#the real answer was because I just thought it would be funny to hold onto for some reson when I was a kid

[awkwardsonicphotos]

Cyber-Flight has your answer dotheastro. 

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[iiovserii]

Daddy’s Home — Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again. Even if it meant sharing her with you. (3.1k Words) Based on this prompt

warnings: angst, slight smut, violence (including the disposal of a body), emotional manipulation, toxic relationship

authors note: this was inspired by one of my prompts from around a week ago and i’ve been holding onto this bad boy for about a week considering it’s my first ever fanfic i’ve ever wrote..i just wanted it to be perfect 😭 in my prompt i said something about the reader being sweet but she’s a lot more firey in this because the real miguel was an asshole who was never home..but i hope you all enjoy anyways! i was hoping to create this into series so if you want to be added to the taglist let me know 💖 i’ve also added the translation at the end just because 🤷‍♀️

Link to the Ao3 ver instead!

Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again, even if it meant sharing her with you. You were littered through Gabriella’s file, a pretty hard person to miss considering the fact that you were there for every single moment of her life—the sweet cooing voice in each video of her as a baby, the delicate hands that held the small, chubby fingers as she took her first steps, and the laughter that arose from behind the camera as Gabriella pulled a funny face.

This Gabriella was the perfect fit, however perfect came with a mother that was alive and well. It was a package deal in this universe, a love intertwined with filial devotion that Miguel would just have to deal with.

But he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that was buried deep in his chest, even as he watched a memory of Gabriella’s first goal (a favorite of his), which was originally only celebrated by him, now being replaced by Gabriella shrieking excitedly as she ran up to her mother, throwing her arms around you in triumph.

Moments like these, so special for his little girl, fueled his deep hatred towards you. It was watching these memories where Miguel genuinely wondered if he was even present in this universe. Nevertheless, staring down at his own lifeless body made him realize just how right he was.

What was he doing outside alone, in a dark alleyway on a Friday night anyway? Why wasn’t he home with his daughter, with his wife?

Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he began disposing of the body—a man too selfish and weak to even protect his precious daughter. In the end, he got what was coming to him, or so he told himself to keep from feeling guilty.

He didn’t care for details, knowing he was here now to pick up the pieces of a broken family and restore it to something he could finally have a second chance with. He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the jingle of a ringtone coming from his new phone. Swiping the phone from his pocket, he didn’t even stop to waver whether or not he should answer as he saw your name flash on the screen, rolling his eyes as he pressed accept. He pulled the device up to his ear, resting it on his shoulder and cheek as he listened to the sound of your voice.

The first thing he noticed was how tired you sounded—were you waiting for him to return home? He could imagine you laid on the sofa, eyes nervously glancing up at the clock at any given moment, a silly housewife awaiting her husband. He almost felt bad for you; it was pathetic that you would really allow yourself and Gabriella to live like that, always waiting.

He ended the call swiftly, making up some stupid excuse about how he caught up with work and would be arriving shortly. Pretty much in character for the man he just suffocated with his own hands, not raising any suspicion for you as he heard the sleepy yawn telling him that you’d be asleep by the time he got back.

However, despite the dark act he had just committed, he was willing to go to great lengths to win Gabriella's heart again. If putting this ring on his finger and pretending that the woman on the other end of the phone was his wife would grant him another chance with her, then so be it.

He wouldn’t mind playing house with you, as long as he was able to hold his daughter in his arms once more.

He felt disgusted even calling you 'wife', but for Gabriella's sake, he knew he needed to play along. It wasn't like it mattered anyway since your daughter worshipped you so much more than him.

He didn’t need you, he knew that.

However the thought of Gabriella’s eyes as they lit up when you walk in the room seemed to tell him otherwise. She needed you.

He hated the way the house was never quiet, there was always something happening.

You were making dinner? There had to be music in the background as you traveled around the kitchen, humming and singing along to whatever tune was playing on the speaker. That soft velvety voice seemed to flow through the house, and it killed him inside that he wanted to hear more of you.

Gabriella was playing outside? Well you were playing outside as well, it wasn’t like you had a choice, having being pulled away from whatever you were doing to entertain the small girl.

You had everything running like clockwork—cooking dinner while managing homework and playing with Gabriella at the same time—all without seemingly breaking any sweat or becoming frustrated.

Miguel couldn't help but admire you for being able to handle everything so seamlessly. But deep down, he still felt resentment towards you for taking over what should have been his role as the sole parent of their child.

He’d notice small things, like the way your hands flew to your face when you were shocked, it was sweet at first, until he realised Gabriella also did the same, she never did that before. He had noticed it one morning when he stood in the doorway of Gabie’s room, not trying to make his presence known as he watched the two of you play, and the scowl on his face didn’t go unnoticed as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, wondering what he looking at so intensely.

It took him the first couple of weeks to get used to your laugh, you were always laughing. It seemed to rub off on Gabriella as well, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her laugh this much, even before.

Miguel tried his best to ignore the feelings that arose in him at the sight of you playing with Gabriella, and sometimes even joined the two of you whilst you played your games. He couldn't help but feel envious of how happy the two of you looked together, reminding him of moments he could have had if only things had gone differently.

Despite these feelings, it wasn't long before Miguel began to see a different side of you. A side that made him realise why Gabriella adored you so much.

One day while cooking dinner, he noticed your eyes lighting up as Gabriella told a story about her day at school. You were so invested in her words that for once he felt like an outsider looking into your world.

He also witnessed moments when Gabriella fell ill and how tirelessly you took care of her; staying up all night by her bedside until she fell asleep or gently rubbing Vicks on her chest when she was coughing painfully.

It was moments like these when Miguel started to question his assumptions about you and wondered whether maybe—just maybe—he'd been too quick to judge.

But as much as Miguel tried to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had buried something deep inside him. He couldn't let go of the resentment he felt towards you for replacing his role.

He started focusing on every little mistake you made, criticising your cooking and getting angry when things didn't go his way. Every time you laughed or smiled at Gabriella, it sent a pang of jealousy straight through him.

"She's too attached to you," he huffed, standing beside the bathroom counter as you both prepared for bed, "you can't even leave the room, and she's already wondering when you'll be back again."

"Well, maybe if you were around more often, she wouldn't be so reliant on me," you retorted, the soft glow of the bathroom lights casting shadows on your face, your voice laced with frustration.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned in, reaching for his toothbrush, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course, it's all my fault. Because you're just the perfect parent, aren't you? Always there, always available."

"You know what, maybe if you actually made an effort instead of criticizing me all the time, you'd see the bond we have is because I've been there for her when you weren't!" you retorted, your voice rising, the sound echoing against the tiled walls.

His tone grew more defensive. "I never said I was perfect, but at least I'm trying now. You could at least acknowledge that."

A mirthless smile crossed your face as you leaned against the bathroom counter, facing each other in the confined space.

"Acknowledging your half-hearted attempts doesn't erase the damage done, Miguel. It takes more than just physical presence to be a real parent."

The tension hung heavy in the air, the scent of toothpaste mingling with their argument, as the bickering between husband and wife intensified. The wounds of the past were reopened, and neither was willing to back down or see the other's perspective.

As the heated exchange reached its peak, you turned on your heels, ready to storm off, your frustration boiling over. But just as you took a step away, Miguel's hand shot out, firmly gripping your arm. The air tightened between you, the coolness of the bathroom tiles beneath your feet.

The grip on your arm only tightened, his expression a mixture of frustration and a confused longing. "You don't speak to me like that," Miguel growled, his voice firm. "You are my wife, act like it."

“You are my husband, I expect the same from you,” you snapped back, your voice dripping with defiance, refusing to back down as you swatted away his hand. “And—I will speak to you however I want.” The sound of running water from the faucet filled the silence.

A flicker of amusement crossed Miguel's face, his eyes tracing your determined form. He had underestimated your strength, your fiery spirit. Despite the frustration that lingered between them, a newfound admiration stirred within him.

"Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca," he mused, his tone tinged with a mix of fascination and curiosity, the steam from the shower filling the bathroom. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.”

The intensity of the moment had rendered you momentarily speechless, steam rising in the bathroom as the warm air surrounded you both. But you managed to find your voice, albeit in a whisper, the sound barely audible over the running water.

"Now that's not fair," you murmured, the dampness of the bathroom clinging to your skin, your voice filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. "You know I don't understand what you're saying..”

A slow, mischievous smile curled at the corners of Miguel's lips, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as he leaned in closer, the scent of shampoo and desire filling the air. And as your lips lingered so close, the unspoken desires between you both grew stronger.

“Good.”

The man currently asleep beside you, was not, to absolute certainty, your husband.

His features held a resemblance to the man you once knew, but there was a striking difference—an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes, he looked at you like he didn’t know you.

His hair fell differently, it looked more clean compared to the tousled mess due to work. You would've sworn he had a small crease in the corner of his eyebrow, but then it disappeared along with the mole on the side of his neck.

He smelled of citrus and leather before, a smell that made you turn when he walked into the room—you knew that smell more than you knew yourself.

Instead now, all you could smell was warm spice and amber. It almost made you smile when you smelt it on him as he walked past you that morning, a couple of weeks ago, until you realised that was the fragrance you got him last Christmas, the fragrance he said he hated and never wore.

The bed, too, felt subtly different beneath your weight, as if it dipped just slightly more than it used to.

It made you feel like your heart was tearing apart. On one hand, he was paying more attention to Gabriella, and she was thriving because of it. He took her to all the soccer practices, played with her and held her so tight that you’d think she’d pop.

You’ve never seen her so happy.

On the other hand, he was hardly in your presence. He hadn’t touched you for weeks, not even a kiss. The most he had done was argue with you, mostly about how close you and Gabriella was.

However, one thing that you couldn’t help but notice was the dark look in his eyes every-time Gabriella’s attention shifted toward you.

He was hardly around before, always at work, the gym or drinking with his co-workers at the bar across from town.

Nowadays it was hard for him to leave you and Gabriella alone.

Not to mention, it was like he grew twice in size. His shoulder looked broader, the veins in his arms popped, more defined. He could basically pick up your seven year old like a feather. Had he been working out more?

You shift on your pillow, eyes glancing down at his heaving chest as he slept. The only time he didn’t look so tense recently was when he was asleep. So peaceful.

You couldn’t help but reach out and dance one of your fingers on the side of his torso, quietly humming some annoying tune that wouldn’t leave your mind that morning.

"What are you doing, Gatita?" he quipped, unable to suppress a soft chuckle that escaped his lips, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you squeak.

As you tried to pull your hand away, Miguel quickly caught it in mid-air, his touch exerting a gentle but firm hold. His finger lightly pressed into your palm, a subtle reminder of his presence and it was almost like he was showing his desire to keep you near.

“What, don't you like touching your husband?" he playfully remarked, mischief dancing in his eyes. His gaze deliberately traveled down your body, as if savoring the sight before him.

Rolling your eyes and pouting, you couldn't resist the urge to make a bratty remark. "Well, it's not exactly enjoyable when the husband is such a pain in the ass." you huffed, your tone laced with a hint of childish defiance.

Feeling his firm hold on your hand, you let out a whine at the tightness. It was as if he was purposely trying to keep you close, unwilling to let you slip away. The intensity of his grip only fueled your frustration.

That’s an air between the two of you. You just couldn’t put your finger on it. The way you desperately try to search in his eyes for something, anything, that would tell you that the man you’re looking at, is, really your husband. The man you’ve spent nearly eight years with.

It’s almost like he’s trying to breathe you in, the way he looks like he’s trying to piece together your features, it makes you wonder if he even knows a thing about you.

The weight of the impending moment made you fidget, your fingers nervously playing with the edge of the bedsheet. You were acutely aware of the lingering tension between you and Miguel, and you attempt to find a way to wiggle your way out of his grasp.

A timid sigh escaped your lips, as a sense of unease settled upon your shoulders. "Gabriella will be waking up soon," you whispered, your voice tinged with a flicker of concern.

A cruel smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, invading your personal space. "Is my little wife hiding from me?" he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery. “You know she’s not getting up for at least another hour.”

Your eyes darted nervously between him and the door, your mind already jumping to potential escape routes. You couldn't help but wonder if he was purposefully trying to push your buttons with his words.

"I just don't want her to-," you began to stutter, but were cut short as Miguel's grip tightened further on your hand. "Don't worry about Gabriella," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “She’ll be fine.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation; it stirred something within you that you couldn’t quite explain. Within the eight years of your marriage, he had never made the room feel so..heated.

You gasped at the sensation of his lips pressing into your neck, sending shivers down your spine in a wave of desire and guilt. All logic told you that this was wrong, yet there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to give in to the heat that bubbled within.

As Miguel's kisses grew bolder and more insistent against your skin, you couldn't help but writhe beneath him.

His groan reverberated through your body, stirring something deep within as he whispered against your ear "I know I've been a bad husband," punctuating each with another kiss along the length of your jaw.

"Miguel-" Your voice trailed off into a soft whimper as he shifted so that he was hovering over you, one hand moving to fondle at the curve of your hip while the other tangled itself in your hair.

"But I'm here now," he murmured between kisses before ducking back down to press his lips onto yours once again. The taste of him flooded through you even as he reached up under-shirt slowly caressing and teasing you, making sure not too much display signs of pleasure.

