#that is either straight-up the same pattern or it's made by the same person

[martianbugsbunny]

OKay so when I started watching Adventures in Wonderland I knew I recognized Hare's pants pattern from somewhere else:

[baptismbaby]

✩ LIKE A DOG WITH A BIRD AT YOUR DOOR

toxic!ellie x reader (modern) a/n: will post to ao3: baptismsbaby warnings: ANGST. cannot stress it enough. cheater!ellie i'm so sorry for that, reader is super jealous and it's hinted she can be possessive, ellie isn't super toxic but i mean.. she cheats that's toxic enough lmao, brief mention of s*mno and drugs. brief mention of vomiting as well. no smut just depressing sorry songs to listen to: moon song by phoebe bridgers, i know it's over by the smiths, i bet on losing dogs by mitski, become the warm jets by current joys creds to elliesgalaxy on pinterest for the ellie pic wc: 3.5k<3

Ellie had made a new friend.

You and Ellie were at a college party a couple months ago. It was a part of y’all’s routine. Classes Monday-Thursday, party Friday and Saturday, and use Sunday to recover from the hangover. You would go and dance, drink, smoke, and on the occasion do a couple lines of coke. Ellie didn’t dance but loved watching you from the bar. A girl your age sat next to Ellie and striked a conversation with her. When you noticed, you immediately power walked on over. Ellie was beautiful, a lot of girls wanted her. Ellie would turn them away. She didn’t care about anyone else but you. Why is she talking to this stranger?

Come to find out, her name was Lila. Ellie and Lila went to the same high school years ago and wanted to catch up with Ellie. Lila had a long term boyfriend and majored in psychology. Once you knew she was straight, you left them alone after shaking Lila’s hand. You were no longer worried and just wanted to get as crossed as you could.

The next morning, Ellie woke you up with a finger inside of you. The entire time you couldn’t focus due to the constant beeping of her phone. You asked her to stop and reached for Ellie’s phone, tapping the screen to see Lila had texted Ellie eight times. You thought it was strange but according to Ellie, instead of saying everything she wanted in a single text, she’d send multiple. She had been texting Lila since she got you back to your dorm. You found it strange that Ellie had already caught on to her texting patterns but told yourself Lila was straight, nothing is wrong, Ellie made a friend and they’re getting to know each other. You were afraid of losing Ellie. So many girls would tell you how lucky you were. You knew it but saw red when being told that. To you, it meant they would throw themselves at Ellie if you weren’t in the picture.

Ellie began hanging with Lila in her dorm, which was a floor above yours. She’d text you every five minutes to keep you updated and even gave you Lila’s number so the two of you could become friends. She came off as clingy but was super sweet. Ellie made plans to go out to the bar with you and invited Lila so you could hit it off. You did, you actually adored her so much. She was super cool and funny. She’d talk shit to guys who tried to hit on her and would come to you or Ellie’s defense if anyone tried flirting with either of you. You liked that about her. She was loyal, a girl’s girl, overall a fun person to be around. The three of you would hang out often, sometimes just Ellie and Lila, sometimes you and Lila. Lila would boast about her boyfriend and ask a lot of questions about your relationship with Ellie. The sex, fights, anniversaries, little things Ellie would do, etc. It all fascinated Lila. She’d talk about how her boyfriend Josh was silent and off putting but gentle towards her. You enjoyed bonding with her.

You felt it had been awhile since you went on a date with Ellie. You decided to surprise her by showing up to her dorm, tossing rose petals all over the floor and lighting candles for an intimate setting. You knew Ellie would love it. But she never came. You had called beforehand and told her that you would stay the night in her dorm so she knew not to go to yours. You texted her and asked where she was. She said she was having a movie night with Lila. You thought it was weird you weren’t invited. You and Ellie would only hang out with her alone if the other had a class or was busy. If the three of you were free, y’all were together. You felt hurt and cleaned up the mess. You argued with her about it the next day and found out it was Lila’s idea. You texted her and expressed how uncomfortable it made you. She was apologetic and made you promise not to tell Ellie that she was telling you a secret. Ellie was planning a big surprise for you since an anniversary was coming up. You felt guilty and apologized to Ellie. You asked to have dinner Saturday, which was supposedly when the surprise was going to take place.

You waited for Ellie at her favorite diner. The minutes kept passing by and by, Ellie never showing up. You were blowing up her phone but she wasn’t responding. You never told Ellie, who preferred having her read receipts off, that you turned hers on secretly for you. She read every one and still no response. About an hour later, you were bawling your eyes out and decided it was time to leave. In walked Ellie, who was surprised to see you so emotional. 

“Baby, what is it?”

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

You made sure to bump her shoulder as you stormed past her. Once you made it outside of the diner, Ellie had caught up with you and grabbed your arm. “Let go!” you yelled.

People around started to stare. Ellie gave you a dirty look and pulled you closer. “Stop causing a fucking scene, these people think I’m hurting you,” she growled under her breath. “Calm down.”

She shoved your wrist away and stepped back, running a hand through her short hair. You tried to calm yourself down but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “I thought it was at seven. I’m so sorry baby,” she apologized.

“I reminded you a million times that it was at six.”

Ellie took her phone out and sighed at the text messages, acting as if she was guilty for not “seeing them.” You were starting to get pissed off but knew you couldn’t reveal that you knew she was lying.

“Sweetheart… I’m so sorry. I was over at Lila’s to-”

“Lila’s again?!” you nearly shrieked. Ellie made a face at you.

“She’s our friend. I was hanging out with our friend. She was helping me get ready because I wanted to look nice for you.”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that Ellie would text less and less the more she hung out with Lila. She wouldn’t really text you much either. 

“I’m starting to think she’s interfering with our relationship, Ellie. It feels like we barely talk. We don’t do anything together anymore. All you wanna do is hang out with her. ”

“She’s not interfering!” defended Ellie. You ignored her and walked away as she called out your name. 

When you were finally in the comfort of your bed, you decided to text Lila to see if you could talk to her privately. Your text didn’t deliver. You hoped either she had no service at the moment or her phone was turned off. You set it down next to you and shut your eyes, the emotions of the day coming to hit you all at once. You cried yourself to sleep.

You saw a flower and note on your dresser the next day from Ellie. She told you how sorry she was and that she didn’t want to fight anymore. Then there was an anniversary card next to it where she wrote an extremely long paragraph for you. She must have come by early in the morning to leave it for you before her class. You sent a text and let her know to swing by your dorm once she was finished. You didn’t have classes until the evening, so you sat around waiting.

Her class ended at 11 a.m. and it would take her five-ten minutes to make it to your room. 11:05 came and went. 11:10, you started to think she might have stopped to talk to the professor or went to the restroom before leaving. You checked your phone and saw she read the text at eleven on the dot. You slammed the phone down on the bedside table and laid down. You fought tears as you started asking yourself where things went wrong. You wished you had told Lila to back off anyway that night at the bar. Things would be different. Ellie would be holding you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear right now if it wasn’t for Lila.

-

You didn’t know you had fallen back to sleep until you woke up and realized you had missed your evening class. When you had checked the time, you also noticed Ellie sent a short text: “Not feeling so great today babe. I’m good though, no need to check in on me. Hope u liked your card. Love you:)”

You sighed. You’ve had enough. Ellie was lying and avoiding you for sure at this point. She was such a baby when she didn’t feel well, calling you and begging you to come by and take care of her. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid your shoes on, leaving your dorm room to go down the hall to Ellie’s. You tried opening the door but it was locked as if she wasn’t there. You pulled your phone out to call Lila. You swore to yourself that if they were hanging out that you would sit them both down and force them to hear how you feel. Set boundaries and make sure it’s clear that no one is allowed to hang one on one with each other anymore.

After dialing, you brought your cell to your ear and froze when the automated voice said the number wasn’t available. It didn’t ring at all, which explained why your text never delivered. She blocked you. And all you knew was that her dorm was a floor up but couldn’t remember which one. You felt stupid for not memorizing it. You didn’t want to bang on every door until you found her so you called Dina who was on the same floor as Lila.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Dina, hey, which dorm is Lila’s?”

“Oh, I’m good thanks for asking,” Dina said sarcastically “It’s like four doors down from mine. Why?”

“Ellie’s there right?”

“I mean.. I saw her this morning but kinda assumed she was back at her dorm or yours. Is she not?”

“Shit!” you hissed. “Fuck. Something is going on, I can feel it. Thanks, Dina. I’ll give you a couple of free joints for your help. Love you.”

You hung up and rushed for the stairs. You practically ran up them, skipping steps and getting nasty looks from other students who you nearly ran into. You opened the door and speed walked through the hallway to Dina’s door. It was cracked open and her head was poked out. She sent you a thumbs up as a way of saying good luck. You counted the doors and glanced back at her. She shook her head no to the door you were pointing at then nodded when you finally landed on the correct door. You felt your stomach turn. Your mouth salivated as if you were gonna throw up. 

“You got this girl, I’m gonna keep watch in case I have to jump in,” Dina whispered loudly. You gave her an awkward smile, appreciative of her support but the sick feeling was getting worse.

You slammed the door open and nearly collapsed. They were fully clothed but Ellie was on top of Lila and kissing her. Ellie turned around, her mouth falling open and her brows furrowing upwards. Lila was giggling until she made eye contact with you. Her eyes went wide with fear. You staggered backwards, your hand gripping your stomach tightly.

“E-Ellie,” you whimpered. 

Ellie jumped off of Lila and held her hands out towards you. She said something but you couldn’t hear due to the ringing in your ears. You started to sprint back to the exit, catching a glimpse of Dina leaving her room to go to Lila’s. You skipped down the stairs, busted through another door and barely made it to your dorm in time to vomit in the trash can you had sitting beside your desk. You picked it up and took it to the bathroom so you could clean it later. You stepped out, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You could feel a panic attack coming on as the image of Ellie kissing Lila replayed in your brain on repeat. You could hear a voice in the distance calling your name. A hand touched your shoulder and you slapped it away, looking up to see Ellie. 

There were tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she repeated your name over and over, as if she was begging you to speak.

“I-I can’t believe you,” you said quietly. “This isn’t… real.”

“Please, it’s not what it looks like honey.”

You kept fighting to catch your breath, trying to figure out how to feel and what to say. You heard a creak and looked up to see Lila slowly stepping in. Rage went through your entire body as if it was an adrenaline rush. There was so much you wanted to do to hurt her. You wanted to scream at her, rip her hair out, strangle her, all of the above.

“Get the fuck out!” you screeched. “I swear to God, Lila, if you don’t get out of my goddamn dorm, I will go to prison for the rest of my life after I’m finished with you!”

Lila turned to Ellie, expecting her to jump to her defense. Ellie didn’t take her eyes off you, her face twisted in pain and guilt.

“Ellie!” Lila whined. 

You stepped forward without even thinking about it. Ellie turned and grabbed Lila. She pushed her out the door, slammed it shut then locked it. You stood there, glaring at Ellie as she rested her head against the cool wood. “Fuck,” she mumbled. Her chest ached. She knew she had ruined the one good thing in her life which was you. The only girl she ever loved, who dealt with her bullshit and held her while she cried and laughed with her afterwards. Ellie risked it for no reason. She wasn’t entirely sure how everything got so fucked up.

Ellie backed away from the door, slowly rotating with each step so she was facing you. You were no longer angry. You were watching her but Ellie felt it was as if you were staring through her. You were zoned out completely, your entire body shaking and your breathing fast.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you and… spending so much time with her. It was an accident, I swear,” said Ellie. 

