straddling his screaming ribs as he punches him, once, twice, ramming his head into the concrete hard enough that it bounces, exploding pain on both sides of his skull.

Eddie closes his eyes against the pain, holding his hands above his face in a futile effort to defend his sparking face against more damage.

Nothing else comes. Just for a second, Hagrove’s weight crushes his ribs further. The pressure compresses his lungs, all the air whooshing out in a quiet oomph. And then it’s gone.

Eddie curls into himself, hands around his ribs on instinct, eyes still closed until the screaming starts.

His eye feels swollen, sight fuzzy around the edges as he looks up at his savior.

It's not Perkins, or Mama Byers, or Barb, or even Steve.

Little Red stands over her brother, the nail bat in her hands pointed warningly toward his junk, dirty sneaker close enough that if she kicked forward, there’d never be any little Billy’s running around the world. Her hair’s got dirt in it, the fire in her eyes making her look almost feral.

Her voice is loud enough to ring throughout the neighborhood, but it’s going through his head like it’s underwater, like he’s Charlie Brown, it’s all just muffled, wah wah wah’s.

All he can hear is the ringing in his ears, high pitched and aching through his skull. Hargrove’s hands are raised, and he’s got a mocking sneer on his face, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re wide and afraid, and he’s scooting backward in the driveway, shirt riding up so his skin’s sliding across the pavement in a way that’s got to hurt.

Eddie levers himself to his feet. He wobbles around on sea legs for a second until a hand clamps onto his shoulder, steadying him. It’s Perkins. There’s a bruise already blooming on her cheek, and her hair’s a riot of knots. She slides her hands into his hair, probing around his head until she finds a spot that has him wincing and pulling back.

Her words reach him, muffled but unjumbled. “—need to get you to a hospital,” she says, leaning around him to look at the spot she’d just proved. “You’re bleeding like, a lot.”

Eddie leans into her, eyes closing for just a second. “Steve first,” he replies. The words rumble strangely through his chest.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Perkins eyes roll.

The voices around him unjumble slowly, until he can make out distinct words, unmuffled and blessedly decipherable.  

Clearly, his scrambled egg of a brain just needed to catch up with its new inflamed state.

“Everyone inside,” Mama Byers calls, voice strained. It’s only then that Eddie notices the lights turned on in the houses around them, and the way curtains twitch back like the nosy rich people can’t help themselves.

Hargrove’s still in the ground, but Max hefts the bat up anyway, pointing it toward him with a final edict of, “Go home.” She turns around, sauntering toward the Harrington’s front door in a way the Eddie’d die to be able to emulate. “I’ll be home soon.”

Lucas snorts as he runs to catch up to her, Mike and Dustin right behind him.

Eddie and Perkins don’t start forward until Barb and Will lead Steve out of the van. Barb has his head angled down, clearly trying to obscure the blindfold on his face. Will’s smiling up at him and nodding as if they’re holding a conversation no one else can hear. Eddie hopes it’s enough of a show to stop the nosy neighbors from calling the cops. Hop’s indisposed and everyone else will just get in the way.

Perkins has her arm around his waist, but each of his steps bring more surety, like his brain and his legs are reestablishing their link. Still, she doesn’t let go.

They’re all loitering in front of the front door, arguing about how to get inside. Perkins bullies her way past, digging the hide-a-key out of its place buried in the leaves of the bush planted in the pot beside the front door.

She slides it home, turns it in the lock like she’s used to it. Like she belongs here in a way that Eddie, and the rest of the party, and even Steve himself don’t.

She leads them inside. Eddie wriggles out from her grasp so he can flip the lights on.

Something giddy runs through his veins as he hears the heat click on. He turns, smiling brightly at the rest of the group, just as Dustin closes the door behind them.

There’s something manic, and woozy, and hopeful running through him as he looks at all these people gathered in Steve’s childhood home, willing to do anything to save him.

“Let’s get this party started,” Eddie calls, like they’re at some sort of high school rager instead of a grim group of people about to boil their friend alive if it’ll save his life.

When everyone looks at him, bug-eyed and wary, Eddie just laughs.

Part 92

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary

[nomoreusername]

Barely Holding On

Pairing:Newt x female reader

Summary:When Newt finds you hurting yourself he goes from angry to looking after and comforting you.

⚠️ Self harm ⚠️

I don't feel normal. I don't feel like I can do as much as anyone else. I don't feel good enough. I just feel so empty, so absolutely worthless. It's as though I'm a ticking time bomb ready to explode and hurt everything around me at any moment.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to be frustrated all the time. I don't want to always wonder if there's something particular messed up in my head. I just want everything to finally feel alright. Not even good. Just normal. Just okay.

I never do. Sure. Sometimes I feel nonchalant or happy when something good happens, but it never lasts.

I didn't bother to try to get clean. Nobody even notices so it doesn't matter anyway. Not only that but when they heal they itch until all I can think about is the cuts littering my skin.

I was supposed to be hanging out with Chuck. I said I would spend Greenie night with him. I want to. I do. I do want to be out there with him, with the Gladers, with my few friends, having a carefree time. I thought I would be able to.

I wasn't. I barely got halfway through the evening before my head kept reminding me that there's a knife waiting for me back under my cot.

"I don't feel very good,"I told him. It isn't even a lie. If I don't cut in the next few minutes, I'm going to start hyperventilating. I need it. I just do. I don't want to, but if I don't get it everything will be ruined.

"But you said-"

"I'll see you tomorrow. Probably. I have to leave though,"I rushed out, standing up before he could actually question me. Resisting the urge to sprint, I kept my hands in my pockets as I walked to my hut. Even though every single foot feels like a million miles I can't be suspicious. I can't, I can't, I can't.

With my heart racing inside of my chest, I didn't dare let my body weigh itself down. My feet need to move. Every part of me needs to move. Every part of me is frozen while also being on autopilot. Absolutely none of it makes sense, but it also does. It does to me. To my messed up brain, all of this is logical.

Bursting into my hut, I was shaking as I slammed the door shut. Ignoring the way I could hardly see through the tears clouding my vision or maybe too messed up to actually notice, I forced my feet one after the other to my cot.

Leaning over, I didn't even have to look to know exactly where the knife was placed. Gripping the handle firmly, I pulled it out from its hidden in plain sight place. You can't really see it when you're in my room, but it's always there. Once you know it is, it takes up more space than any other object, even me.

As I held it the tears just seemed to stop. Everything inside of me stopped. Something in me went cold, almost dark. Numb. It was just numb.

Pulling up my sleeves, I revealed the rows of growing cuts and scars. It started monthly, but now it seems to grow daily. It's taken over my life. Sometimes I realize that, but when I'm doing it some part of me doesn't know anything at all.

Dragging it across one of the few areas that was untouched by darkness, I watched as the blood dripped down my skin. It's as though this is all happening in third person, as if it's not even me doing this anymore.

The sting takes longer to set in now. I think I'm adjusting to the pain or something. That means I either have to either cut longer or deeper. Not enough to die. I don't want to die. I just need my mind to calm down. That's all this is. This is my only hope left of actually holding on.

As I crossed over a fresh cut I winced. Realizing that was the ticket to pain, I went over that spot again and again. By now the shouts of the Gladers and yells of happiness were tuned out. Everything is. Everything but the pain and the blood.

Tears started to fall as the self loathing came back. I could be out there, fulfilling my promise. Instead, I've locked myself in here to cut. It's so messed up. It's all wrong. I'm wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

I hate this. I hate this, but it's the only way to keep stable. It's killing every part of me, but if I don't do this I'll genuinely lose it. I can't lose it. I can't. Not here. This is better than the alternatives. It's better, and it's fine, and nobody will know.

"Y/N?"Newt asked, knocking on my door. As I was brought back to reality I slowly looked at the damage.

It had fallen down my arms, getting crimson drops on my pants. There were blood splatters on the ground. My actual wrist was more of a mess than my head. You could hardly see my skin through all the blood.

"Y/N?"

"Don't come in,"I choked out, letting the knife clank to the floor.

"Are you okay?"

"Go away,"was all I could get out as I shoved it as far under my bed as possible. Frantically tugging my sleeves up, I was shaking as the blood dripped through. Wiping my eyes, I desperately looked around for something to fix it. Something to cover the disaster.

"Are you okay-"

"Leave me alone!"I demanded, my voice unsteady and unsure.

"What's happeni-"

"Leave!"I screamed louder, attempting to wipe my sleeves against my pants only to get the stain to spread. Sitting back on my bed, I kept pathetically continuing the act anyways, running out of options.

"I'm coming in-"

"No!"

Ignoring my protests, he opened my door to see me sitting there, my feet over the edge of the bed and my long sleeves stained with blood. As he just stood there in shock the door closed on his own behind him, leaving us there with nothing but my self destruction.

"I-I can't-"

"What is wrong with you?"He asked slowly, the situation seeming to sink in.

"I-I don't-"

"No seriously? What is wrong with you? You're supposed to be out there, with everyone? How are you in here? How?"

"I didn't mean-I'm sor-"

"No! How could you?! I have asked if you are okay! I have been worried about you, and you always say you're fine! Every! Damn! Time!"

With the tears streaking my face, I unconsciously dug my nails into the little bit of my exposed skin, ripping into the cuts.

"You've said you're okay! You said everything was fine but you're in here doing this! For how long?! How bloody long?!"

With sobs leaving the back of my throat, my nails dug deeper into my fresh wound as I started shaking. This wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't.

"Do you think this is fine?! Do you think this is okay?! Do you think it's fine to sit in the dark and cut yourself?! Do you?!"

Frantically shaking my head, I cried harder as I sputtered out weak apologies. Despite this I seemed physically incapable of pulling my nails from my cuts. I just clawed at myself as all the emotions hit me like a tidal wave.

"I'm sorry, love,"He said gently, everything about him suddenly seeming soft. Mumbling incoherent things, I buried my face in my hands. "It's okay. It's okay,"He coaxed, sitting in front of me. Cautiously taking my hands, he pulled them away from him and into his.