As the heat continued to build between you and Miguel, he began to part your legs, eliciting a soft gasp from deep within as his intent became clear. You felt his lips curl into a knowing smile at your reaction as he watched your mean facade fall away.

"Mmm," he hummed in appreciation as his eyes roamed over every inch of exposed skin. "Looks like my little wife isn't all mouth after all." He teasingly remarked before lowering himself once again so that his tongue could trace patterns along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

The sensation left you moaning softly in pleasure at the skilled touch, completely lost in the moment. It wasn't until Miguel's fingers found their way back up to her hips that you realized just how much control he had over this situation.

"You know what?" He said with a smirk pulling back to look at her face before diving down for another heated kiss "I think maybe have to put you in line more often."

You wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

eng translation:

1. “Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca,” — "If I knew you were so annoying, I would have left you a long time ago, doll."

2. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.” — "The things I would do to silence that beautiful mouth of yours."

3. “Gatita” — Kitten

[ghcstao3]

based on the addition of this because i think it’s silly

-

It didn’t look my different from the other tapes, and that’s about as far as Ghost’s defence goes.

Dated and labelled accordingly as is every other tape in the box Ghost had unearthed while digging through his old things, he hardly thinks to be deterred by something titled Tommy’s wedding—it sounds perfectly normal, a happy glimpse into a life Ghost misses dearly from time to time, and he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t show Soap what had been recorded of a great memory.

The tapes were the only way Soap would ever get to know the Riley family, and Ghost supposes the wedding would be the perfect captured moment.

Except, whoever penned the label on the VHS thought it’d be real funny to betray the organization system just to play some practical joke on whoever decided to put the tape into the player more than a decade down the line.

Normally, Ghost might blame Tommy—but once the incriminating footage begins to play, the fault is obviously on Beth, because no one else would have ever had the need to see this tape in particular.

Soap immediately curls back into Ghost’s side as he returns to the couch, content to watch as he had all the other tapes Ghost had decided to show—a gentle fondness is inscribed into his expression as grainy chatter fills the space, a soft smile on his lips as a camera is shakily—and stealthily—set up in one of Tommy’s old mate’s living rooms.

Ghost frowns. Because distantly he recognizes the scene as Tommy’s stag, and not at all the wedding.

Though, he supposes, to lend credit—the precursor, ceremony, and reception could very well all just be mashed onto one tape. It’s what Ghost presumes, anyway, until he hears playful jeering and the clunky click of someone pressing play on a CD player.

It happens too fast, and realization comes much too slow as Tommy and a younger Simon appear just off-centre of the screen, entirely unaware of the camera pointed at them. Simon hears the first notes of the song and scrambles for the remote—only to find that Soap is holding it out of his reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he seems to come to some sort of revelation, too.

Ghost narrows his eyes. Commands, voice low, “Pause it, Johnny.”

Soap grins. “Don’t think so.”

It’s too late, anyhow.

Ghost is well and truly fucked as the Spice Girls’ Wannabe filters through his TV’s speakers. He’s never been so mortified.

He wishes he could melt into the couch along with his shame, watching his brother and younger self dance to the song in the same way they’d choreographed when the thing first came out. As stupidly drunk as they were at the time of the video playing on screen, Ghost is surprised they remembered any of it at all.

Any being too much, of course.

Soap only pauses when the song comes to an end, looking to Ghost expectantly, biting his cheek to surely keep from bursting into laughter then and there.

Ghost refuses to look him in the eye.

“We were pissed,” Ghost grumbles. “Bachelor party.”

“You still remember the dance?” Soap goads.

Ghost turns to glare at him. “Johnny.”

“What?” Soap’s face twitches. “Just a question. Of which you didn’t answer.”

Ghost folds his arms petulantly across his chest. How he wishes Beth were still around so he could get revenge for this embarrassing incident. Beyond embarrassing, really.

“No, I don’t.” Yes, he does. “A word of this to anyone and you’re dead, Tav.”

“Aw.” Soap folds back into Ghost’s side, and Ghost could never deny the way he softens, even if just a bit. Soap trails a palm from Ghost’s bicep to his forearm, almost soothing if his only intention wasn’t to tease. “You don’t mean tha’.”

“I do,” Ghost insists, but really, he’s always been a bad liar.

Soap shakes his head. “Nah,” he sighs. “But… I won’t tell anyone, swear. So long as I get to see you do that dance—otherwise this tape is getting rewound and shipped to Gaz with the VCR.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Mhm,” Soap hums. “But only out of love, see.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He plucks the remote from Soap’s hand and presses stop, not wanting to risk any more condemning footage appear. Perhaps he’ll have to start going through these tapes by himself first, from now on.

“Well, out of love I’ll let you live. How’s that?”

Soap smiles up at him, reaching up an arm to pat Ghost’s cheek twice. “Might be able to convince me.”

Ghost huffs. Convince he must, then.

He knows Beth and Tommy would’ve found this hilarious, the pricks.

In another life, he supposes.

[quodekash]

yeah so im gonna make my silly little commentary posts for we are sometimes but not all the time

he stared at his friend's water and started smiling like a fucking idiot 💀

h2o just makes him giddy like that 🥰

also I genuinely fucking adore Pham and Fang's dynamic, they care about each other so much (I might cry)

I JSUT FUCKING LOVE HIM SO MUCH CAN YOU BLAME ME

im sorry, i cant get over the fact that q fuCKING SANG SOUND’S SONG FROM MSP IN THE THIRD FUCKING EPISODE OF THE SHOW

HES JUST SO SMOL I FUCKING ADORE HIM SO MUCH DUDE

here to pick up his twink

HES JUST SO SMOL THO LIKE CAN YOU BLAME ME???

I JUST WANNA RUFFLE HIS HAIR AND PINCH HIS CHEEKS HES SO FUCKING ADORABLE

i think i just really love satang cos during msp every time sound was on screen i lost my shit and now every time toey is on screen i lose my shit

btw i fully had to rewatch that entire scene, i was entirely focusing on satang’s little adorable fuckin face that i forgot to read and process the dialogue lmao

his expression is like “did you bring me here to do your chores, or are you gonna be honest and just say you want to makeout"

the real answer is just that he wants to spend time with him btu doesnt know how to do that normally 💀

(and also that he wants to make out with him)

WHY IS EVERYONE SO FUCKING SMOL TODAY

HES TINY

HES THIS BIG 🤏

OML IT HAPPENED FOR LESS THAN HALF A SECOND BUT I PAUSED IT AT THE EXACT PERFECT MOMENT

I genuinely adore accidental kiss tropes in bls, its just so unrealistic its fucking amazing

[insert image of phum's friends walking in here (I had to delete some of my screenshots because I can only do 30 and I dont want to do more than one post for this)]

AND THEN HIS FRIENDS WALK IN, CLASSIC

it's so awkward and I am LIVING for it

people in bls always walk in at the WORST possible moments and its AMAZING

THIS WHOLE SITUATION IS SO RIDICULOUSLY FUNNY TO ME

phuwin’s character trying to cook is so me

and also my sister, one time she was making spaghetti bolognese for us for dinner and she put way too much salt, and then to attempt to solve the problem, she put water into the pan to "evaporate the salt" 💀

the best part is I didnt even realise why that wouldnt work until my brother started laughing

anyway, back to the ep

WHAT DRUGS ARE IN THIS EPISODE TO MAKE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING CHARACTER SO BABYGIRL

THEYRE ALL SO SMOL AND ADORABLE AND BBG WHAT IS GOING ON

HES SO TINY

Youre fucking KIDDING

IM SO SUDDENLY INVESTED IN THIS MAIN COUPLE

THAT WAS SUCH A SUDDEN SWITCH BRO

literally last week I was like "yeah okay I like it" and then suddenly im on the verge of tears when they make physical contact???

[insert image of pun eating]

PUN !

MY LITTLE GUY

I ADORE THEMMMMM

oh fuck yes I love this friendship already and it just started

AND CHAIN'S GETTING JEALOUSSSSS FUCK YEAH

they look like tired dads fr

is phuwin just fuckin short or is pond like 3 metres tall cos holy shit

LOOK AT HIM

SMOL BITCHES

EVERYONE'S FUCKING TINY TODAY

woah he really just went for it there

HOLY FUCK HE SAID YES

TAN IS LOSING IT HES SO HAPPY I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

great frame

[insert that entire scene with the jump onto him and the holding hands and the FUCKING CHEEK KISS]

HES MY LITTLE FUCKING GUY

HES SO NEURODIVERGENT AND I ADORE HIM

KICKING AND SCREAMING MY FEET RN

he's jealoussssssss

I love pun so much, I truly would die for him

Welcome back to another episode of Toey Thinks Peem And Phum Are Dating (And He’s Right)

Im gonna be completely honest, if pond looked at me like that, id probably do whatever he tells me to without a second thought

thats all im saying

LOOK AT THAT LITTLE FACE

HES SINGING THE FUCKING ABAAB SONG

IM CRYING DUDE THIS IS AMAZING

ARE THEY JUST GONNA SING SONGS FROM OTHER BLS FOR THE QHOLE SERIES? IM FUCKIN DOWN FOR THAT DUDE

this song is so out of winny’s range tho 💀

so fucking SMOL

also chains hand just always naturally rests on pun’s shoulder

literally all the time

what im saying here is I think they should kiss

HE DIDNT JUST GRAB HIS WRIST HERE HE GRABBED HIS HAND ERIJKGBNREJB HOLY SHIT

Cool! 👍

im glad they finally got there

FUCK YES NEXT EPISODE WE'RE GETTING THE SCENE FROM THE PILOT THAT MADE ME LOSE MY SHIT

PUNCHAIN FOREHEAD KISS AND QTOEY CHEEK KISS BITCHES

okay now I just have one final question before I take my leave: what the FUCK was the song playing in the background of the qtoey scene near the end of the episode

it was just electric guitar and I KNOW recognise it but I cant figure out what fucking song it was (literally I finished the episode at like 1:30 but didnt go to sleep til 3 because I was trying to find the song)

so please, if ANYONE recognises it and knows what it is, tell me as soon as you can cos Im fucking dying

update: a moot is pretty sure the song played over other qtoey scenes earlier in the show (the same way msp did with noelm) so now im fuckin PSYCHED for the new song that’s gonna come out eventually

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slenderman x Reader || Oneshot

Plot: You and Slender have had a big fight, and broke up. You’re both done. Things are just too hard for you both, to stay together. You’ve broken it up and made it up more times then either of you care to count and you just cant do it anymore. You want each other, you need each other, you love each other more then anything else- But you’re giving up. You think its right thing to do.

Now, watch Offender, who is definitely the least knowledgeable man on earth about love, talk to his brother and fix this. 

Warnings: Angst (Though I tried to put some comedy in there!) with an insinuated happy ending. Also, obviously, Offender.

Tagging: @ladala-shihiro , @miss-understood , and @yesthetrashbin . I hope y'all like this! ^^

This is a work off my old blog, @mainstreambaddies , remastered ^^ I was reminded about it talking to @marinerainbow ^^

“So, then-” You clear your throat, holding onto the handle to your suitcase, standing out on the porch. Slender's still inside the house, but the door is open. “This is done, now?” This has been done so many times before that its hard to believe that this is really over this time. You almost can’t take it seriously, like you should. Like it is. Like you know that you'll wish you had when you remember it tomorrow morning. You peer up at Slender with a smirk, though, because you just cant. “Not gonna meet me at the edge of the forest again?” Like he’s done the last, what, 70 times?? Apart from those times that you stopped and realised you love him, and ran back for him, of course. 

Offender sits on the couch, just inside the mansion, seemingly reading the dirty parts out of some of Slenders books out of immense boredom, when he hears what’s conspiring feet from him. Promptly, he decides this is much more interesting and stops reading. He doesn't put the book down, so as to look like he's reading and not eavesdropping, but he most certainly is.

You get the feeling there would be a stiff, taught, no teeth kind of smile on him if he had those kinds of features. He’s standing in the doorway, with his arms crossed-not like he’s annoyed, or expecting something; More like he’s in thought, holding himself where he is. Together, and most importantly- still.  “... Mm, no, not this time.” His voice is dull. “We discussed this already Y/N. This is final.” 

“I know.” 

“But we have said that before though, haven't we?” 

As always, he can read your mind without even actually reading your mind. 

You take a deep breath, and let it go. One of the many things you’ll have to let go. 

Because you have to. 

Because this is the last time. No more. You couldn't do it again,... and you wouldn't want to. Its too hard.

Offenders interest, and doubts, are thoroughly perked. What have they been discussing?? What do these two think they know?? What’s happening?? He rolls over onto his stomach on the couch to look at them, before pushing himself up onto his forearms. “Wait, what're you two doing?” 

Slender flat out ignores him, while you give him a funny little look before looking back at Slender again. It hurts to say these next few words. God, its beginning to sink in- this is over. “So... I’m going now.” You love him... but its over. You couldn't do it; There were just too many obstacles in your way and you couldn't hack it.

Why couldn't you just figure it out?

“Okay.” 

As you nod at him one last time, in the most awkward final goodbye that anyone has ever witnessed in real life or on TV, Offender cringes. 

“-Hey, nobody answered my question. What are you doing?” Panic is starting to set in for real, as you leave, and Slender makes no move to follow you, or waive, or say anything else. He just watches. 

