#what he did between basil's death and now

[polaroid-petals]

I'm this close to writing a fic where a few weeks post-confession, Hero has a dream where he gets the option to stab Basil in order for Mari to have never died, only for his knife to stab not this fictional dream version of Basil, but the real twelve-year-old one, whom he then slowly watches die as he's unable to save him from the gash in his stomach.

To his horror, as he wakes up four years after the murder with no memory of what happened afterwards, he learns that he covered up the murder, and he has no idea how or why he did it.

[zipsunz]

i've updated the refs for the Little Mari AU! nothing has changed aside from new art and a rewritten summary down below.  

(art by me, text by @sunkitty143!)

the general premise of this AU is an ageswap between mari/hero and sunny/kel. on the day of mari and sunny's recital, aubrey witnesses a fight between the siblings and sunny's accidental death. sunny's cause of death and aubrey's choice of cover-up are the same as canon. 

the ships in this AU are sunkel, heromari, and photobomb. sunny and kel started dating when they were ~13, though they never revealed their relationship to the kids. hero and mari have unresolved feelings that were only starting to be explored before sunny's death. 

shortly after sunny's death, mari finds herself in sunny's iteration of headspace. like canon, sunny has been exploring headspace since he was very young. everyone's awareness of it varies, but the only ones who know the full extent of its existence is mari and kel. headspace in this AU is based on how i imagine it was in canon before mari's death (ie everyone having purple hair in honor of her, mari and basil not wearing pajamas etc) but with creative liberties due to sunny having longer to expand it and mari's eventual influence. it's important to note mari is not crafting headspace to match what she knows of sunny's version. for reasons that have yet to be revealed, headspace did not have a "true reset" when a new dreamer entered it, which means it is still the very same one sunny would explore.

in headspace, mari takes over her dream world counterpart's role as the save point and, in her eyes, the perfect little sister. eventually, she completely forgets why she found herself in headspace in the first place and what she had been looking for. since her exploration of headspace is limited to her picnic blanket, mari asks sunny's party to help her with her problem. but after a particularly nasty battle, a horrified mari convinces sunny to watch over the picnics instead so he can never get hurt again. 

now leader, mari explores headspace with aubrey, hero, and kel. but each time the party succeeds in their mission, aubrey remembers the truth. she is not banished to black space, but outright erased to the best of mari's ability with her finite control over headspace. as if she had never existed, what is left of aubrey is now the entity referred to as stranger and basil takes the open spot in the party. all the while, an odd girl known as omori wanders the dream world. even odder, she is looking for the very same thing that mari is.

thank you for reading all of this… again! like i've been doing, anything for this AU will be posted out of chronological order to keep my motivation and enthusiasm up hehe. please look forward to more content in the near future!!

(you can find the original refs/info here!)

[changetyre]

Not like this (P6) II Charles Leclerc x Reader (Mafia AU)

SUMMARY: After losing everything you seek out your biggest and longest-standing enemy to finish it all.

WARNING: Violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: Thank you @s-awturn for the inspo on the next part which is teased at the end of this part 👀

You had decided to drive back with one of Charles's men, you needed space and that was as much space as you were getting right now. In the other car, Charles pondered over your words, putting himself in your shoes and realizing how impotent you must feel. 

He wanted to talk to you but he didn't know what to say, how to start. This dynamic between the two of you was new and awkward and he had no idea how to handle it. What was once a relationship filled with pure hatred and rage was now a relationship of unexplainable trust, dependence, and patience. 

He meant to reach out to you once you got back to his place but you had given him no time to say anything before you locked yourself in the guest room. 

Charles took it upon himself to make dinner that evening, or at least attempted to knowing he was useless in the kitchen and he could never make something half as good as your cooking. But he hoped this would help him find the right words to talk to you and perhaps tell you more about his plans.

He had gotten as far as boiling water and putting pasta inside before things started going wrong. The tomato sauce he was attempting to prepare had somehow solidified and was smoking, he would've surely panicked if you hadn't come out of your room right that second. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" You screamed at Charles as you walked into the kitchen that was filling up with smoke. 

"Making dinner." Charles stated unwilling to admit defeat just yet. 

"Turn that off you idiot." You screamed at him as you went over to open the windows of his house to let some of the smoke out. 

Charles begrudgingly did what you said turning off everything on the stove. "I was trying to make Spaghetti alla Napoletana." he pronounced the name of the dish perfectly. 

You scoffed walking over and grabbing the burnt pan and letting water run over it as you carefully scraped off whatever substance Charles had made. "Right you fucked up probably one of the easiest pasta dishes in the world." you laughed. 

"The spaghetti is okay." Charles tried defending himself earning a glare from you. 

"Right, you know you're actually supposed to measure ingredients right?It's not just a suggestion." You brought back the now-washed and dried pan to the stove. 

"You don't ever measure out anything...I've seen you." Charles pointed out defensively. 

"Yeah, that's because I know how to cook." You replied cockily. 

Charles rolled his eyes. "I can do this on my own." He tried pushing you away. 

"Yeah, no way...I want to be able to eat something tonight." You huffed pushing him back. 

"I can cut the onion." Charles reached over as you were about to do it. 

"FINE!" You admitted defeat letting him do it although knowing he was going to regret it. 

You proceeded to cut up the garlic and pick some basil all while holding in your laughter at the way Charles struggled to cut the onion without sniffling and crying.

"Is this enough onion?" Charles asked, avoiding your eyes but you knew they were probably bloodshot. 

You couldn't contain your laughter this time. "You cut far more than we needed." You revealed making Charles turn to you in offense. 

But you noticed the way his lips wanted to curl into a smile. They truly did, Charles hadn't realized how much until now but your laughter was truly contagious and it reminded him of how long it'd been since he'd heard such raw laughter in his home. 

"And you wonder why it's so hard to admit I don't hate you." Charles muttered as he rinsed his hands. 

Your laughter died down as you processed his words. Grabbing some paper towel you let run under cold water before approaching Charles. 

"You just admitted it, Charles." You reached up blotting the towel around his eyes and you could see his eyes and body fill with relief. 

Charles realized what he said, he had in fact admitted he didn't hate you and although he initially felt panic the fact that you had so calmly accepted it brought a weird sense of relief to him. 

It took you a few seconds of silence to realize how close you were to him, you don't think you'd ever been this close to him before but as you continued dabbing around his eyes you appreciated the beauty in them.  "Hmm, your eyes have a little green in them." 

Charles's heart skipped a beat, the way your smiled softened as you looked at him made him question everything he'd ever thought about you. Why did you make him feel this way, suddenly the proximity was too much. 

"Uhmm let's finish this up, It's getting late." Charles stepped away, turning back to the counter to turn on the stove. 

You too were taken aback, you had completely lost yourself in the moment and the quick distance made you dizzy for some reason. "Yeah let me handle it, you just clean up a bit." You gently shoved Charles aside taking over the space of the stove. 

Charles nodded simply doing what you asked as he began gathering things. You continued cooking in silence, the only thing heard was the sizzling of the pan and the water running from Charles cleaning up some dishes. 

"There's a masquerade ball for the neighboring circles tomorrow night." Charles broke the silence. 

You were just finishing plating up the dishes. "Where?" You asked excited about the thought of getting answers. 

"Avolire Palace." He revealed. "I thought maybe you'd want to come." 

"Yes!" You replied a little more eagerly than intended. "Yes, please." 

"Okay." Charles nodded. "I'll go out tomorrow to get you a dress and more importantly a mask. If whoever is involved in what happened is there, they can't know you're alive." 

You nodded, knowing he was right. "So you'll take me as a plus one or-?"

"Yes you'll be my date...for the night." He quickly added. "Hopefully we can get some answers." 

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 26th

Masturbation, Phantom x Cardinal Reader

Masterlist ⛧ The Cardinal Masterlist

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Masturbation; mutual masturbation; caught masturbating; sub!Phantom (because I just can’t help myself, boy needs putting in his place); panty sniffing; degradation kink; squirting; finger sucking; cum eating; praise kink;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog

This is a continuation of the previous Phantom fic because I actually think about that daily… this is my Roman Empire right now… Also, I listened to THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens on repeat when I wrote this so… do with that information what you will…

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Your day had been absolutely wonderful. You had the best night’s sleep, which bled into the most delicious breakfast, followed by a slow work day where you were able to catch up on all of your work and even start a new book all before lunchtime. And lunch was delectable, too. The kitchen had put on an array of delicious foods at the buffet this time, with bruschetta topped with fresh tomatoes, basil, and olive oil; arancini balls (of which you devoured several); fettuccine Alfredo amongst many others. It was very rare that Satan had blessed you with the most perfect of days, but you were thankful nonetheless. And even somewhat excited to get home, put your feet up and relax.

Your Ghoul, Phantom, had a separate schedule that he had to attend to today, which was, perhaps, the only negative part of such a perfect day. But, he was still in training after all, despite how much work you put his way as his Cardinal.

You took your heels off at the door as you entered your chambers, sighing in relief at the way your feet were now able to flatten out and stretch. You poured yourself a glass of water and stood in the kitchen, contemplating your next move when you heard it.

There was a faint grunting coming from your bedroom, behind a closed door that you know you left open when you left your place that morning. You could recognise those whimpers if you were blindfolded and threatened that your life would end. Phantom was in your room, and he wasn’t behaving as he should be. Quietly, you moved to your bedroom and slowly opened the door, making absolute sure that he wouldn’t notice you were there.

You opened the door the whole way, but his eyes were so tightly shut he had no idea you were there. He lay, sprawled out on your bed, completely naked including his mask, each item of clothing thrown carelessly around your room in his desperation to get his hand on his cock. One of his hands was wrapped around his beautiful length, stroking it perfectly and just the way he liked, slick with his spit and focussing on the sensitive, pink head. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth in a feeble effort to stay as quiet as he could so he wouldn’t alert you to his presence just in case you came home earlier than expected, but it didn’t stop his pathetic whimpers from spilling out in between the short, sharp inhales. In his other hand was a pair of your panties, the exact pair you took off the night before when he was with you, deep inside you, whimpering as he was now. Those panties were damn near attached to his nose, he refused to move the gusset the entire time he was stroking his cock.

You were wondering what he was thinking about - the first time you both had sex, perhaps? When you took him in your office, stood on his cock and made him submit to you until he bent out of shape and broke at your very whim? Or maybe he was thinking about the night before, how you let him take you from behind and pretend that he was in charge… though that didn’t last long. Poor baby had no idea how to dom though he tried. It all came to naught when he was on the verge of cumming and begging for permission to do so, whining in your ear as all doms do, of course. Though, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on to hear that immediate switch from “strong man” to “needy, subby bitch”.

His hips bucked the harder he pumped, and his moans became louder and louder. You even heard little whimpers of, “Cardinal!” as he played with himself - no doubt imagining whatever fantasy he’d concocted since the two of you played with each other regularly. You could feel arousal pooling in your cunt, wetness flooding your core with each lewd sound of his cock as he jerked it rougher and rougher until you decided to act and alert him to your presence with a clearing of the throat.

The look of fear and panic on his face almost had you drooling. He sat up immediately, launching himself off the pillows and throwing your panties across the room. His hand did what it could to cover his cock from you, but it was too late. The damage had already been done and he knew he was in for it now.

