#with like the certainty i have now. i spent so much time thinking i wasn't a good person for the things i didnt do.

[love-has-a-way-ofgrowingbackward]

growing up is just being embarrassed of your younger selves again and again until you aren't <3

[inconveniently-discorporated]

My heart hurts so bad for Aziraphale because I can honestly just relate to him so, so, so much.

(not putting this one under a cut so warning season 2 ahead, I'll tag it at the bottom too)

Aziraphale says, "Nothing lasts forever," but I don't believe for a second he doesn't wish that it did.

He WANTS things to go back to how they used to be. He WANTS the seraphic Crowley squealing with joy as he cranks up the universal machine and sets the stars aflame. He WANTS there to be no sides, he WANTS to believe in the idea of the host united, he WANTS to go back before Crowley got himself in trouble by asking questions. He wants, I think, to be in that moment of creation and adoration forever.

Change seems to frighten him. There's an aspect of uncertainty. There's an element of chaos, the loss of control. I understand this deeply. And what the Metatron offered him was just that: certainty, control, the ability to dictate his own narrative.

I used to be in a toxic job. On top of it, I had intense anxiety and other undiagnosed neurodivergencies that made it even harder to fit in and understand the untold rules I was supposed to follow to get along. When I first got there, it wasn't so bad -- perhaps I was, like Aziraphale, also a bit idealistic. Then there were some changes that brought instability, significant more anxiety, and a lot of nights spent agonizing over my lack of control over it all.

My friends and significant other tried to convince me to leave, but I didn't want to. I didn't know what else was out there. I didn't know if it would be worse. I didn't know what kind of stability it would have.

Then my manager left, so that spot opened up. I had worked there for a long time, and honestly, I never saw myself going into management. I didn't think I could. I wasn't sure I even wanted to. All of that extra stress, on me? Not to mention, getting FURTHER into the job that was taking a massive toll on me? But then...

Then I would have control. Then I could run things the way *I* had always thought they should run. I wouldn't need to worry about who would replace my manager and whether my life would be a living hell -- I would make it what I wanted it to be. Upper management was really pushing for it, so I applied.

To make a long story short: I don't think it went very well. I didn't have the support I needed. I didn't have the emotional skills I needed. I think I did my best, but I'm not fond of those times. At the time, I was SURE that I wanted to move up even more, I was SURE this would make it all better. I thought this was what I REALLY wanted.

But that's not what I needed. What I needed was to get out, and eventually I did. Even as ready as I was to leave, it was absolutely agonizing. I could barely stand to handle the unknown. I was going to work together with my spouse, actually, and I was so excited for that, but I still... I still was upset and worried sick over the dramatic change that would befall my life, after I had made the decision to leave.

That's where I can relate to Aziraphale. I wonder what would've happened if, before I had actually left for good, the head honchos had come up to me and said, "We want to keep you -- how about we offer you (an even higher position)?" -- would I have said no, or would I have wanted to make a difference?

Funny, I said exactly that, too. That's almost why I didn't change jobs in the first place. I said, "But I feel like I'm really making a difference with what I'm doing now." But what pushed me over the edge was realizing that none of that mattered to them, it was all about THEIR control of ME, not the other way around.

I'm so intensely curious to see what happens with Aziraphale next, but I'm sure he will learn what Crowley understands: nothing lasts forever, and sometimes it's good that it doesn't -- even if sometimes we wish it did.

[cyberchronics]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jjk is infecting me. (bit of a longer one... strap in!)

stalker mahito + getting caught

✶ dubcon? both ways, yandere stuff, implied drugging ✶

★ yandere sub mahito, mean dom reader, breaking in, degrading, spitting, choking, biting, kneejob?, slapping ★

✩∘₊ ✩*✯☆⃟⃟⃟✯*✩₊∘✩

mahito's been stalking you for as long as he can remember. making sure no one bothers you on your daily commute and always being nearby when you're shopping so he can leave anything that's been forgotten on your doorstep.

you've got a date? oh, sweetheart. don't you know he's the only one for you? that's okay, just don't be surprised when yet another dinner falls through without so much as a text. hey, it's not his fault he sees red when anyone else even thinks about getting close to you!

on the other hand, you've had your eye on him for a while. mahito's blue hair seems to stick out in every crowd you walk through. whether it be going to and from work or going out for groceries he's never too far away, itching nervously as if he's tweaking for a fix of... who knows what?

mahito wishes you knew the only drug he could ever want is you.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Whenever Mahito visits you, he likes to make up a different scenario. This time it's date night. He's spent hours getting ready for you, pinning his hair up into a neat bun and wearing the nicest outfit he owns, but you never showed up to the restaurant :( Guess he'll have to check on you like a good boyfriend.