“How could you accidentally… kiss someone?” you asked. You decided to focus on the floor instead, Ellie’s face was too much to look at right now.

Ellie stayed silent, pacing back and forth in the room muttering to herself.

“When did it start?”

“Um, when she invited me to movie night,” responded Ellie.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“But nothing actually… started. I fucked up, baby, but there was nothing between us. She kissed me that night and I felt weird and awful. She was crying, complaining about her boyfriend and randomly kissed me. I didn’t reciprocate it that night. I stopped her, talked to her about it, and told her she’s just upset.”

Ellie stepped closer to you until she was a couple inches away from you. “Before our date, she was helping me pick out something to wear. I didn’t lie about that. But she’d kiss me on the cheek and I let her. When you left because I was late, I confided in Lila and we did… some stuff.”

“Stuff?” your voice cracked.

“Over the clothes,” Ellie sniffled as a tear fell down her cheek. “I felt awful so I got you that card.”

“So awful you had to go back.”

“It wasn’t for that at first, please believe me. I went to tell her we had to stop being friends. Then, I went back to my dorm to be alone. I wanted to figure out how to tell you so I was gonna call you but I left my fucking phone,” she sighed. “Goddamn it. I’m so fucking stupid. She invited me in. I should’ve waited outside.”

You felt a buzzing in your pocket and pulled it out to see a text from Lila. You chuckled dryly. “That’s funny, Lila just texted me. She had me blocked when I tried calling before I came by.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. You could see the panic written all over her face, her shoulders moving up and down quickly as her breath sped up.

“W-What is it?”

“A video?”

Ellie reached out to take your phone but you slapped her hand away and stepped back. “Why do you wanna see it so bad?”

“Just-Just let me see and I’ll delete it for you!”

“No, I want to watch.”

Ellie’s hands went to her stomach, watching as you played the video. You dropped your phone to the ground, realizing Lila sent you a video of Ellie kissing Lila’s body all the way down until… well, you didn’t watch that far.

“Please,” Ellie sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re wearing the same outfit right now that you were wearing in that video.”

Ellie grabbed your wrists, bringing it up to her chest as she continued to plead with you. “It was only one time. I swear, I’m so sorry. I love you s’ much. I-I’d die without you. Baby, look at me. Please.”

Ellie pulled your face up to hers, your neck and body stiff as it settled in that Ellie was probably fucking Lila before today. Ellie peppered kisses all over your forehead and temple, muttering between each one how much she loved you and wanted to spend her life with you. 

“I-I love how red your cheeks get when you-when you get embarrassed,” whispered Ellie as she planted a kiss on each one. “I love how you’re always putting chapstick on so that your lips are soft for me.” She kissed you but you didn’t do it back. “I-I love the way your chin wobbles so much when you cry over cat v-videos.”

She looked down at your arms, her tears now landing on them. “I love how you wrap your arms around me when you s-sleep. Your hands, God, I love how soft your hands feel o-on my body.”

Ellie closed the space between the two of you and slowly laid you on the bed, crawling over you and staring deep in your lifeless eyes. “You always looked at me so full of love.”

Ellie leaned forward, little whimpers falling out of her lips. “Where did it go?”

Ellie’s lips were soaked as she kissed you. You finally opened your mouth and kissed her back, her tears seeping between your lips and landing on your tongue. 

“God sent his favorite angel to save me,” she whispered between kisses.

You broke the kiss to cry, Ellie using a finger to brush off each drop. She gently shushed you. “Please don’t cry,” she said. Her voice was raspy. She sounded completely broken.

“You kiss me and I taste someone else, Ellie…”

Ellie’s face dropped in anguish as she bawled harder.

“You have to go,” you weeped. “You c-can’t do this to me.”

“But I love you. I-I’m gonna make it right.”

“I’m not sure if you can, Ellie.”

Her name used to taste so sweet in your mouth. Now, it made your throat burn. 

You gently pushed Ellie off of you. “You lied to me,” you uttered. “It’s unforgivable.”

Ellie turned away so you couldn’t see her break down. She looked around the room to see some of her clothes littered on the floor. She began to gather them together, sobbing softly.

Before she turned the knob, she stopped and glanced behind her shoulder at you. “I’m going to make this right. No matter what you say, even if thirty years from now you hate me. I will keep trying until I die.”

She left, the air in the room thickening as your brain replayed memories of the good times with Ellie. The flowers she’d pick for you on walks, her smile, her laugh, her cooking the nastiest food you ever ate. You squeezed your eyes shut as a desperate attempt to just live in those memories. You’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would’ve ever happened. You’d tell Ellie about your nightmare and she’d assure you that you were the only girl for her. You got up and picked up a shirt she had forgotten. You held it to your face, breathing in deeply and losing yourself in her scent. You slowly started to fall to your knees and onto your side. You curled up with her shirt and slowly drifted to sleep, the sweetest dream of Ellie hugging you taking the ache in your chest away.

[yuurei20]

Concerning the Vil-Epel drama: I'm from a Scandinavian country and even here we have dialects. I haven't heard them myself, but my mom has and she says they are literally impossible to understand and you need a translator to speak with them. And it's not a bad thing- we don't say those people are less than or anything of the sort- it's just like holy cow we cannot understand anything they're saying, how are we supposed to communicate like this (especially when they understand us since our dialect is the 'base' dialect). If anything, it's funny because of how a dialect can make the same language not understandable, and also disappointing/frustrating that we can't talk to them because we literally don't know what they're saying. So to me it seems like part of the reason Vil wants Epel to not speak in his dialect is simply so people can understand him better and so people can actually communicate with him. We've seen in the Harveston event (if I remember correctly) that the others have no clue what Epel says before they jump the gap, and they need to ask his grandma to translate. That's an example of how if he didn't remove his dialect people would not know what he's saying. I don't think it has anything to do with negative connotations towards the dialect (I bet Vil would encourage it if they were in a situation where it would be beneficial/welcoming), but rather Vil trying to teach Epel that it's not about hiding your dialect/culture, it's about being considerate to those around you to have them understand you (like how you pointed out his granny changed to polite speech when talking to the NRC boys). Don't you think even granny would have at some point taught Epel that? (Although not in the same manner or extremity as Vil).

There seems to be some discourse going on of which I was not aware!

Thank you so much for your perspective!! It is very interesting and informative and wonderful to know!

Yes, it does seem strange that maybe no one warned Epel about interacting with people outside the village, but maybe they did!

This gets into conjecture because we have nothing in-game to confirm either way, but it might be possible that they just assumed he would pick it up through personal experience, or he just wasn't able to make the connection between their warnings and what real-world experience would be like.

Marja herself has no problem with adapting to the time/place/occasion, but as Epel is still a child with limited exposure to people from other cultures, we are watching him experience this learning process in real time!

In a way, Epel's experience at NRC could maybe be interpreted as Vil encouraging him to be more like his grandmother :> Epel was likely aware that the older people in the village adapt their speech patterns when necessary, but maybe never made the connection about exactly why?

He knew it was polite, but when early-Epel shows up at NRC, he is already in fighting mode: he has no interest in being polite, which he might have seen as making concessions and, thus, a weakness.

Bullied his whole childhood for his appearance he decides he is going to set the record straight from day one at NRC so that people know not to mess with him, and then Vil comes in.

It seems like it all connects to Epel's arc as he learns that you can be conscientious of time/place/occasion (like his grandmother), but still be proud of your heritage and strong (like his grandmother).

And you can be beautiful (like Vil), but still be strong (like Vil).

(Because Vil is Vil his wording has a lot to do with the importance of beauty, but the more I think about it, the more it seems like Vil is just trying to prepare Epel for life in a society.)

There is an ongoing theme with Epel that we see in Book 5 and Halloween where he gets jealous of people who can do things that he can't, so he doubles down that he is right and they are wrong in order to make himself feel better about his shortcomings.

That might also tie in to his frustration with Vil's restriction of his dialect!

He has more difficulty expressing himself without it, so rather than do what Vil is trying to get him to do and work on it, by Book 5 he is still doubling down and insisting that Vil is the problem, not himself, despite how he was raised watching everyone around him do exactly what it is that Vil is saying he needs to do.

I really appreciate everyone's introspection!! The more you think about it, the more interesting Epel, his family, his relationship with Vil and his circumstances become! :> He is living through his own, personal coming-of-age story before our eyes!

[chaifootsteps]

I think there's an argument to be made in favor of showing the reality of what Angel deals with on the day to day, both on the gear he wears and the SA he faces from Val.

but these kinds of scenes can very easily be exploitative; used for cheap shock value & end up fetishizing that abuse by presenting it as titillating. it's long happened to female characters where the violence becomes an excuse to show them brutalized or with their clothes ripped off and given how often Angel is sexualized it can just as easily happen to him.

Addict managed to communicate a whole history of sexual abuse committed by Valentino with just a forced kiss and a hard cut to Angel having a breakdown in his room. The scene focused on Angel's emotional distress rather than the act itself, so it avoided objectifying him further and was still effective

this is part of a wider pattern already established by Helluva Boss, where abuse is treated in the least sensitive, most sledgehammer blunt and cartoony way possible.

going by HB, abusers are:

always obvious and easy to spot,

they're complete monsters devoid of any life or interests of their own,

they have no inner lives whatsoever because they only exist to hurt the victim (Stella stays around the house despite not liking Stolas, Crimson wants to force Moxxie into a gay marriage despite being homophobic - to the guy who put his son in prison in the first place!!) - they're inconsistent and unknowable,

they abuse their victim openly in front of others everyone goes along with and tacitly approves of it (Stella's friends happily laugh at her jokes disparaging a demon prince who could kill them all despite knowing he's in earshot)

they cannot be easily stopped even when they have far less power, either in magic or social standing, than the person they're abusing (Stolas and Stella, again)

they hang around long past when they should despite the cast having ample reason to proactively do something to stop them (everyone leaves Crimson alive despite killing all his minions, Stolas knows Stella has ordered a hit on him but probably still lets Octavia spend weekends with her??)

they are fundamentally Bad People. None of the 'good' characters can every be called out for being abusive, what they do is funny - because they are fundamentally Good People. It doesn't matter how many traits Stolas and Stella have in common, he is Good and she is Bad. It also doesn't matter that Stolas sexually coerced someone for a season and a half, neglected his daughter and abused his servants, and barely feels bad about his own infidelity. He is Good so anything he does can be excused. Same with Loona - beating people is bad, but it's OK for her to give her dad a black eye and beat his head in with a picture frame, because she's one of the Good Guys. Same with Blitzo demeaning Moxxie constantly in the workplace - it's funny when he calls Moxxie fat, it's abuse when Mammon does it to Fizz

Abusers are fundamentally Other from Us, and we never need to examine our own behaviors as long as we know we are fundamentally Good.

like how is any of this making the world a better place? or advancing the understanding of abuse? it's an embarassingly dated and in places actively harmful depiction of what abuse is or isn't (I don't even want to get into the bad takes I've seen surrounding Stol/tz and what coercion is or isn't, but you can probably add that to the list too)

if the Angel scenes are as brutal as they sound then the rating should be an 18. I don't entirely blame Viv for that, I know sometimes ratings boards have a weird habit of treating works that have LGBT content as somehow 'more adult' than movies with straight up rape and SA scenes in them (though HH is both, so idk how literal bondage gear didn't up the rating), but I hope against hope there's some kind of trigger warning for this somewhere, and it isn't just dropped on the viewer's lap in order to shock them further with the world's bluntest and most graphic animated scene of SA it can

This. All of this, every word.