"I'm sorry,"I got out.

"It's okay. I promise. I'm not really mad at you. I just didn't expect this. I didn't know you were struggling this badly."

"I'm sorry,"I repeated, physically incapable of saying anything else.

"I'm not angry. I just didn't know you were doing this. I didn't know you were feeling this bad, and I panicked. I love you. I really do,"He whispered.

"I didn't know what else to do. Every part of me feels wrong. Something inside of me is broken, Newt. Truly broken,"I admitted through shaky breaths.

"You aren't broken, Y/N. You're hurting, but you aren't broken. You are full of good. You're full of amazing things, and I'm sorry you can't see that. I'm sorry you thought this was your only way to feel okay,"He whispered, lacing his fingers through mine.

"I don't want to be this way. I don't, but it seems to be all I know. In only a few months, this became everything that I am,"I admitted.

"It isn't all you are though. Just because you're doing something you shouldn't, just because you found something negative and mistook it for coping, doesn't mean it's everything that you are. You are an incredible human who has done nothing but make this place better. There's a reason Chuck was so excited to hang out with you tonight. There's a reason Minho likes to stop and say hi to you before he leaves. There's a reason I love you. You're brilliant, and you deserve better than what you're giving yourself,"He whispered, cupping my face. Wiping my tears away, he looked at me with nothing less than sympathy, undeniable pain, and pure love.

"I never thought it would get this far,"I murmured.

"I'm sure you didn't. That doesn't mean we won't figure it out though,"He coaxed, a bittersweet smile on his lips.

"Every part of me is exhausted. I'm just so drained,"I admitted. Still wiping my tears, he nodded in understanding.

"Then, we'll sleep it off right now. We're gonna go to sleep, I'm gonna hold you, and we'll figure it all out in the morning. Okay?"

"Yes. Okay,"I agreed.

With me still in his arms, we laid down. Pulling my sleeve up, he took my one without the new injuries and pressed his lips to my scars. Shutting my eyes, I let the tears fall down my face as he kissed the ruined parts of me.

"I'll love you forever. I've loved you for so long, and I love you now. No matter how you may see yourself, I will always see you as the most amazing person, the kindest human, and the most beautiful girl in the world,"He whispered.

Cuddling up as close as I could without closing my arms, I rested my head on his chest. Kissing my temple, he whispered sweet nothings until I dozed off.

♡ - - - ♡

When I woke up the next morning it was in Newt's arms. He had still been carefully holding me. He had been wide awake, looking after me.

We left before anyone could see. He snuck me into the Med-hut so he could fix me up. He wiped my cuts, old and new. He kissed my skin and told me it would be okay. He disinfected my arms and wrapped them in bandages.

The thing that stuck out most was that he had given me his bracelets. He told me that whenever I thought I needed to hurt myself but couldn't find him, to look at these and remember that I will never be alone. He made sure they would stay.

He understandably hadn't left me alone today. He was by my side, making sure I wasn't a current danger to myself. He didn't do anything big which only made me more grateful for him. He kept a subtle eye on me, smiling whenever he met my gaze, holding my hand when he was able to, and whispering reassuring words in my ear.

Alby needed him for a moment. Something about a Second-in-command duty.

"Will you be okay for a minute, love?"He checked.

"I will,"I promised.

"Okay. I'll be back soon,"He promised, kissing my temple before going to see what he needed.

Getting back to planting the seeds, I made sure the dirt was firmly packed.

"It seems like he's just obsessed with you today,"Someone drew out. Looking up, I saw James. He wasn't known for kind words so needless to say him speaking to me randomly was a red flag.

"He's just being loving,"I said quickly, about to chew the inside of my cheek before catching myself. Looking at the bracelets, I smiled for a second.

"His bracelets, huh?"

"Yep. They were just a gift,"I muttered, standing up so that he was no longer towering over me.

"Really? Let me see?"

"No!"I said quickly as he grabbed my wrist. Wincing at the contact his hand made, I held it to my chest as a sound of pain left my mouth. While it was only for a second, it was enough for him to notice. That and I had almost yelled, catching some nearby bystanders attention.

"Oh, I get it,"He smirked.

"Leave me alone,"I demanded.

"He wants to make sure you don't hurt yourself, doesn't he?"He guessed, trying to pull the bracelet off again. Keeping my arms pressed to my sides, I repeated for him to just leave me alone as I willed myself not to cry in front of everyone. I can't. I won't.

"Awe. You gonna go hurt yourself again?"

"What do you think you're doing?"a familiar and now cold voice asked. Looking back, I saw Newt walking up before standing beside me, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

"Chill. I was just joking,"He defended, his hands in his air.

"No. That was you being a prick. Nothing more, nothing less,"He corrected.

"But-"

"Come with me. Now,"He demanded, his voice calm yet furious.

"I didn't-"

"Now,"He repeated even firmer. Realizing there was no way out of it, he followed Newt past the gardens. Looking back, he made sure he was still going. When he was, he led him in front of the pit. "In, now,"He commanded, opening one of them and gesturing him inside.

"But-"

"Did I say it was up for debate? Get inside. Right. Now,"He repeated.

Once again realizing he couldn't actually get out of punishment, he hopped inside, his head down and face hidden in shame. The second he hit the ground he slammed it shut and tied it tighter than I think it's ever been. Even from here, I could see his jaw clenched.

When he was sure it was alright he walked away, his head held high. Standing beside me again, he grabbed my hand as if nothing happened.

"Come on. Let's go on lunch,"He suggested. Nodding my head, I intertwined our fingers as I kept myself pressed against him, ignoring the way my face heated up.

Heading over to the kitchen, he asked Fry if we could get our food early. With a smile and no questions, he served us, giving a polite nod.

Taking both the bowls, he led me a little bit into the Deadheads. By now everyone was back to their previous activities, not wanting to pry on whatever that was.

Sitting beside him, I rested my head on his shoulder as he handed me my bowl. Knowing that all I wanted right now was silence and his company, he let us do nothing but eat and savor the others presence, exactly the way I needed.

[xyzssss]

hiii just think about nanami's daughter who is a jujitsu sorcerer w fushiguro, itadori and kugisaki and her just watching her dad die and having to deal with it 😭 after i watched that episode i immediately thought of that. 

I’m so SORRY this took so long and this is so rushed but I had lots of stuff going on so this isn’t good T-T

I’ll try to write for your other request! :3

Nanami x Daughter!reader

I don’t think any warnings are needed maybe a little blood warning and angst 😭

Me and Yuji where walking through the hall of the train station. I curse must have hit my leg because it made me limp quite a bit. But Yuji helped me with his arm around my shoulder to steady me.

I don’t know where Maki-san, Megumi-san or the others are. I was scared for my friends but mostly I was scared for my dad.

I don’t know where he is. And that makes me so anxious it’s sickening. Like the kind of anxiousness that’ll make you feel like throwing up.

“Y/n-san, don’t worry too much. I know you’ll dad will be just fine.”

How did he know what I was thinking about can he read minds now?

No that’s stupid.

“I can’t help it. He is the only one I have left from my family.”

The next step I took made a wet splashing sound and I looked down to see my leg covered in blood. Some drops soaking into my leg warmers.

I looked up and saw my dad and Mahito.

What are they doing here?

“Dad?!”

I watched him look at me half of his body looking burned not even recognisable.

I saw how his face softened when he looked at me. I loved how kind he was even tho he is so strict about me becoming a great sorcerer.

“Itadori……”

“Take it from here now.”

I watched his whole upper body explode.

He was gone?

“D-dad!”

I watched his lower body slack to the ground as it was the only thing left of him.

I rushed to him not caring about this damn curse.

I couldn’t even hear what was going on behind me but I knew that right now I lost everything.

I didn’t even notice the wet tears slide down my face until one hit my leg.

“Dad!”

(Time skip cuz I’m really REALLY lazy👉👈)

When I woke up and looked at the clock it was already 3PM. I slept the whole time?

What else did I expect?

It’s been like that for the past days.

My room was next to Megumi’s and Yuji’s and I could hear them go in and out.

There was a funeral but honestly it was just me throwing his ash. Well it wasn’t even him.

It was just his legs.

For the past few days the only think I ate was a couple of rice balls.

Shoko-san came and checked up on me twice.

But that’s really it.

She isn’t the type to do that anyways.

The others tried to cheer me up, what did they expect? I have no one now.

And I don’t care about ‘bond makes family’ because when you loose your family there is nothing else and it makes you realise that family is unique and really by blood.

Without a knock the door opened and who else was I expecting?

Gojo.

“Get up.”

“Get out.”

“Get up I said. You can’t just lay around.”

“Leave me alone-“

Before I could even ANSWER he threw my blanket away and pulled me out of bed.

He didn’t even think about giving me the chance to walk right so he just grinds me over the floor.

The stairs were the worst.

Once outside I saw Yuji and Megumi.

I think we all lost someone dear to us. I know my father cared for everyone and I know his death pained us all.

I just sat on the floor in my pjs.

What does Saturu want me to do now?

“Soooo what now?”

“I don’t know.”

“But Gojo-sensei?”

“But what I know is that you can’t stay in your room forever. First it won’t bring him back and second it will take you from us too. It’s hard to loose someone we love but I assure you we all lost someone in a short time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are grieving and there is nothing wrong with it. But you nes to make sure it doesn’t pull you down further into a whole you will never get out from.”

[star-dust-no-name]

Cursed Yellow Flowers

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

Murder drones N x reader (one-sided love)

Hanahaki AU + Gender Neutrual Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

You aren't sure when it started to happen, maybe it was all the way back then when you first arrived on Copper 9 with your fellow coworkers, maybe it was when you and N started to form a friendship, or maybe just maybe it was when N told you about his feelings for V.

"YOU CANT BE SERIOUS N"

You said with a surprised tone to your fabricated voice

"R, I am very serious"

"But N, V does nothing but harass and abuse you"

"I know but maybe she does it because we haven't talked much?"