What is this?? Anyone with even one working braincell can tell that these two are more meant for each other then any other so-called fucking 'romance' in history. What is this!?

Panicking even more, Offender wants to go and catch you before you get away, but instead of the graceful chase he was intending to give, he manages to get caught trying to escape the couch and tumbles off of it and hard onto the wooden floor. Its not been waxed in a long time. He’s going to have splinters in his face, for sure. 

At least this gets Slenders attention, who stops watching you leave for the last time, and turns to look dubiously at his brother. It proves as nearly a distraction from his heart burning in his chest, so he’s eager to get to the insults. “... Are you starting to age? One of the first signs is loss of coordination, so you may well be. If you start to lose your hearing, do let me know. I’m next, after all.” 

“No, I’m not starting to age, you spiteful little dick.” Offender, again gracelessly, gets up from the floor and fixes his coat, before stomping over to Slender with a firm, angry finger pointed. “I was disoriented, by the bullshitery happening a few feet away!” 

Slender's voice is still dull, but in a difference way now. Tired. He just wants to go to his room and sleep for 11 weeks. His heart feels like its oozing out of his rib cage. Like its become liquid, and it’ll never be better again. This is too much, he didn't sign on for this, this is one of the many many reasons that humans are foul, loathsome creatures he shouldn't bother himself with, fuck- Why didn't he listen to his own goddamn advice?

He tries to perk up, though, for the sake of one of his favourite kind of digs. “Oh, is Jeff home?” 

“Can you stop playing around for a couple zeptoseconds and talk straight with me, pixie boy?” 

Ah, ‘Pixie boy’. Slender’s been waiting for that little nickname to come back around... not. Offender named him that as Slender's attitude really began to blossom as he grew up, because he resembled one of those little, spiteful, tricky fairies that humans go on and on about stealing their firstborn's, and such. Like Slender would ever want anything with a snivelling little infant. At least not a living, one- And he wouldn't bother leaving a replacement.

“No, shan’t. And can’t. Good day.” Slender makes a yawning sound, genuinely tired even not counting the disgusting heartbreak rushing like sepsis poisoning through his veins- from arguing with you all through the night before you came up with your very sensible conclusion, to end things. Offender watches, in complete disbelief and exasperation as Slender turns his back on him and heads through to the kitchen. 

“Bitch, if you think I’m gonna give up that easy... “ Offender mutters to himself, as he rolls up his sleeves for emphasis and goes after his little brother. 

-Who hears what was just muttered, and enquires about his supposed consequences, if he did indeed think that Offender would give up that easy. Cheekily. “Hm?”

“Then- you’ll-... be sorry-” Slender laughs quietly, and Offender gets the idea that that answer is not the right one. He also wants to punch him, but what else is new. “You will be... you will... you’ll be sorely mistaken, young man!!”

Oh, fuck. Offender thinks. I’m starting to sound like Splender. Except somehow less intimidating. Goddamn.

They travel through the mansion until Slender gets to his room. He slams the door closed right before Offender was to walk in after him, gets a frustrated swear in response, and is met with a big brother to the face a second later, when Offender teleports right in front of him. 

Slender sighs in utter discontent. 

Without a word, though, he veers around Offender and heads for the left wall of his room, which he’s converted into a makeshift kitchen. So that he can have tea and breakfast, without having to venture into public eating area and see people. He fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove, using a tentacle to turn the dial. He doesn't turn back to Offender, just stands at the stove and watches the old fashioned, open topped kettle. 

God, he’s diminished. Its taking all he has to keep up the front he has, now. He takes a slow, deep breath in. Why did he do that? Why did he end it with you? Slender suddenly feels the urge, physically, to move forward and get you back, even if he has to beg on his knees, but-

Slenders shoulders slowly, gently drop again as he lets out the breath. -but, he cant. He wont let himself. 

This is the best, for both of you. 

Mostly for them. Slender cant help but add on. Because, its true. He wants nothing, quite like he wants for you to be happy. If it meant his own destruction, which it apparently does, then that's what he'll do. He'll make it happen. He'll suffer.

“Tea?” Slender pipes up, starting the conversation this time himself, surprisingly. Offender looks at his back with a mix of ‘I don't know what to do here’ and that rare bit of ‘help him’ that always seems to come tearing out of the deepest parts of him when his brothers are in trouble. He had been reading Slender's thoughts and now he understood what his little brother was thinking- but it was still dumb as hell. And he refuses to take it.

His voice is cold, but his words give him all away, when he speaks next. “I want you to know that if that’s what you really think, that you’re both- that they’re, gonna be better for this, then you're delusional. But I know that you don't listen to anyone else, so yes. I would like tea. Thanks.” 

It relaxes Slender a little knowing that Offender knows where he stands. That he doesn't have to nail into his brother how fixed his mind always is on things, like he has to with nearly everyone else who thinks they can change his mind. They cant. No one has that ability and its quite exhausting proving that over and over. He supposes that's one thing his idiot brothers are good for.

He nods in response, the slightest bit of relief dripping off his forehead. 

The next few minutes are silent, except for the eventual question of ‘Earl Grey or English Breakfast?’, and the response of ‘Irish’. The silence continues, until Slender pushes a cup into Offenders hands and then finally, finally rests down in an elegant chair and table that looks out on his beloved forest. There’s another chair, which Offender finds home in, as Slender looks depleted with his shoulders hunched forward, his fingers tight around his cup, and his gaze on the window. Or, what’s outside, of course.

Seeing this, what Offender can only construe as a look of longing- he tries again. “So... you... don't wanna make up with Y/N, because...?” 

Slender sighs, giving in to the conversation. Any other day, he’d fight it till the cows came home, but today... he just doesn't have it in him. Too... tired. He shifts his focus onto the dark, milk-less void of in his cup and slowly, shakily lets go with one hand to trace the edge gently. “I want off this rollercoaster, Offender. Y/N and I... we don't do anything but fight. I love them, somehow- but I’ll live forever, while they wont. They deserves to spend their limited amount of time in peace, and they wont get that with me. That's just... how it is. That's what we have seen.” 

“You know it only feels like you fight all the time, when you’re fighting... that's normal, bro. There’s plenty of time when you and that kid are freaken… merged like black holes.” Oh, wow, that is not a bad analogy. Okay- “That must be why you’re hurtin’ so much now.” 

“Black holes stay around for a long time.” Slender tells him immediately, and Offender hates him in that moment for knowing about space.

“Okay, bad analogy.” 

“Yes.” 

Frustrated again, Offender puts his tea firmly on the table to arouse attention. “Alright, new angle. It will come as no shock to you that we’re about as evil as that devil bastard himself, yes? We’re absolute turds next to the fucking gold crapping angel that is Splender, and the charity funder that is Trend.” Slender shifts, at that. Yes, that’s true. But does he needs to put it so unflatteringly? “ -Yet, that sweet, probably hallucinatory human out there in the forest fell in love with you. And you, with all your crusty, hates-every-damn-thing-ness, fell in love with them too. Love! You! Do you know how crazy that is? One in 7 billion. And that's with normal fucking people. Why the fuck are you letting it disappear???” 

“Its for the best-” 

“That kid, that mortal person, out there, is the best thing either of us could ever have hoped to deserve and you stumbled upon it! Now, you think you can just let them walk away?? And, also, what makes you think you're capable of that, anyway?” 

Slender brings the tea, shakily to his ripped lips. This is starting to annoy him again, so he takes a deep breath. “...- ” 

“You’ve never been able to do it before!!” Offender mildly rages, exasperated, as he stands up, letting his chair squeal back behind him. Slender looks up, to see his face over his tea. “Okay, okay. One last thing. Tell me, Slender. Can you stand to wake up tomorrow, and feel absolutely fucking empty? Because that's what's coming. You’re going to sleep peacefully all night, without a turn or even a snore escaping you, and you're gonna wake up and for a second you’re not gonna remember. But this ain't somethin' you can sleep off. You're gonna hurt, its probably gonna feel like you're dying, and its gonna be all your fault. You gave away the very last thing, that you should have.” 

At the mental image that penetrates his mind and, god forbid, his heart, Slender physically winces. Nearly looses hold of his cup. 

Offender just watches him for seconds, calming down from his outburst... before shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and pushing back his shoulders. Hopefully, that did it. Hopefully, that's enough -Besides, all this caring is starting to give him back pains. He desperately needs to go do something bad. Maybe he’ll hit up the streets. 

Before he teleports away, Offender doesn't quite catch sight of the way Slenders tea gets set down on the table. His body convulses ever so slightly, at the realisation of how fucking wrong he is. 

Then in the next second, Slender's gone, too. 

[cookie-nom-nom]

How to Kidnap Bruce Wayne in 6 Easy Steps

The Batfam decided to have a nice evening together. They had it all planned out. The Joker was JUST put into Arkam, Harley and Poison Ivy were having a date night, and they sent the Riddler a 5k puzzle piece, so they should have a few hours. Hopefully.

But then entered...the comedian. Not a knockoff Joker, mind, an actual comedian serving as the entertainment for the night. The kids were running a bet on the odds of Bruce laughing. Not actual laughter, naturally, but how many fake laughs Bruce would decide to manufacture. Dick maintained it would be 8 times at most, despite what the others thought.

And then a PowerPoint presentation started, with the words Bruce Wayne emblazoned behind the comedian. "Brucie Brucie Wayne. Local philanthropist, runner of jobs and charities and orphanages. Gotham's number one eligible bachelor if and only if you like kids. But Ladies and Gentlemen and Folks, I'm here to tell you otherwise. Because this right here? It's alllll a mask. I know the real Bruce Wayne, and I have the proof to reveal his secret identity."

Bruce was very carefully keeping his eyes on the performer, refusing to acknowledge the eyes latching onto him, or the occasional covert elbows.

The comedian dramatically flourished the remote and changed the slide. A stock photo of a man littering had Bruce's face crudely photoshopped over it popped up. "See! A menace to society! And I have an extremely reliable witness who swears that the recycling bin was three feet away. Tsk. Some people just want to watch the world burn. Which maybe I'd be okay with since we Matched on Tinder, and yet not a single spark despite how much chemistry we'd have!" A wall of unanswered Tinder messages of bad pick-up lines and far, far too many winky faces filled the screen, all sent to a profile claiming to be 'Bruce Waine'. "This MONSTER left me on read! Can you believe it? Ghosted. And that definitely isn't on me, because my Mom says I can make anyone swoon. Who do you trust between the two? Wayne? Some millionaire who could never relate to your everyday experience?" The slide flipped between Bruce suavely dealing with paparazzi and a sweet older woman. "Or Mom, who can make wonderful potlucks, whereas we all know the Wayne Manor has nearly burned down on three separate occasions thanks to Brucie trying to use a toaster!" Technically all villain attacks, but the public needn't know that.

The Wikipedia page's list of philanthropic acts and charities sponsored by Bruce Wayne scrawled across the screen, the comedian gesticulating wildly. "All this?? PROPAGANDA! This is what he WANTS you to think! When in reality, he's a two-faced, duplicitous, littering, puppy-kicking monster who REFUSES to answER MY TEXTS, IT'S NOT HARD! I'M FUNNY AND HOT AND--!" The comedian paused in frothing at the mouth, as if suddenly realizing the audience was there. They straightened, pointedly adjusting their collar. "We all know the true darkness that lies behind his friendly, ditzy, sexy façade. And so our goal is simple: we are going to kidnap this menace for the wellbeing of Gotham (and my love life)."

Step 1: Become an orphan.

"Alright, the first step of Plan 1 is simple. Now that you're an orphan..." the slide changed with a silly transition animation.

Step 2: Irreversible and extensive surgery.

"Now this step is a bit expensive but-" they feigned a surprised face at the protests in the audience. Planted, no doubt. "I'm sorry, what's the hold-up? We don't have all night! This is literally the first step and you already have questions?" The comedian gestured wildly in the direction of the Batfam. Bruce narrowly avoided recognition thanks to his fondness for sitting menacingly in the shadowy corner of the room. "Seriously! There're KIDS in the audience! They're far too young to know how easy it is to get tragically orphaned at a young age and left with no stability and an empty hole in your life to be filled with grief, rage, and fear!

"Sheesh. Some people have no consideration for the faint of heart. Think of the children! Literally, think of the children you will be infiltrating." A flick of the remote and Step 3: Infiltrate an orphanage popped up. "We all know the easiest way into the Wayne household is adoption. Now that you've gotten extensive surgery to appear like a child, the hard part begins.

"Little is known about the entity known as children. I have put together research to aid in your mission. You need to know how to walk, how to dress, how to speak. Do you know what rizz is? Can you dab on command? One mistake and you're dead. You can fool the hearts of men, but children will rip a poor performance to shreds. I should know, I was bullied severely on the playground every time I tried to bring up the question of what the deal with airplane food is..."

The comedian went on, detailing the absurd plan to trick Bruce Wayne into adopting them. It hinged entirely on the fact he was a well-known moron. The Batkids found great glee in piling on the jabs as the comedy bit went on. Step 4: Marketability analyzed the various personalities and attributes of the Batkids to extrapolate how to lure Bruce into adopting the infiltrator, highlighting key traits like 'small' 'looks like a drowned cat' and 'a glare that is really terrifying for a baby to have'. Bruce found that portion almost tolerable, given some of the kids turned upon one another in something akin to a feeding frenzy. But it wasn't long before the full brunt of their teasing returned upon him as Plan 1 concluded with Step 5: Buying rope and duck tape while not looking suspicious and Step 6: Using flower language to apologize (for the abduction).