[undercoverpena]

it happened (iii)

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader 

summary: for weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind: he doesn’t know how to live without you. word count: 5.7k warnings: injured reader, but happy ending, promise. spice + smut. lovers to relationship.

part three of it happens | soap masterlist

8. 

He wishes the day ended differently. 

For weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind:

He doesn’t know how to live without you.

For a while, he envisions it’s been tucked away, festering in the back of his brain. Growing over time, slowly.

Likely somewhere between kissing you and stuffing your throat with his cock. Becoming more apparent in the small window when things turned from a quick fuck to something more gentle, something he wanted to prolong. 

There's a high chance it was when you stopped calling him Soap and called him Johnny. Not just when the two of you were alone, but out with others—shoulder close to his. 

But, truthfully, he’s been finding the thought more incessant when he’s lying next to you, sweat still clinging to his skin. The words sliding around his head, bouncing from one side to the other. Not wanting to move, to jolt it away, because your fingers are drawing a pattern on his stomach—something he’s come to like. Something he craves—just your touch. How it’s direct, purposeful, and wrapped in a personal touch. 

“I like you being around, even if I don’t show it." “I know you only keep m’around ‘cause ov’ my cock.” “I’d still keep you around even if your cock got chopped off by Ghost, Johnny. You’re a nice pillow.” “Cheers, hen.”

Now his cards are on the table—his feelings. All unwrapped in front of you, having thrown them at you like an angry present. The bow coming straight off, the paper disintegrating before the two of you. 

If he was thinking straight, he’d have delivered them better. Presented them in a kinder format. Instead, his heart had been in his throat, hammering and thumping as he wiped the tears from your cheek. The ones you’d refuse to say were spilled because of him. 

He didn’t blame you. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been willing either—but the adrenaline forced his hand. Made him run headfirst and care about it after. 

Just like he did on assignments, operations—missions. The same ones you glare at him for, not outwardly telling him what’s wrong, but it's clear from your face you're not impressed. 

You worry. And it’s why he worries. Because you rarely show any emotions when it comes to him, you are so hard to crack, so hard to see through. But, over time, you’ve allowed him in—and what he once recognised were unimpressed glances, he suddenly sees are secret distress. 

The two of you put the job first, the task. But as it approaches a year of that cabin and what transpired, the worry of losing you appears like a jack in the box. It shoots up, bouncing in front of him when you’re talking to him—when you’re letting him in. 

You could lose her. You’ll lose her. You’ll lose. 

It’s why sometimes he holds you a little closer, lets you groan against him as he keeps you pinned to him—sheets tangling around both of your legs. He savours it. Let the moment steep until the corners of your mouth rise less sarcastically, your breaths slowing, before you brush knuckles against his cheek. 

You want him to hold you, he can tell. You just won’t ask. Afraid, maybe. 

And so sometimes, he doesn’t give in to his wishes and instead respects yours. 

But, he should have taken his time today.

He would have done it, had he known how the day would end. He’d have taken his time. He wouldn’t have made it quick, rushed the time alone. He’d have spent longer touching you, making you keen against his hand and he wouldn’t have bottomed out in one quick thrust. 

His mouth would have spent time leaving marks on your skin, instead of setting a brutal pace that had the name Johnny kissing the air in bursts. Mostly, he’d have spent less time bruising his fingers into your hip bone—sinking his teeth into your shoulder—and more time staring into your eyes. 

“So fuckin’ pretty.” 

“You s–say that so often, it’s going to st–fuck–stop meaning something.” 

His hand had brushed over your collarbone, sliding up against your neck as your lips parted. “No, it won’t.”

He watched you smirk. Just lightly—just enough. Lips twitching around your impending pleasure that’s ready to wash over you. He liked you like this. Liked consuming you—claiming you. He also liked watching you squirm, writhing under him, the room dyed in the squelching noises coming from him fucking your cunt. 

The memories of the morning kept him entertained as they were dispatched. You sat far away, head turned, talking to Price. His eyes occasionally glanced your way, wondering if he should say something, anything. A ‘good luck’, a ‘look after yourself’. 

Now, he wishes he did. 

The whole thing went to shit the moment their boots hit the ground. Your radio messages fragmented, cracking—Ghost’s voice stern, trying to ascertain what it was you were saying. In and out. In and out. Those were the words Price had said. 

And you’d gone in, like planned. Alone while the others caused a distraction—you’re good. Quick. Talented. But, you’re also on the opposite side to where he was stationed—and you had failed to come out. 

In and out. In and out.

“LT—“

“Find her.” 

He nods, trying not to focus on the tone. The edge to Ghost’s voice and how it tinged with concern. He’d become softer, less Fort Knox and more regular prison walls since Graves—especially with you. Your dry sarcasm and focused energy likely made it easy for him. 

You made it easy for all of them to let you in. 

It’s all he thinks as he entered the building, sweeping the corridor, turning and turning, corner after corner. 

Then he sees you. 

Sees you break for reasons completely opposite to how he’d made you break this morning. 

He didn’t move to check the other body in the room. He knew they were dead, disposed of. No threat. He knew because of the way you were huddled into a corner, knowing you’d have done the job before you tended to yourself. 

You do that a lot. For as heroic as you say he is, you’re not that different. 

His hand clenches as the air is tinged with the horrid sounds of your breaths—all ragged, desperate—punching each one out into space. 

For a second, he just stares. Watching. Boots gelled to the floor unable to shift himself as he watched scarlet coat your fingers. His own worries building, anxiously swirling, rendering him fucking useless. He can’t lose you. Not now he has you. 

“J-Johnny.” 

He blinks, and then he moves. Your fractured voice yanked him from his frozen state, his heart attempting to break. 

He tries not to let it. 

It does all the same.

You broke right at the seams. 

Falling into the corner, panic setting in—bathing you, dousing you. Your breath is jagged, uneven—your thoughts jumbled, and your training all out the window.

You picture him, initially: Johnny. 

How crestfallen he’d look, how full of sorrow—likely even able to hear his heart descend to his feet. For that reason, you hope he’d leave you behind. Go on—not ruin the images of you he has by seeing you like this. 

Because if you look how you feel, you’re not a pretty sight, and this morning you'd been…

This morning was nice. Maybe too nice. Your hips rolled with his; your hand almost reached for his, wished to grasp it close, press it against your skin. 

Now, you wish you had. 

Wished you’d stolen a moment, had something to call back to as you tried to not bleed out across the dirt and dusty floor. 

All because of a knife.

One you’d not anticipated, one you hadn’t expected. 

Fool. You’re a fucking idiot. You can hear Ghost spit that you are; hear Price ask if you’d lost your mind. You guess you did—allowing yourself a moment to think of this morning. Of how full you’d felt; how empty you felt before. Now, you feel even less. 

Your hands shake, tremble. They clutch the slits of your skin together as your eyes flick up—hoping, praying, seeking. And then, there he is. The light from the world outside the room all haloed around his figure, making him look like an angel. You guess he is. 

He saved you, without knowing you needed to be saved. He was a rock, something to cling to when the sea battered you against the sand. He was… hope, in the dark and something entirely too good for you and—

It had been the very thing which infuriated you, to begin with. He was good—too good. They all did good things, but he did them without thought. They came naturally, being a hero—doing right for the cause. That and the fact he couldn’t meet your eye, couldn’t spit a response at you.

Now, all he did was talk, and you lapped up each word. 

“J-Johnny…”

His eyes fell, face dropping—shattering amongst the bullet casings and blood. 

Thick, horrid, throat-choking sobs dilute the rest of your words. Suffocating them as he slides to you on his knees, hands unsure where to go. The panic evident as you clutched it—held the weeping wound as best as you could. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

“Let me see, lemme see… steamin’ Jesu—Yer gonna be alright—We just need a medic—look at me.” 

You flicked them up, meeting blue—all-Johnny-fucking-blue—his hand, rough and all coated in your blood as he grasps your cheek. 

Flashes of memories. Ones where he’s lying next to you or hovering above you, ones where he’s caging you against the wall and when he’s pressed you down against the washer. All of them rush you, overwhelm you…

And you want more of them. 

Your lips curl, opening—all cracked and sore—as you try to get yourself to say that. To say you want more of him, more of them—

“I need t’move y’, ‘kay? I gotta move y’, hen. Then can fix y’. Keep y’with me.” 

His other hand slides under your legs, preparing, staring into your soul as he tries to soothe it. He does. He always does. 

Has done since that first night, splinters in your thighs as you grasp onto him. The quieter moments, where the two of you simply lay breathing, no other sounds, allowing it to ferment and develop. 

You don’t tell him that enough. That he matters to you. 

There’s a lot that you don’t tell him, truthfully.

Secretly keeping it buried inside, afraid to lose—afraid to have something and then not. You’d done it once, loved and lost. It hurt. It broke you. The shards of yourself barely back in place before you ended up here, with a new family—new people to care about. To fall for. 

But, for him, you fell all the same.

You’d do it again, too. Over and over. You’d jump, leap and fly. 

“Y’not leaving me, lass. Y’hear me.”

You smile lazily—and it hurts to try. Head sliding into the space near his neck, your hand desperately clutching at your own stomach. 

“Arm round m’neck, hen.” You pause, afraid to taint the back of his head and helmet with blood till he stares—waiting, both patient and impatiently till you do, your eyes watching as blue and black swirl in his eyes. “Good girl, such a good girl. This’ll hurt, I’m sorry…” 

Don’t let me go. Don’t let go. Don’t go.

It should hurt. It prickles, and nicks. But it doesn’t make you burn as it should. Instead, you’re so fucking cold. 

“—I’m so sorry, so sorry—”

So damn cold it hurts. 

Bone-chillingly, so. 

“—Hold on, lass. Y’hear me.”

You nuzzle, smelling him—salt, sulphur and sweat. Hoping to capture as much of it as you can, just in case… your eyes unable to stay open, hand unable to remain on his neck, on your stomach—

Especially as you jolt, bounce—

Black.

You’re under his skin. 

Like exploded ink swirling with his blood. He sees that now. How you’ve spread and seeped into him—stained all of the parts of him. How you’ve bled beautifully across his heart, forever ruined. You don’t heal him, but you make it easier to smile, to breathe. 

And it’s enough. More than he really thought he’d have in this line of work.

Which is why he needs you to wake up. Needs your eyes to coat his skin. Desperate to hear your voice, your laugh. 

Soap brushes his hand against your cheek. It’s natural, normal almost—thankful your skin feels warm, and soft, even with the nicks and growing bruises. 

“Yer scared me, hen.” 

He says it to no one. 

You’re not awake, not in a coma either. You’re somewhere in between, not lost, but not found. There’s no way you can hear him, but he speaks to you all the same. 

It’s why he lets his fingers do a slow stroke of your cheek, unable to hide how calming he’s finding it as his shoulders sink into their usual place and his jaw loosens its iron grip on itself.  

“Dunna think I can live without yer. As… terrifyin’ as that is to admit.”

He drops his hand from your cheek to clutch your hand. Contemplating whether to climb in beside you, now there’s no medic hovering—no one else here, busying themselves. 

“Glad y’not awake, y’d be fumin’ with me for getting all emotional.” 

He moves, and stands. Cautiously easing himself down beside you, trying not to move you, trying to crush you. His hand slides up to your jaw and cheek, clutching your skin as he listens to the soft patter of your heart—happy he hears it, proving you’re alive. 