“Little slut couldn’t wait for his Cardinal to come home and take care of him, hm? Had to use my panties to get himself off.”

“Cardinal! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Cardinal! Please forgive me.”

You propped yourself up on the dresser. “Okay.”

Your nonchalance and unbothered demeanour was uncharacteristic to say the least, and it unnerved Phantom more than he could possibly say. At this point, you would be finding a way to punish him, making him suffer for his disobedience. He walked into your room, stole your used panties, and was touching himself on your bed - all of which without your permission. “O-okay?”

“Okay.”

He hated this. “That’s it?”

“You wanted more?”

“Well, I expected-”

“Oh right, yes. You wanted to finish didn’t you?”

“Cardinal?”

“Go ahead. Lie back, little prince. Finish yourself off.”

“A-are you sure?”

“Of course. Tell me, what were you thinking about?”

He was now on his knees at the foot of the bed, about a metre away from you. His hand, tentatively, wrapped around his aching cock, still very much suspicious of you but desperate to touch himself. He’d be lying if he didn’t find this hot, though - the idea of him stroking himself while you watched him; his beautiful Cardinal whose eyes were fixated on the way his hand stroked over himself.

“Tell me, little prince,” you repeated, eyes trained exactly where he wanted them, “what were you thinking about?”

“Y-you, Cardinal. I was thinking about you.”

“Specifically?”

“When you tied me up… t-took what you wanted. How your pussy felt good around me.”

You lifted your legs and hooked the heels of your feet onto the edge of the dresser. You lifted your robes up and revealed your panty-clad cunt, the fabric soaked from watching your little plaything touch himself. You moved the gusset to the side, and allowed him the privilege of looking at your slicked folds. “This pussy?” You asked.

“Oh fuck.” He began stroking himself harder. “Cardinal.”

He reached forward to touch you, not that he’d be able to reach at that distance anyway, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to, and that was enough for you. You kicked your leg forward, swiping his hand away from you with your foot. “Ah, ah! Bad boys don’t get to touch.”

There it was. There was his punishment. The one thing he wanted the most right now, the thing he could see plainly right in front of him, but couldn’t have. You were playing a dangerous game - dangling the steak in front of the lion and expecting it not to bite. But then, lions weren’t the strongest in the Pride; Phantom was toothless and he knew it.

You didn’t miss how much faster his hand moved over his cock as you exposed yourself to him; the way his mind moved a million miles a minute as it comprehended just what you were doing to him. His heart rate spiked when he saw your hand move lower…

Lower…

Lower…

A gasp escaped your lips as your fingers made contact with your clit, your head tipping backwards and mouth falling open with each stroke. Your eyes closed at the feeling as the rest of your face contorted in a peaceful bliss at the relief you were finally giving yourself. Touching yourself instead of him touching you was almost just as much torturous - except your sadistic side was singing at the suffering you were bringing him. Sweet, kind, funny, intelligent, naughty Phantom, kneeling at the foot of your bed, completely naked, foaming at the mouth at the sight of your core and tormented by the fact he can’t touch it, lick it just the way you liked.

You chuckled at the sight of his pathetic, dumb little face, fixated on the movements of your hand, matching his stroking with yours. The way his mouth hung open in concentration and his pupils had blown out, removing any colour from his irises. He needed you so fucking badly, his whimpers and moans just confirmed what you already knew.

“Your hand feel good, Phantom?” You taunted.

“No. I want your cunt, Cardinal. Your cunt would be better. Please.”

“It would be better. So tight, and warm, and wet.” You dipped your fingers inside. “Oh yeah, so fuckin’ tight.”

“Fuck.”

You tapped up, hitting your g-spot with each movement and causing genuine moans to fall out of your mouth. His hips bucked at the sound of your fingers sploshing through your wetness, the same wetness he could practically taste on his tongue. All the times he’d been buried between your thighs with your pussy hanging off his tongue.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal.” He confessed, words slurring with the lack of concentration. His focus on your fingers turned his brain to mush. “I’m sorry. Please. Please let me touch you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“You always - fuck - promise to be a good boy.” You pulled your fingers out and spread your wetness around your clit, furiously rubbing at the button. “You t-tell me you’ll be a good boy then go and - shit - go and do shit like this.”

“Cardinal, please!”

“No. You - fuck I’m close! You’re gonna watch me cum on my fingers. You get to watch me pl-please myself. If you’re good I might let you - oh fuck, I’m cumming!”

You came hard, your juices spurting out of your as you did and pooling on the dresser, sploshing on the floor dramatically and dripping off the wood when the stream had finally stopped. The sheer power of your orgasm knocked the wind out of you, forcing your free hand to grip onto the dresser in an effort to ground yourself. And you watched through blurred vision as Phantom fucked into his hand desperately, tongue escaping from behind his lips as if he could catch the droplets and drink them down.

When he saw that you were coming down, he piped up again, his voice breaking the silence. “Cardinal, please. I’ve been so good for you. I wanna cum, please let me cum. Please, Cardinal.”

“Little prince wants to cum, hm?” You pushed yourself off the dresser, your fingers still covered in your cum. Those fingers you moved towards him, holding them out so his mouth could finally reach them, but pulling away just as his lips were about to wrap around them.

“C-Cardinal!”

You laughed cruelly and cupped his chin, trapping it between your index finger and thumb, forcing him to look at your face rather than the cum dripping off your digits. “Pathetic little whore, desperate for my leftovers. You want to taste me, hm? Beg for it. Make me believe you want to.”

“I want your cum in my mouth,” he said, words rushed and desperate, “I want to taste you. I want to lick up your cum, please let me. Please let me clean your fingers. I’d lick it off the fucking floor if you’d let me. Please.”

“Oh, now there’s an idea. Not today, little prince. But… you think that was good enough?”

Tears began forming in his eyes. “Cardinal, please!”

“Good boy.” You moved your fingers to his mouth. “Take your reward.”

His free hand gripped onto your wrist to stop you from moving away as he sucked your fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the taste of you, eyelids fluttering as though he had just tasted the most delicious food ever created. His tongue moved erratically around your fingers, making damn sure every available drop was gathered on it and swallowed down his waiting throat. The whimpers that came out of his throat were gaining in volume and intensity, a verbal cue to let you know he was ready to cum but waiting for your permission.

“Cum, little prince. Cum for me.”

He was always good at cumming on command, thanking you with muffled gratefulness as his lips were still around your fingers, sucking hard on the skin as his cum began pouring from his tip, gathering on the skirt of your robes. He let his teeth slip, biting down on your fingers accidentally but not hard enough to be painful. The hand that was on your wrist tightened in his pleasure, and his fingernails dug in for purchase. He was lightheaded, swaying with the force of his orgasm, so much so you had to steady him with your other hand.

“You’re okay,” you told him, genuine kindness shining through in an attempt to comfort him, “I got you, baby. You’re safe. I got you. So fucking good for me.” You leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Good boy.”

He regained his mental ability to, well, exist and looked up at you with wide, puppy eyes. You bent down and kissed his lips, pulling him upwards for a passionate connection to help soothe the ache you created. “Always so fucking good for me, aren’t you?” You praised in between kisses. “You take what I give you so well.”

“All for you, Cardinal.”

“I’m just as much yours as you are mine, and don’t ever forget that.”

He nodded. You could feel the panic coming off him when you pulled back. “Cardinal?”

“It’s okay, my love.” You began stripping your soiled robes off and removing every item of clothing until you were just as bare as him. “Lie back and get comfortable. I’m coming.”

You climbed onto the bed once you were ready and scooped him up, pulling him to rest his head on your breasts and holding him as he needed you. He clutched onto you tightly, falling slowly into a deep sleep.

Kinktober: Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

The Cardinal:

Masterlist ⛧ The Cardinal Masterlist

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

[goldenslumberowo]

Maladaptation

ATLA x Hunger Games Crossover

The sun is just rising. The dawn is gray and foggy. I wait out in the woods for my best friend – my only friend – Gale Hawthorne.

It is not like him to be late and it’s not often that I reach our meeting place before he does.

I wonder what may have stalled him.

Peacekeepers? A sick sibling? Errands for his mother?

Or is it nothing?

Perhaps he has decided to sleep in. It is, after all, reaping day, and the reaping does not start until two. Most will try to sleep in. If they can.

I move to edge of the tree-line, peering through the chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire, and watch as the Meadow grasses sway in the early morning breeze. Beyond the Meadow is the Seam.

At this hour, the Seam is usually crawling with earthbenders heading out to their morning shift at the coal mines. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles. Many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails or the lines of their sunken faces. But not today.

The dawn is just ending when I spot Gale, hurrying out of the Seam and into the Meadow. He does not bother to shimmy under the lifted part of the fence, like I had. He merely bends the earth underneath himself and propels himself over the barded-wire loops. He lands a little clumsily. He is not as adapt at earthbending as he likes to think.

Out in the woods with me is one of the few places that he gets to practice without the scrutiny of the Peacekeepers. If the people of the Seam are seen using their bending for something other than for the mining of coal, they can expect to be reprimanded. Or if the authorities thought you intended to use your bending to fight back, to use it against them, or the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol… you will be executed.

Gale flashes something at me from underneath his coat. A loaf of bread. Still steaming, fresh from the bakery. Real bread, nothing like the flat dense disks of bread we make from our grain rations. He passes it to me and it almost burns my hands.

“Still so warm,” I say. “What did it cost you?”

“Just a frog-squirrel,” says Gale. “I think that old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck.” He pauses to take his bow from me and shoulders it. “Coming from a firebender, I guess I should be grateful.”

The undertow of resentment in his tone is unmistakable. While there are benders of all kinds in District 12, earthbenders make up the majority of the Seam and firebenders run the Town. Long before the Dark Days, before there even was District 12 proper, those firebenders came to this land and colonized it. Even with the Capitol now overseeing us, there are still long-standing prejudices between the descendants of those firebenders and earthbenders. Gale, comprised of great pride of his origins, holds fast to such feelings.

My father was an earthbender – before he got blown to bits in the coal mines – and my mother is a waterbender and my little sister, Primrose, is a waterbender, too… and while I take after my father, and I can bend earth – I never thought of myself as someone who could afford the luxury of discriminating against the Townspeople. I need them to trade with. My greatest enemy since my father’s death has always been starvation – which has no ties to any type of bending.

Gale and I trek to our favorite spot, surrounded by berry bushes and shrouded from prying eyes. He slices the bread. I offer up the bit of goat-gorilla cheese Prim had given me that morning. Gale places basil leaves onto the cheese. We munch on the blackberries. Our own little reaping feast.

“Have you seen the newest imposter?” asks Gale, as we hike to the lake for fishing.

I glance over. He is smoldering with anger underneath his stony expression.

“I haven’t,” I admit. “Is this one more believable than the last ‘Avatar’?”

“It’s worse,” says Gale. “Since the death of the last Avatar sixteen years ago, there have been countless pretenders, or Capitol puppets, or imposters – whatever we should call them… you’d think they would get better at pretending.”

“We should be grateful,” I say. “The Capitol stopped trying to scourer the districts after a decade of…” I stop myself. I do not need to say it. Gale knows of the horrors. Every baby examined. Every birth attended by a Capitol envoy. The schools putting every child through rigorous testing and scrutiny. Parents, neighbors, strangers all interviewed, interrogated, and encouraged to spy and to betray each other.