"...Alright. So, maybe you don't have the funds to shorten the length of your leg bones. Or maybe you don't have black hair and blue eyes. I get it, re-dyeing is messy. If Plan 1 is infeasible for your budget or lifestyle, then I've kindly considered a second revenue of attack."

A massive picture of Batman filled the screen. The crowd descended into mayhem. "Oh don't tell me the entire audience believes the butts match! We're conspiracy theorists here, but I thought you had STANDARDS!" It was possible Bruce's face was going to freeze in that perpetual rictus. Dick waved a hand in front of him, not sure when he last blinked. "Come on people! They're clearly different people. Which is why I'm going to recruit Killer Moth to do a little crime. All the funds that would've gone to child surgery can now be injected directly into the criminal underworld. It's basically the same thing our taxes do but faster! I've thought this through. Killer Moth will do anything for a price and you won't like actually be in danger. I mean, can you imagine dying to some D-tier villain? Cringe. Anyway, this is your 'in' with Batman. He saves you and it's all very heroic. And then you start chatting, maybe get his number; it's going great. It's been a few months of him rescuing you over and over again, and hopefully you haven't died or whatever. At that point you bring up Bruce Wayne. I mean he's getting kidnapped all the time! It has to be incredibly inconvenient for Batman, and he deserves a break for all his hard work. So the next step of this plan is to convince Batman to kidnap Bruce Wayne..."

.....................................................

The comedian paced backstage during intermission, rehearsing the next segment. It seemed to be going well, a good-sized audience. There was one group in the back that was particularly uproarious, save for one adult in the center. But then, the comedian was suddenly surrounded by children who seemingly melted out of the shadows. "I don't think you are supposed to be back here. Are you lost? Do you need help finding your parents? ....wait, shouldn't there have been guards...?"

"Didn't see any," Tim shrugged. Hard to, when they were strung thirty feet up in the rafters of the auditorium. "Anyway, we've just been adoring your act. Our Dad? Not so much, though."

"Eh, can't please them all. Some people just put celebrities on the craziest of pedestals."

"More like he's listening to someone ramble about trying to kidnap him." Beneath a mask a mile thick, Dad was writhing in mortification.

The way the stages of grief so clearly filtered through the comedian's face was fascinating to watch. "..........Bruce Wayne is in the audience?" they asked weakly. "Like. Right now? Watching? Waiting to ambush me with lawyers?"

"Dad's in the bathroom." Batman was desperately out on patrol to avoid his family's heckling.

"Actually, I don't think he's caught on that you're talking about him yet." Jason grinned evilly.

"Man, I heard he was a bimbo but I didn't know it was that severe. My condolences, truly. Thank god the second half of the interview is about trying to plan a dinner date that doesn't get ruined by supervillains. I do NOT need him coming after me for slander. Uh. You aren't offended, right...?" They could not afford any type of lawsuit. Or controversy. The comedian stuck to petty Twitter bait, not actual problems.

The hoard of children beamed. Suddenly, the comedian realized the exits were cut off. A teen's arm looped around theirs, another surprisingly firm grip across their shoulders. "Nah. Actually, we had some suggestions. How'd you like to do a live interview...?"

.....................................................

"Alright folks, you're never going to believe this, but during the intermission I was cornered by children. It was terrible, I was having flashbacks to second grade..." an artistic shudder. "But thankfully, these ones just wanted to harass me after listening to me ramble about trying to seduce and/or kidnap their dad for the last half hour. Can we get a big welcome for the Wayne kids! I'd introduce them but they all look identical to me!" A fantastic roar of applause at the sudden special guest segment. "Luckily, these kids have graciously elected to let me interview them so that I have better data to act on when trying to kidnap their dad. And is he in the audience still...?"

"Nope! Still in the bathroom. Has been for thirty one minutes."

"Either he needs to see a doctor or he's locked himself in again. How often does that happen?"

"At least twice a month," Jason grinned. It wasn't an infrequent excuse to explain disappearances.

"One wonders how he survives. I like that in a man. Now, quick question. Which of you is the cutest?"

"Damian!" the hoard chorused. The youngest one snarled at once, rounding upon the others. The comedian scrambled away in what was unfortunately not a particularly exaggerated fashion. There was pure murder in the twerp's eyes.

Luckily, three brothers restraining him appeared to be enough. "Don't worry he has his rabies shot yearly," one smirked.

With cautious steps, the comedian approached where Damian was being dangled like a baby kitten. A few moments of examination, and they delivered the verdict that Damian was, in fact, a precious baby boy. The child hissed nastily. "Look at his beautiful eyes! Adorable. You could just get lost in them. Which is why I plan to print out approximately 30k pictures of this child and plaster Bruce's entire room with them. He'd never be able to leave, absorbed in his adorable adoptee."

"I'm his only biological offspring!" Damian snapped, literally. Dick had to jerk out of the way to avoid losing his fingers to the chomping child. "And that would never work!"

"Really? Doesn't he keep little picture rolls of you and corner near strangers into cooing over them?" The comedian is passed Bruce's wallet by Stephanie. "Wait, how'd you get this?"

"I took it from Dick, who stole it from Jason who stole it from Tim, who took it to reprimand Damian for stealing it from Dad."

"Wow, he is not observant in the slightest! I feel even better about my odds now. Oh, would you look at that, countless pictures..." They pulled out a roll. And then kept pulling, and kept pulling, the camera roll beginning to puddle at their feet. It was almost like a clown's handkerchief, save the fact the string of photos was sturdy enough to be used as a rope if needed. More than one of Gotham's rogues had been captured under the guise of Bruce rambling about his children.

"How much can he fit in one wallet?!" Something metallic clanged to the floor of the stage, and the comedian held up a pair of expanding handcuffs for the audience to gawk at. "Well well well, looks like I have excellent taste in men. Wait, there's also some pepper spray. When in Gotham, I suppose. Wow that's a concerning number of pocket knives...and approximately 2k in 100 dollar bills-- well isn't this scarily similar to the list of supplies I recommended in step 5! What, did he just hold someone ransom? Wait. Oh my god, that's how he made all his money. It's guilt that makes him a philanthropist! And all this time we thought he was perpetually haunted by his dead parents! WAIT." The comedian let the crowd howl, periodically interjecting as they paced the stage with grandiose graveness. "I have had an epiphany!" The laughter finally petered out, the comedian allowing the silence to linger. "Guys," they said, deadly serious. "If he made his millions kidnapping people, and I kidnap him....does that make ME Bruce Wayne???"

Batman had to dodge jokes from his kids for weeks afterward.

[seneitut]

omg, I adore your fic!! it was such a nice read. felt so bad for yoru though 😭😭 justice for him

“Redemption”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[Yoru/Reader] [Gekko/Reader]

Words: 2.6K

Tags: Fluff, Jealousy, Cheating (Sorry Gekko), Introspection.

(Okay, this is long overdue and my partner gave me this idea so im sorry for the gekko lovers out there!!!

This two-shots can be taken as individuals stories or a continuation if you'd like. Is up to you!

The third part will a lil bit longer and to spicy things up it will have the nsfw part for the yoru lovers! :])

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

Having no family, friends nor prospects of a lover in Yoru's life made things easier to deal with when the First light happened.

He expected to die, to burn with the rest of the world and disappear as if his life were the flame of a candle, snuffed out of existence and into oblivion—but none of it happened. There was crushing pain and muffled screams while his body morphed and reconstructed times and times again for a new host.

The alterations on his body were an afterthought though, too caught up with the sudden rush of memories from a time he doesn't remember living and powers only he could barely understand. 

There were samurais, there were katanas, people just like him riding horses into the woods and hollering in victory as another battle had been won. 

And then, he saw himself with a wooden mask, a reflection from a broken mirror and distorted with time, fusing until there was only one left: him, standing alone and heaving puffs of breath with difficulty while regaining consciousness.

The mask that was given to him, popping into existence and onto his bare hands, proves that whatever dreamspace he went into was real.

Was it on purpose, or an accident? Not having a clear answer as to the whys and whats, he decides to carry it and use it to chase after its purpose.

The powers that were handed to him, to his relief, compliments how he strides in life now: with carefulness and abrasiveness.

It keeps him safe, in some sort of way, to distance himself from the whole world and out of the spotlight with the many risks it holds. Despite feeling like the main character with the many shit that happens often in his life, stepping down from the top is refreshing, a weight lifted off his shoulders, if you may. 

Because from afar things are easier to deal with.

And it was supposed to be like this, for the rest of his life. Being a loner was his trademark, an asshole to the core and hiding his true colors from everyone’s sight. The purpose of the mask became a secondary thought after the many months roaming the world in search of a truth he couldn't see; and fleeing from everyone began to be his main characteristic instead of his abilities.

No one would be able to hurt him if he escapes from confrontation, and no one would be able to break through his self-imposed walls if he never faces them.

He would not be vulnerable in front of anyone for as long as he lives.

Until you came through. 

Is funny, though, how things developed until his feelings weren’t able to be fooled. Yoru has tried many times to distance himself from your being, impossible to do if you were often forced to interact thanks to Sage’s requests. Whether training or just doing some paperwork together, he inches closer to you despite the clash of his emotions and denial of his own affections.

But it’s not like he complains, although he’s made colorful nasty comments whenever you were in the vicinity as a way to keep you at arm's length, it was all a façade, a trick to keep you on your lane because, deeply, he enjoys your company to a fault.

And somehow, his actions never deterred you from striking conversation or just hanging out with him, despite the many obstacles he's put you through. Is almost like you don’t mind, like you understand the way he is without exposing himself, and he loves that.

He loves you.

You are not loud like Jett, nor as annoying as Phoenix. You are the middle ground where he can enjoy being with you without losing his composure and craves for your presence when you leave. And as much as he wants to avoid talking about what he really feels, there is a limit his emotions can handle until he bursts. 

“You are not the only one after them, rift boy.” 

Yoru should have taken those words more seriously if he wanted to pursue something with you. To approach you, to court you properly, to ask you permission to call you by your name in private, to ask for affection even if it embarrasses him.

Anything his culture taught him went straight down the toilet with one look at your eyes and soft smile, freezing him on the spot and making him unable to make a move on you. 

Whatever restraining he has is thinning the longer you talk to him, the more you worry for his well-being and look after him. You treat him with such care and love without disregarding or treating him as if made of glass, but with respect he thinks he deserves.

That only amos his need to kiss your stupid face until he feels like he can’t breathe anymore, perhaps take everything you can offer for him and give you everything that makes him Yoru. 

To give you the real person behind the mask, to give you Ryo, instead of Yoru. 

For heavens, he is smitten. He’s down bad bad. Phoenix would make fun of him and Jett would never let this die down if they were to know he’s been reduced to an enamored boy with your attention alone; but would understand where he's coming from. 

And with how bad he deals with his own emotions, Yoru thinks he would need all the help he can get to figure out how to transmit these feelings, and who’s better than his own comrades? Because, despite everything, they are his friends, right? He knows he doesn't need to say anything for them to notice how often he looks at you, how much he seems to crave your attention, how lost or upset he looks when you interact with others that aren't him.

But in the end, none of it was important anymore. 

You are Gekko’s, and Gekko is yours. 

When the news spread around the protocol, many reactions were found positive; some surprised him more than others, but the majority of the agents were encouraging of the relationship.

It was almost like the fraternization rule has been abolished or forgotten thanks to you two— but he thinks Reyna had something to do with it and her own relationship with Viper to make it advantageous for her protegé.

To his aid, and sympathetic as always, Jett was one of the few who didn't seem pleased with the newly couple, giving brief glances to his direction throughout the conversation unfolding at the meeting room and pursed lips whenever Gekko boasted about you.

Jett has made some sarcastic comments towards Gekko, but he knows she doesn’t wish him any ill and is only protecting Yoru from this enormous defeat.

She's pitying him, and it angers him that he cannot lash out and tell her to stop because he doesn't have the right. Jett has been nothing more than a good friend to him throughout the time he’s resided here, the least he can do is be neutral towards her reaction. There is nothing to be sorry about, and even if he was, which he isn't, it's entirely his fault for not shooting his shot on time.

However your relationship goes, it should be no longer of importance to him. And for that, distance should be made for him to move on and for you to go on with your life. 

Because from afar things get easier.

But you make things so hard to do.

“Yoru,” You call after him, waving slightly when he turns to the kitchen door, “I’ve made some dinner, would you like to eat with me?”

Is hard to say no to you. 

You chat to your heart's content, speaking about this and that with no restraint and running your mouth a mile an hour with no filter whatsoever.

That’s probably what he loves the most about you; the openness in your words and honest actions towards him, with no restriction.

It didn't help the fact that he knows you're not this open but with a few selected people in the protocol. And he, despite not caring at all about your relationship, knows that Gekko is not one of the few selected, but Yoru is.

He shouldn't feel proud of it because that is one side of you he gets to see but others don't. Gekko has the whole thing and it is a matter of time until your relationship develops to something more…intimate. Something beyond what he has with you.

Is painful to think about it. 