At one stage—one horrid stage—he hadn’t been sure you would be. So pale, so lifeless, the wound on your stomach continuing to leak scarlet over the evac floor as he dug his elbows down into his knees. 

They perform miracles, the medics. 

He knows that. Puts all his faith in them. Knows there were plenty of times he’d been in their hands…

But he couldn’t lose you. 

His grip on your jaw almost tightens, except he doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to leave any more marks on you the world hadn’t tried to paint. 

His own lashes were heavy, a calmness spreading from being close to you—just like he’d been yesterday morning. Yesterday when things were different, your body beside him, under him, against him—

“Hi…” you croak, eyes still closed.

Pausing, he doesn’t dare move, afraid he’s hallucinating it all—you, your voice. 

“…D-Don’t stop. Feels nice.” 

And he sighs in relief. His heart leaps, both up and down, bouncing in joy as he fights, pulling you close. His lips twitch, teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. 

“Hey, lass.” 

“You miss?” 

He nods, even if your eyes are closed. “I missed, hen. Fuckin’ Jesus I missed.” 

9. 

He’s begun making a habit of kissing your scar. 

Even if your body is adorned with little stories, here and there. Some silver, some pink and some he knows and some he's never asked about. It's the larger one which demands his attention.

Before your newly acquired one, he loved kissing your shoulder. It made your chest heavy, almost bloat. He'd been all concerned with it, as if somehow he was to blame—but, now that's quickly forgotten. It’s no longer deemed as kiss-worthy as the one which runs along your stomach. 

Not that you care. 

You like running your fingers through his hair when he’s kissing along your hip bone. Your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperately craving his fingers, tongue or cock. 

But, you wait—patiently. Having truly been able to master what that even means when you had been banned from overexerting yourself. Taking the simple things for granted like his chest being between your thighs and you being able to run your nails along his scalp.

You'd been allowed to kiss him, to have him close. Johnny had allowed that. Given into that, even if at first he'd been reluctant. Not wanting to hurt you, not knowing, because you were too afraid to tell him, that by not it would hurt far worse than a knife.

Plus, there's nothing quite like Johnny kissing you like you’re the only air he ever needs. It makes your toes curl, your thighs desperate to wrap and cage him close, not wanting him to be away from you.

But, it's easier to just hold him close than tell him he’s all you need, too. 

Now, though, you can bask in the moment when he descends down your collarbone, kissing the skin under your breasts before sliding down to your naval, kissing the healed scar and its tingly nerves. Usually, you watch his eyes flick up at you, bathing you in blue that makes it feel like you’re swimming. Your breath hitching, knowing that look—how it’s accompanied by a slow, taunting descent as the tip of his tongue makes a path down to your cunt. 

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, pleadingly. 

But he will. 

He gets some sick satisfaction from making you wait, from torturing you. You don’t blame him. You enjoy doing it back. Slow torturous kisses up his shaft followed by slow swirls of your tongue over his dripping head. 

“Like takin’ my time wit’ yer, lass.”

He savours you now. Likely has done for some time.

You're unsure when it changed. When it went from chest pressed down on a washing machine, fucking into you like he’s running out of time to this. Now, it’s locked doors and holding you close, pressing your spine against the inside laundry door, slowly filling you as he holds you up, close, with nowhere to go. 

As if you want to be anywhere but with him. 

You blame the injury. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile, but he doesn’t fuck you like your robust. Not since you bled over him, since he paled in front of your eyes and you stole all his cockiness. 

Now, it’s like he needs to remind himself you’re alive—and he does so by making you mewl, moan and whimper. Both of your previous coping mechanisms for stress and hate have now developed into something else entirely. You know you’ve sunk to your knees for him, taking all of him down your throat—tears springing to your lashes—just to remind him he had someone. To root him, fill him with a reason to come back to you, to find you, to let you in. 

If it wasn’t for Price, you wouldn't have known it was reciprocated, that same yearning, same need to keep hold of him. 

Price told you that you broke him—snapped Johnny in two. 

“Like a kicked puppy, that one. Half-surprised he didn’t piss a ring around y’bed. Wouldn’t even get himself looked at. Practically wore the floor out, turnin’ on the spot.”  “No he wasn’t.” He assures you he was. “Heal up, alright? Need you back with us.” 

That had been over a month ago. 

Now he’s lying between your legs, very much whole. Treating you—rewarding you for not giving up during sparring. Even if you’d wanted to. Even if all your muscles burned in anger at him, especially when his body was close—a grey t-shirt clinging to his muscles from sweat, looking every bit carved and god-like even in clothing. 

You hated it. How fit he was. 

How weak you were. 

He saw it, must have done—you did a piss poor job at hiding it. And so he blackmailed you—tempted you with the only thing he knew he could give you, and him alone. 

“Think of it like this, Hen. Y’get me on my back. I’ll make y’ bein’ on yours worth it later.” “I’ve got fingers, MacTavish.” “Aye, you do. But, your tongue can’t get tha’ hard to reach spot now can’it?”  His hand on your waist, on the good side—staring into your eyes. And fuck, you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to run your tongue passed his teeth.  “And, I kno’ y’love my mouth, lass.” 

He keeps his word. 

Beginning his promise in the shower, water and body wash sliding down your skin as he pins you to the tiles. No touching, just there—all within reach. Letting your eyes follow the suds as they slide down his deep-V.

Then you were on your back, wet towel on his floor, cool air brushing over your still damp skin. 

“Seems counterproductive, showering me, to get me filthy again.” 

“Maybe,” he grins, kissing your neck, the tip of his tongue drawing circles. “But, I’ll never complain about gettin’ and keepin’ yer naked, hen. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He pulls you from the memory, the one which happened mere minutes ago, as he slides the flat of his tongue against your core. It makes you almost jolt—hiss, moan. His hand pins your good side to the bed. 

“Keep still, lass. Don’t want y’to exert yourself.”

“You cocky pri—“

He buries your words by prodding your cunt with his fingers, tongue swirling your bundle of nerves as you grasp the sheets for leverage.  

You swear he smirks. Can feel it against you as he circles his tongue over you, lapping, teasing, and tasting. Likely fuelled by your desperate whines, the ones he pulls from you over and over again.

He hums, and vibrates his mouth against you as he curls his fingers inside of you—hands clenching around his hair, doing your best to keep your back on the bed. 

He has you at his mercy. Dangling you over the edge, almost allowing you to tip over, coat his tongue and palm in your pleasure.

But, Johnny is an expert. He knows you, what has you whimpering and moaning—and how to keep you hanging. He’s studied what pressure to apply, how to twist his tongue against your clit, until you’re a quivering mess, barely clinging to reality as he pushes you close to ascending.

Your hips buck, but his grip on your hip is stronger.

“Yer taste heavenly.”

You’ll never grow used to his compliments.

The ones which fall from his mouth with ease. The ones which make you blush from your cheeks to your toes—something he must notice, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Want y’ forever.” 

Your heart rises, doubles and flutters. “I’m all yours, Johnny.” 

You only know he’s heard you from how he pauses, before he continues his assault—and this time he doesn’t dangle you. He lets you fall, right over the fucking edge.

It hits you so fast it takes your breath away, unsure how you had enough to spit his name out—never mind it falling from your lips over and over again.

Johnny pecks the air, merging with whines to make a sound that was sinful, so rich—you’re sure the room would ring off it for hours. Your eyes flicker, glancing down, seeing him lift up, grin adorning his face.

“Yer tired, hen?”

You snort, trying to hide how your legs are trembling. “No.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes a thunderstorm out over a sea—and a fucking sight to behold.

10.

You used to fuck him because you didn’t like him. 

Now, you fuck him because you love him and you’re not sure what to do with it. 

The feelings knotting, amassing into a chunk in your chest. Your lips say as much when they crash against his, pulling him closer by his belt loops. 

“Need to feel you, Johnny.”

You don’t beg. But you do ask, now. Less action, and more words. Your fingers peeled his t-shirt first, allowing your hands to run over his skin, feel each muscle, the thrum of his pulse. The rest fall from both of you, littering the floor as you cling to him, as you palm his want in your hand and he coats his fingers in your desperation. 

There’s a heaviness to each movement. It wraps its fingers around each touch, each noise. It pollutes it, what this could be—something nice, normal. 

Instead, it reminds you of what you could lose. That you could board and watch the base vanish into the distance, not sure if you’d see it again. See him again. 

You’d tried to not let feelings bloom. You’d tried to keep it as pleasure, as stress relief—but you’d liked waking up beside him—loved that he was the person beside you when you’d opened your eyes after surgery. 

While the clinical stench hit you first, then the pain, it was he who quickly followed. Even now, even as you’ve tried to rewrite that moment, you know in your heart you’d wished he had been the first thing you’d felt. Only him. No pain, no smell, not even a noise: just Johnny. 

He must know. He has a second sense for things—for bubbling thoughts and moments being twisted. Or, he has a sense for you, at least. You think it because he’s on his knees on the cold floor, hooking your thighs onto his forearms as he devours you—and fuck does he do it well.

He takes you to the edge, lets you dangle, almost lets it swallow you before he pulls his lips back, blowing cool air along your soaked cunt. 

“Gotta make y’come back f’more.” 

Johnny says it like he doesn’t know. 

Like the idea that you’re in love with him isn’t possible, unfathomable, rather than something which is very much reality. 

Because you are in love with him. It’s a fact. Something concrete. Just the same as you are full of him, once he pushes you back on the bed and buries his cock to the hilt in you. 

It’s filthy—obscene—all the noises you let loose. The ones willing to escape, purposefully peeled from the words that cling to your tongue: I love you. I love you so much. 

His cock hits that spot which makes your legs feel weightless, and you kiss him again, hungrily, needily. His hand fists your hair, each thrust perfectly hitting that spot that made a tear fall from your lash at how good it was—how good he was.

“Fuck, Johnny—fuck.”

It’s the only words you let escape—all you can do. So fearful of those three words touching the air, escaping. 

I love you. 

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip as he presses his forehead to yours. His hips meeting yours, another wave of pleasure building and building, all set to crash down and cover you. 

You took it all the same. You’d take everything he’d give you. Your hands grasping him closer, clutching onto him as your throat burns—you’re so full of him, in every sense of the word. You can’t imagine it never being him, not just here, between your thighs but everywhere else he is. 

In your bed. 

In your head.

In your heart. 

His hand knots in yours, fingers on either side of yours as he clamps himself, palm to palm—secretly clamping you. 

And it’s too much. 

It’s so real, so beautiful. You want to deserve it, deserve him—

“Fuck.”

He angles himself, dragging his cock through your walls harder, faster. 

“I kno’, lass. Yer fuckin’ somethin’ else y’are, hen. Heavenly. Fuckin’ goddess-like.” 

Then he plunges you in blue, and stares past your eyes and into your soul. Likely seeing the words, the ones he should have, should be given willingly and not held back by nervous hands. 

“Let go, hen. Let go f’me.” 

And you do. You'd do everything for him.

So, it snaps, the knot in your stomach. The one you'd been clinging to. Your body becomes both tight and loose all at once as you let go, and come around his cock. His name rips from your throat as pleasure, all white-light and flaming-touch, tears through you and consumes you. 

It’s like lightning and fireworks, and everything else when your resolve cracks—his hips still pistoning, chasing his own as your aftershocks continue, as you flutter back down to him.

But, it’s his hand in yours, the one still clamps you here with him that you focus on when you hear him moan your name. 

Your hand remains with his even as he slides himself out of you, his frame falling limply next to you—right onto his side of the bed. The place you always leave free, whether it’s your own bed or his. The place your head is already turned, waiting expectantly for him. So used to all of this now, this routine. 