“I’m glad they never found the new Avatar,” says Gale. “The Capitol would have raised them to be worse than the last. Someone who promotes the Hunger Games in the name of balance, who is Capitol fed and pampered, who betrays the rest of the world for greed.”

President Snow had indeed grieved when his pet Avatar died, after sixty long years of having them as his puppet. Since then, there have been whispers… fears… hopes… things that the Capitol would not want in the districts.

But they are just that. No one seems to know who or where this new Avatar is. Worse, they would still be a child – just sixteen. And if they are living in hiding, then they likely have not trained enough. Not enough to fulfill the hopes of overthrowing the Capitol and restoring true balance to the world.

I choose not to engage in such fantasies.

Life is hard enough without clinging onto impossible hopes.

We take the fish we catch down to the Hob, where we are able to trade them for a decent amount. The strawberries we picked are sold to Mayor Undersee. When we arrive, it is his daughter, Madge Undersee, who answers the door. She’s in white. A lovely reaping dress. There are rubies on the cuffs of her sleeves. Symbols of her wealth – and a touch of red, some subtle firebender pride. All of it makes Gale look sick with hate.

While it is true that those rubies could keep a family from starving for months, I do not hate her. For being the mayor’s daughter, she is surprisingly demure and kind. I have spent many days sharing quiet school lunches with her, or teaming up together in gym. Madge wishes Gale and I luck in the reaping.

Back home, my mother and Primrose are waiting for me. Prim jumps up and greets me. She shows me the reaping outfit she is wearing. Deep green earthbender garbs. My mother had painstakingly taken it in, since it used to be mine; but it is still a bit big on her. And she isn’t even an earthbender. I motion her to me.

“Tuck that tail in, little turtle-duck,” I tell her, securing the fabric of her shirt into the back of her skirt.

“Quack!” says Prim.

“Quack yourself,” I say.

My mother gives me a dress from when she was a teenager; back when she lived in Town with her waterbender family that owned the apothecary. It is waterbender blue and embellished and when I put it on, it feels wrong, but it fits and it is beautiful, so I thank her.

[misrepresentedmorallygrey]

PROPAGANDA

Basil

In Omori, Basil used to be your best friend up until the tragic events 4 years ago, where Sunny accidentally pushed his sister Mari down the stairs. Basil was the one who found Sunny action-paralyzed, realising that his sister was dead because of him. Basil panicked, thinking the police would take his best friend away forever. Thus, he orchestrated making it look like Mari hung herself, worsening the events of the game. Pretty fucked up stuff. Did I mention both Sunny and Basil were 12 years old at the time? Basil is often portrayed as either irrevocably evil or a pure soul who did nothing wrong. Both of these interpretations ignore the central issue that he COVERED UP A POTENTIAL MURDER because he was 12 AND DID NOT KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO. Prior to meeting Sunny and his group of friends, Basil was said to be isolated and alone. Finally creating this connection with others seemed to have made him terrified to lose these connections, and he's portrayed throughout the game to be haunted by guilt and characterized by his loneliness and fear of losing his friends, but especially his best friend, Sunny. He seems to understand now that he's older that the whole situation was incredibly wrong, and lives in denial mostly about his friend's hand in the events. Nothing seems to suggest that he doesn't realize what he himself did was wrong by the time of the game. He doesn't speak up, though, for the player's sake. After all, Basil has no idea that Mari's death was an accident, and Sunny has retracted into himself and refused to communicate on the issue. The creator themselves descriped the character like this: "OMOCAT describes BASIL as caring and thoughtful in regards to the friends he so deeply cherishes. However, his loneliness and insecurities are what make him dependent on others, sometimes to a dangerous extent." "In fact, OMOCAT adds that BASIL feels deep emotions for those he cares about, and this sometimes places him in situations where he unintentionally hurts others and himself." An additional moment that occassionally garners criticism, is that sometime in the course of those 4 years, Basil marked out Mari's face from his photo album, which he kept of him and all of his friends. This creates conflict between him and another character in-universe. What many fans seem to miss about this issue is that Basil himself is engaging in the same destructive tendency that most of the other characters also are - trying to deal with overwhelming pain with some form of denial and alienation of his old relationships. At no point is there shown any sort of hostility towards Mari from him as a character. Basil is overall a character who used to be a pure small bean but ended up doing something incredibly serious because he was a scared child, unable to deal with the situation at hand rationally. The horrendous guilt and consequences of the tragedy that happened when everyone were too young to process it make up the central themes of the game. By trying to morally simplify Basil's actions, we're also ignoring the overall point of the story; The deeprooted consequences of something extremely traumatic happening to children at an age where they're not able to handle it, and the permanent consequences it's going to have on their lives going forwards.

There's definitely a chunk of the fandom that likes to over-villianize Basil, I suspect to make the main character seem better. A lot of them say Basil forced Sunny into doing something bad, which given what we know about Basil's character seems highly unlikely. And they also give him a lot of flack for (admittedly bad) actions he takes during a mental health crisis.

Yuno Kashiki

She's far more morally grey than folks want to admit. She's not evil, not by a long shot, but she's not exactly innocent either. She's innocent of her (perceived) crime in her media, but in terms of her attitude and outlook on life, I feel people downplay her incredibly grey actions. She uses / used compensated dating as a way to feel "warm" without forming emotional attachments. She hasn't killed anyone, nor has she manipulated anyone into killing for her, but that's why she's a good representative of a more everyday morally grey person. Her actions aren't outlandish or extreme, and if anything she can fade into the background with relative ease, yet I still firmly believe she's morally grey. tldr; Yuno has far more depth than the (general) fandom sees her as having. She gets misrepresented and her voice as a character is often unheard.

Yuno Kashiki is an 18 year old rental girlfriend and sexworker in Japan. She was incarcerated in Milgram for murder at the start of the series in 2020. Since then she has been repeatedly dehumanized by the fandom. Having her agency and statements on her own life overwhelmingly ignored in order to give her a sob story she has consistently rebuked at every turn. Stating from the beginning even if she had to beg for forgiveness like her life depended on it she would. However, it's simply been handed to her as the audience continually goes she was too young and stupid to actually be held accountable for her actions. The same audience that later tries to vote a 12 year old child abuse victim guilty because she has to learn her lesson and she knew what she was doing. Yes the fandom interprets the eighteen year old who chose to work in the profession they did simply because they wanted to something they have no qualms admitting as having less agency than the twelve year old. They treat her like a stupid baby who's only error was not knowing how a condom worked as a sexworker. They say her only crime is an abortion despite her overtly getting upset at other individuals alluded to be clients throughout her songs. Having the literal lyrics of her second song go, ""Poor naive little girl"? So off the mark, what's it to you? It's absurd. Like really who do you think you are? Don't weigh me meassure me against your morality. Just shut it, will you? You know it all." And "Carrssing me with your "good girl". Who needs your self-righteous pardon?" They're so committed to the abortion equating to the murder she's in here for idea that fans got mad at the writer for even writing it that way when at least several other very not fetuses are alluded to throughout her songs and at points literally shown. Her first song even highlighting her clients belongings throughout it with inverted coloring. But instead of thinking she may have just killed a client who was bothering her they've convinced themselves that she's just a silly little outlier who's not meant to be here because abortion isn't murder her body her choice which fair if it wasn't for the fact the only people putting it on the table to compare to murder is the audience themselves. Despite everyone else in here very literally killing actual people with lives, professions, etc as they frame her case as a feminism issue and say if you vote her guilty you just hate women or are anti-abortion. In response to the framing of her situation as she can hear the audiences thoughts on her she's only gotten more depressed and closed off as tge series has progressed blatantly stating to hurry all this up so she can go home. Because it doesn't matter what she says about her situation the audience and the guard by proxy will just end up creating whatever story they want about her so it doesn't matter she's over it. Which in all honesty fucking fair- Wouldn't anyone be after getting treated like that for going on four years.

[foxilayde]

Half of You (part 5) [Santiago x Fem!Reader]

Summary: the Baby Daddy Santi chronicles are back, baybee!

Warnings: a little angst, a little fluff.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER (see: "definition of "forever"", meaning: 107 days). thank you for being so patient. As always reblogs are rewarded with a virtual hug if you're into that sorta thing. And if you're not on the taglist and you distinctly remember asking me to add you to the taglist, pls lmk, I'm dreadful at keeping that stuff organized. Much love to you all.

Fish disembarks with a playful nudge of your woodpile with the toe of his boot. “Good luck with your project, hermosa.” 

“You can come check it out on Thrusday, bring me a little housewarming plant for it, huh? Something pretty.”

He gives you a lazy salute and wink. You don’t watch as he pulls out of Santi’s driveway. You zone out, staring at the clean vertical lines of your freshly shorn lawn. You can hear Santi still wrenching and clanking around in the kitchen. You didn’t hear their whole conversation, just bits and pieces, the fucking window was open and it wasn’t like you were trying to give them privacy anyway. You feel a bout of nausea swell in your throat and you can’t tell if its guilt, or if it’s morning sickness, or if its from the ungodly heat or a bodily reaction to the fertility hormones, but you feel on the edge of vomiting. You rest a palm over your lower abdomen. It could be in there right now. Jay’s face pops into your head and you want to cry. You take a deep breath and rest your head against the slatted outer wall of your craftsman home. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring out at the lawn with the echos of Fish’s words humming against the insides of your skull when the clanking stops and Santi comes to join you on the porch.

“Filters all set up, I’m letting the water run. The booklet said it has to go for an hour until it’s good to drink.”

You don’t respond, so he continues,

“I put the five gal under it though, so it catches all the water… I googled it and it said that the filtration test water is safe for plants, so maybe you can use it on some—“

You cover your face with your hands to hide the tears that well up in your eyes.

“Hey!” Santi crouches down to your level quickly with his popping knees and puts a reassuring arm around your shoulder. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head, still hiding your eyes and you laugh incredulously. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Thank you, Santi.” You sniff a sob and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Could’ve fooled me with the waterworks, I— what’s this pile of… stickers?”

You wipe your eyes to see that Santi’s brow is scrunched, investigating the clump of alphabet’d small stickers in between his fingers.

“It’s… I thought…” you hiccup. Dammit. 

Santi laughs. “Don’t tell me, Vin. Did the little earthquake I caused make the stickers fall off?” 

You sniff the snot back into your nose and you nod. “You know what? That’s exactly how it happened.”

“And then they all banded together in a pile to hide from the aftershocks?” 

“Nailed it. Two for two. You’re on a roll.”

You take a deep breath, hiccuping despite your best composed efforts, and Santi fully lowers himself beside you, arm still around your shoulders. He squeezes you close to his side. He smells like sweat and basil, lemons and lawn clippings.

Santi follows your line of vision to the freshly manicured lawn. “Are you crying about the hedges? I know I did them a little bit short this time, but—“

“I heard Fish.”

Santi’s grip loosens almost imperceptibly and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Vin. Love the guy to death but he’s been a martyr since recovery. ”

You nod in reluctant agreement. 

“Hey….People are going to think what they’re going to think. It won’t stop with Frank.”

“Yeah I know it’s…”

The lawn is pretty. You hone in on a bee writhing on a violet blossom.

“It’s the hormones, I think.”

You know its a lie, even as it leaves your mouth. It doesn’t convince you and you sure as shit know it doesn’t convince Santiago. 