“Have you been good since our last mission?” you ask, blowing on your steamed rice. The duelist shrugs absently, toying with a piece of the stew on his plate. There is sadness in your voice, and he tries to suppress the guilt for ignoring you this long. “We…haven't talked since then. It's been quite a while.”

“I wasn’t injured badly,” he replies. “You, on the other hand, I don’t know how you’re standing without recoiling from pain.”

You laugh, a little nervous at his accusation, and his heart beats faster inside his chest, “Sage did a good job on me. But I still have some sore muscles and a few scars I won't get rid of. There is still some phantom pain, but I'm fine.”

“A few scars are normal.” He comments, eyeing your arm with the scarred skin. “It's hot.”

“Hm? What is?” 

Embarrassed, he coughs, “the food, uh, is kinda hot.”

“Oh! That can be solved.” Leaning in, you blow on the current serving on his fork, gentle, to not throw it off balance.

Yoru's breath gets caught on his throat, feeling his face warm at your actions. You smile at him, going back to your seat and wincing when a sudden burst of pain goes through your wrist.

“Sorry, I'm still not used to it.” You show him your arm, right where the worst of the wound had been healed. “The skin is still sensitive and sore, so it hurts a little sometimes.”

Grinning cheekily, Yoru leans, resting his head on his right hand. He knows this is a bad idea, “What, showing me this so I can kiss it better, little minx?”

Yoru wants to rip off his tongue, unable to keep his teasing for himself and regretting the words that came out of his mouth. The intention was never to suggest he do anything, but his mind twisted your action wrongly. You don't seem fazed, though.

“Oh! Can you do that?” Eager with the offer, you approach your chair next to his, invading his personal space and extending your arm to him. “I didn't know you had that kind of power.”

I don't, he wants to say, nervously looking between the offered appendage to your hopeful eyes. They are shining under the dim lights of the kitchen, awaiting for whatever miracle he is going to perform.

Yoru bites his lips, taking your hovering arm by the elbow and his hand intertwined with yours to keep it in place. 

This is wrong. This is wrong on so many levels, he fears anyone will walk in on this position and assume the worst from you, now that you are with Gekko. You don't seem to mind, acting as calm as possible while you wait for whatever Yoru is going to do.

It crashes on him how oblivious you can be sometimes.

“Yoru?”

Blinking owlishly, he leans in, lips brushing softly against the pulse of your wrist. You gasp when he kisses it, marveling at the delicate touch and swooning over something so simple like a little kiss from a comrade. 

When he backs away, he's met with your face inches closer to his, a soft blush spreading over both of your faces is impossible for him to not drown in the sight. 

Yoru gives into his wishes and closes the small gap, tasting your mouth against his for a brief second while chills run down his spine from the nervousness. Despite the food being salty, your lips taste like the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted in his life.

The kiss lasts like a lifetime, both of you melting into each other’s presence and taste, he can almost hear the fireworks bursting inside his chest when your mouths move together in this silent dance. You move your lips slowly and sensually, taking your time to map out every crevice of his mouth and giving him the chance to explore yours with the same intensity and want. 

Making some distance, he leans his head onto the other side, connecting your mouths again and deepening the touch until he feels his lips bruising. His hand finds your cheek, caressing your skin with tenderness, and holds you still. 

Your own hands travel up his neck slowly, feeling him shudder under your touch, and you hold his jaw gently to deepen the kiss. He shudders when he feels your other hand trace his arm slowly, from his elbow to his shoulder, rising goosebumps on its wake, and grabbing a fistfull of the clothing to ground yourself and deepen the kiss.

Is this what he's been missing out on? He questions himself, letting out a gasp when your hand tugs at the back of his hair. Is this what Gekko tastes everytime he kisses you?

Gekko...

Fuck.

Yoru takes distance so fast he thinks he might have gotten whiplash, finalizing the kiss begrudgingly and a panicked look on his face. His cheeks are still flushed after the make-out session, and that is such a sight for sore eyes in your opinion.

“Don't tell anyone about this.” he whispers, eyes looking down to your lips unconsciously. “I’m sorry.”

If you heard him, you don’t show signs of understanding. On the contrary, it seems that whatever trance he is under right now, it affected you as well.

Yoru backs away before he acts further without thinking; he's done enough of that already. 

Finishing the dinner is an easier task to do, to keep his mind occupied and not think about what the fuck he just did. Cleaning what's dirty is an excuse for him to not cross any words for the rest of the evening, too afraid you might ask him to never be close to you for his attempt. 

When he bids you goodbye, you smile softly and wish him a goodnight without mentioning what just happened. He is thankful for that, Yoru is not sure he is ready to process what he has just done.

The walk towards his room is quiet and quick, heart pounding inside his ribcage and a headache approaching with the promise of severing with how much he’s stressing over this.

Thinking about you, thinking about the issue with his feelings and the overall lack of restraint when it comes to teasing is giving him a hard time. The kiss made things harder to handle, because this act only severed things within your relationship with Gekko and himself.

Is it worth to keep holding onto this love when the person who should receive it is already in love with another man? Not to mention he just kissed you on purpose despite knowing you were taken already—no matter it was because of an impulse, the damage has been done and it was irreparable.

The answer used to be clear before this dinner. He was ready to give it up and move on, to embrace the fact that he lost despite realizing he didn't want to take that route.

The kiss gave him false hope and sealed his decision that he really didn't want to let go.

What a mess.

[bi-bard]

Mysterious - The Corinthian Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Mysterious

Pairing: The Corinthian X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 1,097 words

Warning(s): none

Summary: The Corinthian allowed himself to have the closest thing to a best friend that you can have. Even he doesn't know why he didn't expect them to have some questions about who he is.

Author's Note: Listen. I just thought this was kinda funny. The idea of the Corinthian having a best friend that really isn't anything like him makes me chuckle.

Also, I haven't seen anyone write for him. Which was honestly kinda shocking, but I may have just missed them.

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

Being friends with the Corinthian was such a strange but amazing thing.

Even after getting past the fact that he called himself the Corinthian and refused to call himself anything else, there were just so many mysteries. The fancy suits, the attitude, the way he seemed to disappear for days (he would go on to explain them as work trips).

However, after being friends with him for so long, there was only one mystery that I wanted an answer to.

The damn glasses.

All hours of the day, no matter the weather, no matter the activity. He was always wearing glasses that perfectly covered his eyes. At first, I thought it was just a fashion choice. But as I saw how protective he got over them, I realized that it was something very different.

Now, I felt awful for doing this.

This was my best friend- or as close as I had ever gotten to a best friend- and I should've been able to just trust him. But I needed answers.

"I have a peace offering!"

I grinned as I walked down the hall to my apartment. The Corinthian was standing by my door with a bag of takeout.

"How long have you been out here," I asked.

"Not long."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, that's not my fault, now, is it?"

I chuckled and unlocked the door. He passed me and set the bag on my table as I shut the door behind me. I had to walk around him to put my stuff down.

"How's your day been?"

"Boring," I confessed.

"That's what happens when you don't see this face," he replied.

"Ah, yes, what a lesson I've learned," I rolled my eyes. "So humble, aren't you?"

"Oh, of course," he nodded.

I chuckled. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Don't be an ass," I scoffed. He held up his hands for a moment. "Why do you keep the glasses on?"

"Because I look damn good in them."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You don't agree?"

"You're not telling me the truth."

"Then, what's your theory?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted you to tell me."

"Trust me," the Corinthian stepped closer to me. "There's nothing mysterious going on here."

I nodded before biting my lip for a second. It was time to do something very, very stupid.

“Sorry!”

I snagged the glasses off of his face and ran in the opposite direction. I was left with one option: jump onto the bed and hope he won’t follow me.

I held the glasses stretched out in one arm, holding them away from him, and the other pushed out to attempt to keep him away.

When I saw his eyes, my heart felt like it stopped for a moment. Instead of eyes, there were two small mouths. I wasn’t scared of him. I was sad. Sad for him.

He didn’t move past the edge of the bed. Something about the look on my face made him less jumpy, I guess.

“Who did that to you,” I asked.

“Not the reaction I normally get,” the Corinthian replied like he was trying to make some kind of joke. When I didn’t laugh, he sighed.

“Who did this to you,” I repeated, voice louder and firmer. “And what did they actually do?”

His jaw clenched and he tilted his head down for a moment.

"I'm a nightmare."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "I mean... sometimes you seem a bit grumpy for no reason, but I don't see that being a good enough-"

"Not like that," he stopped me. He stepped forward. "I was created in the realm of dreams. I was created as a literal nightmare."

I blinked at him a few times.

"I didn't want you knowing," he continued. "You're the only person that I see any real value in. I thought this would scare you off."

I was still processing. A nightmare. I wasn't even sure that I fully understood what he was saying.

"You were made to haunt people's dreams," I asked, trying to make sure that I wasn't being stupid.

"Yeah," he replied. His shoulders dropped when I didn't say anything else. "I should go. Just hand me back my glasses and you'll never hear from me again."

My heart dropped when he said that.

"Well, as long as you keep your mouth shut about- woah."

I jumped off the bed and quickly pulled him into a hug. There was a long pause before I felt his arms wrap around me. He let out another sigh as his body relaxed, hugging me tighter.

"I don't want you to go," I muttered, almost sounding like a child begging their parent not to go to work. "Please don't go."

"I won't, I won't," he promised. "Just don't make me leave."

"I won't."

I stepped back and grinned at him, holding the glasses out to him. Even if I did mind- which I didn't- it was his choice if he wanted to waltz around without his glasses.

"Thank you," he grabbed the glasses from my hand and placed them back on his face. "See? They make me look good."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him.

"You really don't agree?"

"Didn't say that."

He pointed at me. "HA! I knew it!"

I stuck my tongue out at him before chuckling and shaking my head. I looked at him for a moment.

"What," the Corinthian asked. I raised an eyebrow at him. "I can see the little gears in your head working. Now, what is it?"

"I just... I have some really dumb questions about the mouth-for-eye thing."

He let out a laugh. "Let's get a drink and I'll answer any question you want."

I nodded and walked over to the counter, getting two drinks together. I handed him a glass and he motioned over to my table.

"Alright," he said, relaxing into the seat across from me. "What do you wanna know?"

"Do you have to eat through them," I asked.

"Have to? No."

"But you can?"

"Yup."

"What's that look like?"

"I don't think you actually wanna see that."

"Okay," I nodded. "Do you... Do you brush your... eye-teeth?"

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, "I am too sober for this conversation."

"Come on."

"No, I don't."

"What are you actually seeing with?"

"(Y/n)..."

"It's a good question!"

The night continued like that. Stupid conversations. Like nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.

And really, that's all I could've hoped for. Because I still had him.

And that's all I wanted.

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

Author's Note: We. love. wholesome. besties. Even when one of them is a murderer.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[irregularcollapse]

One of the ones I had picked out you already answered but here's two more if you want to 😇: 💖🤩

Yes of course my dear!! These are interesting and I'm quite blabby atm

💖 What made you start writing?

i write because i love stories, and i know what stories make me feel, so i want to give that to other people. i write because i have things i want to say about love, and it's the best soapbox i have. i write because i love words and what they can do. i write because i love people, and i want to know people better, and i think that writing is the most i can give. i don't know if i fully understand the concept of love languages, but i think that if writing stories were a love language then that would be mine.

i started writing CaPri fic because i reread the books early last year (i first read them 2013-14ish) and they were fun. i hadn't been able to write anything in a few years; i was very ill, and then i got a hodgkin's lymphoma diagnosis, and then i had chemo, and then. then what?

the thing they don't really tell you about cancer recovery is that the all clear is not the all clear, because your body and brain still remember and it can hit you at the most random times in the most random places. i couldn't make my brain do what it was supposed to do: i couldn't focus on reading; i couldn't work my imagination; i couldn't write. i thought that nothing could be as bad as cancer, but actually, worse than cancer was the knowledge that i had lost stories. i thought i'd never get them back, and it would always be this reminder that i may have recovered physically but my biggest joy was gone, so what was the point?

on a whim, i reread CaPri. i was also taking a lot of baths at the time, due to chronic pain (physical recovery didn't last long, it seems). while in the bath, i'd watch Outlander, because i'd seen it before and it was sort of trashy and crazy and overblown. sidenote, when i first saw it, i gave up halfway through the third season bc it just got too absurd for me. anyway, i was taking Outlander baths, and then i also managed to finish a CaPri reread within a couple of days. it's a little bit funny that they are really not long books lmao but anyway

an idea sort of spawned, and then it sprouted, and then it grew. i was not expecting to be able to sustain it, but i always say that you should take inspiration where it comes and do what you can with it. so i did what i could with it. and i took the story where i wanted to take it. and i wrote about love: finding love, of course, a mythological and life-altering love, but more than that, learning to love yourself and reach the fullness of what you know you are capable of. it's more of a personal story than it may seem, and not even because i project onto Laurent all that much (i actually think i connect a bit more to Damen's insecurities, but i digress). because Laurent's story of self-actualisation was actually happening in real-time for me, as i was writing: while he was gaining his strength and finding his purpose and falling in love, i was also strengthening my writing; i was creatively purposeful once more; writing loved me back again. and like Laurent, i'm going to hold onto it with everything i have. i won't let it be taken away again.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

DAMEN. I love to write him from Laurent's POV; I love to get inside his head as well. His dry humour is especially fun for me, but I also think there is such meat in his anxieties and insecurities, and everything that weighs on him. I think people find it easier to recognise the peeling of Laurent's layers, and that for some reason they don't see Damen's so much: to show that happening in EIAT, the vulnerability he gradually allows that shows the building trust he has in Laurent, was one of the most intimate things for me. I'm absolutely loving the chance to do it again from his own perspective in ASTTE. It is once again a story about learning to love oneself, which means something quite different for Damen than it does for Laurent. I'm so keen to share it with everyone!