He stands at your window, fishing the makeshift key he's crafted specifically for this situation out of his pocket. The movement is virtually muscle memory alone at this point as he breaks the lock, crawls into your room, and closes it back. "Sweetheart, you stood me up again..." Mahito whispers, walking towards your dozing form and brushing your hair away to reveal the gorgeous face that he's come to see.

Using caution is nowhere near what he's concerned about. Not when he's made sure you'll be sleeping like a log tonight. "But... I guess I can forgive you this once. You do need your beauty rest." Soft hands slowly reach out and cup your cheek, relishing in the warmth that radiates off

There's no hesitation when he grabs your hand, nuzzling his face against it before leaning down to kiss your knuckles. "Letting someone like me do whatever I want with you..." His thumb strokes your hand lovingly as he speaks to the dead air. "You're so silly, darling."

To his... delight? horror? He can barely tell the difference, he feels you twitch under his touch a second before your eyes shoot open. Mahito immediately freezes, eyes wide and mouth dry. There's no way out of this, and even if there was his brain is shutting down. He's so fucked.

A squeal of surprise slips past shiny lips as you immediately react. His body is slammed against the floor, firm arms pinning him down. He can barely contain his excitement as anger and disgust flairs up within those pretty eyes he's been wishing would focus on him for the longest time. Delight, Mahito decides with certainty, feeling the tension rise in the decorated bedroom. This is the most delightful thing he's ever experienced.

"Are you getting off on this?" If that fact wasn't apparent before, it was crystal clear now. A red blush is dusted across his skin, a small tent starting to form at the crotch of black pants. Before he can even get out a response a hand drifts up and squeezes his neck hard, choking him with ferver. "Fucking pervert. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mahito loves how vulnerable you are like this. Pretty voice still raspy from sleep, hatred painted clearly across the face he's spent months admiring as if you're really gonna kill him here. That wouldn't be so bad.... would it? In fact, the idea of dying at the hands of the person he loves is almost too romantic for his heart to take. "Open."

It takes a second for it to click before he eagerly opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. He moans when you spit in his mouth, long and drawn out as he finally gets the smallest taste of you. Mahito is floating on cloud nine, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and committing himself to memorizing your flavor before he wakes up from this dream.

Before he can land on a single conclusion, a firm force presses against his erection, hands easing up on his neck as your focus shifts. Mahito whimpers as your knee rubs his cock up and down, making it twitch like crazy as his eyes are blown wide. By the time you're sinking your teeth into his neck, he's blabbering uselessly with his eyes rolled back. "Thank you, darling. I-I love you."

He wheezes out in between noises of sheer pleasure, receiving a sharp slap that stings his cheek in response. The impact is the only thing he needs to go tumbling over the edge, staining his pants with hot white cum and punctuating it with an erotic moan.

He's barely given a second to recover when you stand up, seemingly going back to bed for the night. "Now get the hell out. Don't let me catch you here again." Mahito nods, scrambling to get up and adjust his clothes before running out of the house. Once alone he smiles, slumping down in a nearby alleyway to calm down and checking the new additions to the various markings littering his body.

There's no way in hell he's not coming back tomorrow.

part 2?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: side note but i absolutely adore mahito's dub voice ♥︎ i can def see him being whiny n bratty (maybe in pt 2?) but wanted to focus on his masochism for this ⠒̫⃝

[melloollem]

Giving You Hell|| Jason Todd × No reader gender

Summary: After discovering that you were responsible for his resurrection, you and Jason Todd have an argument that results in the end of the relationship.

Warnings: anguish, mention of death, fight in relationship, No gender specified.

I consider this a good fanfic, I hope you like it.

(DC masterlist)

You knew the danger of keeping secrets in a pandora's box. Soon someone fearless would open it, soon the evil that had been kept there would find the light of day and you could only wait for that day to come fearing the destruction knowing you were too powerless to stop it and the day came.