You sighed, N is a pure cinnamon roll, and you couldn't really see V and N working out as a couple.

"I'll help you N but you owe me 2 gallons of oil"

N gasped and, with a huge smile, came running up to you and gave you a big hug before going to the entrance of the shuttle spreading his wings and leaving to get those 2 gallons of oil.

And there was that feeling in your chest again as if something was bothering you as if you were being suffocated from the inside out despite not needing air to survive. You originally thought it might be your clothes you arrived in that were making you uncomfortable or maybe a bug in your system, but then you realized it was N, the feeling in your chest at the beginning when you started to form a friendship with N was warm and cozy and strangely welcoming but then when N started talking about V that feeling slowly starting becoming colder and colder until today when it felt like your chest was about to explode.

You started coughing and coughing, and at first, it was oil coming out from your mouth, and then it was bits of code that you coughed up. It took a while for all the bits of code to come out, but when it finally stopped, you glanced down and saw that the bits of code started forming flowers.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

LOADING INFORMATION ABOUT YELLOW CARNATIONS...

LOADING...

You sighed, according to the text that was currently loading in front of you from your visor. The yellow flowers you coughed up from your code are called yellow carnations. If it wasn't for the infinite amount of information you had stored in your code, you probably would have freaked out by now.

LOADING COMPLETE

Yellow Carnations

Yellow Carnations are beautiful yellow flowers that blossom from late spring to autumn, but don't let their looks fool you as yellow Carnations have a sour meaning behind them, meaning disappointment and rejection which is why they're one of the most common flowers to cough up when someone has Hanahaki disease

You had a confused but curious look on your visor quickly, pulling up the keyboard on your visor again

WHAT IS HANAHAKI DISEASE?

enter

SEARCHING

LOADING COMPLETE

Hanahaki disease

Hanahaki disease is a disease where the victim experiences one sided love or unrequited love, Hanahaki disease can be stopped by either confessing to your crush or by having a special surgery done to remove the flowers however when the surgery is complete you will no longer feel romantic attraction to anyone if the victim does not confess or get a surgery they will die a slow and painful death.

You weren't sure if robots could have hanahaki I mean for you it was just bits of code that formed into flowers and you didn't need air anyways so, would you just forever cough bits of code until your whole coding system was coughed up?

You grimaced at the thought you then went back to the previous information, "disappointment and rejection." The disappointed feeling made sense as you didn't want V and N to become a couple, but rejection? No, it couldn't be...

"R!"

You quickly turned around, ignoring the warmth feeling in your chest as you heard that familiar welcoming and sweet voice.

"Hey N!, I'll go down there in one second"

"OH, no worries, R ill be up there in a jiffy"

You didn't want N to find the flowers, especially since flowers are long since extinct on copper-9. Before N could even fly up there, you came gliding down your legs touching the snow as it crunched beneath you. N quickly gave you a bouquet, but instead of a bouquet full of flowers, it was a bouquet with worker drone arms.

"I got the 2 gallons of oil, but then I also remembered you like to munch on the arms of worker drones, so I got you this bouquet!"

You smiled thanking N.

Maybe for a little while, you can accept that growing warm feeling.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚

Authors Note: Yall I swear I'm in my returning arc it's just that my depression arc took over two seasons 😰, lmao anyways for right now I'm just going to focus on making masterlists (I come from the stars and the barbatos successor AU) and just focus on updating things and making more content for yall.

-Stardust☆

[kurocatsstuff]

12:28 ✩ : mahou shojo’s dedication (magical girl’s dedication)

genre : harbinger ! Scara x magical girl reader, female reader, suicidal thoughts, sensitive topics, death, violence, trauma, swearing, and love

note : I’ve decided to complete this project of mine ! I’ve been searching so hard for this exact thing so I decided to write it for myself 😭 (please make another one of these so I can enjoy myself too!!)

A being that transcends the wretched universe that you were created in, gave you mercy and a wish in exchange for your own soul at the cost of losing it to a fate worser than the poverty that you so desperately wanted to escape from.. you couldn't ever be more in debt, the entity granted you a wish, the wish of being drowned in riches..

Yet the thought crossed your mind that you still felt the hole in your heart begging for emotions, hope, despair, love? Love. The stupid emotions that would drag you down..you've been fighting witches for 3 years. Your soul gem has been close to being shattered and dirtied multiple times yet you still got up because of fear, fear for the life which you've hated all these years, fear for turning into the witches you were fighting…

It was strange really, defeating so many witches.. collecting their grief seeds every possible moment just to live your desperate life… it felt horrible, you wanted to die… your soul gem was gaining so many impurities more than you defeated witches… you hated this life..yet you had to live with the pain and convince yourself it was positivity.

—————

Your transformation outfit :

Entering a labyrinth on accident you instantly transformed with your soul gem and spear in hand. Alert as you made your way deeper in..

While searching for the witch in the labyrinth you’ve entered, you stumbled across a young man fighting familiars of the witch with electro,

ah yes if you remember correctly a person said that a vision is a gift from a god and can give you elemental powers to fight or just simply use.. it certainly seems more better than exchanging your soul. But, you never deserved to be blessed by a god anyway..

You tensed up as you saw one of the familiars, a crab like creature jumping up and opening its claw towards his head .. in an instant you ran towards him,

obliterating the creature with your spear.. the remaining of them died one by one, a slice to the head, or guts exploding… either way your outfit was covered with blood which started to turn into water.. ‘strange…’ you thought..

While observing the situation you hadn’t realized the young man you had just saved was holding a katana to your neck in an instant..

“If you’re trying to fucking kill me then do it in a place where I can comprehend what I’m seeing..” he spoke with a harsh tone, his gaze shot daggers through you as you were leaded to kneel in front of him as a way to save yourself.. “now tell me, who are you? And state what the fuck is this place..what’s happening?!”

You looked up at him, his eyes looking back down at you. Looking up to his face you had realized he was more beautiful than what you would describe his wraith as… think about what you were gonna say you had realized it would be hard to explain it all…

Welp, this is going to be a long story..

—————

notes : I’m so sorry for making this short, I’m rushing on my exams since they just came up.. 😭

🎐

tag list : @kamit-frog

[kel-lance]

Yandere! Gojo x Reader Part 2

Ik part 1 was short, but the meats will be in the next part ;p

Here're the potatoes though

———————MDNI---------DDDR--------TW——————————

“You know I’m obsessed with you right?” Your senses were failing you. All you could do was hear first, then the physical feeling in your body shot back to you, causing you to throw up this mornings meal a foot away from where you were laying before. Your face stickier now with this mess, joining your tears and blood. You lay back down on the concrete floor, trying to catch your breath, praying he’ll give you a moment to breathe, but knowing him, this is almost his favorite part. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.” He crouched down to where you lay. 

“What the fuck was with the nicknames?”

He caresses your cheek as you breathe heavily, trying to regulate yourself from the pain. “Look at me (y/n).” Ge grabs your chin and picks it up, raising you with his two fingers.

Your vision’s blurry as you don’t throw up easily, your whole body is burning and your limbs are numb from being locked up from his previous heimlich’s. You were exhausted, pissed even but not injured bad enough to stop this week’s missions. No, nothing can stop you from completing one. Your streak is strong, they could rely on you, there was nothing more important than washing this guilt you paid to carry. But right now, you could care less about his power trip, his ego, just everything about him screamed entitled. 

He helps you sit yourself up, stomach on fire and head splitting open. Catching your breath, he holds your back for support, eating up the view in front of him. He’s obviously excited in so many ways, you thought he was actually smiling at you for a second. Not one of his “I’m that guy” “ME Me ME” “Look at this” any kind of attention seeking shit eating grin that he looked like he practice in the mirror for years. 

“That’s so odd, I’m having fun with a weakling. You, too, are nothing against me. But why does it feel so good when my hits land?” He raises his hand at causing you to at least close your eyes for contact, bracing for your brain to shake against your skull with his infamous one handed knock outs, but laughs at your reaction. 

“There’s always a bored feeling, like the action was a responsibility for me. I have to hurt the weak to protect the weaker. I don’t get breaks. I don’t get release. Won’t you help me out, (y/n)?” He shoved his two fingers down your throat to help you get an answer out.

“When you’re done, make sure to clean me up.” You gagged. You knew he hated you. He wanted to know everything about you his first year here. While you were climbing the ranks, he watched and studied you. Not like he’d have to put in much effort into schooling anyway, he was a prodigy after all. 

Yet since the tragedy in your first year, you’ve become a completely different person. Your team is still on you about it, rather your new team keeps trying to understand you, know you, see you, hear you, but you’re not going to let more people get hurt. You’d rather they hate you than let them die (fr) of a little mystery. 

Gojo stopped shoving his fingers into your mouth, not caring if his nails scratch all around before. “Woah, senpai, you’re letting me go there?” 

He holds onto your shoulder for support to stand and sighed. “Rest up then~” Before you could read his body, his fist collided with the side of your head. Your ear felt like it exploded. Your vision went black again.

————————

“How much longer are you gonna sleep?” You feel a heaviness on your side as you laid on your back.

“Fuck.” You were still with Gojo. The pain seemed to have subsided greatly but that won’t help the confusion from blacking out twice.

“Where are we?” 

“This is my house! Welcome!” Gojo presses his weight on you as he leans closer to you, looking a mixed of relieved and excited. It definitely made your stomach turn.. 

He helps you sit up and you look around, just imagine the “most generic modern house for a high schooler”, it’s just insane. Large living room with skylights, connected to the kitchen, dining room, main hallway, leading to the maze you know it took to get you to this couch. “Dude, what-“

“Don’t call me that.” You turn your head and his welcoming smile before became just a cold look. He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. He turns his entire body towards you and leans forward, both his large arms are hugging your sides but your back hurt from all the weight. 

“…Gojo.” 