“Hormones, huh? Sorry about that.”

You hiccup and laugh, “not your fault. No need to apologize.”

Santi stretches his legs out from under himself and sighs. “Well if the turkey basting did it’s job, I think it’s only fair I share partial blame, don’t you think?” His grip tightens on you once more and you laugh through a fresh bout of tears, you rest your head on his sweat dampened cotton shirt, wriggling your nose to alleviate the itch.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as a fresh flood of tears escape.

“C’mon, Vin. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He kisses the top of your forehead casually and rubs your shoulder, letting you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“But I do. I really really do.” You bury your face into his cotton clothed chest. “Even fucking now, I can help myself… I cosign you to all my bullshit. You’ve been picking up my broken pieces, letting me cry into your t-shirts since day one, since ground zero. It’s not fair to you.”

“This shirt is filthy anyway.”

You shake your head against his chest.

“This is the hormones talking. That ovulation injection is no joke.”

“Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Delusional and stubborn, huh?”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Go take a nap, Vin. Lie down. I’ll get you some water… some fresh reverse osmosis water… in an hour.”

It’s hard to move, to leave this spot on the sweltering porch, it’s not exactly comfortable on the floor, but your face is resting on the soft cotton of Santi’s t-shirt. He’s content to let you, just like he’s always been; content to let you call the shots, to dictate the direction, no matter what fucking storm you decide to steer the ship towards. 

You eventually concede to a nap and Santi walks you upstairs. He takes off your shoes, and tucks you into your bed, clothes and all. He leaves for a while and in your in-between-states-of-consciousness, Santi sets a glass of water on your nightstand. He’s certainly thinking you’re fast asleep as he pulls your duvet snugly to your ears. You fall asleep totally after he softly closes your bedroom door and when you wake up two hours later, there’s a fully constructed plant shelf on your front porch. 

The next few days pass like any other. Every morning you arise to bake something new, forgoing the oven on Tuesday’s sweltering morning temperatures to concoct some no-bake oatmeal cookies that cause Santiago to outright hoard the batch in his fridge, making you promise not to give them out. You’re too cranky and tired on a novel lack of caffeine to put up much of a fight. 

You never mention the plant shelf to Santiago, but on Wednesday morning there’s a large pot of vibrant green basil on the shelf which you’re certain is his doing. 

On Thursday morning you head to the fertility clinic to test to see if the initial ‘turkey basting’ was successful. They take your urine sample and you twiddle your thumbs, seated with your bare ass on the butcher paper in the empty exam room… they tell you it has. 

You’re pregnant. Pregnant. Your heart rate picks up and you have to lie down, the paper crinkling under your back and behind your hair as you cup your mouth with your hands and begin to cry… again. Fucking hormones. 

The usual surly nurse congratulates you and tells you to come back in eight weeks for the ultrasound. Ultrasound. 

You don’t trust yourself to drive home straight away. You wonder around the neighboring shopping complex and people-watch families. Families on evening walks, families out to dinner, families smiling, families bickering… You hold your abdomen and laugh to yourself. And cry. Again.

By the time you get home, the sun has already gone down. Santi’s driveway holds additional cars, like most Thursday evenings. the boys are over to watch the game. You quietly exit your car, you sit in the dark on your porch swing and watch Santi, Will, Benny, Frank, and Tom through Santi’s dining room window. They clap shoulders, hold cans of beer and shout playfully at one another. The noises are an unintelligible hum that swells in your heart. After about 30 minutes, Fish drags Santi to the front window and points to the street. Santiago cups his hands against the blaring light of his living room to peer out into the darkness. He’s looking at your car. 

In a matter of moments, Santiago is walking down his driveway and up yours. (he never jumps the hedges. Fastidious, that one.) you smile to yourself as he fixes he hair and squares his shoulders, preparing to ring your doorbell when he spots you in the dark on the swing. 

“Vin!” He takes a step towards you and pauses.

“Hey” You don’t know if he can see your face in the shadows or not, but something keeps him from advancing, from joining you on the two-person swing.

“Why aren’t you over there? You didn’t even tell me where you were going today, but, that’s, that’s okay. Everyone’s been asking about you. Ben brought that dip you like and Fish swore up and down that he hasn’t told anyone, besides Rach, obviously. So it’s not as if you have to explain anything. If you don’t want to.” 

Santi scratches the back of his neck and takes one more shuffling step closer to the swing. Hesitant. “Vin?”

“I have to tell you something.”

Even in the dim lighting you can see Santi’s demeanor sobering up. He crosses his arms and immediately responds, “Okay, yeah, I have to tell you something too.”

“I— huh?” You weren’t expecting any new information. 

“You first.” You can’t see his face but you know him so well that you know by his tone of voice the exact face he’s making. That defensive clenched jaw thing that he does with the upwards chin tilt. You’d bet a million dollars that his chin is high in the air.

“Come sit.”

It takes a few beats before Santiago joins you on the porch swing, but he eventually does. The chains creak, his knees pop and he exhales expectantly.

You don’t want to keep him from the game, god only knows what important plays he might be missing, so you decide to come out with it.

“I went to the clinic today and—“

“You did?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have—“

“I wanted to go alone, just in case, I—“

“What’d they—“

“I’m pregnant.”

You’re grateful for the darkness of the porch which keeps Santiago’s expression a mystery. Beyond the hedges, through the glow of Santiago’s living room window, a muffled cheer erupts. Shouting, clapping. Must’ve been an impressive score. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Been crying like crazy. Not sad crying. Just lots of crying. Crying for no reason. At sunsets. At families holding hands. At life insurance commercials… At my best friends watching a football game one house away…”

Santi sits there in silence. You can’t even hear him breathing. You continue. 

“Other than that, I’m good, I— it still feels unreal, you know? But I feel good about it. It was so quick, too. Wasn’t it? I don’t know why, but for some reason because of all the rigamarole the clinic put me through I thought this process was going to take months or years or something. But, first try, and bam. Which sounds about right when I think about it. It’s you, after all. Mister tactical soap. Of course your swimmers would get into formation and attack at dawn. No survivors.”

“Those ovaries didn’t stand a chance.”

“No they did not.” 

“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to— I can give you some space.” 

“No. I want to. I want to see everyone. I know its only been a few weeks but I miss those idiots.”

“Lets do it then.” Santi rises and you hook your arm through his offered elbow. Once you step out into the illuminating glow of the street lamps you see the way his mouth is quirked up in an easy smile. His eyes are slightly glassy from the lagers and the texture of his stubble, the way it folds in at his barely visible smile line… without thinking you run the tip of your finger from the corner of his mouth, up to his ear. 

“I like it when you smile, old man.” 

The lines deepen around his mouth when his smile expands. 

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

- - - - - - - - - 

The get together is a typical Thursday evening fare. The only difference being your abstinence from alcohol and general lack of interest in football has relegated you to maidly duties of replenishing drinks and snacks while the testosterone crew shouts at Santiago’s flatscreen. 

The boys are invested the game, but you enjoy watching them watch the game. Benny is by far the most into it, which makes him the star player of the crew. He throws his poor worn ball cap to the ground when the play doesn’t go his way, stands up when he shouts. He claps and hollers when his preferred team scores and paces around during time outs. You might blame his passion on his proximal youth, but you don’t believe time will be capable of stripping him of his fervent fanaticism. 

By the time you get there it’s past halftime and the “games a dead horse anyway” according to Will (Benny disagrees). You collect your hugs from each of the boys. The hug from Frankie is longer and tighter than usual. 

After the game is over, the boys play some low-stakes poker and one by one each of the crew retreats to the living room to ‘rest their eyes’, the place is a mess, the boys are sloshed and and passed out on the various soft surfaces of Santiago’s living room. You help Santiago clear away the detritus of a night well spent and just before midnight Santiago offers to walk you back home. 

“Would you? I wouldn’t want to get lost on my way in the dark, and this sure is a bad neighborhood. Just last week someone stole the Grossman kid’s skateboard off the front lawn. These streets are dangerous.”

“Pipe down, you’ll wake up Tom.”

You glance down at a particular patch of cozy carpet on the living room floor where Tom’s long body is splayed out, snoring like a logging factory. You roll your eyes and stage whisper to Santiago, “Yeah seems like a real Princess and The Pea situation. Better slip out quietly.” You exaggeratedly tiptoe out of the front door and put your finger up to your lips and whisper-yell at Santiago, “Close the door GENTLY!!” 

Santiago shakes his head, shuts the door, and joins you on the driveway. 

“Oh! Look at the moon!” Its a full one, slightly yellow and impossibly big this evening. “So pretty.” 

You don’t know it but Santiago isn’t looking at the moon. He’s looking at you look at the moon. The way your eyes are all big and glittery. That awestruck smile you have. At something as simple and as constant as the fucking moon. ‘Look at the moon she says, how could I possibly look at the fucking moon when she’s so… So what, Yago? What is she?’

Santiago stuffs his hands in is pockets and looks up at the moon. It is pretty. 

You grab him by the elbow. “Lets lay on the driveway and look at the sky for a little bit?”

“What? Right now?”

“No. Not right now. How horribly convenient would that be? Lets meet back here at oh three-hundred hours when we’re too sleepy to enjoy it.” 

“Fine, wait here.”

Santiago turns to go back in the house.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m not laying on the driveway without a blanket.”

“Good idea… oh, Santi, while you’re in there can you make me a cup of tea?”

Santi raises his eyebrows. “Herbal tea?”

“Yes. I’ve come around. Matured. One herbal tea please.”

“Coming right up.”

You lay out on the driveway in the warm summer evening, stretching out with your hands behind your head. You get lost in time for a bit, staring at the beautiful clear sky. 

Santiago stares at you from the porch. Blanket and tea in hand and admires you quietly, bathed in moonlight. Content. Pregnant. Pregnant with his child. Not his. Yours. Dios. 

Santiago spreads out the blanket next to you after handing you the steaming mug. You set it down and scoot over till you’re on the flannel fabric. He lays down next to you, mimicking your hands-behind-head position. 

You don’t turn your head to look at him when he speaks. You continue to stare up at the full moon, the clear sky, terrified that he might not be looking up at all.

“You hoping for a boy, or a girl?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know… I guess I’ve always wanted a girl. But after taking care of these dopes for so long, I feel finely attuned to caring for dudes… I’ll be happy either way. How about you Santi, do you have a preference?”

“Do I have a preference? No… no.. I mean. I know you’ll be great no matter what.”

“Yeah, thats a given.” You laugh and nudge his elbow with your own, “but have you had your heart set on either?” 

Santi shakes his head, staring at the sky, “I haven’t had my heart set on anything, Vin.”

“I think the gender is the least of my concerns anyway.”

“What’s the most of your concerns?”

“Raising it as a single parent… if I’m co-signing them to a doomed life…”

“You’re gunna do great Vin. Don’t be nervous. I’m here for you.”

“I know. I know you are. You don’t have to be.”

“I know I don’t HAVE to be but I want t—“

“Why though? Why do you feel endebted to me? Why did you do this, let me walk all over your life without a fight? Is it guilt? Guilt I can understand. I’m well acquainted with guilt. Is that what it is? Or is it pity?”

“Pity? For what?”

“For the Widow next door that you have to entertain, the sad girl you invite to your get togethers. The crazy plant lady who can’t hold a screwdriver.” Your hands drift to your stomach.