Thanks for these questions again <3 I appreciate you so much!

(Questions from this ask game!!)

[andillwatchh]

After reading it, what lessons you can take from THG trilogy?

Mockingjay deals with rebellion of the Districts toward the Capitol.

What lessons can we apply to current world affairs?

Thank you.

@curiousnonny

okay *takes a deep breath* hii thank you for the ask @curiousnonny! finally sitting down to answer this. for some reason i'm really nervous to jot down my thoughts on this one. i feel like i will never be able to cover everything i want and will end up forgetting some stuff but i'm going to try my best. (edit : so i might have gone a bit overboard... sorry for that)

i think the lessons and messages suzanne has conveyed through her books can be divided into parts. some are about how to act in the reality of these problems and, to put it in the most plainly way, to ingrain the good in our lives. whereas the others are about those problems and the harsh reality of our world.

one of the major things this series talks about is of course oppression and how necessary it is to retaliate against it. funny how people will straight away jump in and chant over those in books and movies, but then suddenly it's a different thing when it happens in real life, but that's for later.

this series covered a lot of grounds in relation to that. and sometimes when i think and correlate it too much to our world i go a bit insane about how uncanny it is because my god are they an accurate depiction of the wars and bloodshed and corrupted governments of our own kind. art imitates life, life imitates art.

for the current world affairs, i will mostly be associating my thoughts with the current situation in palestine, but also a few with what is now happening in congo, sudan, and west papua.

first :

how children are often exploited in wars by people in power. to either gain sympathy, support, or to induce rage, even though they don't actually care about them.

in the hunger games, we saw how the capitol used the districts children to hold on onto that fear they already have over them and remind them of their power. in mockingjay, we saw how president coin used the capitol children by bombing them to make every last of their citizens turn their backs against snow.

but we also saw how the capitol used their own children too in tbosas. how the government used their very students, who were still recovering from the war they went through at a very young age, to be mentors and be beneficial to the games, even though most didn't want to.

like arachne's funeral being blown out of proportion for propaganda use. how lots of the mentors mentioned that they felt used by the capitol for the success of the games. how snow himself even had expressed his weariness of everything that had been going on. how it was all being put on their shoulders, a burden most didn't want.

we see this case a lot too. how high governments preaching for "the safety of our children" or "for the well-being of the young generation" to sway the people's views when really, they don't care about them. they just care about the political goals they're trying to achieve or the societal condition they're trying to protect because it plays in their favors.

how people are able to put a blind eye against oppression and the fact that they are killing children

and in this context, genocide.

the capitol was broadcasting the games. they put it on tv, they made it a whole spectacle and a cause for celebration. you would think that the world outside of panem would step up and put an end it to it after realizing that :

"oh, the capitol has been annually killing 23 children each year for entertainment. and not to mention those who have died under their ruling because of now trivial solvable things like hunger and easily cured illness because of lack of medical resources from their government while they themselves throw up on purpose just to eat more"

but they didn't. and look where we are now.

israel has been occupying gaza for more than the past 75 years (on the Nakba in 1948). the civilians there has been living in an apartheid state (an article for further elaboration). they don't have equal rights on their land just because they were born palestinians. it has been described as an “open air prison”, so alike to the arena the capitol used for the games. how many news have you witnessed about the bombings in gaza before 2023? how many times has this happened, again and again throughout the decades?

thousands of men, women, and children alike are being killed from the attacks (and it's not even from the past decades, only from october 7th) , and over 1.7 millions have been displaced out of their own homes in gaza because of the occupation .

same thing with congo and sudan and west papua. they are currently going through a genocide too, but not a lot of protests or posts on that because not much is aware of it.

with social medias in the play, we've seen so many footages being spread around to show people what actually is happening there. these hurting civilians have had to put aside their mourning for the loss of their family, relatives, and friends just to make the rest of the world hear them. so many have had to put their injured children, brothers and sisters with missing limbs, and their people under the rubble just to make the media see them.

this is why spreading awareness is so so important. it's the least you can do if you don't have the means to donate or help in any other way. so many parts of the world is suffering and it's necessary to bring them to light. don't be like the capitol citizens, blinded by medias and glamorous shows that are being fed into us daily so we won't see what the actual problem is.

how propagandas and being control of the narrative play such a vital role in wars and conflicts.

just like how it is right now with what's currently happening in palestine. how so many journalists who were stationed there and risking their lives in the hopes of reporting the world on the crisis situation in gaza, are getting killed and attacked by isareli strikes left and right.

another thing i would like to point out, just because i can't get it out of my mind, is how imbalance the power that are being played. like that one chapter in tbosas. we see it loud and clear the significant difference in terms of privilege and who are holding the upper hand in the midst of all the pictures and videos being taken.

remember that part in tbosas when the capitol made arachne's death a major event? but really it wasn't about giving her respects or anything, it was to make a statement. what with making her tribute's punishment a public and broadcasted exhibition. they wasted money on all that when they were still on rocky ground with the economy. just to remind the districts what the capitol could do to them if they step out of the line and remind them of their assets.

the capitol were still capable of spending some to record and assemble that, while the districts are dying out of starvation and natural causes and them.

i have some thoughts, but i’m just going to leave it at how so many countries have played this too. maybe not so much the blatant and brutal part, but how so many of the governments have played the ‘victim card’ to show off to the world too, when they themselves are the root of the problem.

how power and moral superiority corrupt.

we see this in tbosas, mostly, because of the fact we saw it in the perspective of the oppressive government itself. when i was reading the original trilogy, i was wondering how they had come to make that decision and how could they justify it when, at the cost of it all, they are killing innocent lives. children, not even the adults in charge of the first rebellion themselves.

how does one have the decency to do that and not feel guilty? how could they not see how sick this is?

and that's because the capitol didn't see these children as people. to see them as barely above animals was already a rare case. they saw them as rabid, savages, scums of the earth.

they didn't see the loss we see through our third-person perspective because they don't think there were losses to begin with. they felt that letting them to live was already a good "mercy" to give and that these district people owed them. their death had no value to them, and their lives only did because it served them materials to live by.

we saw a lot of this too in our world. how great countries (*ekhem* western countries *ekhem*) have hold themselves above others and see minorities, people of color, people with different cultures and beliefs as violent. when really, whose side had their hands red first?

we saw this happening in the past that led to colonialism, genocide, ethnic cleansing, etc.

and we still see this happening right now too. everywhere.

for example, like the common views that arabs are dangerous or that muslims are terrorists, which can lead to the dismissing of what israel is currently doing to the people in palestine where the majority of the citizens are muslims.

the US government funding the bombs that resulted in these thousands of palestinian deaths and biden supporting israel on their inhumane attacks is just. you see where i'm getting at. (recent news on their "concerned" thoughts of the 4-day pause)

how the israeli forces can just attack al-aqsa mosque during ramadhan regularly and still able to do it and not get condemnation from lots of the western countries that powers the world. i can't find the recent numbers, but news from november 9th 2023 shows that they have bombed 66 mosques with partial damage to 146 others across gaza.

what are their justification for the damage and injuries? "that hamas are hiding in there", "that they are using it as headquarters." and they can still continue to do that too, bomb sacred places and desperately needed sites with that excuse as a shield for all their atrocities, if this does not stop here.

which leads us to,

war crimes

the capitol bombed an entire district, killing almost everyone there. and they bombed a makeshift hospital in district 8—that's a war crime.

according to the WHO, 39 health facilities have been damaged since the war began (and that's from 20 days ago).

al-shifa hospital, al-quds hospital, al-rantisi hospital , the indonesian hospital. where patients, casualties, and premature babies are.

not only that, they have also bombed schools (including the UN school in the Jabalia refugee camp). i don't even need to explain how this is a place for children to learn and they bombed that too.

Other than mosques, they have also bombed churches (one namely the greek orthodox church, the oldest in the city)

they bombed refugee camps, evacuations routes where they had told the citizens to flee. they have used white phosphorus to bomb gaza, a weapon illegal to use even in wars.

people have cried reading and/or watching katniss' speech to snow after he had ordered for the makeshift hospital to be bombed because it is powerful and incredibly moving to see. it was a spark of the rebellion, and people love rooting for fictional characters overthrowing the government and getting the justice they deserved, especially if said government hit too close to home. but that is fiction.

but when they see real people actually living under tyranny and having their homes being bombed, and citizens being killed every 10 minutes, lots of the same people just look away, refusing to acknowledge it. prefer to turn into a "safer" program instead. when what's currently happening isn't fiction and there are actually CASUALTIES and people dying. most refuse to see it and some even take desperate measures to defend it. and that's insane.

i'm sure there are more i haven't elaborated, but now let's move on to what i think is the biggest takeaway from this series :

that wars hurt everybody.

one of the things katniss concluded by the end of mockingjay is that "it benefits no one to live in a world where these things happen." (mj, chapter 27).

i know lots of people have a lot of things to say about suzanne's ending message feeling slightly against violent resistance, but that's not it. she was saying that in return of violence itself, we could've changed it and turned it for the better. all of us, together. (because after all, haven't we labelled ourselves as the superior species of earth?)

but how could we do so, when the politics of our world and our own views of it are so complicated and tangled and tampered, and already so many of us have blood on our hands? that’s the question.

"i think that peeta was onto something about us destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences. you can spin it anyway you like."

we saw the entire problem being elaborated more in tbosas. how the hunger games was to punish the district because of the rebellion they incited, and of course with the aftermath of the war still fresh in their minds, the capitol citizens agreed or did not mind it.

but what they did not realize or refused to remember was that the district had taken a stand against the capitol because of the capitol itself. (which i think also connects to the recent events, but). because they had had their lives taken from them while still living it, because they had been robbed of their rights to live as human beings should, because the capitol had reduced them to slavers for their purposes and their purposes only.

i see it as an "if only." on what we could do instead of what we have been doing for millennia. what we could be evolving to instead of resorting to more wars in the future, had everything had not happened.

but how could we form peace all around the world when so many of reigning and powerful countries that was the start of all of this in the first place only advocate for diplomacy but doesn't actually practice them? how could we, when control and greed and take, take, take has always been the motivator? but that's a talk for another day.

as we all aware of, oppression, wars, slavery, genocide, ethnic cleansing etc are still happening in different parts of the world. we unfortunately did not leave them in the old history books and became better like we would all like to believe. so, where does that leave us? when the money power hungry governments are still out there to get others and us and all we, the rest of the world, can do is watch?

so let's talk on WHAT WE CAN DO ABOUT IT.

learn and educate yourselves on the matter.

i know only a few people will read this, but i'm going to add links either way :

on palestine -> comprehensive masterlist , thepalestineacademy.com , decolonizepalestine.com | on congo -> m23 cobalt mining in congo (2) | on sudan -> ICC, CNN, sudan genocide | west papua -> genocidewatch , research paper on it, the guardian.

spread awareness.

this is the very least you can do. just tell people what you know, let people acknowledge it. information holds power, that's why we have seen so many journalists being killed trying to get some. it's not useless. even if you don't have a big following or whatever, app like twitter and tiktok relies heavily on algorithm. just giving likes or retweet/repost could help a lot on it reaching a wider audience. a post on tumblr, on the other hand, dies with a like— so reblog!!

social media has a bad reputation for false information, and i'm not saying it is a misconception but seriously, what does most of the big (especially western) news channels tell us? lies, cover-ups, lies. so take advantage of the accessibility of the internet to share information on what's happening, but do make sure to use your own media literacy while doing so too.

donate, if you can.

but make sure to check who are in charge of the donations too!

you can also join rallies or protests, but do it according to regulations. don’t do things that can be harmful to other people’s safety or yours.

so, to wrap it all up :

the hunger games is a series that tells us about injustice and how it could go on so long without any repercussions due to suppressed voices and silenced speeches. so share those voice of theirs, let the world know and see and hear them. because we can't let history keep being repeated over and over again when ours has held so many bloodshed and costed so many of people lives in between them.

[youmenotyummy]

Converse High – P.SH [박성훈] {CH. 14}

Synopsis: Shin Y/N was given the task to deliver her best friend's love letter to the shoe locker of Park Sunghan, the president of the broadcasting club. It just so happened to be that Park Sunghan's shoe box is situated right next to the shoe box of Park Sunghoon, a boy whose name had a one-syllable difference.

MONDAY 12:33 p.m. — Classroom 2-B, Decelis Academy

Chaewon shifted her eyes back and forth between Y/N and Sunghoon, inspecting both of their faces in attempt to unveil the hidden reason for the lovey-dovey aura they were both emitting— she shook her head; she was starting to sound like Eunchae.