“You’re breaking my heart, doll.” He sighs like you should’ve know better. “I’m over here giving you every name in the book and you just have dude? Bro?” He leans in further, threatening to break your back, slowly adding more power to his new found squeeze on your wrists. “Try again.” 

This is terribly embarrassing, maybe it’s best he chose somewhere more private to talk. “Satoru…” You were trying your best, what else would you call someone you barely knew? You should really try asking him that.

“That’s better.” He smiles but his eyes stay the same. “It’s not enough,” He hooks and grabs the hair at the back of your head, pulling you to face him, “Try… it… again.” 

He’s shaking, harder than you, trying so hard to contain himself. You could feel his dark aura grew thick and potent, his grip on your wrist was so close to snapping, you swallowed your pride in the name of your next mission. 

“Since this is our first time officially meeting,” This was embarrassing as is, but will you go against or play along? “I’ll call you Sa-san.” 

He blinks like he refreshed. “It’s something. Original compared to my ex girlfriends’ pet names.” He looked away like he was trying to remember which was his favorite, and pondered if yours was better. “I like it.” 

“…Why do you need to bringing them up?” You lean back into him now, making yourself small under him, testing out the power dynamic. Did he really want you like he said? Would that create an opportunity for you? Hopefully. No sane person would actually be happy and enjoy being kidnapped by the most handsome, rich, powerful, popular guy at school.

His eyes matched his smile. “You’re so cute, are you jealous?” He lets go of your wrist and hugs you tighter, shaking you side to side excitedly. 

“No, I just don’t get the thought process. I still barely understand what’s going on right now and why you’re being like this.” 

You realized right now there’s no point. They’re not going to expel him for kidnapping, and it’s not like anyone else would want to speak up with you and go against the Gojo’s. They have people who love and would defend them, put their own lives at risk just to get a bit of their attention, even if you got out of this house, he could give one simple order and have the hounds search and feast on your remains. People born in power disgusted you, it wasn’t fair.

His playful demeanor once again goes as fast as it arrived. “Are you fucking hard of hearing or do you not care?” He put his chin on one side of your neck as he tugged your ear on the other. “Have you not been listening to me this entire time?” 

You wince from the pain but look away from him. “It’s not like you’re not serious.”

“And why would you think that?” He pulled your ear harder and moved his hand tot he back of your head, balling up your hair to make you face to face. “What? That a nobody like you would be wanted so badly by someone like me?” You were getting so annoyed with the sudden mood changes. 

Sure, your cursed technique was adaption, a form of Reversed cursed technique, but this wasn’t an enemy others were calling you to exorcize. Instead this demon saw and latched itself onto you. An embodied curse of a certain feeling. 

“More like you get to do whatever you want and I’ve been avoiding that warpath, I have my own plans.” He could never understand the life you lived. Much less have so much fun toying with someone who wasn’t interested it was fine because you could handle it.

“But I want you, so you’re mine.” 

What logic- that just pissed you off.

“I don’t need this,” You break forward, away from him. “I don’t need you and I sure as hell got to be the top student at JJH by myself, not because I was just born with rare powers or good looks or the apathy you need to survive in this world, I”m done.” You use your shoulders to loosen his playful hold.  “Do you know how stupid you look when you go around acting like that?” 

You’ve snapped. “I’ve seen how you are and hear you, but it’s embarrassing.” This is how you’re gonna get the upper hand now, if those feelings were real then would be able to flow your way out of this and then run or kill him. No one gets this far with Satoru, maybe he’s just having a breakdown. Being the strongest would definitely be difficult… if he had a heart. 

Shit. “Maybe he’ll realize what he’s doing,” The small voice in your head was trying to calm you down with excuses, it was always something that made you go easy on your opponents. You had heart for them and want to hear them out til the end, even in an evil way sometimes when they’re just that terrible, but that doesn’t seem likely now. 

“I was right about you. You’re perfect.” 

You were about to register for your body to move, your legs should have started running but he was just so fast. One hand pinning down your shoulder, the other feeling down your side, squeezing almost like his fingers were tasting your skin. He finds your neck. 

First biting harshly, then kissing and licking each mark hungrily. His hold on your arms to your own chest has your breathing labored. You felt so much as your breathing stayed limited, not wanting to test him in this position. 

Gojo moves you onto his lap now, you can already feel his heartbeat on every surface you touched. With bored eyes you let him do what he wants as you’ve lived through worse, 

“So good~.” He was trying to eat you you swear, your skin now decorated with marks wherever Sa-san could reach. He was marking you, literally. You don’t even know what to do after. If things aren’t too bad, you’ll be going straight to Geto and Nanami after this. You thought about it a bit more and might have to rethink that since Shoko must’ve been the one to clean you up. 

You have to decide now, play along to get to your mission faster? Or will there be no option to leave after this? You’ll just have to put him to sleep to see. 

[gffa]

John Gaius is less interesting to me as someone who is just a shallowly awful person, and vastly, infinitely more interesting to me as an intensely human person with the powers of a god and that has fucked him up. The things he does to his friends are done out of grief, because he doesn’t want them to be gone, it’s out of the loss of those he loved that he brings them back, that there’s almost something numb about him until the depression or the rage or the sorrow hits, because like he’s Jod, he didn’t get to where he was by being able to die, and that’s terrifying for others, but I can’t help thinking that it’s really fucked him up, too, because all that power, it’s just there, it’s in him all the time, and when someone betrays you and you have the power and invulnerability of a god and you’re a hot goddamned mess because you’re still just a person who has lived through so much pain and grief and loss, you react like a human and you reform yourself out of your own atoms and permanently explode people and go, right then, either you’re loyal or you die, because you’re fucking pissed, and you don’t want to fucking deal with it anymore, because you don’t have to, you’re God, you have the power to say, no, this stops here, loyalty or die, make your fucking choice now, instead of continuing to walk that tightrope of lying to your friends but trying to make it up to them and feeling guilty but also feeling angry, all while you’re so fucking tired. But then you feel more guilt about it, because you’re a person and you’re not trying to be a dictator, you’re trying to make the galaxy better, you’re trying lighten the mood, because it’s ten thousand fucking years and if you don’t embrace your love of puns being hilarious, then everything’s going to be so fucking boring, and you’re still angry at the trillionaires.   You stop time and tell everyone to stop attacking each other because you’re so fucking tired and just don’t want to deal with it anymore.  You’re so fucking careful, even around your friends, not to bleed around them because you know what that can lead to. I feel like John is a character who isn’t evil so much as every step is an understandable one he made, each one is a very human reaction when you have the context of everything that happened before, and then layer a whole lot of depression and guilt and anger on top of all those decisions. Is he doing terrible things?  Yeah, and he’s fucking terrifying to be around, he tries so hard to be affable and gentle, but he has so much power and he’s Just A Fucking Guy, a guy who wanted to save the world and started out from a place that so many of us have started out from, each step he took to where he got and why he lied are understandable ones, the weight inside him one that I can empathize with, I too am not always the kindest when I’m depressed, I too am not always one to make the best decisions when I feel torn between wanting to help people vs how to actually get there, like if I was face to face with a real chance to save the world, wouldn’t I do some shady things to make sure it got done, because the world hung in the balance?  Wouldn’t I fall into depression when weighed down by all that responsibility to do something when I had the power/ability to do it?  Where is the single point at which he should have said no and turned back, given all that had come before? I don’t see John Gaius as a character who set out to become Necrolord Prime, that that was the intended arc, so much as he kept making one decision after another, decisions that come from a place of very human nature, and eventually we’re here, with the weight of all those decisions behind him and no one single place that really was a hard turning point.  And also a whole lot of depression. Anyway, he’s my poor little meow meow and I hope he’s dictator of the universe for life because it’s very funny and also gives me feelings.

[logan-lieutenant]

If you could do 9 and 17 from the dialogue game for loscar it would be amazing (⁠��⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

I read your another one with sargebon and it's dknfkskdnsjks *explodes from emotions*, please write more🙏🙏🙏

i swear i didn’t mean to write 4.7k, but what did i wake up to this morning? no beta we die like williams public image

here you go loscar nation 💙🧡

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

“You can’t keep it bottled up forever.”/“Feel better now?”

Pain is temporary.

Pain is irrelevant.

Pain is invalid.

He shouldn’t have been gritting his teeth. The ache in his jaw throngs all the way down his neck, and at some point he’d bitten the side of his tongue. Oscar doesn’t remember that; he just remembers driving, the scream of the engines crowding into one meaningless cacophony, staring down the beam wing in front of him and willing the pain to end.

It didn’t. It hasn’t.

He’d known the first race was going to be bad, but he’d been confident in the adrenaline, the 5.8 kilometers of pure endorphins to keep him above it lap after lap. And it had… sort of.

The pain had spread, though. As the race went on Oscar could imagine the single fracture widening like unraveled thread, jagged edges deepening and shooting outwards until his whole body was cracked porcelain. The pain was sharp, hot, razor-wire wrapped around his chest. It was almost a reprieve to be overtaken, because then the frustration and determination to make up the place would block out everything else for just a moment.

He didn’t finish on the podium, but that was alright. It was Lewis’s moment, and anyway he could barely lift himself out of the car, let alone a crown-shaped trophy.

It was easy to smile and nod his way through the debrief, easy to let Lando do the talking. Lando didn’t know about the break. A lot of the team didn’t know, because it was supposed to be minor, it was supposed to be temporary irrelevant invalid just a little setback. And it would be. He just had to have a little breather first, ice it, give it some time.

It’s almost sunset when he leaves for the car park. He’d spent too long in his driver’s room, slumped against the wall with his shirt off, eyes firmly closed because looking at the bruising made him nauseas. He’d told Kim a little about the situation, told him he’d call if it got worse, and asked to please not let anyone disturb him. Nobody had.

He’s fumbling one-handed with his keys when a voice says, “Leaving so soon?”

Oscar nearly jumps out of his skin, his keys clatter to the ground. “Jesus christ, Logan, don’t fucking do that.”