You knew that Jason was investing with Bruce who revived him, they obviously knew it was Talia Al Ghul's doing, but there was something else, he knew. The date that Jason had been brought back was not an unassuming date, close to his birthday, as something of a thought, at first he associated it with affecting Bruce, bringing his son back close to the date he was born, but the boy soon dismissed that, he had spent years after his resurrection without contact with Batman, setting up his return and that theory lost its meaning.

Jason then decided to question Talia, a quick phone call in which he asked who had ordered his return, at the time he wasn't sure if anyone had, but it seemed like an alternative and a good way to start the conversation, a hunch that might give him his answer, but Talia was vague saying only that she wouldn't tell Jason who it was because of a promise. Jason found it frustrating, but at least now he was sure that his return to life had been ordered by someone.

Now he wondered how he had never suspected, was he so blinded by his revenge that he couldn't see the obvious? You were always there, you were the one who grabbed Jason's body as he tried to get out of the waters of the Lazarus Pit, you were the one he grabbed that day fighting back all the tears and violent memories, but for Jason you were there as a hostage, as the artifice the League would use if he refused to fight Batman and now in hindsight that thought seemed stupid, naive.

"I loved you, Jason," you didn't say it in defense of his accusations, you knew he would never forgive you for it, but that was the truth, you had done it because you loved him. Your voice was firm, you wanted Jason to be sure of your words, but even so your eyes were clouded with unreleased tears, because it was painful to explain why you had done it to Jason.

"You gave me hell," he said with disbelief, but also loathing. That wasn't how Jason saw his resurrection at first, he saw it as a second chance, a chance to try again, to take revenge on those who betrayed him in life, but after finding out it was you, you chose to dig him up and force him to live a life watered in hatred intensified by the Lazarus Pit and you hid it from him, that was a second betrayal far greater than Bruce letting Joker live after his death.

"No, no... no..." each no was said in a whisper, as if it were unbelievable to think the opposite. "I saved you" Your voice became louder, filled with certainty and arrogance. "You know that, you had everything. You called it a new beginning, a new chance." You were accusing Jason, using his words against him, trying to convince him of your reason, but only one line of yours stuck in his mind. Did you believe that he had everything? Half of the boy he was had stayed there, there was no Lazarus Pit capable of living that part of him.

"It was not your choice" Jason cried, he couldn't even remember the last time tears had rolled openly from his eyes after the Lazarus Pit, of course, he had cried as he struggled in those waters, as memories of his death flashed through his mind, but this was the first time he had allowed himself to cry, That those tears didn't come out after much reluctance, he actually let them roll down, too incapable even for that, too incapable to maintain the façade that what he felt was just hatred not a sadness of overwhelming magnetism, but that was it, he knew it was just that and those tears didn't lie. They weren't abundant tears, but even those small tears made it clear what it was all about, Jason's decline.

You didn't accept Jason's answer, shaking your head in denial "And who would, Jason?... you? Because I remember you're dead, I remember you didn't even have the chance to fight for your life in that warehouse..." your tears came out, your mouth trembled as you spoke, but anger was never far away, the feeling of sadness and anger mixed, boiling cruel words. "So I did it, I fought for you, I fought for you to have a second chance…"

"...a tiny chance of being something, of not having died in a warehouse with a title that was taken from you in 3 months" Jason didn't try to answer you, to fight your poison, you wouldn't listen to him. You would never understand being dug up with the sole purpose being revenge against those you loved, you wouldn't understand the weight of the choice you made for Jason, condemning him to a life now drenched in remorse and regret.

"I did it because I loved you, Jason, like no person has ever done before, like Bruce never did. I couldn't live knowing that was the end of you and nothing you could say would change my choice, because I love you, Jason and you know it. No matter how much you hate me after that, you know that I only did it because I loved you," you said after the man's silence, you struggled, even though you weren't sure he would listen. You don't think Jason would understand, knowing that the person he loved the most had been killed in a cruel way, meeting his end prematurely, he would never understand how heavy a burden it was to make that choice, to be condemned to a short span of a life with Jason that would soon end when he found out about your choice.