“When do y’have to go?” 

Your mouth twitches, a longing in your eyes and the heaviness from earlier, settling onto your bones. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aye?”

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Trying to keep hold of the moment for as long as you can. To keep a mental picture of him like this, happy, not fearing and nervous. 

“You’ve prepared me well.”

“Aye. Well. Y’let me.”

You kiss him. 

Not like you’d usually do, but one which says more than you think you can articulate. The movement of your lips is able to write the words your heart is desperate to sing. You keep hold of his hand, quite liking his palm against yours. You enjoy how your thumb can stroke the healed and silver scar on his hand, all from something boring like DIY and not combat. 

You don’t want to stop, hating it when you do. 

Each item of your clothing returns back into place, fixing your hair, and haphazardly wiping anything from your face—pleasure-filled tears or sweat. 

When you leave him, you’re thankful he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t ask you to wait; doesn’t ask for another second. He knows, like you do, that operations wait for no one and those in the dark don’t wait for the sun to set. 

You do hear him call your name, more professional than he had moments ago. 

You turn, walking backwards staring at his head and how it peers around the doorway. “Y’come back in one piece.”

“For you?” you smirk, “I’ll consider it.”

11. 

Now, it's different. 

It began on a dusty floor, and it grew amongst the sand and sheets. 

Your head turns, staring up at him as he adjusts the strap on his vest. His brows pinched, strands of hair threatening to fall across his forehead—his hair so much longer across the entire space of his head. The same hair you ragged and ran your fingers through.

It’s nice to be beside him again. To be allowed to run with them as a squad—your smaller, less combative operations appeasing Price that you’re ready. 

You’re an important part of the team, y’hear me? We ain’t rushin’ it. 

Now, you were glad.

No ghostly pains, just ones from Simon’s stare at your commentary. No pangs or jolts, only when you hear Johnny recommend something dangerous, always involving himself. Even if you know he’ll come back. Even if he’s promised you he will. Your heart lurches each time you think of something nicking his skin, something embedding into his bones—something taking his eyes, smile and soul from you. 

“Yer good?” 

Smiling, you nod, “Aye.”

“Bugger aff wid ye’.”

You smirk, rolling your lips, sliding one hand between your top and vest, staring off at the others checking their gear as you hear him sigh. 

“Try n’ follow orders, lass,” he says in a low voice, “Don’t fancy gettin’ stuck in a dusty safehour wit’ yer. Can’t keep y’warm. Got a girlfriend, y’know.”

Sweeping your tongue across your bottom lip, you fight a grin. “That so? She must be a saint.”

“Aye, she’s somethin’ special, I’ll tell you.” 

“Has to be, to put up with you.”

He keeps his laugh low, but it lights you all the same. Kisses every inch of you, warming you from head to toe. Your skin is desperate to press against him, your muscles and bones calling for him. 

His fingers stretch, flex—ghosting between the gap which feels like miles. You can feel his head turning to look at you, likely watching you as you stare out at the sand—the two of you all kitted up, weighed down and raring to go.

And then he does it, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. It’s the most brazen he’s been—most the two of you have ever been. Even since the two of you became something real, something more than just a rumour and a lie. 

And it’s electrifying and grounding, making your lips twitch, eyes smiling the rest. 

You know he can tell, even from the side. He knows you too well by now, the same way you know him. The two of you have become so well versed in one another—knowing exactly what each muscle change in each face means.

“Didn’t have you down as unprofessional, MacTavish,” you whisper. Just loud enough for him to hear.

Your fingers hooking around his, holding his hand. Tightly. Meaningfully. 

“For you, I’m a lotta things, lass.”

“That so?” 

He smirks, tilting his head, as you raise your chin to look at him. “Good job I’m happy to be a lot of things for you too, then. Isn’t it?”

“Tha’ y’saying yer love me, lass?” 

You smile, staring ahead as you sigh. “No. You’ll know it when I say it. But, I do know you love me, MacTavish.”

“Aye. I do.” 

His fingers release yours, a breeze ghosting over the space they were. Your head is unable to turn, unable to stop your eyes from staring into his. 

“I’m not saying it now, got to give you something to come back to me for.” 

You watch it slowly, how it eclipses his entire face. It sparks his eyes, blasting you in a blue that should change the entire environment and not just you. Then, it lifts his cheeks, the corners of his lips, and then he grins—grins so wide he’s sure he could make you forget how to breathe. 

“Fair,” he says, raising his wrist, fingers moving along his wrist as you frown.

It takes a second—far too long for how intuitive you are. Your eyes catch sight of it, half-impressed he hasn’t lost it as he slides it from under his watch—that hairband. The one he stole. 

“But, yer should kno’. I’ll always come back t’you, hen, ‘cause I gotta give y’this back.” 

You nod, and your other hand—the one desperate to hold his—clutches the other strap of your vest, pressing your thighs together. The earlier moment now isn’t feeling enough, even if the bruises on your hip brushing against your trousers say otherwise. 

Turning your head, you look across at the others, them looking almost set, as you sigh. 

“I love,” you say in a whisper.

Not sure if the breeze stole it, whipped them and carried them away into some corner of the world. They were only two words, after all.

But, he presses his hand on the lower part of your spine—firm, and fingers spread. The two of you walking, hating that with each step you were close to feeling his hand fall from you until the next moment alone.

“I love, too.”

He says it with a dipped head, a soft look in his eye as he slides his hand along your back, around your hip before it’s gone—just left with blue, Johnny blue, the best fucking shade of all. 

it's completeeee. i know she was only three chapters, but i don't think I've been able to juggle my life to be this consistent with anything in a long time. so, i'm buzzing.

soap sunday will continue with a new mini-series. diff reader, etc. but thank you for making my sundays have purpose, and all being so kind about me, this and my work. i loves you.

[christinesficrecs]

Hello!! I hope you’re having an amazing day your blog literally means so much to me.

If this isn’t too much to ask, I would really love some angsty low self esteem Sterek fics. Happy ending only, though. It could be either insecure!Derek or insecure!Stiles, I’m good with either! I really appreciate it :) thank you!

That's so nice!! 🥰 These are only a little angsty, because I'm me. ;) And I possibly tripped over some mutual pining fics. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork | 17.3K | Explicit

In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Convenient by  exclamation | 10.7K

Stiles knows what he is to Derek: convenient. He knows that Derek isn’t looking for a relationship, just someone to have casual sex with. Which is why Stiles is so surprised to find Derek setting up a romantic dinner for Valentine’s Day.

It’s Been Four Hundred and Ninety Days by paradis | 4.4K

It’s been four hundred and ninety days, and it took Derek forever but they’re at day one again.

I Just Want You For My Own (More Than You Could Ever Know) by yodasyoyo | 16K

“What is with that sweater, dude?”

Derek ducks his head to look at it, abashed. “Uh- Mrs Hernandez knitted it for me. It’s an early Christmas gift.” He smooths it down self-consciously.

Stiles cocks an eyebrow.

“What? She’s my neighbor and sometimes I-” Derek trails off. Stiles’ other eyebrow rises to join the first, and Derek sighs. “Sometimes I help her carry her groceries."

Of course he does. One day maybe Stiles will stop being in love with Derek Hale, but today is not that day.

Hide by dr_girlfriend | 12.4K | Explicit

Stiles has been rejected so many times that it doesn’t really surprise him when it happens again. Hurts, yeah, because dammit — he’d thought Derek was the one. Heartbreak sucks, and he’s not so sure he’s going to get over it this time.

Incommunicado by WhoNatural | 5.4K | Mature

Why is Derek being so weird?

Derek looks up from where he’s adjusting his shirt back into his pants - really? - and pauses. “Stiles?”

Clearly something in his scent is giving him away, but he’s too busy swallowing against the sting of bile that has made its way into his throat and checking behind the couch for future murder victims because Derek is totally cheating on him.

Cookies, coffee and shut the fucupcakes by DropsOfAddiction | 26.2K | Explicit

“Ok. I’ve got a few shirts with me because I came here straight from work, but I think it’s going to be a tight fit. I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be but I’m not exactly the same hunky physique as you, oh grand macho werewolf,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek runs his eyes blatantly over Stiles’ chest.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek mutters, and he slams his mouth shut, teeth audibly clacking together, as if he really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by lielabell | 8.6K

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It’s clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles’s body can’t help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn’t the first– and most likely won’t be the last– hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek. 

A Little Sugar by exclamation | 4.9K | Mature

The first time they had sex, it was after Derek paid Stiles’ rent. The second time was after Derek bought Stiles’ groceries. It wasn’t hard to work out the pattern. Derek hates himself for taking advantage of Stiles and tries to convince him that any form of payment is unnecessary, but he can’t seem to break the cycle.

waiting for you to say it first by paradis | 8.2K

Four months.

Four months they’ve managed to avoid one another. Stiles quit going to pack meetings. He quit doing research unless Scott really, really begged him to. He avoided driving the road that led out to the turnoff to the Hale house, he avoided going to all the spots where Derek might possibly be. Four months, and now, here they are, standing in the Minit Mart, Stiles thinks, staring down at the grimy tiles. He can hear the catch of Derek’s breath, and he closes his eyes and breathes deep.

Safety in Silence by Survivah | 66.9K

It’s perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn’t want to be Derek’s soulmate.

Relationship Status: It's complicated by kellifer_fic | 4K | Mature

Okay, I know this is a huge stretch for you, but can you please pretend you're like, into me?

Have It All by doc_sock | 5.8K

Derek is glad that he and Stiles are fuck buddies, really. So he wants more than that. So what? It’s not like what he wants is important.

Stay, Stay, Stay by  drunktuesdays | 2.2K

He should have expected this. He knew it, knew Stiles was always in this temporarily. Derek knew it wasn’t forever. The only thing that’s surprising is that Stiles is lying about it.

Closer Than Most by Finduilas | 46.9K | Explicit

Laura organizes a charity bachelor auction to raise money for the wolf sanctuary she and Derek inherited from their parents. Derek reluctantly gets roped into bidding on one of the bachelors, and he sure as hell doesn't know what he's getting himself into when he decides to bid on Stiles.

A Question of Pack by CawCawMF | 5.2K

Stiles had always been sure of his place in the pack. That place being the absolute lowest tier in the hierarchy of werewolf pack dynamics, but he was sure of it all the same. He wasn’t necessary exactly, since just about anyone could conduct research on supernatural mythology, but his job was still important to the pack and he felt good about that. At least, that’s what he always thought. That all came crumbling down one sunny afternoon in the form of Jackson’s big mouth.

[single-malt-scotch]

Bdubs' speech patterns & quirks

i made a post a while back about Bdubs' typing habits and ya know what. ill be a little stupid obsessed and unhinged again and do this one. might be useful for fics.

been watching this man from day one and im trying to throw together everything i can in my head. he really hasnt changed that much if we arent considering a shift of humor and energy-- but i will regard it at certain points for clarity of how his speech is handled.

General speech pattern

Through time Bdubs has gained more energy in his voice, and more confidence in how he speaks as a person presenting in his videos. But he still has his quirks, quirks that have remained forever.

biggest one. There is a big habit of stuttering in some sense. Either on the same words with the intended phrase:

Example: "You-- you don't- you don't understand!"

or a phrase that is altered during the stutter:

Example: "Yeah but-- you-- I don't think you get it..."