Logan puts up his hands innocently, but the gesture is incompatible with the smirk on his face. “Not my fault you don’t look up,” he says. “I was trying to get your attention.” He’s leaning back against a telephone pole, dark blue hoodie blending in with the evening shadows. Still, Oscar can’t help but feel snuck up on.

Oscar shakes his head. “You walk too quiet.”

“That’s a weird insult.”

“You’re weird.” Oscar starts to bend over to pick up his keys, but a stabbing pain shoots all the way through to his shoulder blades and he bites back a sudden shout. He has to abandon the motion midway.

Logan walks around the car and picks up the keys. He’s pulled his sleeves up over his palms, fingertips barely visible. Oscar doesn’t really feel the cold, but there’s already a slight flush over Logan’s cheeks and nose. His lips look redder than normal.

Logan’s voice softens. “It was really bad today, huh?”

Oscar looks away, breathing around the aftershocks. His first instinct is to lie, to offer a curt and stoic denial. To snatch back his keys.

But Logan would see through any of that in an instant.

“Not great,” he admits. He can hear the grimace in his own voice. “I just need to give it some time…”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m driving.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I just drove a Formula 1 car, I think I can handle a little traffic.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.” Logan’s smiling again, but it’s a gentle smile, knowing and fond. His eyes are bright, crinkled at the corners. He doesn’t give back the keys. “I’m saying you don’t have to. You’re staying at the Platt Hotel, right?”

”Yeah,” Oscar answers. He has half a mind to just make a grab for his keys, but the other half is thinking about left turns, how he has to move his arms so much more with a normal steering wheel. How long the drive gets at night.

“Cool, me too.” Logan looks down at the keys and unlocks the car, then steps forward and pulls open the driver’s side door. He has to get right into Oscar’s space to do it, arm practically reaching around his waist. There’s a rush of warmth as he moves closer, a fluid and unhurried step as if they’re not just millimeters apart.

Logan starts to turn back to him, and Oscar realizes that if he doesn’t step back their faces are going to get closer– a lot closer. The wind ruffles Logan’s hair, and they’re close enough that Oscar catches the scent– something fresh and summery, seawater and citrus…

He steps back in a hurry, uncharacteristically clumsy as he’s set off balance by a fresh cascade of memories. What being this close in the dark would’ve meant years ago. How they don’t touch anymore but his body recognizes the warmth, the chest-to-chest contact like a second skin. How the urge to stay in place, to reach his hands up isn’t conscious but muscle memory.

He nearly falls over at the suddenness of it all, the nostalgia that’s hit him like a truck within a single moment. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, no more than a pat, but it’s stabilizing. “Sit in the back,” he says. “That way you can put the seatbelt on your right.”

Oscar lets Logan drive his car, and it shouldn’t remind him of anything.

Logan’s never even driven his car, this or any others. The city is unfamiliar and indifferent. They’re going to the same place, but not because it’s anybody’s home.

And then Logan connects his phone to the bluetooth, and Oscar remembers the playlist.

Seasons change and our love went cold…

From the backseat, Oscar says, “Remember the time you had to drive me back from that club?”

Logan laughs over the music. “How could I forget,” he answers, smiling at Oscar in the mirror. “You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar laughs even though it hurts. “It– it wasn’t that bad, I…”

“You had one drink, dude. One. And then I had to carry you off the charaoke stage.”

Oscar groans. “I was only 18. I shouldn’t have started with tequila.”

“You think?” Logan turns up the music. “Wow. What a throwback.”

I dare you to do something, I’m waiting on you again…

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Oscar points out.

“Guess not.” Logan tries to shrug and turn the wheel at the same time and ends up with something like an interpretive dance. “I just haven’t thought about it in forever.”

“Really?”

Oscar doesn’t know why his voice comes out so small, so hurt. He doesn’t know why he is hurt.

Maybe because of how the night ended.

How Logan had driven them both back to his own flat because he didn’t want to leave Oscar alone. How he’d tucked his arm around Oscar’s waist and lowered them both onto the bed because Oscar’s didn’t have the coordination. How they’d fallen asleep, and woken up, wrapped around each other.

And I still hear the echoes, the echoes…

“Just feels like a while ago,” Logan says nonchalantly, and Oscar decides to let it go. He has to let it go.

They arrive at the hotel sooner than Oscar expects.

They’d talked the whole drive home, not about anything important. Airport stories, golf, which one of them has the weirder teammate (every time Oscar thinks there’s no one wilder than Lando, Logan tells him Alex’s latest hot take in blatant defiance of all human logic, and Oscar has to concede). Even with the music, it felt somehow quiet in the car, and Oscar realized he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had spoken alone.

They take the same lift, and Logan leans against the opposite wall. Leaning against every vertical surface in sight doesn’t come naturally to Oscar, but it suddenly looks like a good idea; his whole body aches. Sitting down in the car, his arm propped against the door, had been a reprieve. Now he’s all too aware of his own weight, his hand heavy and limp at his side like a stone. The pain in his chest is different now, less sharp and more pressure. Like the deformed seat is still around him, constrictive and unyielding. His body has been overcompensating without him even noticing, but he’s paying the price in his spine, the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes and the weight increases, a white-noise waterfall filling his head. The voice trying to catch his attention comes out muffled, incomprehensible.

“Oscar.”

Oscar flinches back into the present, which is a bad idea. He grimaces and tries to cover it up by talking too fast. “Um, sorry, what was that?”

Logan furrows his brow at him, his eyes darkening with concern. “I said ‘What floor.’”

Oscar looks at the unlit panel of buttons and realizing he’s been standing in an unmoving lift for almost a minute. “Eleven,” he says, after taking a moment to think about it.

Logan steps forward and presses the single button.

“What floor are you on?” Oscar asks, trying to sound casual.

Logan looks him up and down slowly, chewing his lower lip. He puts his hands back in his pockets and some sort of decision happens behind his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells Oscar.

On the eleventh floor, they step out together.

Oscar doesn’t even think about it. The only thing on his mind is his hotel bed, and how much he can’t wait to get in it.

It takes Logan following him into his room and closing the door behind him for his alertness to return. “Wait, why– why are you in my room?”

“What will you do after I leave?” Logan asks.

The question sounds loaded, almost like a trap. Oscar looks back at Logan, trying to search his face for any sort of answer, but his steely eyes are unreadable.

“Probably just… go to bed?” he says warily.

Logan reaches out and touches his lips.

It’s so shocking, so unexpected and jarring that Oscar completely freezes. Logan’s touch is feather-light, fingertips warm and gentle on his lower lip, drifting to the corner of his mouth.

And now the memories are back for real. How Logan’s fingers had once felt dragging through his hair, splayed over his shoulder blades, laced between his own. How his bitten-down nails had still managed to leave scratches, long red streaks, on his back. The pressure on his lips when he tucked his face into the side of Logan’s neck, pressed a kiss to the top of his head on long and empty nights, accidentally bit Logan’s lip behind the fence of a karting track because he was sixteen and stupid and had never kissed a boy before.

Logan’s voice is low, solemn, and Oscar tries to listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

“You have dried blood on your mouth,” Logan tells him. “You’re dehydrated. You haven’t eaten in hours. Your hair is tangled. You’re still wearing your watch. You haven’t taken your meds. You can’t keep this bottled up forever, Oss. You’re in pain.”

Oscar tries to form words, opening and closing his mouth around air before he can stutter out a sentence. Logan’s eyes are near burning with intensity. How much he sees is burning.

“I… I was gonna take care of all that.”

Logan shakes his head. “No, you weren’t,” he says.

Oscar shouldn’t let this happen.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they’d said it was over. They’d promised. It was a consensus, a mutual understanding. They both knew everything they had to lose. They’d ended it nearly three years ago and it had stayed ended.

He shouldn’t let this happen because they can’t mean anything to each other. They can’t be anything other than friends.

But that’s not what this is feeling like.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan runs a flannel under the sink and dabs the blood off Oscar’s lips, warm and wet pressure a relief against the teeth marks. When dips his fingers in the water and pushes Oscar’s hair away from his forehead, easing apart the tangles and sending tingles down his spine that are too familiar.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan takes his shirt off for him. When he lifts the fabric with careful hands, slow, steady. When Oscar whimpers as he has to lift his arm and Logan stops to let him catch his breath, free hand firm on his lower back. “Ssshhhh,” he whispers.

It doesn’t feel like friends when Logan sits next to him on the bed talks him into taking the painkillers, gentle and persistent. “You’ll sleep better if you take them, and you need the water.” Oscar mumbles his protests even as Logan twists the cap off a water bottle and puts it in Oscar’s hand. “It’s not weak to need help. I’m not here because you’re depending on me, I’m here because I care.”

Oscar swallows the meds and looks over at Logan. He can feel the wide-eyed, dumb shock on his own expression, because he’s not quite sure he heard right. Maybe in his exhaustion his mind was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

But Logan’s eye contact is steady, unwavering. His jaw is set. The silence that stretches between them is taught, electric.

Oscar leans closer.

”Careful,” Logan whispers, but he doesn’t pull away.

Oscar takes Logan’s face in one hand and kisses him, and it’s like they’ve never been apart.

Their lips move together and it’s like they’re eighteen, tasting alcohol on each others’ mouths and not caring, needing the contact anyway.

Oscar’s eyes slide shut and it’s like they’re seventeen, too-long phone calls over too much distance, whispering about the things they would do if they were together.

Logan cradles his jaw and it’s like they’re sixteen, but also not like that. Because then they were clumsy and unsure and heavy-handed with desire. But now Logan holds him like he knows where Oscar will break, and where he can push back.

They kiss and it’s like they never ended.

Logan pulls away too soon and Oscar chases his mouth, embarrassing and needy and not caring about it. Logan puts a hand in his hair and tugs his head back, not painfully but keeping the distance. “Breathe,” he commands.

