#haha but what if he could hurt him

[sysig]

Puts the “plates” in “Fellplates” (Patreon)

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[lunarharp]

some illustrations/vibes from my uhh 29k memory trauma/disability focus orufrey fic, into the deep end.

[franeridan]

the way luffy regularly goes "we are the bad guys, actually" in the manga is something so dear so special to me

[bewby]

when you get blocked by him even tgough you guys barely even talk anymore but the last time you talked which was about a week ago you actually had a nice and healthy conversation and you had alot of love for eachother and it seemed amazing 😂😂😍😍😍😍 no i'm definitely not fucking crying Lol

[dutybcrne]

While he’d had Diluc’s Vision in his care, Kaeya often spoke to it. Updates on how things were going in Mondstadt, on Jean and the Knights, quiet admissions on how much he missed him and hoped he was alright. Demands he come back to Mond alive, if not for the family he’d discarded, if not for the Knights, then for those at the Dawn Winery at the very least. They missed him more than anyone.

Kaeya doubted Diluc could even hear them, but if there was a chance those words could reach him, that Diluc could somehow be reassured through whatever turmoil he was facing in that moment and given some burst of determination to succeed through the worst from them, Kaeya would still ensure not a day went by without speaking to the Vision, conversations scarcely more than two hours apart if he could help it. It was a childish, most likely vain hope, he knew. But nothing and no one, including himself, would ever have been able to curb the habit.

Anything to make sure that Vision never once dulled to emptiness.

[deathwis-arc]

honestly, it's really interesting thinking about how the events of the desert dream in 1998 would get blown out of proportion in the coming years ; hell, it already kinda is twenty-four hours later. not only does the fbi get involved ( and they get involved quick ) but the entire thing is immediately labeled as 'the desert dream massacre' which is ... simply not true. if tyler doesn't kill joyce and michelle isn't shot then the total body count is four cops, with two on life support from the motel burning down. this is literally confirmed in game!

events get labeled as massacres if there's a huge body count, or if it's violent enough. the desert dream killings were neither. all the victims were shot, usually at a distance, or they suffered from burns ; which, while violent, it was more of an escape attempt on the holts' part than anything else. i also find it telling that, even if the holts kill a hostage or two, agent bradley doesn't bother mentioning that in private. all he cares about is the cops lost to the standoff. it's no surprise that killing an officer will get you a more severe punishment then if you kill a regular person, that it can sometimes send you straight to death row on its own, but the fact they don't even care about the deaths of any of the hostages ... it sure is something.

especially since the only hostage deaths in the desert dream can turn the only two kids in the game into orphans. or on the flip side, if the holts didn't harm a hostage, there's no mention of that either. or how the hostages were treated, which compared to usual hostage situations, they got it better than most. it's just the fact that they killed cops ( who were under the thumb of a corrupt sheriff, by the way ) that made this into a massacre. though i wouldn't be surprised if to the public the force would then heavily focus on any other victims, that's usually what happens normally, after all.

anyway, point is, classism does play a role in how cases and crimes are treated -- especially back then. the holts were poor, notoriously so, and they were a family full of drop-outs with nothing to their names. the very second they escape the motel, their names are plastered all over the country and their fates ( including jay's, who's merely an eighteen year old who was an accomplice at best ) are decided : they're going straight to death row. even if jay tries to do the right thing and come clean to agent bradley, tries to turn on his family, said guy immediately goes to pin all the murders on him, for seemingly no reason at all! it's very unjust, and ah ... shady!

the news and papers hype up their crime spree and i wouldn't be shocked that within a couple years, the holts would be presented as bloodthirsty rednecks who were simply greedy rather than a family that didn't have any help and got in way over their heads. the narrative would be twisted so much, especially if three of the holts were never found. there'd be no word from their side, no mention of the thugs who were threatening to kill them, just a true crime story where they were at the forefront of a very unfortunate situation and got away with it. leaving gossips to fill in the blanks as they please, and considering the police's and the fbi's behavior towards this case, they would only fuel the narrative that the holts were a family who did all this on purpose and relished in the aftermath, a family who loved doing the crime.

anyway, it's just something i love thinking about for post canon stuff when it comes to my adf muses. how wildly inaccurate the story's become in time, simply because people got bored or because of the classism back then that was so woven into the broadcasted crime that it's become impossible to separate the two. they'd paint the holts out to be wildly dangerous, cruel individuals and probably spin tales about unsolved murders and robberies and how it could be the work of a holt who had got away. their entire motivation would be obscured and would've gone unsaid, leaving random civilians and a force who hates them to speak for them instead. it'd be a whole thing! and the desert dream was dramatic, sure, but by the time everything is said and done you'd probably barely recognize what the media was talking about had you actually been there.

[sysig]

He was a human pirate, which you wouldn’t think you’d have to specify and yet (Patreon)

[moeblob]

I kinda maybe put a lot of my OC plot tag lines on a Wheel and gave it a spin so outta 79 options, it landed on "Cellphone Justice" which is... these two.

Matthew "Skittles" Mouse and Daisy Eddington

Partners in justice (of sorts). They're basically vigilantes and their orders are simply text messages. They don't really know who their bosses are but they do as they are told.

Skittles is a very mediocre guy. Doesn't stand out. The most color he has in his wardrobe is blue jeans. He's amazingly asexual and has zero interest in romance regardless of intimacy and yet he gets partnered with Daisy. The gayest lady he has ever met. Great start. She enjoys calling him fun little nicknames but seeing as they're monitored closely (via cell phones/technology) she is scolded and told to pick a single one. So she does. She dubs him Skittles. The candy as gay as her.

The one thing they have in common is their number one weakness: cute girls.

Daisy turns into a stuttering MESS of a human being. A disaster. At the mere sight of a cute girl. Skittles on the other hand is TERRIFIED of them. When asked, he simply blames his life growing up. Daisy doesn't really push the matter just thinks it's a little weird to be scared of every single cute girl (no offense to the not being afraid of her taken).

[dearest-lady-disdain]

the only unrealistic thing about the mortal instruments is how alec and magnus are the only queer people in the nyc gang

[daimoan]

i tried so hard to be kind and sweet and all of these things that are supposed to be good? and valued? but im alone again and i dont think ill ever not be

[lovecrazedpup]

i dont want to sleep

[bonerey]

feeling hopelessly doomed rn. need to go think about my best friend mike walters being doomed by the narrative. feel my hopelessness and contempt, boy