They aren't the stutters people default to in most cases (no "y-yes" "i th-thought.." etc-- in *some* cases you can throw this in but i suggest the bigger ones and never make it too frequent).

Theyre long and very obviously, and make him take longer to get his words out. sometimes it cuts his train of thought and he stops his sentences, maybe even starts over entirely.

in addition to that, bdubs also cuts words in a way i think most people will- goin', gonna, thinkin' etc. however at times he will enunciate the whole word for effect (plays into his "exaggeration" described below)

With his awkward pacing and stumbling, there are times where he fumbles and might say something in a "weird" way. sometimes, it becomes purposeful! he'll keep doing it when its funny, but you can tell its more of a slip than on purpose at first. there are far too many examples of this, but its obvious that he picked up the funny way of saying 'hermitcraft' on purpose at a certain point, for example. this may be hard to get across in writing however and its not as important.

bdubs loves to exaggerate. personality wise, hes like this obviously. and it plays into how he talks. boisterous is the best word. dont be afraid to go hard on the exclamation points or question marks! "!!" and "??" may describe what you want when you need to imply more of his noise.

Exclamations, regarding swearing

Bdubs doesnt swear anymore, but its worth addressing it, in context to what... replaces it, in a sense. or if youre writing something based in the years when he did swear.

Lets get one thing straight. bdubs does not say fuck. like, even back when he swore. there may have been some very light instances of words slipping (the old video where he completely bleeped out his words may have likely had that) but it is not how he spoke on the regular.

bdubs' most used 'bad' words were "damn", not as often "ass". he used a lot of 'safe' words-- shoot, crap (crapper, directed at someone/thing), frick (fricker, directed at someone/thing), dang ('dang man'), freaking (this is exclaimed very strong when it comes up, as if he was saying "fucking". comment phrase "very freaking funny!")....

these are the most frequent choices. id say bdubs has the capability of more swears, but it would be a last resort/under extreme duress.

Other notable phrases

Some of these fall under 'exclamations' at times, but i wanted to address the phrases he says in response to things, one subject is what people like him say in place of things like "oh god". you can see this in some hermits too, but bdubs does not say "oh (my) god". there is no exclamation of "god" when he needs to say something like this.

some are more or less frequent in the overall timeline, but you will likely hear...

"judas priest!" "oh goodness!" "oh jeez/jeezer!" if there is any phrase regarding god its a sorta "dont use the lord's name in vain" situation. none of the "oh god" stuff.

in terms of other frequent phrases,

"Trying my heart out/off" pops up a lot, and it means that he is trying hard at something whilst also saying he is 'putting his whole heart into it'.

Older/less frequent these days:

the good ol 'pet names'. it is/was never a super frequent thing (that bdubs/etho ooge video was surprisingly frequent...) "sweetheart" is most likely, "baby" but not always in a 'pet name' way, just a casual word to throw out at nothing. might get a "darlin'" in there too. the instance of calling someone specific those things is not super common, but still important to note.

a final notable one is "boy", directed at others in a more like. jokingly stern way. "What are you doin' boy?" a direct aim at a person, perhaps in a (joking) accusatory way at times? (wanted to comment there was an early ooge instance where etho picked it up as well lol). and imo i saw this way more in the early days, less so now.

Conclusion

bdubs has a variety of expressions in his speech. generally very relaxed and sometimes even careless, hes not tryin to focus too hard on every word he speaks. which is only natural! imo i think his personality is what affects this more than anything. hes silly, extroverted, and acts first.

his 'loudness' and stutter is important and it can be hard to express through words. outside of the way you describe the way he tackled talking in fics, seriously dont be afraid to double those punctuation marks imo. definitely dont be afraid of those big 'stutters'!! its probably the most defining part of his voice imo. i hope this is useful and feel free to add on or ask about it!

[starboyshoyo]

It’s Kind of Nice, Actually

Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno x reader

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Inspired by my own first date. It might read as a little juvenile, because I was 13 when it happened and it’s been years since then.

You and Chifuyu enjoy your first date together as a real couple.

11:40 AM.

Chifuyu’s never been this nervous before. Not when he ran from teachers after skipping class, not when his classmates almost saw his bento wrap with kitten patterns on it. He wasn’t even this nervous when he got in his first fight. But a simple date with you? That’s enough to make his palms sweat like there’s no tomorrow.

The small diner he had chosen as a location was on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t anything fancy; just a small 50s-themed restaurant with a checkered floor and red formica tabletops. Chifuyu is glad that he chose a booth in the corner- he’s a bit self conscious about the fact that he was overeager and got here almost twenty minutes early. The waitress has already come by twice already, and each time he had to turn her away with a polite but embarrassed explanation of “Thank you, but I’m still waiting for my date.”

Even though Chifuyu is the one who’s early, he can’t help but wonder if you’ll show up at all. After all, he’s only ever known you as a friend. Maybe he’s too awkward for your tastes.

He pulls the strings of his hoodie taught. Should he have worn something nicer? Was it too late to bike back home and grab a collared shirt and a tie?

11:45.

11:50. It’s almost time.

11:55.

11:57. He’s checking his watch a lot, isn’t he?

11:59. So close.

Finally, just as his digital watch turns to 12:00, the bell attached to the diner door handle rings and in you step. Chifuyu’s head whips around and he stands up hastily, waving to you from the other side of the small room.

“‘Fuyu! Hi!” you beam, and despite his nerves Chifuyu finds himself smiling back. The familiar nickname reminds him that this isn’t the first time he’s been here with you. It’s just the first time you’re here together in a different way- on a date instead of just hanging out.

“Did you get that text from Baji on the way in? When I told him I was meeting you here, he almost decided to come along- but luckily, Mitsuya convinced him not to!” You beam brightly as you talk. “I wouldn’t have wanted him to crash my alone time with my favorite guy.”

Chifuyu’s heart flips. Don’t blush, don’t blush-

“Well, I’m glad he didn’t come, then,” Chifuyu responds bashfully “I wouldn’t want him taking time away from my favorite person, either.”

You laugh. “You’re so cute, ‘Fuyu.”

Oh, that definitely made him blush.

+++

As pleasant as it is to be here, laughing and talking with you, Chifuyu can’t help but notice that the two of you have fallen into the same routine of your past visits here, when you were still unaware of the feelings you held toward one another. Do you remember that this is a date? He hopes you do. Because as much as Chifuyu loves the little romance and friendship he has with you, he still wants more.

His eyes drift downward to your hand, resting casually on the table next to your napkin. You’re still laughing about something Takemichi did last week. You don’t notice his hesitation, the roiling in his belly as he debates placing his palm on top of it.

Would you let him hold your hand? He won’t know unless he tries.

Quickly, not giving himself time to reconsider, he moves his hand to the tabletop as well, resting it on top of yours. His cheeks burn as he tries to keep a straight face, as if this is the most normal thing for him to do on a date-but-not-a-date.

He did it. He’s holding your hand! (Kind of.)

You seem a little surprised but you don’t pull away. Instead, you turn your hand over, palm now facing upwards so you can grasp his hand in yours. “I was wondering when you’d do that,” you chime with a smile, “Is this alright with you?”

(Oh my god he’s holding it for real now-)

Chifuyu swears his heart is going to burst. “Yeah! Yeah, this is alright,” he manages to say, fumbling over his words. “It’s… it’s kind of nice, actually.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[oysters-aint-for-me]

the concept of the two-sentence horror story is actually a great way to understand the similarities between horror and humor: the way both forms are based in the same neurobiological systems and thought patterns; the creation and resolution of tension; the use of the set-up/punchline structure; the way they both rely on the recognition of an incongruity, the reveal of a surprise, or a subverted expectation; the way that the subverted expectation is based on some way on a shared cultural context or common human experience; the way they both can cause a change in breathing patterns (laughing vs. gasping); the way that knowing what is coming can lessen your reaction. tbh when you break it down, the only real difference between comedy and horror is that with comedy, the incongruity the joke hinges on is in some way safe, whereas with horror, the incongruity feels dangerous.

this holds up in a lot of ways with some evolutionary theories of laughter; basically the thought is that laughter may have developed partly as a way to quickly alert fellow humans that a threat was no longer present. ex.: your tribe sees a shape in the distance that looks like a lion; once approached, a tribe member realizes it’s just a rock; and so they laugh to let their group know the coast is clear. this may be why laughter is contagious as well; a quick way to spread the message that the coast is clear.

that theory also explains nervous laughter—people may laugh instinctually when stressed as the body’s way of trying to calm itself down and tell itself that they are safe. it can also explain why some people are hurt or offended by jokes while others are not—people are hurt or offended because in some way they don’t feel that the incongruity represented in the joke is a safe one, and people that aren’t offended don’t feel threatened at all. for example, if you’re straight and all your friends are too and you’re never known a gay person and you don’t think about them a lot—if that’s you, and someone tells you a homophobic joke, your safety and the safety of your loved ones won’t feel threatened. but if you’re gay or you have gay loved ones or the joke is told by a straight person whose background of allyship is either unknown or actively nonexistent, then you might not feel safe in that situation, and you wouldn’t laugh (except possibly out of nerves). or, alternatively, if you’re gay (for example) and the same joke is told by a gay person or someone you know to be an ally, you would know that the words don’t translate into a real life threat, you would feel safe, and you would laugh.

it’s difficult because people want jokes to be either funny or not. they want a litmus test. they want to be able to point to aspects of jokes and say “this is why this is OBJECTIVELY funny/not funny.” unfortunately, that’s not how humor works (or really any aspect of human behavior). everyone has different ideas of safety, everyone has different thresholds for determining threats, and one person’s ideas and thresholds are heavily context dependent. it changes depending on their mood, their environment, the people around them, the person telling the joke, the very rhythm of the joke, etc.—things that have nothing to do with the actual wording of the joke itself.

so if you’re writing comedy, that’s something to keep in mind: if you don’t think about your audience’s sense safety, you may accidentally end up writing a horror story.

and that’s NOT to say that mixing horror and humor is bad—works that play with the line between humor and horror are often brilliant (see: barry, every movie jordan peele has ever made, what we do in the shadows, shaun of the dead, to name a few). but walking that line needs to be with intention and care.

[phantomofthehoepera]

I love your 2023 Repo the Genetic Opera art... Please... Please I'm desperate I need to know the lore... Please...

HAIIII SORRY I'M SO LATE TO THIS idk if you meant any lore in specific so I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to just dump all the shit I made up in my brain peace and love <333333

so like the main stuff I made up I guess would be the repomums which again was a cocreation with my darling precious @slydiddledeedee the lore is very basically they were all in an opera troupe with mag and marni and were cursed by god to die if they ever slept with an italian man. they also all left rotti for nathan, rotti kind of picked them off one by one like he'd marry one of them she'd leave him and die and he'd get a new one. no one present recognised the pattern of this. they're all colour coordinated which is a thing I like to do for the largo kids when I draw them so I guess it's genetic idk. important fun fact is that luigi personally killed his mum and was then lobotomised just a little bit which is why I keep drawing him with that big ole head scar.

other thing I made up was lore for the random zydrate lady as part of a larger effort to make shit up abt graverobber. most of my ideas for her are vague also not at all based in the movie I need to stress this is basically just an oc that I borrowed a character from the movie for. n ee way the story kind of goes she and graves start off in the drug dealer/drug addict business at the same time and they're roomies sometimes when they can afford it. she'll usually be more involved in whatever post movie ideas are floating around in my head at the moment bc I do feel like it's important to get a perspective that more like. on the ground if that makes sense?? bc like no one in the movie is super affected by the repossession system as much as I would like to see so she's my hero she's my class struggle queen.

speaking of graves I have so many ideas abt him in my head like the way I cope with the existence of scary scary evil wicked terrence is I just completely redesign him like moreseo than any of the other characters. to ME he's a freaky evil little dyke he probably was on whatever supercharged t repoworld has for a week or two but couldn't afford any more than that but like I said the t was supercharged so he can still sing his parts peace and love. I like to personally give him an actual concrete geneco debt bc like obv he has to have one but I would like it spelled out please just to have gramber relationship drama. think it would be funny if his heart gave out on him and he has a synthetic one, once again this is all for gramber relationship drama. in my brain he has been kind of fixated on her ever since he was a kid (see this piece). I also do like to give him and shilo kind of a sibling thing going on for literally no other reason than I like sibling dynamics I think they're delightful. I think post movie shilo should start an awful band and he should peddle her cds to his customers.