Santi huffs with incredulity and shakes his head. “It’s not pity. I want to help because… that’s just who I am. I don’t know Vin, I see you, you’re there, you need help, I help. It’s not that complicated.”

“Not that complicated? You’d call this ‘not that complicated’?” Hot tears betray you, you hardly even try to stop them. Not here, in the open blanket of night, Santiago tilting his head in concern towards you. 

“Don’t cry. Please Vin. You’ve been crying to much lately, what’s wrong?”

“I miss him. I miss Jay every fucking day. I wake up and his photo is right fucking there. I think about putting it away… I did put it away for a while, but I even missed THAT… so I put it back. On the nightstand.”

“What would you say to him?”

“Huh?”

“If Jay was here…. Not alive, but a spirit or ghost or something… what would you say to him? If he materialized right now?”

You wipe your eyes. “I’d ask if he was happy. If he was safe… I’d probably ask him if heaven is real. If he’s in heaven. If he met Elvis…” You laugh.

“And what else?”

“And then I’d say… I… I needed you Jay. I needed you. I’d say that sometimes I’m still so angry that you’re not here that it makes me scream. I’m angry that we never went to that stupid ‘Party Time Taco’ restaurant we kept getting flyers for, just to see how bad it was. I’m angry that you didn’t have a fucking last will and testament, so it was on me to guess at everything you would have wanted. I’m angry that you left me alone. And I think sometimes I get so angry, because if I felt sad instead, I’d fall apart.”

You don’t know at what point in your sobbing rant that Santiago’s arm came over your shoulders, but you’re grateful for his steadying embrace as your tears slow down to faint hiccups. 

“You wanna know what I’d think he’d say?”

“What?”

“That he’s proud of you. He’s proud of how strong you are. He’s proud of you for getting out of bed every morning. He knows how hard it must be. And that he couldn’t imagine anyone being a better mother… and how badass he thinks it is that you’re doing this on your own.”

“Thanks, Santi.”

“He also says you shouldn’t be watering the backyard for fifteen minutes in the evening. Do five in the morning and 10 at night”

“Oh he said all that did he?”

“Yep. don’t shoot the messenger.”

“What was the thing you had to tell me?”

“Hmm?”

“The thing. When you were on the porch you said you had something…”

“Yeah. I… I’m taking a job in South America.”

“Where at?”

“Can’t say.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I know.”

“Ohhh… one of those.”

“Yep.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know at all?”

“Not really.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Vin. C’mon you know I can’t tell you.”

“A week? A month?… longer? Blink twice if it’s longer than a month.”

“I don’t know.”

Your hand drifts to your stomach.

Santi breathes out, “Are you upset?”

“No! Why would I be upset?” Your voice squeaks defensively.

“Because I won’t be around while you’re…”

“I said I’m fine! I’m doing this alone and I meant that!”

“Yeah I know. I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Oh I don’t know Vin, If something happens to you and you can’t get in contact with me.”

“If I were you I’d be much more concerned with doing some sort of clandestine mission in a foreign country.”

Santi is silent.

“Will you call?” You ask softly.

“If I can.” He replies at the same quiet level.

“Send a postcard?”

Santi barks out a laugh, “Yeah I’ll send you a postcard. Greetings from redacted! With all incriminating details blacked out in sharpie.”

“You going alone?”

“No. The guys are going with me.”

“All of them?”

“The whole gang.”

“Must be a big job.”

“You could say that.”

“When do you leave?”

Santi takes a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! As in, like, today-tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m all packed. Tonight was a last hurrah stateside.”

“How long have you known about this job??”

“A while.”

"And when the fuck pray tell were you planning on telling me?"

“Fuck I don’t know Vin, I didn’t want to stress you out. I kept trying to find the right moment to tell you but, I don’t know, I didn’t want you to worry and you’ve started crying again and..”

“Hormones!”

“Right, hormones. I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Well I’m considerably less stressed now, learning that you were so worried about this trip yourself that you decided it was better to keep me in the dark and wait till the last possible second to clue me in rather than just tell me. Did you tell the guys to keep it a secret from me too? A last hurrah party and not one of them mentioned the international travel plans the whole night?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It is. You don’t have to tell me everything, right? That’s… you’re not… it’s fine.” You pat his back “Sorry for freaking out. If you say you’re going to be fine then I should trust you, right? You know what you’re doing.”

Santi nods and is tight-lipped when he mutters, “Right.”

“You need me to water your plants or anything while you’re gone? Get your mail?”

“Already taken care of.”

You nod and click your tongue, “Well, it’s getting late.” You dump the contents of your herbal tea onto the lawn and hand Santi the mug. “Will I see you before you leave?”

“We leave in, Santi checks his watch. 5 and a half hours.” He says with tight apologetic eyes.

“Five and a half hours,” you mutter under your breath. “You need a ride to the airport?” You ask more loudly, already deciding that if he says ‘yeah that’d be great’ you’ll laugh in his stupid chiseled face.

“We have a shuttle coming… but thanks.” He looks so tired. But so what if he is, it’s his own fault if he isn’t well rested for his trip.

“Well then, you better get your beauty rest. Those boys are going to have raging headaches tomorrow.”

You get up and rock back and forth on your feet facing Santi. His knees are bent, one hand clasping his wrist, eyebrows downturned with concern.

“I’ll see you in… well… when you get back.”

“Vin—“

“Goodnight, Pope.”

He doesn’t rise to chase you. Doesn’t grab your wrist and force you to hug him goodbye. Doesn’t wipe away your tears with his thumbs. He remains sitting on the driveway when you get inside your home. And when you lay down in your bed, tears soaking your pillow, he’s still out there, staring at the fucking moon.

You have a nightmare. Not the usual horror of Jay collapsing in the middle of highway 1, the recurring playback panic of the last two years. No, in this nightmare you’re sitting on your porch in a rocking chair, holding a potted plant, one so big it crushes your thighs. Santi’s house, usually pristine and well kept, is condemned, paint chipped, windows smashed, lawn overgrown. You rock faster and faster out of control until the ceramic pot falls off your lap and crashes to the floor.

You wake with a gasp and leap out of bed. You nearly trip over the sheet still caught on your foot when you rush over to the window. It’s still dark outside. Santi isn’t out there any longer, neither is the blanket or your mug. You look at the clock. 4:30. You sigh in relief. They haven’t left yet.

You throw on a robe over your nightgown and go downstairs. You turn on the kettle before getting the ingredients out to make biscuits. Those idiots really shouldn’t have drank so much last night. You figure the least you can do is make them some breakfast sandwiches they can take with them. It’s not like you’ll be able to get back to sleep.

You’re wrapping up the last of the sandwiches (seven in total, one for Santi, Fish, and Redfly. Two for each of the voracious Miller brothers) when you see a blue shuttle van pull up in Santiago’s driveway. The sun has barely risen and the muffler steams as the driver beeps twice. You put the sandwiches in a paper bag and forget your slippers in a hurry, meeting the boys with their pack laden arms as they unload their bags into the van.

“Morning, Vin!” Fish greets you, causing Santiago to nearly snap his neck when he turns around in surprise. You hand the bag of breakfast goods to Fish.

“Mmm what’s this?” Frank pokes his nose into the bag and breathes deeply.

“Just a little something to soak up any remaining tequila.”

“Ugh, please don’t say tequila” Benny groans, shuffling off his pack into the trunk before he wraps you up in a hug. “Take care, Vin.”

“I will.”

In turn, each of the boys hugs you and thanks you. You tell them all to “be safe” and that the “welcome home party will be at casa de Vinita. With plenty of tequila.” Benny groans again. Santi watches you, arms folded leaning against the passenger door of the running shuttle. The boys load in and buckle up. Benny is already ripping into the parchment paper of his breakfast and will snatches the bag with a gravelly, “you’re an animal, Ben.”

You lock eyes with Santi, a strange anticipation tingling in your fingers. You both jump slightly when the shuttle driver beeps his horn. Santi glares at the driver who points at his watch.

“Pinche… give me a minute, Kay?”

You take two barefooted steps towards Santi and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your head on his chest. He holds you close, like he’s giving you a concentrated dose of hugs, giving you a full month’s worth of embraces in one sitting.

“I had a nightmare about you last night.” You whisper so only he can hear. He inhales deeply and rubs his hands carefully up and down your back. You can feel the gripping dance of his fingers through the material of the robe and it makes you shiver. You grip him closer. “Be safe. Please.” You whisper, hoping you’re the only one who registers how desperate your plea really sounds.

Santiago’s hands skim up to the sides of your face and he gently pulls your head away from his chest. You choke back the makings of a whine. You don’t want the hug to be over, not yet, you’re going to miss him. He rubs his warm thumbs against your cheeks and there’s no warning at all, no hesitation, no eyes flicking to your lips, no sweep of tongue to wet his own, when he kisses you on the mouth.

It’s slow. Achingly slow. Your gasp of surprise is muffled by the insistent pressure of his mouth. You can’t be sure, but, if he he had been hugging you in prepayment of all the embraces you’d miss in the coming weeks, then this kiss is surely back payment, with interest, for all the times he’s stopped himself from kissing you in the past. Recompense, remuneration; a distilled unspoken passion. There’s nothing ‘first-kiss' about it, not clumsy, not awkward, not unsure. It feels practiced, steady, anticipated. The tingling in your fingers makes total sense and you use those same fingers to glide through his silvery thick curls when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him.

He twists your form in his broad arms, angling your faces away from the van, causing one of your bare feet to leave the ground and lift slightly like a wilting ballerina in swan lake or something out of an old movie.

There’s a romantic reverence in the way his tongue moves with yours, his nose pressed against your cheek, hot steady breath blowing comfortingly against your face.

You both jolt again and break apart your lip lock when the shuttle driver lays on the horn.

Santi doesn’t so much as furrow his brow at the driver when he steadies you back on two legs.

Frankie brushes the driver’s shoulder, and with a mouthful of biscuit says, “Pero qué coño! give him a minute, wéon.”

You blink rapidly and stare at your feet. What the fuck?

“I’ll be back soon.” Santi promises, squeezing your hand assuredly before climbing in the passenger seat and closing the door.

Frankie gives you a wide eyed smile before sliding the back door closed and you can hear the muffled admonitions of the driver as he hastily pulls out of the driveway and speeds off down the residential street. 

-------

taglist:

@miraclesabound : @reallystressedhoneybee : @blackberries45 : @plz-and-spank-you :  @bit-dodgy-innit :  @rnlaing : @stevenngrant : @sharin4readers : @hebelongstothestars : @stardustbells : @alwritey-aphrodite : @libraryreservations : @eroticandawkward : @tripleheartx : @johnny-simpfinger : @fangirlfreakingoutandscreaming : @jake-g-lockley : @lunawants : @andromeda-dear : @writefightandflightclub : @oscarsbabe : @marshmallow–3 : @luminescentlily : @laters-gators: @astroboots  : @lovely-cryptid : @nerdygirl0414 : @hot-mess-express1 : @spacecowboyhotch : @spector-marc : @runa-falls :  @arson-tm : @slymeriah : @geeficrecs: @bit-dodgy-innit : @mintpurplemnm : @snowinseptember24: @missanthr0pist : @romanarose : @dalia-corven : @gratefulstranger : @onlyferorder66 : @kandierteveilchen : @xbellaxcarolinax : @missmarmaladeth : @welcometostayingawake : @wand-erer5 : @ohnosy : @kingtwhiddleston : @eonnyx : @d-sav : @daughterofthequeen

[prodigal-explorer]

loyal - an omori au summary

this is the breakdown of an omori au that i've decided to call the loyalty au, and it's based off of a mixture of ideas that me and my homies (@legendling and @electriczaire) came up with!!