There were words choking in your throat, words that would have sounded like "I'm sorry, Jason, I'm sorry for all the hell you went through after you came back, I'm sorry for all the pain I couldn't take away from you", but they would have stayed there, you wouldn't have given Jason the chance to think that at some point you regretted what you had done, that you would do things differently if you had the chance, because although you were sorry for all the pain Jason had experienced, you would never have let that be the end of him, you just wished there was a way to take that pain away from him, but there wasn't and if Jason had to live with it in order to live, then so be it.

That discussion had come to an end, you couldn't say anything more, you couldn't ask Jason to let you stay, for him to understand your side, you couldn't ask him for gratitude, you couldn't ask him for anything, you knew that. You had to leave, he didn't want you there, this wasn't one of the nights when you drove Jason's demons away, not when you were one of them, you could only leave, leave him alone and you did. Without another word, you left, there was no hope of him asking you to stay, it was the end.

Jason seemed surrounded by a tornado, blinded by his thoughts, there was nothing else around him. Jason wasn't sure, but he thought he would rather have died in that warehouse forever and ever along with all the happy memories, with his moments of gratitude and admiration for Bruce, with his time honored as Robin, with his sweet love for you, but now it was all tainted, Bruce had been the one who betrayed him, Robin had been the one who caused his death and you were the one who now buried the last remnant of the old Jason, you were the final point the proof that that Jason should have died completely and now he did.

[moonspirit]

I can't decide which out would be the bigger insomniac out of Annie and Armin. Annie probably adores sleep and I do think she prefers sleeping in late (Armin's the early bird) but I can't decide which one actually falls asleep.

I think it might depend on the night, really, and how busy their brains (and days) are. If they're over thinking, of course they can't sleep, but Armin buries himself in his commander duties and forgets to sleep and Annie's terrified she won't wake up for another 4 years if she goes to sleep.

So do they both lie awake in silence staring at the ceiling until the sky is bright (unless Armin is working)? (they probably pretend to be asleep so the other one wouldn't notice and worry even thought they both know the other is awake)

ORRRR is one asleep and the other awake and grumpy over the fact they're gonna be groggy and tired all day tomorrow?

I'm interested to see your thoughts on this

Hi Ally!

Who falls asleep huh? Okay, so we're talking about a post canon time period after some years have passed.

Armin does strike me as someone who has very unhealthy sleeping habits, often staying up late into the wee hours on work and fine print. This can get to the point where he's driving himself to near-collapse and someone has to step in and drag him to bed. In such states, I think it's reasonable to say that as soon as his head hits the pillow, he's out cold.

On the other hand, if it's one of "those" nights when Armin's feeling very bad about himself, then sleep doesn't come well. He either spends the night tossing and turning in bed, or decides to put his mind to work on some papers. But let's say he's got a season off work and is more relaxed, then he probably sleeps well.

I have this personal headcanon that in a general, overarching sense, both Armin and Annie sleep really well with each other because of the feeling of comfort and safety each other provides.

As for Annie, now. If I'm not wrong, she wasn't asleep for all of those four years in the crystal. It was more like a state of constant paralysed wakefulness. Perhaps if she fears anything, it would be being unable to move and feel her senses, imo. So good sleep is something she really hasn't had for a long time. She'd actively crave it. That said, I think it's more likely for her to be the one who's more of an insomniac in the normal sense of the word, because she's spent so long not sleeping that she finds it hard to fall asleep now. Still, as time wears on, it becomes easier, especially once adapted to the certainty of Armin's presence next to her in bed.

Then there could be situations where both of them are relaxed and calm, but they stay up all night talking (well, Armin talks, Annie listens). Then let's say they've had a fight, in which case both of them are awake and unable to sleep because The Sad™ is too much, and both are left wondering if the other doesn't like them anymore and if they'll be left alone (dramatic, but hey that's how they are).

They could also be suffering from nightmares from the past, which would give both a reason to avoid sleep.

So as you say, it depends on the time period (years post rumbling), the states of their minds, their relationship and so on xD

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Keep You Near - Tolya Yul Baraar

This one, this one was due to a car ride conversation and won't leave my mind so.

Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat, Violence And Injury. Not Beta/Proof Read, We Die Like Men.