I have sooo many thoughts on the largo siblings like I said luigi straight up murdered his mother probably when he was very young. the way I picture it he's always been pretty unstable and wouldn't have been made as much of a public figure, unlike amber and pavi who I picture as having been like legit child stars at some point. like idk the way I picture it rotti would almost publicise them more after having to keep luigi that much out of the public eye since he's yknow. insane. I like to lean more into the opera vibes and give them little ballet shoes and shit like for some reason I always picture them as dancers. n ee way I think growing out of child stardom hit amber the hardest, not that would have coped super well either. pavi at least in the movie seems to have kind of a place at the table when they talk abt who's to inherent and like we usually see him at rotti's side while amber is usually out on her own and like idk it's kind of impossible not to read it as gendered to ME. also I always need to stress I don't make their backstories sad to make them sympathetic I do it bc I'm thoroughly successionpilled thank you and goodnight.

don't have that many thoughts on shilo and nathan, esp on nathan I moreso just have critiques of how he's written like icl I find the jekyll and hyde routine sooo uninspired. like idk I just think he becomes that much more horrifying of a character if you picture him as more calculated in his violence. I also just think it's kind of lame how little talk there seems to be abt the fact that he is like severely abusive to shilo like it's such a huge part of the movie I feel like it maybe becomes a bit too obvious to talk abt if that makes sense? like it's such a fact of life but whenever I start thinking about it for too long I want to scream like beyond the poison thing which like would be enough on its own the way he gaslights and hits her is literally scary and I just feel like a lot of that horror gets lost when he's depicted as like. sometimes not being in full control like it sort of takes away his agency and in turn a lot of the impact of his character, at least to me.

as for shilo like I said not many thoughts I'm mostly just interested in where she'd go post movie like I said I want her to start a shitty band I feel like that could heal her. also want her to lose the wig like idk could be symbolic maybe 👍

[eternalglitch]

Any tips on writing characters?? I’m currently writing a fic and I’m struggling anytime it’s not Mikey or Leo. I tried to write Donnie but it’s just… something’s not right. In my opinion, you did BRILLIANTLY with writing characters!! So yeah if you have any tips I’d be very happy to hear! -Sherbet

Part of the answer is simple practice and study. Particularly reading a lot of books with protagonists that behave in ways you personally would never.

I find that people tend to behave all the same; they have a primary want(s) and they try and accomplish that. The rest is just their particular ways of expressing those wants, their likes and dislikes, what kind of weight they put on different things when making choices, and so on and so forth.

I can't really use Donnie as an example because Donnie is actually the closest character to my actual personality, and is thus the easiest character to write for me. So for this example... let's go hard mode, let's say I'm doing a chapter with Big Mama. (My nemesis in writing. I love her but writing her makes me SWEAT.)

First up, her core. I'd assess that she wants wealth followed by power/control. Most moves she makes are to gain one of those. Either she directly gets monetary benefits in an interaction, or she gains power or the upper hand over someone. It's also good to note less important preferences, like food or clothing or TV shows, if you know them. The character might reference them or think about them.

Next up, how direct or indirect of a character is she? Extremely indirect. She'll say a lot of things, but there tends to be layers underneath what she is saying that is what she actually means unless she is in a position where she already has power and can demand something. She'll also straight up lie (or, at least, tell everything BUT the truth.)

She's also quick to follow logic and is rather intelligent. This will help in judging how she can respond to OTHER characters and if she will catch onto other people's emotions and if they are telling the truth.

After that, I'll note how past experiences might influence her; perhaps she's a bit more wary of leaving herself open to sabotage from Draxum, or maybe she has underlying anger that Splinter ran from her. People take notes from what they have experienced and that will reflect in their decision making processes.

Now, the hard part for particularly this character. Physical body behavior and speech patterns that instantly clue in the reader that this is that specific character. Watch for any common tells. Big Mama leans back on desks and walls a lot. She'll cross her arms as a more closed-off character. She has "siren eyes" particularly around Splinter. And she has very specific speaking patterns and made up words in her dialogue that I have a screenshot folder for whenever I am trying to write her for reference.

I also change the actual writing depending on who is narrating. Donnie's POV will be more factual. He'll take in more details of the surroundings, give more details about technology he is using. Mikey will be more interested in facial expressions. If I was in a Big Mama POV, it would ALSO be facial expressions but with an undertone of "how do I use this against them?" as well as where people are standing in case a fight breaks out. Donnie's tech might catch her eye and be given far more details than if, say, Leo or Raph was narrating. They would just note he has tech and move on.

So... yeah! That's my "break down a character" process I kind of go through mentally when starting to write a new character. Hopefully something in here helped!

[ciboriaadastra]

It's Blacktober, so I'm gonna be brave and drop all the Black headcanons I currently have for DC

Putting it under a read more because I added a lot more notes than I originally thought I was going to.

Dick Grayson — Afro-Romani. Nicknamed Cricket because he was a super skinny kid with ADHD who chattered almost nonstop

Jason Todd — Afro-Filipino (3rd generation). Nicknames include Jay-Jay, JT, Jaypee (spelled exactly that way), PJ, and Peter Poppins (he brought an umbrella to a cookout once because the forecast said it was gonna rain, somebody made fun of him, the nickname stuck). Jason Peter Todd just sounds like a name that's simultaneously Black and Filipino idk. Black Millennial name + I swear so many Filipinos are named Jason, especially in the U.S. They named him Peter after St. Peter (he doesn't have to come up with a Confirmation saint and name himself like I had to...man, Jason would be just old enough to get the sacrament just to die the same year.)

Selina Kyle — Eartha Kitt is my live action Catwoman. I need not say more.

Harvey Dent — Black mama and white dad. Old folks who knew him exclusively called him Junior, never by name. Harvey Dent just sounds like an old Black man's name too, like I'm pretty sure a distant cousin on my dad's side is called Harvey. Also, I never see Black characters as mob bosses, so I'm gonna lay my grubby little hands on him. I actually wrote a whole essay on the social commentary that could be explored if Harvey was a lightskinned Black man, but I'm gonna keep that to myself for now.

Minhkhoa Khan — Mom is Black, Malay, and Filipino. Dad is Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai. I don't have nicknames for him yet (I'd also have to find an excuse for characters to give him any </3)

Walk with me on this one. I'm imagining this haircut as curly on top with a fade rather than just straight hair with an undercut. I don't think he has 4 type hair; but if he did have 4b or 4c, he'd be the guy who'd laser focus on picking his hair so he can ignore you </3

For his mullet era, see Prince for reference. I think people only hate mullets because they're almost always seen with straight hair, and straight hair cannot emulate the sheer cunt that curls serve in every moment tbh.

Also, this just looks like a durag to me. Seems to be tied like one. Every time someone draws this head covering, it looks exactly like a durag. What does he need a durag for if not to keep moisture and protect his curl pattern?

He's also my personal win for the kingdom of Blasia.

Halo from the Young Justice cartoon — she's mixed Black to me. I think Qurac is meant to based on Iraq? So maybe she's Black and Iraqi. idk I just think Black Muslims should be seen more in media.

Everyone in the Superfamily — I read that one post years ago about how logically Kryptonians should be darkskinned if their powers come from absorbing yellow son energy (people without color reflect it instead) + someone else talking about Afro-Latino Superboy. I agree with all their points (don't ask me for either of these posts, it was three fandom lifetimes ago).

Zatanna Zatara — that one post on twitter fancasting Ayo Edebiri as Zatanna. I am walking together with that person. I see the vision. A win for #BlackGirlMagic. Give "Justice League Dark" new meaning (you can throw tomatoes for that one)

[luddlestons]

... do you think tiefling clothing needs to be custom-made? Considering the amount of variations of anatomy they can have?

We got:

Variations on Horn size and Shape. How would they get anything on over their heads?

Some tieflings get wings, I'm pretty sure. Back cutouts? Just straight-up backless shirt?

Some tieflings have goat legs, like a satyr or depiction of the devil.

Clothing probably gets expensive, I'm just saying!

If we’re talking about your standard medieval-era fantasy d&d world, most clothing was custom made in the analogous earth time periods, either by tailors or by family members who knew how to sew garments. (Usually women but if we’re doing fantasy, fuck gender!) Some basics were ready-made, but the wide array of ready-made garments we see in stores nowadays are more of a post-industrial revolution thing afaik. (I’m not a fashion historian or medievalist by any means, just a fantasy writer/artist who likes to sew, so more info is welcome here!)

In more specific fantasy world dynamic thoughts: I imagine some tailors would specialize more so in tiefling clothing than others, so you’d want to go to one who knew what they were doing, but I don’t know that it would be much different to an average person’s clothing budget unless you’re in an area where tieflings are particularly rare, the tailor is upcharging you for modifications to basic patterns, and you don’t have any time or resources to sew your own garments or modify one you already have.

I imagine that in a fantasy world like d&d in particular, tailoring would have to be more varied based on the sheer number of different common body types! While in our world, a 7ft tall person is uncommon enough that most tailors would never have one as a client, d&d has half-giants, orcs, and firbolgs, all of whom are regularly over 7ft tall. I would say same difference for gnomes and halflings being so short, but probably you could just use the same sort of scaling you would for children’s garments so that wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.

Tieflings, of course, land in the category of Extra Bits, like dragonborn, fauns, aasimar, and maybe others? I don’t know much about tabaxi, do they have tails? They ought to, right? (And depending on your lore I see people draw firbolgs and halflings with tails too!) And then you have tortles and aarakokra which are just different shapes ENTIRELY. Sartorial trades in fantasy universes would have to be WAAAY more varied, and that’s pretty cool to think about!

Oh but specifically for tieflings: for wings—I’ve seen designs that basically have slits with buttons or other fastenings that go above the wing so you sort of slide them on and then close them. I imagine you’d need a buddy to help you get dressed though, those seem like even more of a nightmare to do up unassisted than zipping up your own dress. Tails could function in basically the same way, just having a fastening above where they sit, but it would have to be very fitted to your individual tail, cuz if someone else’s is thicker or thinner and you’re borrowing their clothes, that looks like a Problem to Me.

Horns are probably the easiest to get around! You’d just need something that either buttons or laces up the front, has a very wide neckline, or that you can pull up from the bottom like a lot of dresses with fastenings up the back!

**forgot: faun-like legs/hooves would probably require either wide leg pants or SKIRTS! This is also what I use for my dragonborn who has legs shaped more like if a horse had claws and scales.

….this got very long. I think about these things OFTEN.