(cw -> murder, omori spoilers, extreme manipulation, mcd)

this is a sort of swap au in which kel accidentally kills hero instead of sunny accidentally killing mari, but there is a twist in the course of events that completely alters the fate of kel and the friend group.

a few days after sunny and mari's recital, kel and hero get into an argument over something silly. but the argument escalates when their parents step in and, as always, take hero's side.

the constant favoritism towards hero finally gets to kel in that moment, and he storms off. hero rushes after him in an attempt to make amends, but kel misinterprets his intentions, and pushes him down the stairs in a fit of anger. hero dies on impact.

just like in the original story, basil is the only one who witnesses the murder. he was at the house for a sleepover. basil comes up with the idea to frame hero's death as a suicide, and he convinces kel to go along with it by telling him that the alternative is kel going to jail and losing all his friends. kel agrees.

but two weeks later, at hero's funeral, kel can't handle lying about something so huge, seeing mari blame herself, seeing the group start to fall apart. so he comes clean. he admits that he killed hero and staged the suicide. but he doesn't say basil's involvement in the situation because he's too held up with his own guilt and his own involvement.

kel expects everything basil said to come true, but mari, sunny, and aubrey forgive kel. it's clear that it was an accident, and it's obvious how much pain kel is in.

but forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting. everyone is uncomfortable around kel, and there is an inevitable, understandable resentment towards kel. the group is awkward, and they tend to exclude kel from things for the sake of their own comfort.

and to make matters worse, the people who take kel's confession the worst are his parents. they despise kel for what he did to their favorite child, and they essentially abandon him emotionally, leaving him to endure this extremely difficult point of his life all by himself. they no longer include him during mealtimes, and when he's around them, they ignore him. they don't even yell at him anymore. it's cold, dead silence.

the only person who still treats kel the same is basil, or so we think. everyone assumes that it's because basil is so sweet and kind, but really, it's because basil is the only one who knows the full truth.

basil is desperate. upon seeing how kel is treated in the friend group and by his family, he realizes that he doesn't want the same thing to happen to him. he begs kel to keep his secret, and ends up manipulating him out of fear. he tells kell that if he tells the group about basil's involvement, then nobody would believe him, and everyone would abandon him.

so kel keeps the secret. but as we all know, kel hates secrets and lies. but he also hates betraying his friends. so now he's in a huge inner conflict between his two biggest values: honesty and loyalty. does he honor his honesty and tell the group the whole truth? or does he honor his loyalty and keep basil's reputation safe?

on top of this, kel realizes that he heavily disagrees with basil's extreme actions of deception, and he hates the position that basil has put him in, making him entirely responsible for basil's fate. but what is he able to do about it? basil is basically the only reason why kel hasn't been completely phased out of the friend group, and basil has so much control over how the group views kel. so he's trapped with basil, forced to endure him with no complaints.

after all, sweet, innocent, kind basil is much more likable and pitiful than loud, annoying, murderer kel.

i hope you guys enjoy this au!! i'm very new to the fandom so if something like this has been made before please don't flame me, i didn't know! feel free to comment with any questions you have about the au, and i'd love to answer them!!! i really want to do something with this, maybe a fanfic or something!

[br0-k3n-sch00lb01]

1–4–3 : A MR. LUCKY AU FIC

Hey guys im back to writing fics for my own aus now. Yeow how cool is that. There is implied Sunflower in this. If you have a problem with that then like. Dont read it . Also there’s some dark topics like suicide n shit so pls proceed with caution… K thanks here we go.

Sunny stepped lightly across the gravel. There was little grass at this time of year, and what was left of it was crunchy with frost. He was ready. He told himself he was ready every time, though, and every time he broke down. He was running on the definition of insanity, his brain constantly on the border between order and chaos. Since that day, and since all those days, really, he had had one continuous circle of thoughts. He felt like he was trapped in a time loop. He stopped in front of the stone that bore the words forever traumatizing him.

‘Here lies BASIL FEY - 199X-200X’

‘My thoughts will follow you into your dreams’

And then, clutching that pitiful bouquet of flowers in his hands, Sunny fell to his knees. The river was loud, deafeningly loud. His tears fell fast and his chest heaved. He had known this would happen. It happened every time. Maybe, just maybe, if Basil’s death hadn’t been his fault, the pain wouldn’t be so unbearable. His heart ached more than his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms. He hated this. He hated this so much. If only he hadn’t been so stupid. His friends, his sister, his… his partner… they all would have lived. Some voice in the back of his head whispered.

‘You could honor him. Join him on his golden throne of light up there in the clouds.’

And for a moment, he almost felt angry at himself for thinking such a thing. Only for a moment. He set down the flowers in front of Basil’s gravestone and then stood up, the sharp rocks cutting into his palms. He walked to the edge of the run, staring down into the blue water, streaked silver with speed. Who would care? Was he making the right choice? What if-

He pushed away the thoughts. What point did they have? He knew full well there was nobody to care.

He stepped forward onto the empty air.

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part xii

And so, spring came at last to Verdigris. The frost melted, the trees bloomed, and the town traded its pallor for the lush green of new growth. The dreary cold went away, and with it went Ace, off to dig himself another grave—because what was the harm, really, in taking another shot at cheating death?

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I do.”

Basil kicked at the dirt with his good leg, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers. Ace poked reverently at a newly sprouted bean plant.

“It’s just… What if you’re not ready?”

With a sigh, Ace straightened up from the garden bed.

“I’m ready, Basil. All healed up. I’ve got folks waiting up for me, and I don’t want to keep them worrying any longer than I already have.”

Please don’t go, Basil thought, I can’t lose you again. They’d kill you if they knew.

But Basil didn’t say any of that. What he said instead was:

“I know, just… Be careful, alright?”

In response, Ace smiled, like he knew what Basil meant anyway. He often did.

“I’ll do my best.”

They lapsed into silence again in the garden. The morning sun finally breached the treeline, dappling the hillside in shades of white and gold. Basil breathed deep and wrapped himself in the quiet moment, committing it to memory in case there was never another one like it.

Just in case.

* * *

What Basil was not expecting in the slightest was to open the front door a mere week or so later to find Ace shuddering on Frida’s doorstep, haggard and dirty, an old bow on his back, with a young girl of about twelve or thirteen at his side.

“Hey,” Ace said.

“Hey yourself.” Basil looked between them. “You know, when I said you’d be back, I didn’t mean right away.”

His attempt at levity went unappreciated. Ace looked at him, pained. Something had gone deeply, horribly wrong.

“Come in, both of you,” Basil insisted, opening the door wide. “Frida!”

Frida came hurrying into the hall from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Basil, dear, who’s at the—oh, gods above.”

“Hi, Frida,” Ace said. “This is Petra. She’s my friend—”

“Honorary sister,” the girl, Petra, interjected. Ace rolled his eyes, as if it were a private joke.

“Fine, sure, whatever.” Ace shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, while Frida just gaped at him. “She… we don’t have anywhere to go, anymore. Do you think you could—“

“Basil, keep an eye on that soup for me, will you? Come on, dear,” Frida said, guiding Petra by the shoulder toward the clinic. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Ace has told me so much about you.”

Petra went without argument, though she did look over her shoulder at Basil and Ace, eyeing the pair of them with a strange expression. Ace followed Basil silently into the kitchen and dropped into one of the chairs at the table. The air was fragrant with herbs and spices cooking in the large pot on the stove. Basil stirred it carefully with a wooden spoon, just for something to do.

He didn’t ask for an explanation. He wasn’t sure he needed one. It was clear the worst had happened, after all—the other shoe had finally dropped, and Ace was once again lucky to have escaped with his life.

“I should have gone back sooner,” Ace said hoarsely. “I could have—“

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

“They killed him. Bertrand’s dead, Basil. There wasn’t even a body left behind, just nothing but ash. If I’d been there, I could have surrendered—“

“They wouldn’t have spared him, Ace. You know they wouldn’t.”

Basil doled out a bowl of soup and placed it in front of Ace, who didn’t so much as reach for his spoon despite how hungry the journey must have made him. He sat motionless while Basil scooped out another helping and sat across from him, eyes searching. He, too, didn’t eat a single bite.

“Petra used to remind me of you,” Ace finally said, eyes crinkling with the admittance. “Optimistic. Headstrong. Not afraid of anything.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now all I see is my own grief. It was supposed to be different for her, Basil.” Ace frowned into his untouched soup, voice going soft. “I did this to her.”

In the silence that followed, Basil thought back to that first day, screaming himself hoarse in half-dead terror. He remembered the guilt, the sorrow, the many days spent unable to walk. Basil thought even further back, years before, to those peaceful days they’d spent together as children. That version of Basil had been long gone for quite some time now, and he wasn’t ever coming back. Optimism was a hard-earned burden he stubbornly carried, not a prize to be bartered for.

Before Basil could say anything of the sort, however, Petra came slinking back into the room with Frida on her heels, looking quite a bit less worse for wear than when they’d arrived. Her face was clean and her short-cropped hair smoothed out, with bandages plastered over the cuts that rogue branches and brambles had left on her skin. She peered at Ace knowingly, solemnly, as she sunk into the chair beside him, eyes roving over his sullen expression. Basil felt a kinship at that.

For his part, Ace was still hunched over his bowl, face and hands smeared with dirt and grime. He still needed to get cleaned up, once they got this situation sorted out. Basil would probably have to force him.

“You boys need to eat,” Frida chided softly, pouring soup for herself and Petra, who muttered a quiet thanks.

“I need to ask,” Basil said quietly. “Did anyone else make it?”

“I got mostly everyone out before the royal guard came,” Petra said. “But some folks didn’t want to leave. Bertrand…”

“Stubborn old man,” Ace muttered with subdued fondness.

“They got out,” Frida repeated. “I don’t know what you mean, dear. Where are they now?”

Petra looked up from her soup, eyes hard and pained, and said, “I don’t know.”

In that moment, Basil’s blood ran hot, and he thought he finally understood, after all these years, what it was that had kept Hank going, day after day. How long did this have to go on? How could anyone let this go on? But what could Basil do?

Ace had stumbled into something far greater than either of them, something on the level of kings. And what had that gotten him? Another abandoned home, more missing friends, another dead guardian? There were no heroes and villains, no monsters come alive from fairy tales. There were only two kinds of people: those with power, and those without. It was a simple answer, but then again, those were always the hardest to accept.

That night, long after the soup had gone cold and Petra had been set up with a cot in Frida’s bedroom, Basil kept Ace company on the front step, both of them too tired to sleep. The sky was clear, and full of stars, but no matter how much Basil tried, he couldn’t discern any meaningful pattern among them. After all these years, that was it—he was all out of answers.

“So,” he said. “What are you going to do now?”

Ace picked at a loose thread on his pant leg and shrugged.

“I can’t leave Petra behind like that again. She was all alone, waiting for me for months. She deserves a better life than that.”