The job was meant to be simple enough, especially given you were being sent on it with Tolya and Tamar, two of Sturmhond's finest, arguably the finest he has to offer, and the most adept to violence if the need arose. Each as much as a threat with their weaponry of choice as they are as Heartrender's.

You had boundless trust in the twins, not just from the way Tolya moved with such certainty despite the treelike stature, you cannot help but recall all the times you had known exactly whom anyone was referring to by the expression "the giant with the golden eyes."

It wasn't even the way in which you fully believed Tamar could and would likely take down the entire Fjerdan Army over as little as a spilled drink or out of line comment about her natural born gifts. A fight you had no doubt she would win.

It was down to the simple fact of trust, in the time you had spent with the twins, the eagerness to fight, the resilience of their nature and the power of their skills with both their gifts and weaponry was not what had you believing in them. But their unwavering loyalty.

One of the crew aboard the Volkvolny had described Tamar once as "the most trigger happy woman" he had ever met. You thought that sentiment did her a misjustice, for all of Tamar's willingness to fight she did not out of a sheer desire for violence, it was always with reason, maybe not always a perfectly agreeable reason her brother would often argue but a reason nonetheless.

As for Tolya, you had come to believe there was nothing he was not capable or willing to do in the name of his faith and his loyalty. You'd never known someone so fiercely devoted as the bare armed giant.

He had no death wish, that many of the crew you'd seen before have had, but he wasn't unwilling to die for what he believed in, and you admired that, even if it scared you in ways you could not express, to depths of your soul which whispered quiet concerns in the emptiness of conversation.

You would willingly lay down your lives for either of them, and you knew that to be true, but there was something in the way you feared Tolya coming to harm that made missions like this, with just the three of you increasingly difficult.

Tolya offers you a grin and you're brought back to the moment, for all his size and skill, Tolya possessed a softness and a kindness you would have never expected from such a man.

You understood why those who did not have the pleasure of knowing him as personally as you, would fear such a giant. His stature alone was enough to be threatening, and then his sword which remains unholstered besides the looming risk it presents. But knowing him as you do, it is the poet within the warrior that you see above all.

"This is where I advise we part ways," Tamar comments looking at the fork in the path ahead. "Not least of all because I can sense Tolya is about to start reciting and I cannot fathom a worse pastime right now."

This is the part of the plan you like least of all, the part in which for the remaining sunlight you shall part into separate groups.

Before you manage to get a word out Tamar just gives you a large smile. "Enjoy my brothers company, and try not to run into trouble, I hate to think of you having fun without me," she says.

"See you by dusk sister," Tolya says, watching her eager to get out of here. Once she is out of earshot Tolya gives you a small sideways smile. "She was right, I was about to start."

"I do not mind," you remind him. "I quite enjoy your poetry."

The stop at the boarding house was entirely unplanned, the journey should have been straight on until you two reached the market and likely had Tamar waiting for you both, acting as if she had won some imaginary race.

But things had not gone according to plan.

You knew Tamar had volunteered for the path in which she took because she believed it to be the most dangerous path of the two to take, meaning that if anyone was likely to get attacked during the mission, it would've been her and she could have had the joy of a fight for the first time in a while. But as likely as the odds had favoured that outcome, it was yourself and Tolya that had run into trouble.

A few Fjerdan's much further south than you'd ever seen them to be, and a few mercenaries looking to make a quick Kruge where the Fjerdan's failed. One of those would've been easy enough to deal with, between your combined skills and training, but back to back fighting the arsenal of the Drüskelle and then the numbers of the mercenaries, it was a unfair fight to say the least.

An unfair fight that had left you with likely broken ribs and a contemptible cut across your forehead that seemed to continue to bleed no matter how much you tried to attend to it. Which admittedly is not as much as it needed with your focus being elsewhere, for all your injuries you had sustained against the attack, Tolya had sustained worse ones in an attempt to keep you safe. A fact you were not letting slip by unnoticed.

With no Corporalki Healers in any kind of distance, and only the one Otkazat'sya at the boarding house that has remotely any knowledge of true healing, barely even a boy in age. There is no way to let Tamar know what has happened, and your only option is to allow Tolya, who despite the haze of pain and faded consciousness, is insisting you needn't worry about him, to have some time to heal in the way the body intended. Slowly.