There was no doubt that the two were pining over each other. Yes, today was the first time Sunghoon had come over to sit with them during lunch, but Chaewon immediately noticed Y/N's improved mood compared to her gloomy, uninterested self during their math lecture prior to lunch. And a very important thing to take notice of, Chaewon thought, was how quick it was for her best friend to become comfortable with the rugby star.

In Sunoo's eyes, Sunghoon had seemed different. The boy who did his best to avoid any being of the opposite sex willingly ran walked across campus to just to spend time with a girl– no, Y/N. And he was smiling! And laughing! And holding eye contact with her for more than five seconds! Sunoo would not have seen this day coming.

He smiled as he glanced between the two. His eyes then met with Chaewon who stared back at him. The two shared a knowing look, and bursted out into a fit of giggles.

"Was me tripping over the ball on the field today that funny?" Y/N glared at her friends.

"Top tier comedy." Sunoo covered up for himself and Chaewon. If he were to tell Y/N the real reason for their giggling fit, he would be met with a strong response of denial from both parties.

"Aaanyways," Y/N stretched out. "Speaking of tripping on the field, I was thinking of baking something for the rugby team to wish you guys good luck for the next game."

"Why did you associate us with tripping on the field?"

"And why are you interested in sports all of a sudden?" Y/N kicked Chaewon's leg under their conjoined desks as an answer to her question.

"Because the film club's room looks out onto the field, and I just happened to be by the window when I saw you trip over air during practice."

Sunghoon choked on his yogurt drink and quickly retorted, "Did not!"

"Yes you did!" Sunghoon pressed his index finger into Y/N's forehead and pushed her head back.

"If I knew you two were gonna flirt all lunch, I would have went to the cafeteria with Jungwon instead." Sunoo rolled his eyes in petty disgust.

"We are not flirting!" Ah, there it is. The simultaneous protest from both of them.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Sunoo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, swinging his leg over the other.

"Oh! Lunch is almost over. I should get going." Sunghoon stood up from the desk he occupied and collected his trash. "Is it okay if I come back again tomorrow?"

"Of course!" A quick response from Y/N.

"Make sure to bring Jay or someone else with you, too."

"Why?"

"So I have someone to distract me from you two being nauseatingly sweet to each other."

"Maybe I should invite someone too." Chaewon follows along. Y/N shoots her an 'are you serious' face while separating the four desks that they pushed together for their lunch table. Y/N then looked at Sunghoon and caught his attention by calling his name out.

"Yes?" he yelped with a slight shoulder jump. Sunoo failed to hold in his little spurt of laughter.

"Do you prefer chocolate or vanilla?"

"Oh! Uh, I prefer vanilla, but I like them both."

"Great." she smiled. Sunghoon stared for a second before breaking into a soft smile himself. The moment was ruined because of the fake gags heard next to them. Sunghoon shot an annoyed glance at Sunoo before making his way towards the door. He waved at Y/N before taking off in the direction of his next class.

"They're not even a couple yet, and I'm already tired of them." Sunoo whispers to Chaewon. She laughs quietly before agreeing with the nod of her head.

MONDAY 3:45 p.m. — Film Club Room, Decelis Academy

Y/N lightly jumped in place to hype herself up. She looked down at the familiar pink envelope and glossy heart sticker on the tab. This was another one of Chaewon's letters, her third delivery. She was caught the last two times, so this time Y/N was extra cautious.

"Okay, Y/N, third time's a charm. Channel your inner James Bond." She breathed deeply before peeping her head out of the sliding door. None of the other girls were in the room yet, as they were busy retrieving different props and helping Danielle carry her fabrics, costume WIPs and other miscellaneous things from around the school. Chaewon, who had been with Y/N prior to being left alone, ventured off to find their club supervisor.

Y/N stepped out of the classroom and sneakily but speedily made her way to the shoe lockers. She glanced around to make sure nobody was in close proximity. She walked backwards towards Sunghan's locker, still keeping a lookout for people. There shouldn't be too many people in the halls; the bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, and those who had stayed behind were in their respective classrooms for club activities, including the rugby team who occupied the field.

Y/N reached locker #19 and prepared herself to slip the letter in. Before continuing on with her mission, Y/N's eyes landed on locker #20: 'Park Sunghoon 박성훈' was engraved on a thin metal plate that was slipped into the locker's name slot. She felt a small smile forming on her face as her loving eyes lingered on his name.

She rubbed her fingers over the smooth surface of the letter in her hands and immediately snapped out of her trance. Y/N slipped the letter into the locker and dusted her hands off as if she was done completing a hard task.

"Y/N?" A voice called out. There had only been one person who caught her the last two times she was on delivery duty. Her main objective–besides helping Chaewon get a partner–was to not get caught in the act... but maybe getting caught wasn't so bad if he was the one showing up every time.

"Oh! Sung–" Y/N paused when her eyes landed on the boy's face. "–han?" She then felt a wave of embarrassment crawl up her face. She widened her eyes in terror; Sunghan stared back at her, frozen in his spot.

"This isn't what it looks like! I'm just the messenger, I swear!" Y/N dashed past him. Déjà vu, much? Except this time, she was stopped. Not with physical force, but with three words.

"I like you!" Y/N's chest heaved up and down with her heavy breaths. She cautiously turned her head and made eye contact with the boy. As if one time wasn't enough, Sunghan repeated himself. "I like you." Yeah, no, she couldn't handle this. Y/N apologized to him telepathically before continuing to run towards safety (the film club room).

"Y/N! Wait!"

If Sakura were here to witness what just happened, she would have let Y/N know that this was not a pro gamer move at all.

Y/N burst through the door, and the room that was once empty was suddenly filled with all of her club members.

"Oh! Where were you?" Y/N doesn't respond to Danielle and grabs her bag instead, running towards the room's open window.

"Sorry girls, I gotta run home! I'm gonna, uh, crap my pants! Yeah! Bye!" Y/N swung her legs over the window and jumped out, thanking the school's office for assigning them a ground-level classroom for their club.

"Been there, done that."

"Eunchae??"

"Oh! There's Chaewon!" Danielle announced. "Where were you? Were you with Y/N?"

"Huh? Oh, I was just looking for our supervisor. I found her in the office."

"But you came from the left? I thought the office was just straight down from this room."

"Yeah, I just took a detour."

"Where to?"

"Nowhere special. Just stopped by the shoe lockers."

Extra #13! Peeking into Chaewon's Twitter...📲🐦

previous ⭐️ masterlist ⭐️ next

Taglist is open! 💗

Taglist: @luvistqrzzz @svnghoonsonly @aernx @thesassy-mia @ak-aaa-li @yumilovesloona @loveleejn @shinrjj @miercerise @jiaant11

[lady-of-tearshed]

Ephemeral

Cassian x Reader

A/N: This fic is really angsty. There are two alternative endings, click on the one you want once you're done reading that first part.

Summary : Cassian asks to be paired with you on a mission. One of his not-so-funny jokes turns into a real nightmare...

Warnings: angst, blood, injuries, (First ending alternative: death, dismemberment)

“Alright. We’re setting camp here for the night.”

You furrow your brows, a look of confusion plastered on your face as you look over the map, spotting the emplacement Cass was currently setting camp at. Lorarey. Lorarey… Your eyes scan over the Illyrian mountain region on the map, the name of the city echoing through your mind. A brief memory crosses your mind, you hum, spinning around to where Cassian was starting to set up the tent, your eyes still fixed onto the map you were holding. “Cass… Didn’t Azriel warn us about this region? The name sounds strangely familiar…” 

You trace your finger on the map, as if trying to remember if, and what Azriel mentioned anything about Lorarey. You sit on the ground, scratching your temple as your mind runs to remember any important information, because obviously Cassian wouldn’t have been the one to remember any kind of information Azriel would’ve told him, too excited to be paired up with you on this mission. 

Rhysand had sent you and Cassian to the Illyrians mountains with the goal of reporting every region advancements on the rules he had newly set for them. Cassian had insisted that you were the one that needed to come with him, so the Illyrian generals would have a better idea of how womens and mens could work as a team, as equals. You hadn’t thought much of Cassian insisting on the fact, almost begging Rhys, that it should be you that went with him. It could’ve been Feyre, Amren, Morrigan, anyone really. But Cassian had asked for you. You start to drift from your previous worry, and now all you can concentrate about is why Cassian could possibly have wanted to be paired on this mission with you, out of anyone else?

Wait…The silence was unusual, you were never able to think or concentrate in peace with Cassian around. He would’ve made a joke about how the way you frown makes you look old…You lift your eyes from the map, and scan your surroundings. Cassian. Where was Cassian? You jump onto your legs, your chest heaves rapidly, your shaking hands reach down to your thigh, unsheathing your dagger, your knuckles white from the tight grip around it, and tears start forming into your eyes. No… No no no no no… This can not be happening… Not when you’ve never told him that-

A pair of large hands pins your arms to your side, making your dagger fall off your hand.Your back is quickly pinned against a broad chest, you wiggle, trying to free yourself from the man’s grip, until you feel soft lips brush against the shell of your ear and whisper. “Boo.” You free yourself of the grip and spin around, your face and ears red and boiling hot. “Not funny at all, Cassian.” You angrily pick up the dagger you dropped and stomp away from this dumb, annoying Illyrian brute. Cassian just bends in half, holding his stomach as his deep, rich laughter resonates. A huge contrast of the heavy silence of the Illyrian mountains. You proceed to pick up some wood, ignoring Cassian teasing restlessly about how he almost made me shit my pants, telling me how I shouldn’t have let down my guards by looking at the map. 

You grumble, starting to assemble the wood in a pile so that you can start trying to light a fire. Cassian clasp his hands together, a proud grin lifting the corners of his lips as he finishes to assemble the tent for tonight. You hear his heavy boots walking towards you, crouching down to where you were trying to make the flame catch onto the wood. “Hey…” He whispers, gently nudging your side. “I’m sorry.” He chuckles, his large gloved hands ruffling your hair, trying to make you laugh. “Well, I’m still pissed.” You answer dryly, not even caring to look at him at this moment. You were mad at him, but even more so at yourself. He was right, you shouldn’t have been distracted by the map. What if someone would’ve captured him for real because of your inattentiveness? What if he would’ve been tortured because of you? What if…

Cassian’s body stills beside yours, and you lift your eyes from the fire, scanning your surroundings. Your Fae ears were perked, twitching at every sound. “Cass-” Your voice was low, shaking. He quickly puts his hand over your mouth, eyebrows frowned. “Not a sound…” He wasn’t joking, his face and tone was clearly indicating to you that he was deadly serious right now. Before you can process anything, a hissing sound snaps through the silence, and Cassian shields your body with his, his wings wrapped protectively around you. A grunt falls from his lips as something pierce into his back, his leathers ripped open, and the smell of an open wound filling up your nostrils. His eyes widen, roll at the back of his head before his body collapses down onto yours. Your head bumps on a log on your fall down to the ground, causing you to fall unconscious. 

—--

Cold… The first thought that came to your mind when your heavy eyelids fluttered open was how cold this place was. How dark… You tried to lift your aching limbs from the ground, begging your eyes to quickly adjust to the pitch-black darkness. The second your body is sat on the ground you feel the world around you start spinning. A qualm rushes through your body, your body shudders as bile rises up in your esophagus. Your body bends over, your shaking hands keeping you from falling into the waves of vomit that were expelled from your body. Breathe, You needed to breath, to ground yourself just like Cassian had thought you multiples of times in training. Your brain needs oxygen to think clearly. Breathing is the key. A distant memory of his advice echoes through your head, and you fight the urge to tear up.

Cassian… where was Cassian? Breathe… His voice resonates once more through the incessant pounding of your head. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale… You repeat the action for a few minutes, your eyes starting to slowly adjust to the darkness in the meanwhile. Once you start to feel grounded, you start to pat your body, self-examining any potential injuries. Your legs were roughly scraped, there was a nasty bump at the back of your head, and your ankles and wrist were aching from the tight leather restraints. Leather restraints… Lorarey… You try to process the information, when suddenly everything clicks into place. Lorarey ; that was the Illyrian region Azriel had warned you about. He had warned you that a group of Illyrian rebels had been spotted around here recently. A group of barbare Illyrian, who were still stubbornly stuck with their ancient gory culture. They were merciless, and it was impossible to communicate with them, since they were only speaking an old Illyrian dialect. Not that they would have listened to anyone anyway. 

Your heart skips a beat at the rustle of wings coming from your left. Your eyes squint, your nostrils flare, taking in the familiar scent. “Cassian…” You whisper, crawling as close as you can to the limp body sprawled on the cave’s freezing floor. Your hands couldn’t reach his body, the leather restraints wrapped around your ankles and wrist stretched to the maximum. You stretch your neck, your cheek barely reaching his hand.  You gently tug at his pinky with your teeth, dragging his hand as close to you as possible. You rest your cheek on the pulse point of his wrist, sighing in relief at the soft thumping of it against your skin. 

A tear of slight relief rolls down onto your cheek as you nestle your head into the large palm of his hand, begging the Mother to give you a way to get out of here. Both of you. Or at least Cassian. He was the most valuable one of you two. He was the Lord of Bloodshed, for fuck sake. He couldn’t just… perish in a cold cave because his idiotic mission partner couldn’t protect him. Prythian needed him, his brothers needed him, Mor and Amren too needed him… You needed him. You sniffle, burying your cheek deeper into the palm of his hand, ignoring the burning of the tensed leather on your skin. 