“Then stay,” Basil said. “Stay for now, stay forever, I don’t mind. You know I’ll always be here.”

Ace chuckled. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to stay put like that for long.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about Petra?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ace said with a glare, though there wasn’t any heat behind it.

Basil leaned back on his palms, searching the sky.

“You should rest,” he said. “Live the best life you can, for yourselves. It’s simple, but it’s enough.”

Ace nodded, though his expression told Basil he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m going to sleep.” He pushed to his feet and made his way back inside. “Goodnight, Basil.”

“Goodnight.”

The screen door slammed shut, leaving Basil alone in the quiet night. He pulled his knife from his belt loop and turned it over in his palm. Moonlight glinted off the blade.

Basil kept his silent vigil well into the night, until the entire hillside fell quiet and even the crickets went to sleep. He kept one hand on the hilt of his blade all the while.

Just in case.

[croziers-compass]

Oh are you taking writing prompts? Basil, for fitzier :)

basil (good wishes) — “i just want the best for you.”

Fitzier

For James, recovery invoked the most pain he had endured throughout the entire expedition. They had gotten back to England, and by then he was hardly able to walk. The worst of the matter was that he was brought to stay with Ross, of whom billeted Francis as well. The grief of the loss of Sir John Franklin made staying with the Franklins out of the question for either one.

There was no safe harbour better for Francis to see to James and tend to him. If anything, the attentive nature of his fellow Captain only crescendoed once proper supplies and utility was available. What surprised James above all else was how often Sophia visited. He had watched the two, closely. He had watched them with the cold droplets of ache inside his chest. Whatever he and Francis had developed in his near moments of succumbing to that which ate him seemed to have dissipated. In the least it had metamorphed into something less romantic. Or, perhaps, James had thought to himself, he misread and misunderstood those touches and those tender moments.

Perhaps there was nothing there. But yet when Francis embraced Sophia during their visits, he saw it. The shale and the cairns and what would have been his death bed. Did Francis touch everyone like that? Was his tender love a supplement for him because he was dying? Now that he was no longer in the clutches of the cold Arctic's will to consume him, Francis seemed hesitant in such affections. He never watched the two of them kiss beyond Sophia's blushing and tear streaked cheeks. Though he could imagine it as he lay there, bedridden and sore yet as the aches of his bones and joints suffered the cruelty of regrowing his skeleton. Francis helped him with everything. Such things became painful deep within his core for he knew such a schism had begun to form between them. He was foolishly enamoured with the man. He knew better and yet he foolishly allowed his heart to lead him astray. He could have died happy out there on the shale. He spent the weeks gathering himself. Francis seemed to be having increased discussions with increased fever with Sophia. They always spoke outside his door, away, but close enough where James could hear them. He fretted. Was he stealing Francis away from Sophia, who surely would accept his proposal by now and desire the man just as James had? Certainly he was impressive enough for the standards set by her family by now. Was he too much to burden? Guilt swept him in and down many nights as he was left to rest in the dark, Francis' room just down the hall. When the day came he was able to walk, with Francis' hands clutching him firm and tightly- oh he was always so steady- He spoke. "Francis," He was raspy. His throat was dry. But the tone betrayed him as he swallowed tears, the sharp steely blues locking on him. "Are you well, James?" It was heavy with concern so dense it swelled inside James' belly. "I'm well enough. Please do not let me keep you from Sophy." It came from him easier than he thought. It hurt less. Francis searched him with his eyes as if he was speaking another language. "I'm well enough to walk. I'd say I'm well enough to tend myself now. You've a lot to shoulder with the Franklins. God knows they need you now. Especially Sophia." He left a brief pause but Francis did not interrupt it, "I've heard - the two of you," he swallowed, thick and hard, "I want you to be happy, Francis. God I want you to be happy. And now you have what you have wanted. I will be fine." He clutched Francis through his lie. "I do have what I want. And I am not letting go of it, James," His brow furrowed, a soft smile pressing his lips together, painfully. "Sophia, however, seems less amicable about my declination." James froze, stiff and confused. "Your-" "I am there for the Franklins. I am. They have endured much the both those women. Formidable, they are, yes. Do not worry. As for Sophia, well," He eased James back to the bed. "I want you to be happy, Francis. I want what is best for you. This is your chance to have what you hoped for when we left all those years ago." James was choking a little on something that wormed its way into his throat. "That is generous James." Francis sat beside him, clutching his hands tenderly and bringing him into his own lap, "I think I would like what is best for the both of us." He brought the backs of James' knuckles to his lips. "And that is what I will have."

[hostess-of-horror]

I'm having so many ideas and not enough energy to do or finish any of them AAAAAAAAAAAA-

Just so that I don't just wallow in my inability to get off my ass and do this shit, I'm going to type it all down!

1. The Haunted Mansion movie (done right!)

- This one is actually based on a slew of Discord convos between me and AJ (@sneklover). It was mostly just me ranting about how God awful Disney's live action remakes are getting and what I would've done if I were to make the iconic attraction a film or t.v. show.

- I have seen the original live action Haunted Mansion movie with Eddie Murphy but not the newest one, BUT MY POINT STILL STANDS! Both are literally the same thing where the story focuses more on the Foolish Mortals than the Happy Haunts and I do not like that.

- If I were to film a Haunted Mansion movie/show, I would make it an anthology horror movie. Think Tales From The Crypt or Creepshow but with Master Gracey telling the stories behind iconic characters such as the Hatbox Ghost, Constance Hatchaway, the two Dueling Ghosts in the ballroom, etc. At some point towards the end, Master Gracey would then tell his story, of how he inherited the mansion, was cursed as the Ghost Host by the mansion itself, and how he tried in vain to lift the curse.

- I remember telling my mom about my idea and, while she loved it, did say that Disney would not like it because they want to put out a more broad demographic. "They're not catering to us," she said (paraphrased). Which makes sense, I just jokingly mentioned to AJ how Disney wouldn't hire me for stuff like this lmao.

- My Haunted Mansion would be a love letter to the Gothic Horror genre and dark humor. An old Louisiana mansion that's haunted in more ways than one, its owner an unwilling slave on the brink of insanity, and all the tales of death kept within its walls. And these tales are nothing short of harrowing, as well as hilarious!

2. Vincent Price x Self-Insert Fanart

- I love this old man so fucking much I wanna kiss him I wanna dance with him I wanna cuddle with him I wanna slowly drive him into insanity so that I can see him smile lovingly at me I wanna be the harbinger of his downfall and his eternal bride aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa- 🖤🖤🖤😩🙌🥴🥴🥴

- So yeah, pretty much what it says on the tin. I was inspired by the very talented @theboarsbride for the idea and Corman's The Masque of the Red Death, starring the Handsome Devil of Horror himself Vincent Price, and wanted to make an AU.

- Masque AU where Francesca (the main character) does give in to the dark side, but of her own volition, transforming into the Red Death. The Red Death is both a Reaper and a Resurrection - a purveyor of plagues and a damsel turned demon. A Bride in Blood...

- It's basically a sort of rewrite of the original ending and now it's sorta... 🌶️spoicy🌶️ so, um.... yea. smexy monster lady x human stuffs.

- ANYWAYS...!

3. Walt Disney's The Great Mouse OC

- I've been wanting to do something with the GMD fandom for a long while now, and I think a hypothetical OC from an hypothetical sequel fanfic would be a good introduction!

- So, in a nutshell: She's a mad scientist spider who is the new secondary villain of said sequel. She has no name as of yet, but she is mute (either from an injury or is simply nonverbal), extremely passionate about her grotesque experiments, and very, very lonely. Unlike Ratigan, the Greatest Criminal Mind, she is more somewhat spontaneous, preferring the tasks of stitching her family together over anything tactic. In other words, she's the brawns while Ratigan is the brains (and brawns). Her goal in villainy is to build and destroy - to build her long lost family and to destroy all of micedom.

- While she is the one who caused the whole case, the main focus on the story is mainly the ✨tension✨ between Basil and Ratigan. In other words, opening up old wounds... by resurrecting the dead!

- Yup, Sherlock Holmes: Furry Edition is now becoming a Gothic horror story. Heavily inspired by Little Nightmares II, Jack the Ripper, and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the sequel is a tale of murder and madness, with a bloodcurdling case and a rivalry that won't stay dead.

- In this fanfic, I interpreted that Ratigan did die in GMD and so that he could be resurrected by my OC in the sequel! I also wanted to have Fidget resurrected but AJ doesn't like to think of her lil guy dead, so... Yeah, Ratigan is the Frankenstein's Monster and Phantom of the Opera of the plot. (POTO because I thought of the sequel's climax being set during an opera)

- Meanwhile, Basil and Dawson are having a Very Bad Time, with Basil constantly being haunted by the professor and Dawson mentally reliving his days at the regiment.

- Disney will never hire me.

[theicarusconstellation]

hc that neutral knife ending hero went to med school but ended up switching majors with the goal of an eventual psychology doctorate in the hopes that he could save others from ending up like mari — and himself after her supposed suicide — yet his guilt only got worse when he discovered mari’s baby brother killed himself, right after basil did, and he failed to protect them despite helping people through their grief being what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. "if i can't even save the people closest to me, how am i supposed to help anyone else?"

ntm the one time he put himself first ended up being detrimental to himself and those around him (falling into a depression after mari's death), and he never does it again even after finding basil dead, telling sunny he'll be okay despite literally staring at a dead body with his little brother.

and don’t get me started on him bearing the “blessing” of favorite child, watching kel suffer and be ignored by their parents and trying his hardest not to let that sow resentment between them.

then sally comes along, and now there’s this Baby to take care of and he’s trying to manage college and grief and thinking about mari every day and being so, so sorry, and…his mom only talks about all that he fails to do. how he used to want to spend time with her and now he just “doesn’t bother with his poor old mom.”

and then sunny dies. everything hero strived for was for nothing, because even in a last-ditch effort to protect sunny and keep him from seeing basil’s body, sunny died anyway. the little brother of the love of his life died the “same way” she did.

he calls himself “hero,” and his parents like to think he’s a hero too, but all he can seem to do…is fail.

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S4E13: Blizzard of ’01

Storylines

The effects of the aging pills are reversed

There’s a blizzard outside

Gloria is named as co-defendent in the Wicks familys lawsuit against Oz and Weitgart

Suzanne Fitzgerald comes to Oz to try and see Ryan; Cyril beats Howell; Cyril might get transferred to Connelly; Ryan asks Seamus about Suzanne; Gloria tells Ryan she’ll help find Suzanne again

Hughes’s mother visits; he alludes to some plan; he continues to act up in Unit J

Basil and Glynn meet

Busmalis is stood up by Norma at the altar.