Once you had paid for a room, and twice as much for silence on the two of you being there, you had gotten Tolya to lay down, which between the sheer size of him and his repeatedly insistence that he can continue to the ride, was no easy task.

Now lain with his shoulders against the bedpost, making it only comically more obvious that this bed was simply far too small to hold him, his eyes find yours again, as you are emptying out supplies looking for any kind of remedy or assistance that may have been hidden away inside the satchels you'd been carrying.

"You are worrying too much," Tolya insists, but you can hear the pain as he breathes in, the way it is a struggle to get the sentences out. You cannot help but worry that you must keep him away for at least a little while longer, to be sure that if he falls asleep he will in fact wake again.

"Tolya, tell me a poem," you insist, trying to keep him engaged, trying to keep him aware so you can focus on the task of treating him. Trying to keep your mind from wandering back into a memory, from how quickly and without thought Tolya put himself between you and the danger. Like it was nothing. Like it was second nature. Like there had been no other option but to do so. And just how quickly that had got him knocked to the ground. You try not to think of how your heart stopped in the moments where you weren't sure he would make it. How you're still not convinced he might make it. How if he doesn't make it, he will have died to save you. You try to push that thought as far from your mind as you can, but it is ringing out in your mind like the a message from the Saints.

"It’s time, my friend: it’s time! The heart wants rest –," he begins.

"Maybe not this poem," your voice cannot withhold it's tremble. But he doesn't seem to hear you through the fog of his own pain and the feeling of his mind slipping into unconsciousness.

"the days slip by, the hours take away

fragments of our life: and you and I," he continues. As long as it keeps him awake, as long as it keeps him awake, you tell yourself over and over.

"plan how to live and, – just like that – we die.

No happiness on land, yet there’s freedom, peace.

I’ve long dreamt of an enviable fate –

I’ve long thought, a weary slave, to fly

to some far place of labour and true joy," he finishes and he must be able to feel your eyes boring into him, and the sound of your heart threatening to tear its way out of your chest to aid him in any way you can. He laughs and tries to hide the wince as he does.

"You cannot die now, koja, because you cannot leave me on that poem," you don't even realise you've said it.

"Everyone mourns the first blossom. Who will weep for the rest that fall? I will remain to sing for you, long after the spring has gone," Tolya whispers, his voice so quiet is sends a ice cold wind of fear right through your blood and into your bones.

"Kebben’a," you say quietly, recognising this one. You pull out a small glass vial from one of the satchel pockets and thank the Saints that there was some kind of elixir to be found.

You recognise from the colour and the vials stopper shape that it was not exactly meant for injuries like Tolya's, being a low level assistant to healing and a medium strength painkiller, but your grateful for it regardless.

You hand him the vial and he drinks it. "Now that won't do massive amounts but at least it'll help," you say, more for your own benefit than his. You still cannot tell exactly how severe the injuries are, and Tolya is ever insistent on hiding it.

"I am not in need of your courage right now Tolya," you say, moving to sit beside him, "I am in need of your honour and your honesty, I cannot help you without knowing just how badly you are hurt."

"Not so badly," he says, but his voice is still quiet. It crosses your mind that with injury and pain like this he may not even remember most of it come tomorrow. The blanks in memory when it comes to injury are usually a gift, a measure to protect yourself from the intensity.

But you know even if he was to forget what he had done for you today, you never could.

"You needn't have thrown yourself towards the mercenary like that," you say matching the quietness of his voice.

"He was not unsteady," Tolya says between a laboured breath, "he likely would've killed you."

"He nearly killed you," you remind him, allowing your voice to carry more loudly with this sentiment. "And where would that have left me?"

"He didn't" Tolya reminds you.

"If you're improved by morning," you start, "then I will ride ahead and let Tamar-,"

"No," he whispers, the relief from the elixir taking affect but bringing some well needed sleep with it, "stay."

"I will return," you say.

"Please stay," he insists. "I want you to stay with me."

You doubt he is lucid enough now to be much aware of what he is saying, and you're almost grateful because if he could notice the way your heart was hammering in your chest there is no way you would be able to hide how you feel any longer. There would be no denying anything with the way your heart is calling to him now.

"You want me to stay with you?" You ask. "Now?"