[adobe-outdesign]

thoughts on the horsea line? i love kingdra

For as complex as seahorses are visually, Horsea is ironically very simple. It has a seahorse's signature tail, an elongated noot-noot snout, some ridge-like structures on the side of the head, and a segmented cream underbelly accented by the single cream fin. The blue color indicates its water typing and the red eye draws attention to the face. It's a bit bland at this stage, but it sets things up for the evolutions and is pretty cute as well.

In Japanese mythology, seahorses are thought to be baby dragons that will transform if they live for a century (with their Japanese name literally translating out as "dragon's child"). Horsea's evolution references this with Seadra here. It's not super overt, but the shape of the head and the fins, the scales on the underbelly, and the "wings" on the back all loosely invoke dragons.

Visually, it keeps most of the same elements from Horsea minus the red eyes. The shape of the wings and head fins mimic each other, and the cream underbelly is now matched by cream only on the tips of the back fins, which breaks up the amount of blue a bit and gives the fins a sense of movement and somewhat naturalistic patterning.

My only real problem with Seadra is that I think it starts to be a bit too busy. The combo of two head fins and two back fins starts to become cluttered; it may have been better if they just stuck to one or dropped the head fins entirely. The circular nature of the tail also now feels a bit more at odds with the angular-ness of the rest of the design. Similarly, I think the vertical nature of the underbelly scales contrasts a bit against the underbelly color, which cuts straight across them in an unnatural way. None of these are major issues, obviously—its still a pretty cool design all around.

Out of the line, Kingdra's my personal favorite. While still a dragon, it actually includes progression in the seahorse front by advancing it to a weedy seadragon, a seperate-but-related species:

What I like about Kingdra is that it still mixes dragon elements with seahorse (or seadragon) elements, but it does so in a much more elegant and streamlined way than Seadra does. The various frills reference Horsea's head fins, but also serve to form a pair of dragon-like horns. Meanwhile, the shape of the head invokes the long whiskers Eastern dragons are known for. It also still invokes a dragon's scales, but this time by simply including some lines over the body instead of individually drawing them out. It's beautiful, it's easy to read and understand, and it looks powerful.

My only nitpick is that the more saturated colors, while beautiful, do make the orange underbelly stick out. It might've made more sense to make the eye orange instead to draw the color through, seeing as Seadra already lost the red eye anyway.

All of that said, I do have to point out one thing: to me, it looks much less like a Seadra evolution, and much more like a Horsea evo. Horsea has red eyes as does Kingdra, but Seadra looses them; Horsea and Kingdra have one light-colored back fin, Seadra has two primarily blue fins; Horsea and Kingdra are all smooth curves while Seadra is all spikes. Horsea and Kingdra have smooth lines for scales, Seadra's scales are ruffled, etc. etc.

In that regard, I kind of feel like Kingdra and Seadra would've worked better as branching evos from Horsea. Kingdra to me looks more like an Eastern dragon while Seadra looks more like a Western, so it makes thematic sense. Likewise, Horsea has a simple design that's not super invocative of one species, which then would lead into it evolving into either a seahorse or seadragon. Obviously it's not a big deal that it doesn't, and it doesn't ruin the line; it would just make more logical sense to me. (Also, both could be dragon/water with different stat distributions; it feels weird that Seadra is a dragon but lacks dragon-typing.)

Kingdra also has this beta design, which is worse in just about every way. I will say that it's a bit easier to see how this evolved from Seadra (elements like the blue back fins becoming a cape, the head spikes being kept, the progression from seahorse -> seahorse/dragon -> Actual Literal Dragon, etc.), but the realistic dragon head feels very out of place and doesn't fit well with the body. I'm glad they refined this one some more.

Overall, this is a solid line. I do think the progression could've been a bit stronger in terms of how the line is structured, but the actual designs are all very nice and the theme is clear. Now all GameFreak needs to do is actually pay attention to them once in a while.

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 28 of Harrow the Ninth

We are now following up on the earlier scene with Dulcinea

What are we meant to read between the lines here? That Abigail has hidden them somewhere? I don't think they can have been sent back, since no one has the shuttles still. It's interesting that the Fourth teens seem to be non-characters in this recounting, considering they are definitely dead

She knows what coffee is, and what it smells like, but tea has too much flavor for her. I also note that Gideon didn't think the tea tasted strongly at all in the first book, but was unfamiliar with the concept of a hot drink. I'm really unsure what conclusions we're meant to come to about the Ninth House's hot drink situation here

How did she verify that event? Since there was no one else there when it happened and she saw both of them jump off the ledge into the ocean, how could anyone else have verified that for her? Or did she just wait for a while and see if she bumped into either of them later?

Actually, now I am wondering if the reason she kept Protesilaus's severed head in her closet without telling anyone for multiple days in Gideon the Ninth was because she wasn't sure if him coming apart had been real or not, and similarly didn't have any outside verification until Gideon found the head and brought it to Palamedes. So maybe when she told Palamedes she thought that he had been in on it, she didn't actually think that but was just using that as the reason for not telling anyone. i think commented back then that it wouldn't make sense for her to think that, as she thought at the time that Palamedes and Dulcinea didn't know each other

So, Abigail gives Harrow this piece of paper based on the fact that Corona has died (or something), and doesn't seem surprised when Harrow reads it, and later hypothesizes that Harrow is haunted. I'm not sure of the connection between Corona dying and Harrow being haunted, unless Abigail has some meta-knowledge that this is a fake memory and the pattern of who is dying in these memories is significant. Also, this is the second time in these memories that Abigail gave Harrow a piece of paper to read, so maybe she suspected that Harrow was haunted earlier as well?

This is kind of interesting, because it's not like they ambushed her this time. She got up and walked into their room alone of her own volition, and it never is made clear in this scene what she did that for in the first place. She didn't decide to tell them about Mayonnaise Uncle and Corona until after she was already in there

Ok, there is getting to be a lot of pronouns and also unquoted reported speech in these and it's hard to keep straight how many people there are here. Let me try:

[1] will remember the first time [2] kissed [1] -- [2] apologized -- [2] said, [2] am sorry, destroy [2] as [2] am, but [2] want to kiss [1] before [2] am killed, and [1] said to [2] why, and [2] said, because [2] have only once met someone[3] so utterly willing to burn for what [3] believe in, and [2] loved [3] on sight, and the first time [2] died [2] asked of [3] what [2] now ask of [1] [1] kissed [2] and later [1] would kiss [4] too before [1] understood what [2+4???] were and all three of [1+2+4] lived to regret it -- but when [1] am in heaven [1] will remember [2]r mouth and when [2] roast down in hell [1] think [2] will remember [1]ne

[2] has already died once and at least expected at one point to die again

[1] and [3] are/were "utterly willing to burn for what they believe in"

If these notes follow the same continuity, then possible [1] is the speaker in the earlier notes and [2+4] are the addressees of the second note, and [2] is the addressee of the first note and [4] is "him" in that note

[3] seems to be someone new

"she" from the second note doesn't seem to be in this one anywhere

So assuming that neither [1] nor [2] are the same person as "she" from the second note, there seem to be at least five people here, one female, two male, two undetermined. If we go along with the idea that these people are John + original Lyctors + a fifth person who is probably [1], then we can at least conclude that Gideon the first probably isn't either [2] or [4], but since [3] seems to be in the past at this point, he could be a Lyctor who is dead now, possibly. Or maybe "he" from the first and maybe second note is Gideon the First and [2] is John and Gideon the First isn't in this note at all. [4] is maybe Augustine?

Ok, like, forget about whatever is going on with Harrow's hallucinations, what on earth is this about?

It is true that Harrow didn't start having hallucinations until after she opened the Tomb, so possibly she is being haunted by the Body? That would make sense, since the Body is in so many of her hallucinations. So is the Body the person writing these notes? We can guess that she might be A.L. and obviously has something to do with John

Also, Magnus seems to think something about this is old news. Does Abigail habitually go around suggesting that people or things might be haunted? Or has Abigail been talking with him nonstop about how how Harrow might be haunted?

[tekatonic]

Hiya! So I just stumbled upon SEGAU and I gotta say, I'm hooked! Like, I'm very confused, but it all looks so cool! You said you were okay with questions and I want to know more, so here we go!

Is there anything in the early story (Sonic’s origins, meeting Tails, Project Shadow, the like) that has significantly changed from canon? I can't think of any other questions right now, so we'll start with that.

YES the first ask about it !!!! Heck yeah ! Sorry it took me a full hour to write this up I have a lot to say !

Let's see, the answer is Y E A H.

First of all lemme explain the basic chaos energy setup I have going on, it'll help. ( this ended up being VERY long feel free to skip the bullet points... )

So every person has a different way that chaos energy flows inside them, that's called chaos flow. There's different chaos flow categories with type distinctions based on if you have special powers and how strong they are, but let's forgo types for now because that's not that important, here are the categories !

Dormant : that's the base category, most everyone is born like this, with a stagnant chaos flow, and within their early childhood it's usually fixed into their definitive type ( which can also stay dormant ), important to note : just because you're not dormant doesn't mean you will have any special powers listed here !!

Passive : slow swirlies in your flow ! very stable ! the kinds of powers you can get from this are "internal", mind powers essentially, for example Rouge can read people's thoughts ! This is also the flow pattern that can give you a summonable item like Amy's hammer, those are called chaos objects.

Active : not stable ! the flow is sparking and bursting all throughout, and that's where you'll see most people with form changes, but not only like Super forms, also like what Tails, Cream and Knuckles do : shifting their body parts ( wings is the standard ). And this is where you'll see Shadow's abilities to externalize and shape chaos energy ! Shadow is just REALLY good at it.

Hyperactive : super rare, and for good reason, because it is like solar flares inside you all the time, and a lot of people with this one are born into it instead of developing it normally, and that's NO GOOD because newborns are NOT made to handle that and most of them will unfortunately not live for very long :( Silver is alive though !! Hyperactives tend to have faster everything ever.

and last up, Conditional : this is the rarest flow category, there's like 10 people in the world at once with this, aaaand Sonic is one of them. Basically this cycles multiple flow patterns, and can potentially use abilities from all available flow patterns. The problem with this is it's so rare and unpredictable that if you were ever to have a medical issue related to your chaos flow... well, good luck.

I lied there's another one but there is only one person that has it and it is Amy :)

Okay maybe I explained the basics too much... Are you still with me ?

So yes, let's get into backstory. The first thing you need to know is that GUN is very bad ! No good at all !! And they have a lab. Terrible things happen to children in there.

Anyway, little Sonic happens to be born and have conditional flow. Uh oh ! This is the perfect base to go off of to create a potentially perfect being ( aka Project Shadow ) ! Eventually they decide to move the project to the Ark, and poor 4 year-old Sonic with it. Unfortunately ( or fortunately ) for the little guy, once Shadow starts happening, they kind of forget about him, leading to Sonic being in suspended animation on the Ark for 38 years straight, secret to the world. Until his capsule gets ejected mysteriously and it lands on Christmas Island.

Of course, present-day Sonic does not remember a lick of this. Shadow doesn't know either, they were never in the same room together. Sonic was basically an unnamed research paper at that point.

38 years later and in fact 9 years after that, that GUN lab STILL exists... until little Amy, who also got caught by the GUN baby-stealing ninjas, absolutely blows it up and off the face of the world and walks away to meet with destiny.

---

Alllllright that's probably enough lore for your ask ? Sorry this is SO long and complex to say such a simple thing about Sonic being the basis for Shadow, haha...

A thing to note, I am fusing some games together here, the logistics are being worked on, but for example, CD and 06 are fused together, which means Amy meets Sonic during Sonic 2, just a little later than Tails !