Oscar does, not realizing how long he’d gone breathing in only Logan and abandoning oxygen. He pants, breath hot and ragged, lips wet. It hurts, but not as much.

”Feel better?” Logan whispers.

Oscar nods and closes the distance once again.

[hotdilfs11]

☆゜・。。Do You Love Me? 。。・゜☆

✩pairings: Newt x reader, Gally x reader, Minho x reader(friendship)

✩ summary- Y/n is the only girl in the glade and she's gotten close to the boys there to the point of having feelings. She loves Gally and Newt very much but who would she chose? And who would she hurt? Y/n is spiraling and scared about losing two of her closest friends.

warnings: none

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The Glade. It’s home, peaceful, and full of life, love, and adventure. I’m the only girl in the glade as of now. I came out of the little crate thingy about a month ago, and I’ve made many friends since then. Even though we're all trapped here, I’ve never felt this at home before. It’s a warm and comforting feeling that I’ll never forget. The people that made it feel like home are the people I trust with my fucking life, my ride-or-die, and my day-to-day. Minho, Newt, and Gally

 Minho. I run with him, and yes, I said it; I’m a runner. It seems crazy, but the first day I got here, I wanted to be a runner, and I begged Minho to make me a runner, and he did. Now we're closer than ever. He's like a big brother to me; he protects me, and we fight sometimes, but we get along well. Anyway, I ran the maze with him. We trust each other, trust each other's opinions, and trust each other's judgment. We’re best friends, and I love him so much.

Gally. He’s very protective of me. You can say he’s overprotective at times. I get pushed around, someone argues with me, or someone messes with me. Gally is always there to back me up. On the first day of my being in the Glade, Gally challenged me in the wrestling sand circle. He told me the rules, and we fought. I didn’t win; I fought like hell too. I tricked him once he busted his ass, but in the end, I won everyone’s respect. I earned Gally's respect. Now we fight and tease each other. I love him too; he’s my other best friend.

Finally Newt. He’s such a sweetheart. I can admit I had some trouble fitting in here. I’ve started fights and finished them. I was angry at the world for sending me here, and the only one who told me it was okay was Newt. That's why I love him so much. When I was in the box, he was the first one to jump down and say “It’s a girl” in a heavy British accent. He was the first one to give me a tour. He cared for me, comforted me, fed me; he just took care of me. I hung out with him every day, having deep, long conversations almost every day and sharing everything we could remember about each other. I feel at home with him. I feel warmth and comfort. He always has my back, even when I’m in the wrong.

“LETS GO, Y/N” Minho shouted as sweat poured down his face. His scream bounced off the rusty concrete walls as we sprinted through the maze. Our shoes slammed hard on the ground as we reached the end of the maze, but I couldn’t run anymore. My legs and arms were on fire, with sweat dripping down my face. I licked my lips, tasting the sweet saltiness of my sweat still running and fighting through the pain I’m enduring. We make a sharp turn, seeing the Glade dead ahead of us, but my legs feel like they’re about to go out. I couldn’t breathe anymore. My clothes were sticking to my clothes as the scorching sun punched my face. It felt like my head was going to explode. But I didn’t give up, though I fought like hell to get out of the maze. As everything came to a blur, I fell to the ground, feeling the soft green grass hug my face. The smell made me relax as I sunk into it, making every ounce of my problems fly out the window. 

"Minho, go on without me... I gotta, I gotta lay down for a second,” I say as I try to catch my breath.

Running around me Minho yells, "Okay, I’ll bring you some water!”

“Uh huh,” I murmured, covering my face with my left arm and blocking the sun from my eyes. I sat there for about ten minutes until I felt a strong presence creep towards me. A large shadow stood over me, and it took me a while to say something because of how sore my muscles were.

The Glade. It’s home, peaceful, and full of life, love, and adventure. I’m the only girl in the glade as of now. I came out of the little crate thingy about a month ago, and I’ve made many friends since then. Even though we're all trapped here, I’ve never felt this at home before. It’s a warm and comforting feeling that I’ll never forget. The people that made it feel like home are the people I trust with my fucking life, my ride-or-die, and my day-to-day. Minho, Newt, and Gally

 Minho. I ran with him, and yes, I said it; I’m a runner. It seems crazy, but the first day I got here, I wanted to be a runner, and I begged Minho to make me a runner, and he did. Now we're closer than ever. He's like a big brother to me; he protects me, and we fight sometimes, but we get along well. Anyway, I ran the maze with him. We trust each other, trust each other's opinions, and trust each other's judgment. We’re best friends, and I love him so much.

Gally. He’s very protective of me. You can say he’s overprotective at times. I get pushed around, someone argues with me, or someone messes with me. Gally is always there to back me up. On the first day of my being in the Glade, Gally challenged me in the wrestling sand circle. He told me the rules, and we fought. I didn’t win; I fought like hell too. I tricked him once he busted his ass, but in the end, I won everyone’s respect. I earned Gally's respect. Now we fight and tease each other. I love him too; he’s my other best friend.

Finally Newt. He’s such a sweetheart. I can admit I had some trouble fitting in here. I’ve started fights and finished them. I was angry at the world for sending me here, and the only one who told me it was okay was Newt. That's why I love him so much. When I was in the box, he was the first one to jump down and say “It’s a girl” in a heavy British accent. He was the first one to give me a tour. He cared for me, comforted me, fed me; he just took care of me. I hung out with him every day, having deep, long conversations almost every day and sharing everything we could remember about each other. I feel at home with him. I feel warmth and comfort. He always has my back, even when I’m in the wrong.

“LETS GO, Y/N” Minho shouted as sweat poured down his face. His scream bounced off the rusty concrete walls as we sprinted through the maze. Our shoes slammed hard on the ground as we reached the end of the maze, but I couldn’t run anymore. My legs and arms were on fire, with sweat dripping down my face. I licked my lips, tasting the sweet saltiness of my sweat still running and fighting through the pain I’m enduring. We make a sharp turn, seeing the Glade dead ahead of us, but my legs feel like they’re about to go out. I couldn’t breathe anymore. My clothes were sticking to my clothes as the scorching sun punched my face. It felt like my head was going to explode. But I didn’t give up, though I fought like hell to get out of the maze. As everything came to a blur, I fell to the ground, feeling the soft green grass hug my face. The smell made me relax as I sunk into it, making every ounce of my problems fly out the window. 

"Minho, go on without me... I gotta, I gotta lay down for a second,” I say as I try to catch my breath.

Running around me Minho yells, "Okay, I’ll bring you some water!”

“Uh huh,” I murmured, covering my face with my left arm and blocking the sun from my eyes. I sat there for about ten minutes until I felt a strong presence creep towards me. A large shadow stood over me, and it took me a while to say something because of how sore my muscles were.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor? ''Gally said with a cute smirk on his face. "Uh, huh,” I mumbled, waving him off.

“Y/N?”

I groaned,"Yes, Gally, what?”

“What are you doing on the floor?” He says it in a concerning tone.

I look up at him with my elbows propping me up. “I’m tired, man,” I sigh. “Give me a piggyback ride, would you?"I need to lay down.” I say it lazily, covering my face with my hand to get a better look at him.

He rolls his eyes with another cute smirk on his face. It kind of gave me butterflies. "Ok, fine, come on." He squats down, waiting for me to jump on his back. I lift myself up off the soft grass,jumping on his muscular and hard back. I felt his warmth radiate off his body and off mine as I wrapped my tender arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Gally's arms flexed when his strong arms started to find their place around my legs, and the strength of his rough hands supported me on his back. I rested my head on his shoulders, taking in his harsh evergreen scent, which sent a chill through my whole body.

"Aww, you're such a sweetheart, Gally.” I tease him, smiling through my words. Gally scoffed, “Shut up,” with a soft chuckle leaving his mouth. I know he was being sarcastic, but I saw a smile appear on his face as a red hue started to slowly form on his face, giving me butterflies in my stomach. I leaned closer into him, smelling his husky, earthy scent as he continued to walk me closer to my destination. I never wanted to get off of him. I felt so close and in touch with him.

"Where are you going again?” he questioned 

“Umm…you can take me to Minho," I whispered softly in his ear, trying to relax into him. I inched into the crook of his neck, savoring the amazing scent bouncing off his skin. As I’m relaxing on Gally's back, I hear footsteps approaching me from behind.

 "Hey, love," someone said to me in a hefty and attractive British accent. I turn around to see Newt running up beside me, and Gally looks handsome as ever with his dirty blond hair and his lavish smile. With butterflies swarming in my stomach, I turn my neck around to look at him. "Hey, Newt,” I smile. I started to appreciate his soft, chiseled facial features as I gazed into his deep brown eyes.

"Where are you going? and why are you on Gally's back?”

"I was in the maze today and got tired, and I'm just trying to find Minho on my new ride here.” I patted Gally's back as I softly chuckled at him.

 "Shut up.” Gally glared at me.

 Newt chuckled. "Well, when you’re done, love, maybe we can go hang out if you want.” Newt asked anxiously, waiting for an answer.

Resting my head on Gally's back, I look into his eyes once again, and being coy, I say, "Maybe,” with a soft smile forming on my face. He grins lavishly, breaking eye contact. “Well, I’ll see you then, y/n/n.” He runs the other way, and I watch him go. Gally took a deep breath and sighed. "Oh, look, there's Minho," he said in a nonchalant tone".

I waved my arm at him, trying to catch his attention. “Minho!” I yelled. He didn’t see me, so I jumped off Gally's back. My boots hit the ground hard, and my legs were still sore, but I was okay to walk. “Minho!” I yell one more time as I and Gally are walking towards him.

"Yeah, I was supposed to bring you whatever happened. He says he is walking towards me with his arms in the air.

I put my hand on my forehead, shielding my eyes from the radiant sunlight. "Uh, well, Gally here gave me a piggyback ride, so you didn’t have to run back."

"Hey Gally!" Minho yelled, walking towards us. Gally made a slight wave at Minho with a friendly smile.