Rhysand was too far away for you to reach, and you couldn’t risk lowering your shields in case the enemy had daemati powers. You thought about screaming for help, but the idea quickly vanished at the idea of the enemy risking to kill you both if you didn’t stay silent.You hear Cassian groan silently, his body slightly shivering. “Cass..?” You call for him again silently, internally begging for him to wake up, to fight. He had always been the strong one in these kinds of situations. Cassian would’ve known what to do, how to free the both of you, you would probably already be free and out of this cave if he was conscious at the moment. You bite your lip. You needed- no, you will stay strong for him. Fight. Think. But for now, your body felt heavy, and your head was too cloudy to think, so the only thing you could do was to seek comfort in the touch of his hand against your cheek. “I’m not mad anymore… I’m sorry.” You whisper, your body too weak to stay conscious anymore. 

—--

Help… Help… Help… 

You move your shields up and down, begging for Rhysand to hear you. To come or send someone, anyone, to your rescue. Cassian’s body was shivering with fever, your cheek moist from his sweaty hand. He hadn’t woken up once since you had been captured and dragged into this cave. You were nibbling at the leather shackles on your ankle, pain burning the muscles of your back at the unnatural contortion. The smell of copper filled the air of the dark cave, the metallic taste lingering in your mouth combined with the ache of your gums made you want to give up. But you couldn’t. For Cass, you needed to fight. If no one was coming to save the both of you, you would. 

You felt as if you were losing your mind. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? You couldn’t tell. The pitch-black darkness of the cave made it impossible to stay oriented. No one had come into the cave, not to your knowledge. Was it their plan, to make you go mad until you perish? At this point, you would’ve probably preferred to be physically tortured, you thought. Cassian’s ragged breathing was the only thing that held the last bit of sanity left in you. Your anchor… He had always been, and you were so fucking stupid to never have told him. You should’ve told him, you shouldn’t have relied on your practically immortal life as a Fae. Life, even as an immortal, could be taken away from you at any given moment. There was no guarantee about anything, even as a Fae, you now realized.

Alternative endings:

They both die

They both live

[somanyfuckedupiftruebooks]

Mag 34

A daily occurrence at every exterminator in London:

Exterminator 1: The phone's ringing again.

Exterminator 2: Is it--?

Exterminator 1: It's those Magnus weirdos.

Exterminator 2: Don't fucking answer.

So there's lots of great things about Dr Elliot, but the first thing that really gets me is how much he reminds me of Jon. Academic, pressured into taking a job he didn't want, unhappy about it and hiding it poorly, overworking himself with research, no real choices. They could be twins!

I feel like such an idiot for this because it's so obvious in hindsight, but I was completely convinced that this was an End statement for ages. The placeholder names thing had me thinking that the anatomy students were corpses trying to figure out how to be alive, and I somehow missed all the overt Stranger stuff in the statement. I thought this right up until Season 5, so I also somehow missed when John Doe came back as a Stranger in Season 3. Oh, speaking of...

John counter: 8

After Michaels took the lead for all of one episode, Johns and Michaels are even again!

Another Jon similarly: discounting or ignoring the supernatural in order to hold onto credibility.

Anyway I'm not sure how valuable my commentary on this episode is going to be. I mostly just like it because it's funny and everyone acts insane. Big fan of how Dr Elliott just absolutely hates these students who never actually do anything bad to him. They are literally just breathing and he's like... their vibes are terrible.

Another thing I love about Dr Elliot, the way he reacts to everything like a frail maiden in a misogynistic old novel. Everything is simply too much for him and he has to go and lay down to recover his strength. They're just looking at him and he gets so overwhelmed he can't function!

This right here is probably the reason he survived the experience. The way he made a conscious effort to engage with this as little as possible, just do the bare minimum to get through it and actively don't care or think about anything overmuch. If he'd been a little more Eye-aligned he'd have been screwed.

Haha, he's all 'I can't leave them alone with bones, that would be bad' and then he gets into class and he's so right! It is bad when they are alone with the bones! But again it's like... they're not even doing anything. Just let them arrange their bodies however they want, it's none of your business. They are even being polite and not doing it when you're watching them!

[sapphire-weapon]

The university of Massachusetts thing is really so vile cause i couldn't find a source for it yet ive seen it passed around and figured it must be from some source i couldnt be assed to dig up. X_X it isnt even from ANYTHING!!! (the fact it has the same name as some sorority in new york is funny though, at least theres something there even if its likely unintentional)

Anyway, a question: do you think they would have killed leon if he didn't become an agent? Now, I'm not talking about the re3 epilogue; i mean if they hadn't given him that ultimatum to begin with. To become an agent, or have he and Sherry killed. (Sorry if im getting details wrong here, but--) BASICALLY, i think sherry had to become an agent to escape house arrest. So do you think they would keep leon like that? He knew too much, just like Sherry. So if leon wasnt asked to become an agent, he'd basically be stuck or dead? Or is it just that Sherry is special because of the G-virus?

So, this touches on something that I have been thinking about for a very, very long time.

I legitimately don't understand why the CIA didn't kill Leon.

I don't know what about Leon made him so valuable in the eyes of the CIA -- especially Remake Leon, who has lasting fucking nerve damage, for fuck's sake.

Like... of course, with the gift of hindsight, he's the best investment the CIA has ever made. Leon is the gift that keeps on giving. The US would probably lose its status as a world superpower without him, in the RE universe -- and I'm not joking.

But at the time that he was captured? In that moment? Why not kill him? Especially since Sherry was way more valuable than he was, and it's not like they needed her willful cooperation in order to get at her blood like they wanted to. Leon is just a guy who knows too much, and he's on his way to bleeding out anyway; just shoot him. Just shoot him. Who is he to them?

Darkside Chronicles tries to explain it as, like... Leon's survival in Raccoon City gave him a particular skillset that the CIA wanted in their ranks, but... did it? Did it really?

Because, not for nothing, but Leon is the only one of the Raccoon City survivors to not make it out in one piece. He's the only one to end up with a debilitating injury like that -- and it was his injury that allowed the CIA to close in on him in the first place (if he hadn't been injured, he would've just left with Claire to find Chris), so like. Really, how valuable is he? He's the only one who got caught; everyone else got away.

This whole thing would've made way more sense if the writers had been smart enough to make it so that the people who survived Raccoon City only did so because they were naturally immune to the T & G-Viruses. Because, in that case -- yeah, Leon's fucking valuable. He's really fucking valuable.

But he's not immune... so... what the fuck.

The actual, real answer is "he's one of the main protagonists so the writers can't just let him get killed like that." But that's shitty and stupid, and they should've thought of a better reason for the CIA to want to hold onto him so badly, because the reason they used is kinda meeehhhh.

This is pure bullshit headcanon pulled out of my ass with no basis in reality, but -- the only way that my brain has been able to rationalize this happening the way that it happened was that Leon just fucking snapped when the CIA took Sherry from him and he just started swinging.

That boy's got a lot of anger pushed down inside of him, and he's had a real rough night, and having someone try to physically separate him from Sherry was just the last fucking straw. And, while they probably should've killed him in that moment, it did cause the higher-ups to stop and wonder how this shitkid with only basic police academy training and a half-crippled shoulder took out four fully-trained, seasoned, armed CIA agents before they were able to tackle his ass to the ground and restrain him.

That shows potential. That shows value. That's enough to make a motherfucker pause and go "I can use this, nerve damage or no."

But Capcom refuses to hire me, no matter how many good ideas I have.

[imhereformr]

can you pls do #4 for brella? i can totally see either one of them doing that 😭❤️

#4 – Asking them how your name + their surname would sound like (or/and vice versa)

Author's note: This takes place pre-season 1. Brandon and Stella have only known each other for a few weeks.

“What do you think, Sky?” Stella asked, popping a grape into her mouth. The princess didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she laid down, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder.

She was bold, he’d give her that. It was a first, unofficial date, and she’d asked whether, if they got married, he’d taker her name or she’d take his. The only problem was, she didn’t know his. At least, not the real him. He wasn’t Prince Sky like she thought he was. He was just Brandon, Sky’s body guard and, right now, body double.

Brandon hated lying to her. Deceiving Stella hadn’t been intentional. In fact, going on a date with Stella hadn’t been his idea. They’d met at Alfea/Red Fountain mixer and hit it off. Stella, determined to get what she wanted, got his number from a classmate. And he, like the complete dumbass he was, had responded to her text because… well, he was a simple man and she was pretty. She was more than pretty. She was beautiful, gorgeous, exquisite, mesmerizing. And then he’d discovered that she was even better than that. Stella was funny, honest, optimistic, creative and nice. And he liked her. He really, really liked her. But she didn’t like him. She liked Prince Sky.

Completely unaware that he was feeling like a jackass, Stella continued to ramble on. She’d moved off the topic of their names and onto some issue in her suite. He understood not liking your suitemates well. He had to deal with Riven, who was prickly with people in general, but because the boy had a bone to pick with royalty, was extra prickly towards Brandon, aka Prince Sky.

“Stella, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Stella stopped speaking and sat up. Her shimmering amber eyes fixed his own dark brown ones curiously. Her painted pink lips parted in question. “Sure” she smiled. Her smile was tight and awkward; he would bet good money that she thought he was going to say they shouldn’t see each other again. Little did she know, she’d be saying that in a few minutes.

“I need you to not freak out. Just let me explain everything and then, if you still want to flip at me, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Because he understood. He would freak out if he were her.

Brandon took a deep, anxious breath. Sky would kill him if he knew what Brandon was doing. King Erendor – Sky’s father – would have Brandon sentenced to the gallows for treason. Brandon’s mother, though, would be proud that he hadn’t led Stella on. And that was more important. He would never do anything to make him mom ashamed of him.

“I, uh…” Stella tilted her head and put her hand over his. He turned his hand so his palm was against hers and squeezed gently. This would likely be the only time he got the opportunity to hold her hand, so he would take it. Before he spoke again, he let go of her hand. “I’m not Sky. My name is Brandon Cavaliere. I’m his body guard.”

Stella looked like she’d been slapped, but, to her credit and his relief, she didn’t freak out. He continued, explaining that Sky’s life had been under threat since he was born and he’d never been seen by the general public, or even anyone that wasn’t an Eraklian ally. Stella knew all this already; she had asked him about it. He’d told her the truth: that it was hard. But not for him, for Sky whose only friend had been Brandon, the son of a high ranking palace guard.

He explained that, at 12, he’d joined the Eraklian army reserves like his father and grandfather before him. Only, instead of being general guard, he’d been requested by the young prince. It had been a huge honour for his family to have the prince request him personally.

When they were 15, Sky was offered a place at the Red Fountain academy. Erendor refused to let him go out of fear for his only son’s life, so they devised this plan. No one had seen Sky, and Brandon wasn’t important enough for anyone to care about him, so they’d switch. For him, it had been the chance to help his friend and go to a school that would be completely out of reach otherwise.

“That explains so much…” she whispered excitedly when he’d finished.

“What?”

“I thought you were way too social and suave for someone who’d been locked away their entire life. And Brandon… well Brandon-“ she raised her hands and made air quotes around the name “- was charming and polite, but kind of awkward at times. I let it slide cause maybe that’s just your personalities but now it makes so much more sense.”

Brandon blinked away the surprise at her reaction. He had expected outrage or disappointment. He could have lived with those – not happily, but he could have lived. Stella’s reaction threw him for a loop.

“Uh… Anyways, I hope you’re not too mad. I understand if you’d like to head home. I just needed to tell you the truth. And, obviously please don’t tell anyone.”

Stella’s eyes stayed focused on him. She furrowed her brows and bit her lower lip. Her hand came up to fiddle with the necklace she’d worn. The ring of Solaria – a tiny, ornate reminder of her status – stared at him. Brandon felt like his heart would beat out of his chest as he waited and waited for her to say something. A few days from now when someone wandered into this part of the forest, they’d find his body with a hole in its chest.

“I do have two questions.”

“Of course, yeah, ask me anything.”

“Was any of what you said to me a lie?”

“No. Everything I’ve told you was as honest as I could be. If you asked something specific to Sky, I answered that honestly. If you asked me something personal – anything: my favourite snack, my opinion on a show or an outfit or some political whatever-“ she had not once brought up that last bit “- I answered the way Brandon – the way I would."

Stella nodded slowly. Then, much to Brandon’s surprise, scooted a bit closer to him. “Okay, second question,” she rested her hand on his thigh. Brandon felt the blood rush split in two: half below the belt, half to his cheeks. Why was he blushing at a mere innocent touch? Stella wasn’t the first girl to lay a hand on him. She was just the most amazing. “Do you think Stella Cavaliere or Brandon Saule sounds better?”

“Wha…” he mumbled stupidly. “You’re…”

“Still willing to give you a chance?” she guessed with a laugh. “Sure. It’s just a name. And you’re sweet. Doesn’t hurt that you’re nice to look at too.”

Stella turned around and leaned her back against his chest. She asked about his life – his real life and at the end of the night, she kissed him. It may as well have been the best moment of his life. Brandon would have to go back to school and tell Sky about his moment of honesty, but he didn’t seem quite as worried to as he’d been earlier. Sky may want to kill him - Erendor might actually kill him – but it didn’t matter because Princess Stella of Solaria didn’t.