"Always," he says, the whisper turning into a mumble, he reaches out and grabs a hold of your arm gently, lacing his fingers around you, as if to be sure to keep you near. "But especially now."

The room falls quiet as Tolya finally gives into the sleep. You do not rest, making sure to keep a close eye on him, his breathing, his heart.

It's a miracle you can hear it over the sound of your own. But you must stay awake, to be sure, to make sure he is healing, improving.

Not that you could sleep if you wanted to, with the racing of your mind. His grip on your arm is not tight but it also doesn't waver in his slumber even once. "Moi sol ye tselai," you whisper, "I will stay, for as long as you want me to, I will stay." Even though he is asleep you daren't say the last part aloud.

Eya fyela chi.

For as long as you shall live.

[taylormereditholivia1989]

I am still so grateful that @taylorswift liked the post of me and my sister Kate during the Lover era! For sure the most surrealist thing that's ever happened!

We are finally seeing Taylor live this year!! We have dreamt of seeing her live since we were young (7 and 4 years old). Money has always been tight for us. Our Mum and Dad knew how much we really wanted to go to the Speak Now tour in Belfast but unfortunately could not make it happen. ❤️

By the time 1989 and reputation came to Dublin, I eagerly watched videos of the tours on YouTube and posted updates on my tumblr. However, by then my little sister Kate was seriously struggling and repeatedly hospitalised with the (then undiagnosed) and vert rare connective tissue disorder that is Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Kate unintentionally lost a significant of weight during these years and stopped getting nutrition from her food. We were terrified and didn't know what would happen.

We were born with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and Dysautonomia, but these were only diagnosed last year. 🦓🦓💛💛

I have dealt with my symptoms from my early teens. My sister Kate has struggled since childhood. This has made socialising and forming solid friendships impossible as we are typically too ill to meet up.

Kate has a knee operation coming up soon. I have kyphosis surgery. We don't yet know if this will be before or after the eras tour in June. We hope everything works out and we can see Taylor live to celebrate all the eras.

To see Taylor right in front of us at Dublin Night One still feels too good to be true. This is what we have been waiting for all these years. I can't wait to sing and dance with Taylor and thousands of other fans for one magical night. I can't wait to have the best evening ever with my parents and my sister. This is what Kate and I have spent hundreds of hours sitting around the fire, carefully analysing verses and discussing hidden meanings. 🔮

Kate and I use a wheelchair part time. We do, however, plan to stand during the eras concert in the front right with our parents for a once in a lifetime experience. We will wear our braces and keep our pain medication topped up. We will get through the night. We know laughs and memories from the tour will last us a lifetime. We have many more tests and examinations left to carry out, but no doubt your jams (especially the tortured poets department as well as future music you are probably already working on). 🤣

We most look forward to hearing the song marjorie live. We both cried when we first listened to it. Taylor describes her grandmother beautifully. We feel especially connected to our grandfather when we listen to this. We discovered a few months back that we inherited our rare genetic condition from our grandfather. He passed young as it went undiscovered. We believe listening to marjorie helps keep his memory alive because we think of him. 💙☀️

We are lucky to have Taylor's music as a form of therapy. We relate to her quirks and her awkward and lovable sense of humour. We genuinely believe Taylor is the funniest person to ever live and we are entranced by how she is so unapologetically herself. Being 5ft 10 and seeing Taylor in the media has really helped me to be more comfortable and accepting of my height and my overall appearance.

@taylorswift if you just so happen to see this post or catch a glimpse of our sequin dresses, curly hair and ever-glittery eye makeup on stage please know: Kate and I are beyond ecstatic to celebrate at your concert. We are going to sing and dance like we have always dreamed of doing. Please ignore our clicking knees and hips if you just so happen to hear them up on the stage. I can say with almost 99% certainty any clicking will be our 22 and 19 year old bodies just doing their thing lol. 🤣

P.S. We can't wait to see your extremely sparkly outfits, shoes and makeup (we really REALLY love glitter in case it wasn't already obvious!!) in person. We love how unhinged you are with sparkles!! 💜

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

- Anna (and the slightly more monotone but equally as funny, Kate). 🩷🩷

[cherrylng]

Chris Martin interview - Coldplay [ROCKIN'ON (September 2000)]

“The mission of our generation of guitar bands is…… I guess it's to write new inspirations that only our generation can write.”