Minho picked up the water he got and came up to me, handing it to me. “I didn’t mind running back over there." Minho gets cut off by this relentless, loud buzzing sound pierced through the air. It sounded like a loud hum of a thousand bees that nerved all of us but also scared us. It was another greenie. The machines grinded together, creating a loud pitch that fanned through the air, refusing to be ignored. We all turned our heads sharply, guiding our attention to the sound. We looked at each other with concern, making sure we heard it right. However, it wasn't the end of the loud, suffocating sound. As another buzz started to dash through the air, we all started sprinting to the elevator like a machine. I was still sore and hurting, but we all had to see what they brought up. My heart was beating out of my chest, and sweat beads started to farm on my forehead as everyone in the glade sprinted towards the crate.

 Out of breath, Minho and I stopped at the door's opening. Gally was hovering over the two futuristic metal doors. Newt came behind me, trying to push through the crowd of boys. As he was passing me, he put his soft, warm hand on the small of my back, sending a chill throughout my body. Anyway, Newt stood beside Gally as they investigated the door opening. The doors open, showing a boy. He’s about sixteen and scared; he looks like every average boy in the glade. Gally jumps in the crate with force, furiously saying, "Day one, greenie," taking him by the shirt and getting him out of the crate. It’s like this with every kid that comes here. They get scared; they don’t know who they are; they try to run, blah blah blah. It’s a cycle at this point, but it’s pretty amusing. I don’t know if that’s messed up, but if you haven’t noticed, there’s not that much entertainment in the glade.

໒( ” •̀ ᗜ •́ ” )७ sorry if I have some mispelling and stuff I didn't look over it yet ๑ ︵︵ ๑

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

The decline and fall of two wolverines

Logan howlett x reader

-

DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE SPOILERS!!!

-

Warnings: idk yet. The brain emoji represents when a flashback is starting.

-

🧠

I tried to murder Jean Grey.

I say tried because nothing can happen in the mansion without Xavier poking around in your brain.

'Are you sure that's what you want to do?'

'You know you can't turn back after this'

'Your better than this, you know that'

His voice echoed painfully through my head. I held my dagger tightly as tears streamed from my eyes.

'Come to me, child'

The pain grew deeper. Invading each cavity of my skull and destroying my senses completely. It was unbearable, and I thought I might explode within seconds if I didn't get out of here soon.

'STOP. FOR GODSAKE STOP IT!'

And this is when I learnt that I could talk back.

-----

The mission to destroy Cassandra Nova was not going to be easy. Despite Wade's excitement to, and i quote verbatim 'absolutely shred some fucking skulls' it turns out I would end up siding with Logan, who also felt strongly that this was a horrible idea.

"You are going to get killed." I put my head in my hands.

"It's worth it, we'd rather die doing this than die here like cowards" Elektra scoffed.

I glared at her and stood up. The floorboards beneath me creaked eerily as I strode toward elektra with a slit eyes.

''Are you calling me a coward?"

I watched the woman gulp. "No, I called him a coward. He's the one forcing you to stay here," she pointed at Logan, who furrowed his brows and expelled his long silver claws from both hands.

A coward?

A fucking coward?

I held up my hand, and within an instant, it began to transform into a long knife. From my wrist to the top of my head was a silver blade.

I wish I could say I had a cool name for it. But I don't. I'm just a human katana.

"I'm sure your a great person, but unless you want to start drinking through a fucking straw I suggest you apologize"

The room was silent. I felt as if i had ruined their moment, but I didn't care.

"Sorry, you're not a coward." she rolled her eyes and walked off.

I retracted my hand blade, but Logan still held his own out, the shining metal claws protruding ominously as he stood in the light of the window.

I turned around and looked at everyone.

"Motherfucker that was scary as shit. I almost cut off my own dick to stop you doing it with that fucking thing"

Even Wade's joke couldn't stop my anger. I wasn't going with them. They were all going to die anyways. I'd rather hear of it than be there to watch it.

-

🧠

I'm not sure that there's anyone left on earth who understands what loss means.

Yes, it's death. Yes, it's watching life drain from a person. But it can be the loss of your life together too and the loss of their love and their voice, how their breathing sounds and how they laugh.

Hell what the fuck do I know. After all what have I truly lost?

God fucking damn it.

The years at the TVA were not as smooth going as I had initially hoped. Each day was something new, another disaster. I had even written a list of the reoccurring people, the ones that we could basically never get rid of.

Monday: always scarlet witch. Always so tattered and torn, shivering with heartbreak and anger of grief.

Tuesday: Loki's. Loki's of every kind. Ragnarok Loki's, TVA Loki's, jotun Loki's even.

Wednesday: Perhaps the most shattering of all, we would get iron man variants quite often. Sometimes, a zombie sometimes just before the blip. Most times, it was before he built the iron Man suit at all.

Thursdays: Captain America. Now, these were tough ones. Their were a fucking lot of these. Zombie ones, soldier ones, ones still frozen somehow. Pre serum ones. Ones where he works for HYDRA. Those are the scariest ones, the red skull Steve Rogers is not for the faint hearted.

Fridays: Fridays were... well Friday.

-

I sat outside the hut as the others geared up for their mission. Logan had come with me, but he didn't say much. My Logan talked way too much, so it was awkward hearing him be so silent.

"Your not going?" I spoke.

"Nah. I don't have the fucking patience for it"

A small moment of silence ensued before Logan spoke again.

"That hand thing you can do," he started. "Is it all over you?"

I scratched my neck and yawned. "To be honest, I've never thought of it"

I looked at my legs and stretched them out. "If I could have knife legs it would sure make walking interesting" I laughed

Logan beside me chuckled. God, he even laughs like him.

"I thought I was the only one who had this kind of power," he said as he brought out one of his claws.

"I thought I used to be as well. Your claws are made of adamantium aren't they? Well your entire skeleton is isn't it?"

He replied with a hum. "So what's yours then? Stainless steel?" He joked

I laughed at his words. "No. Actually, it's Vibranium"

"Vibranium, huh? What's that like a vibrating metal?"

It occurred to me then and there that this Logan doesn't know about the multiverse.

"No, it's uh, one of the earths strongest metals. like from wakanda?" I smiled nervously.

Apparently, something in him ticked off as I said that. He grew out the rest of his claws on his hand and pushed me against the tree behind me with one swift move. I was crushed between adamantium spikes and a rough tree.

He scowled at me.

"You will never be my wife." He spat

Venom laced the air around us. Encasing me in a bubble of fear.

"You might look like her and talk like her, hell you even fucking smell like her, that stupid fucking flower scent. Follows you around like a lost puppy"

The hate in his eyes grew each word. "You are not my fucking wife and I don't give a single fuck about what happened in your universe, whether you saved my life or not, I hope in every single one of them, you fucking die"

[13eyond13]

Hii! I don't know if you were asked this before, but I'm curious whether you prefer the manga or anime ending of death note and why? Also, your berserk meta posts are always such a delight to read!

Hi hi! It's admittedly been a long while since I've either read or watched the series at this point, so I took some time going back over my asks to see if I could find one where I'd talked about this before. Didn't come across one, but I've definitely contemplated this before, so I'll just do my best to remember what I thought.

So I like both of them in different ways, basically. But if I had to choose one over the other I'd choose the manga ending as the one that I prefer.

Here is a quick rundown of what I think are the biggest strengths and weaknesses of the anime ending:

The best things about the anime ending to me:

-Portrays the horrific awkwardness and tension in the warehouse between everybody leading up to and including Light's confession extremely well. I get so on the edge of my seat and anxious during the buildup to his big breakdown every time!

-Excellent voice acting and iconic laughter during Light's big dramatic Kira confession scene. Who DOESN'T remember that moment, it's definitely one of the anime's best

-Takes a slightly more gentle and merciful and quiet and melancholy approach to Light's death scene with the sorrowful music and the pretty sunset behind him, and takes the time to do things like flashback to his pre notebook innocent self, which is actually the only scene in the series that always makes me cry. Lets Light have a certain dignity and sadness to his death by allowing him to escape off by himself from the others and look as though he's drifting off slowly to sleep. For audience members who still empathize with Light on some level or see the sad side of how he was corrupted by the notebook this can be a choice that they prefer

-Gets so ridiculous and campy at certain points with things like Mikami stabbing himself to death with a pen and then exploding like a bag of blood that I can't help but laugh through the pain a bit

-Makes some nice aesthetic choices like having Light die symbolically on a staircase (which seems like a nod to the fact that he's going to Mu / an in-between or "nowhere" sort of place after he dies, or that he was stopped halfway up in his journey before he could truly attain the "godhood" he desired, and also seems like a bit of a parallel to the rain scene of him sitting on the staircase with L – also gives a little visual flashback nod to L during Light's final moments).

The worst things about the anime ending to me:

-Cuts a lot of important moments and stuff out of the conversations between Light and Near that really enhanced the overall meaning of the story and added to making Near a much more interesting and sympathetic character to me in the manga (particularly stuff like Near talking about what they have in common, and about letting other people have agency and freedom of choice, something that Light was uh not super great at)

-Did Mikami pretty dirty and cut most of his awkward interactions with Light in the warehouse (I feel like he doesn't even get to yell "you're not God!!" at Light in the anime, does he? I'm kinda forgetting now)

-Makes the SPK and the Task Force look a bit dumb and useless in how they're just saying stuff like "there's nothing we can do, he will be dead in a few minutes" while Mikami's bleeding out on the floor and just letting Light escape and run away from them all... also kinda makes it look like Light was SO wounded by the gunshots that he would've died soon anyway. Which takes away some of the dramatic impact that comes from Ryuk writing his name in the notebook!