Samuel Gougen converts to Catholicism; Mukada and Cloutier beef; Kirk gets Gougen beaten and Cloutier confronts him; Mukada meets with Said and they have an ecumenical service

Carrie comes to visit Schillinger, who tells her Hank is dead; her water breaks

Edward Galson arrives at Oz as Beecher’s new cellmate; Katherine McClaine arrives to help Beecher get paroled; Beecher punches Galson in the dick for being homophobic and gets put in the Cage;

Jackson Vahue struggles in therapy with Sister Pete and seeks harder drugs from Redding; Redding offers him a needle instead; Jackson decides to get clean

Carlton “Tug” Daniels arrives at Oz; tensions rise between the Homeboys and Latinos; Hill begins to have doubts about the violence and after talking to Said, tips off the hacks about war; SORT prevents the violence; lockdown is issued

Giles must choose his method of execution and requests to be stoned to death; Moses meets with his lawyer and senses his time is up and so decides to ask Said to help him find organ donors and meet them

Salah Udeen tells Robson and Hoyt he no longer plans to kill Said; Udeen confesses the plot to Said, who reveals he already knew; Udeen takes an attempt on Said’s life for him; Said blames himself for the death

Sister: Shannon?! …Oh… This his grandma? Oh, it’s his mother, isn’t it? Wait, isn’t his mother dead?

Sister: Yeah, and look what happened. Crack.

Sister: I don’t know…. maybe she shouldn’t work at a desk if she can’t open drawers…. Me: Don’t speak ill of Floria, [SisterFirstName LastName].

Sister: Ever since his relationship went down hill, he’s been searching for a new identity. Is that why he shaved off his mustache? And now I have to look at that?

Sister: That’s what Miranda said in Sex and the City.

Sister: Hm, this is the gay episode. [sips water loudly] I’ve seen this in a manga before.

Sister: He looks like a cult leader.

Sister: Where did this rabbi come from? Me: (squint) you know, he kinda looks like the show creator does now… but that’s probably not what he looked like back then…

Sister: The largest newborn baby I’ve ever seen, slathered in jam.

Nothing really to say about this other than Augustus looks adorable lol

Sister: Once this guy is gone, my angel can finally come out of Solitary on his little poo-wings (flaps hands like little wings)

Sister: He’s so embarrassing. Look at those highlights. Me: Yeah, but remember, this was 2001. That was like peak Asian coolness. [Classmate] had them back in second grade and I was so jealous. I had a crush on him. Sister: Well do you have a crush on this guy? Me: No… Sister: Exactly. ‘Cause he walks like he’s coming to a break dance battle.

Sister: Why… what… Which one of them is on the visitor side for this?

Sister: This guy’s hair is baffling.

Final thoughts:

Sister: That was the end? I didn’t even get to see my poopy little angel. Me: I thought you were the angel. Sister: Yeah, I used up too much of my energy. Now he’s part angel too.

Sister: I saw many butt cheeks. Me: How do you rate the butt cheeks? Sister: Hmm… I think most of them I saw were flabby? Oh no, Said had a firm but (holds up hands as if cupping). And big muscular thighs, whapow! And I think O’Reily’s butt got fatter. It was really flat just a couple episodes ago. Me: It's because of where his pants were. Sister: Ohhh... they were were under there like a push up bra. Me: There was also like… Oh, you said Supreme Allah, but that was just his legs on the hospital bed. Sister: Oooh, yes. He got them strong legs and also those socks where like you can imagine if he wore those vintage dolphin shorts and a little visor. And he’s got his tank top and dreads. Give him a little whistle. Tweet tweet. Camp counselor. Green shorts. He’d look great in green. Supreeeeme Allah. Put him on a poster with those legs (does a pose, hand folded behind head) (starts googling dolphin shorts to show me the exact outfit she has in mind)

Sister: They keep not really showing the Latinos and the Italians on the show. Me: Yeah, they basically only have the Italians have story lines in the first three seasons. Sister: I don’t even know who any of them are. Like there’s the main guy but I don’t know who any of the others are. They could switch ‘em out and I wouldn’t know. Me: They do show the Latinos sometimes throughout the episodes. They were beefing with the Homeboys this episode. Sister: Yeah, but they only have the two main guys and I don’t know who anyone else is. Me: Well they killed the third guy last episode. Miguel killed Jorge Vasquez and that’s why he’s in the Hole…. Although, I did see Jorge in some of the cafeteria scenes this episode… Sister: Time travel...

Stray Thoughts

Dr. Nasca = doctor at Benchley

Seitz = lawyer for Weitgart

As horrible as Howell is, she’s really funny, and she was especially a highlight in this episode, I feel like.

I liked the Said and Mukada moments in this episode. I feel like they have an interesting dynamic—too bad there isn’t more in the show

Only 2 or 3 of the unnamed members of El Norte appeared at the ecumenical service

Penis count: 2

No Miguel this episode 🥲 But at least Chico was present! Up and playing basketball even! Siri, how long does it take to heal after getting stabbed with a kitchen knife?

If we go by Sister’s Glynn logic and the pre-established Beecher facial-hair-by-mood premise, I propose a new theory behind Chico’s clean shaven look in s6: he got dumped lol

[misty-wisp]

hey hey I've recently jumped back into the omori fandom after a year and its been a fun romp through your tsumi to batsu fics! Sunny and omori are my two favorites here :)

I especially love how you portray omori as a character when a good number of fanfics (+fandom) just deem the guy as "evil version of sunny who doesn't feel anything except for hatred for sunny and there isn't an nuance with him even though he's an manifestation of sunny's coping and a reflection of sunny's thoughts" or "12 year old brat with a knife"

like??? I know that during the omori boss fight he pulls out the most vile shit a 12 year old manifestation of your self hatred can pull out and in the bad ending theres an interpretation that omori took over sunnys body and jumps but did you not see what happens after the bossfight??

Omori hugs sunny after his fight boss no matter the ending and its really powerful in the good ending especially since it's sunny beginning to forgive himself and let go

And yet the people focus in the bossfight dialogue instead of the hug that happens after

Of course, there's the entirety of blackspace to consider and numerous basil deaths which is something to add for the evil knife kid.

On the more positive side of things

Omori leaving notes for sunny to take care of himself, telling him to be nice to his mom, and taking control of the body so sunny won't starve like he most likely did for 4 years-

*clenches hand, clenches hands clenches hand clench-* Yes Yes YES YES THAT'S MY BOY

Sunny realizing that omori isn't someone who runs away but instead hides and starts to look for him....I smell a Thing (TM) between sunny who runs away from his trauma and omori locking away bad memories, hiding it in the backstage (blackspace) as the mainshow (headspace) plays

Honestly, I don't think you really intended that to be taken this way but still

Omori going "good morning" when sunny asks an uncomfortable question, man has impeccable timing

Then-! Then-! The flower tending scenes!

Omori taking good care of his friends flowers while the white tulips being neglected.

It turns the tables around the usual sunny being unable to forgive himself to omori unable to forgive himself (or rather believing he doesn't deserve forgiveness in this case)

"The lilies looked especially perfect, he noticed" ouhgough goughgough big sister mari

"The tulips. They’re all withering away. While the rest of the flowers were full of color, glistening in the sunlight (moonlight?) the tulips remained a dead brown, practically twigs.

'Don't mind those,' Omori said, stopping in his tracks. 'They don't need any tending to.'" OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH MY HEART

White tulips signalifying forgiveness, Sunny taking care of them which silently conveys that he forgives Omori which is verbally confirmed, the both of them being represented by white tulips--!

Omori suddenly breaking the photo of mari without knowing why he did so- I feel like this guy has to slowly work on not erasing the 'truth' during this fic ey?

I know that photo of Mari was most likely headspace Mari but I like to think that it was an irl Mari picture

In my heart, they're friends your honor

OH MY GOSH THANK YOU THIS IS SO SWEET???? genuinely i never thought my au would bring someone this much joy omg 😭 tysm

i love how you caught all those little details too--funnily enough i don't think anyone's fully caught that the tulips weren't tended to because omori doesn't forgive himself(+thinks he doesn't deserve forgiveness) hehehehehe

also anon i am literally in love with how you found a parallel regarding how sunny used to run away from his problems and how omori does that now 😭 i don't remember if i was intentionally implying that??? but i most certainly am now omg

recently i haven't been into omori as much as before but wow i feel so much more motivated to get back to writing my fic...genuinely tysm this means a lot to hear!!!

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: Sunday, August 6, 2023

august 6_july 23

THE HOLY MARTYRS PRINCES BORIS AND GLEB, IN HOLY BAPTISM – ROMAN AND DAVID (+ 1015)

Saints Boris and Gleb were sons of Saint Vladimir (July 15). Saint Boris was named Romanus and Saint Gleb was named David at their Baptism. After their father’s death the eldest son Sviatopolk planned to kill his brothers Boris, Gleb, and Yaroslav in order to seize power. He sent a message to Boris, pretending that he wished to live in peace with him, and to increase Boris’s land holdings inherited from their father.

Some of Vladimir’s advisers told Boris that he should take the army and establish himelf as ruler of Kiev. Saint Boris, however, said that he could never lift his hand against his own brother. Unfortunately, Sviatopolk was not so scrupulous. He came to the town of Vyshegorod to ask its leaders if they were loyal to him. They assured him that they were ready to die for him.

Sviatopolk sent assassins to the Alta to kill Boris, who already knew that his brother wanted him dead. When they arrived they heard him chanting psalms and praying before an icon of Christ. He asked the Lord to strengthen him for the suffering he was about to endure. He also prayed for Sviatopolk, asking God not to count this against him as sin.

Then he lay down upon his couch, and the assassins stabbed him with their lances, and also killed some of Boris’s servants. Wrapping Boris in a cloth, they threw him onto a wagon and drove off with him. When Sviatopolk saw that he was still breathing, he sent some men to finish him off with swords.

After Sviatopolk had killed Boris, he wondered, “Now how can I kill Gleb?” He sent him a message saying that their father was ill and wished to see him. As he was on his way, he received word from Yaroslav that their father had died and that Sviatopolk had murdered Boris.

Saint Gleb wept for his father and brother, and was lamenting them when the assassins arrived. They seized his boat and drew their weapons, but it was Gleb’s cook Torchin who stabbed him with a knife.

The martyr’s body was thrown onto the shore between two trees. Later, he was buried beside Saint Boris in the church of Saint Basil.

Saints Boris and Gleb received the crown of martyrdom in 1015. They became known as Passion-Bearers, since they did not resist evil with violence.

The holy martyrs Princes Boris and Gleb are also commemorated on May 2.

ROMANS 8:28-39 (EPISTLE, PASSION-BEARERS)

28 And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. 29 For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren. 30 Moreover whom He predestined, these He also called; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, these He also glorified. 31 What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things? 33 Who shall bring a charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. 34 Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36 As it is written:"For Your sake we are killed all day long; We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter." 37 Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. 38 For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

JOHN 15:17-16:2

17 These things I command you, that you love one another. 18 If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you. 19 If you were of the world, the world would love its own. Yet because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. 20 Remember the word that I said to you, 'A servant is not greater than his master.' If they persecuted Me, they will also persecute you. If they kept My word, they will keep yours also. 21 But all these things they will do to you for My name's sake, because they do not know Him who sent Me. 22 If I had not come and spoken to them, they would have no sin, but now they have no excuse for their sin. 23 He who hates Me hates My Father also. 24 If I had not done among them the works which no one else did, they would have no sin; but now they have seen and also hated both Me and My Father. 25 But this happened that the word might be fulfilled which is written in their law, 'They hated Me without a cause.' 26 But when the Helper comes, whom I shall send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who proceeds from the Father, He will testify of Me. 27 And you also will bear witness, because you have been with Me from the beginning.

1 These things I have spoken to you, that you should not be made to stumble. 2 They will put you out of the synagogues; yes, the time is coming that whoever kills you will think that he offers God service.