-In the anime Ryuk seems almost to be writing Light's name in the notebook as a mercy killing, or like he's trying to put him out of his wounded misery, which I find detracts a bit from the whole idea in the manga that Light is forced to experience the same cold and cruel fate of somebody deliberately taking his remaining years of life from him with a death note against his will... something that he remorselessly inflicted upon so many others previously himself. The two of them also don't have any discussions before Light's death in the anime like they do in the manga, which were some pretty interesting and chilling parts of the ending to me (especially Ryuk saying stuff like "you're no longer entertaining me, so you should die right now" to him)

-There is no flashback in the anime to Light and Ryuk talking about EVERYBODY going to Mu after they die no matter how they behaved on earth, which was kinda hugely important as part of the point of the story to me (because I think it forces the audience to draw their own conclusions about who they think was truly good/bad or right/wrong in this story without pigeonholing any of them into one category or another, or by sending anybody to rewarding or punishing afterlifes... I also like that it doesn't treat the notebook users as any special category of person)

-As brutal as the manga ending is in how humiliated and frightened and alone Light is while he dies, I also think there's a certain poetic justice to the horror and embarrassment he experiences during that time. He was constantly taking other people's lives and treating them like pawns in his games, backstabbing and deceiving and discarding them once they were no longer useful to him, and even cruelly gloating over watching them die. I don't particularly enjoy watching him suffer except for how it is a bit narratively satisfying, in a tables-turning "you live by the sword you die by the sword" sort of way

-In general the anime kind of gave me the vibe that it thought Light losing in the warehouse was more about L's team finally winning against Light and getting revenge on him for L's death than about the deeper and more interesting philisophical/ethical questions and themes at play, and about all the entire cast of characters' journeys as a whole

--

Overall I'd say if you want a more narratively satisfying and logical ending with more food for thought and cruel irony and deeper character interactions and existential dread and poetic justice going on then the manga is superior in basically all of these ways

HOWEVER I do still also love the final episode of the anime, I think it's one of the best and most memorable episodes of the entire show, and if you decide to turn off your nitpicking brain a bit and simply enjoy the emotions that it conjures there are some very good dramatic/aesthetic/symbolic choices that it makes

[cassiefromhell]

Clairvoyant: Prologue (pt. 1)

Nanami Kento x International Sorcerer!Clairvoyant!Reader

wc: 1k

warnings: violence, SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS you MUST be finished with season 2 please & ty

a/n: this is a fully planned, 5-part fic (with the potential for a bonus part) and it's the extension of this drabble thingy I wrote. (don't read it if you don't want spoilers for how this fic will go) anyways enjoy

You take a sharp swing, then dodge left, hissing through your teeth as the curse nearly catches you with its claws. You’ve always hated the hospital curses. They’re difficult to fight, and they always reek of death.

“Mila! Arthur!” You shout, shoving your weapon into your holster and letting your cursed energy gather in your fists instead, widening your stance. “I could use some help!”

“Sorry!” Mila, your mission partner and one of your best friends since your first year of Sorcerer Schooling calls. “Busy over here! Arthur, can you help?”

You catch a glimpse of Arthur out of the corner of your eye. He’s British, one of the International Sorcerers just like you and Mila are. The three of you were dispatched to Ohio, in the United States, to clear out a never-seen-before level of hospital infestation. 

But suddenly, you’re not on the battlefield anymore. No, you’re floating far above, watching a massive cursed sword be stabbed into his chest by whatever the hell he’s fighting.

And then you’re sighing, giving Mila a frown as she wipes away a tear. “Come on. Let’s get him back to HQ. His family will want to see the body.”

A slap strikes your cheek, a sobbing woman all in black raising her hand to hit you once again. Her toddler clings to her calf, not knowing that his father is never coming back.

“You monster!” The woman shrieks as you gently take her wrist, stopping her from hitting you again. “All you sorcerers do is let people die. You should have stopped it! You had one job, you fucking bitch!”

You blink, and the curse swings for you, but you ignore it. You spin around, watching as Arthur’s opponent pulls out a hidden sword, watching as your comrade’s eyes go wide and that metal reaches his chest—

You shove him out of the way, narrowly dodging the blade yourself. Arthur stumbles, panting and staring at the spot he was just standing, the spot he would have surely been impaled on — if it weren’t for you.

“Arthur, you’re out!” You command, pulling out your weapon once more and taking his place in combat.

“But—”

Mila sweeps in, the spider legs protruding from her back carrying her across the space in seconds. She pushes him towards the exit, where he’ll be able to escape the veil. “I’m sorry. If she says you’re out, you’re out.”

It’s standard protocol. When the Reaper Repeller (a stupid nickname Mila gave you years ago that still haunts you today) sees your death or some god-awful fate, you get removed from battle unless you’re absolutely crucial. You learned that strategy the hard way. It seems that if you cheat death once, it just gets all the more eager to want to claim you — you have to leave battle and let its red-hot grip cool down a bit.

Thankfully, he runs.

You and Mila are able to clean up the battle nicely, her white-blonde braid falling against her back as you exorcize the very last curse. She laughs, smacking your shoulder as her eight extra spider limbs sink into her flesh.

“Another one wiped out, easy peasy!” Mila throws her arms up in victory.

You give a wary smile, but your head is pounding. Whether it’s from your previous vision or an incoming one, you’re not sure, but you do know you just want to get out of the veil and go back to your hotel to sleep.

You take one step, and you’re sent keeling over, your head suddenly exploding in pain, your shriek echoing down the hall.

Your vision is too much to take in, so big, so much, so many after effects, so much death—

You’re vaguely aware of how Mila catches you, shouting your name as you go limp. So many faces. Some you’ve seen, some you haven’t. Blood. Burns. Dead bodies and a destroyed city—

Shibuya.

You gasp for hair, gripping Mila as you’re recentered in reality. You sputter and cough, clenching your chest. Each time you get a vision, it takes a split second, and during that time, your mind is in a different place and time and so your body doesn’t function. You don’t breathe and your heart doesn’t beat. But it’s only ever for a moment. For you to feel like this after a vision…

“Holy shit,” Mila whispers, gently helping you straighten up. “You were out. Like, out, out. For at least thirty seconds. I thought you fully, really died. Don’t do that to me.”

You don’t respond, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to process the mess through your imploding headache.

“Shibuya,” you whisper. “It’s… it’s…”

“Who?” Mila whispers, using one hand to pull out her phone. “That’s Japan, right? Let’s call their HQ.”

“Satoru Gojo.”

She freezes, staring at you.

Every sorcerer knows who Satoru Gojo is. He changed the balance of cursed energy. He’s unbeatable. And yet, you see him being sealed into a box, and in the wake of that one event, so many people die.

“And— and more. It’s a chain reaction. A blonde sorcerer, with a blue shirt and wearing goggles. Oh, his fate, it's- A teenager, maybe a first year, with ginger hair. Oh, god, a boy loses an arm— the entire city is cratered, Mila,” tears slip down your cheeks as you imagine that pinkish-haired student sobbing in front of the wreckage, dragging his nails across the concrete.

“You can’t relay this through a call,” Mila whispers, dialing a  different number. “You know what you have to do.”

You take one long, deep breath, straightening up and wiping away your tears.

“Alert HQ that I’m going to Japan, and I expect every single sorcerer in the country to meet me there.”

Mila nods, pressing call. The phone rings once before one of the International Headquarters of Cursed Sorcery managers answers.

“Call a code 18J18 for Tokyo.”

want to be tagged for the next four parts? comment and ask!

next part: 2

[purgetrooperfox]

say more about gale and cazador right now please?

all I'm saying is that in the context of bloodweave and assuming that Cazador has some means of tracking the gang (which is plausible, once they reach the city), snatching Gale could be one of the first measures to bait Astarion back to his palace. of course Cazador would figure out this gap on Astarion's armor, he's known him for two centuries, he sees the turmoil and the care and – gods forbid – the affection.

say it's a late night out, for example. maybe Astarion got a secondhand buzz going, but he's definitely invested in seeing Gale cut loose. just a little. after all, he's never known wizards to be particularly adventurous in their explorations of physical, chemical influences. seems like it would be interesting (telling, even, of what dark urges hide behind warm smiles and boisterous language). say they hit up the Blushing Mermaid, since Gale wouldn't be tempted by Sharess' Caress. anything is more comfortable than the Elfsong, if you ask Astarion.

Cazador's spawn are thoroughly conditioned and highly trained to know just the right buttons to push, strings to pluck, vices to encourage. maybe Cazador sets one of them on him, a specific "bring him back to me and you will earn my favor" type, because this is how one gets under Astarion's skin. to this old sibling of his, Gale is just another mark. they don't know. they can't know.

and how can Astarion intervene without giving himself up? or worse, maybe his attention is drawn elsewhere when Gale slips out the back with a face that would have been familiar, had Astarion only seen it. if their relationship is mostly tension at this point, so Astarion notes Gale's absence and opts to rationalize it as "oh, he must have found someone else to lose himself in tonight". if there's fear ingrained in that, just by virtue of being in Baldur's Gate. so when Cazador's next nighttime psychic horror visit comes, it's confirming the worst-case scenario.

then the wondering. what's been done and what's yet to come. has Gale been made a spawn, and if he has, then is the tadpole protecting him, or has that beautiful mind of his been cramped into the confines of Cazador's demands? is he locked in a dungeon cell, being conditioned for the eternity to come? if there is eternity to come, then is the orb stabilized, is it safe, will he live–. is it better or worse, to know what he might go through or to wonder what the alternative might be? if he's been kept mortal, but tortured for torture's sake? or used for the others' training?

and then Gale. poor, sweet Gale, dropped into the hellscape that's been Astarion's life*, knowing why he's there, knowing that he's bait. shutting out every pulse of the tadpole so no one sees, no one knows, but most of all so Astarion doesn't feel obligated to save him. his life is forfeit anyway. for all this pain, the most important thing is to keep it from bleeding through his psychic connection with Astarion. Astarion, who finally found freedom, tasted joy, clung to kindness like its supply was finite.

because the worst case scenario in Gale's mind is that he dies, and then he explodes.

and the worst case in Astarion's mind is that Gale can never die, and then they're the same.