A sane gaze quietly penetrating the madness of the times, and melodies of sadness. Coldplay, the rising star of UK guitar bands, shining blue and strong.

Interview: Yoichiro Yamazaki / Interpreter: Yukiko Kojima / Photography: Tom Sheehan

A band that can only be described as a very British British guitar band, no matter where you take them. In other words, are they a band who can only cater to their fans…… Despite harbouring reservations, I still think that this is a good thing! Coldplay's singles warm the heart, and they've made a commitment to push things with their producer in-charge when it comes to their album. Their debut album, Parachutes, was completed, and we were convinced that this band was good! After completing the interview (which wasn't very exciting……), and were about to come to Summer Sonic, they easily won first place in the UK. Until then, core listeners had been asking "Are they followers of Radiohead and Jeff Buckley?", but suddenly they were labelled by everyone as "Post-Travis!". Well, it's a bit of a mixed feeling. I understand that Travis is really royalty in the UK today, but it's sad that Coldplay are only mentioned in that vein.

You could say they are the same in terms of melancholic melodies and introspective lyrics, presented in a clean, flowing guitar-rock style. However, Coldplay delivers to the listener the rough coldness of their sound, the shimmer of their voice, and the resonance of each note of their instruments, and you get the sense that they are artists who bet everything on the communication that they create. It's not unlike the current Travis mode, which is all about writing good songs and having that pop feel. Anyway, it's hard to believe that this is a debut album, it's so deep and beautiful.

● It's so deep and rich that it's hard to believe it's a debut album. Are you happy with how it turned out? 「It's not really the right day to answer that question.」

● (laughs) Huh? What happened from the start? 「I'm in a terrible dilemma. I'm alternating between days when I'm extremely confident and days when I'm extremely anxious. And today is the latter (shrugs uncomfortably and chuckles). It's our first international press day.」

● However, your songs are full of the ‘naïve melancholy’ that is often associated with British bands, but I get the impression that they are very powerful and liberating to listen to. Why is this? 「…… (after some thought) Maybe it's because our melancholia itself is ultimately about being liberated from it? Most of the bands we like tend to express themselves through that kind of seemingly melancholic mechanism of overcoming melancholia by singing about it. I think we are definitely that type of expressionist.」

● What bands/artists influence you? 「Personally, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev, Björk, Blur, Stone Roses, Tom Waits, Nick Drake, Ennio Morricone, Eminem… the list goes on and on.」

● I feel that the feeling of alienation, “You don't see me”, and the passion, “I still think about you so much”, coexist in your music and lyrics at the edge of the tension. 「Yes…… I would say that my emotional ups and downs are pretty intense. As I said before, even this debut album, which we spent months making with our whole heart and soul, has a totally different evaluation depending on the day…… But when it comes to our music, we really want people to feel the sincerity and passion in our songs, rather than the ambiguous toggling between certainty and uncertainty. For example, the sincerity that is juxtaposed with a quiet passion, as REM does in “Automatic for the People,” and the passion that comes through in most of the Flaming Lips' songs because of that sincerity…… To translate that kind of passion into sound is our goal right now.」

● So, you've seen the history of British pop music, which has produced many great guitar bands and many boring guitar bands. What do you think is the significance of your new step into the history of pop music? 「Hmmm…… (after thinking for a while with a serious face) I think the mission of our generation of guitar bands is to write songs that only our generation can write, songs based on new inspirations that previous generations have not written, and to contribute as many of those songs as possible. We know that we are not doing anything new in terms of sound. That's why I think it's important to preserve as many songs as possible that can only be written by this generation.」

● Despite your efforts, people are already talking about you being “Radiohead followers” and “the second coming of Jeff Buckley,” how do you respond to that? 「I have very mixed feelings about being called that, to be honest. We like and respect Radiohead and Jeff Buckley a lot, so we feel proud to be compared to them, but at the same time, we suddenly start to wonder if the similarity means that our uniqueness has not yet emerged. I suddenly start worrying about it. On days when I'm in a bad mood, it really pisses me off.」

● …….Anyway, I think the band will continue to be misunderstood and unfairly evaluated in many ways, but I hope that your unparalleled songwriting and exquisite band ensemble will soon be accepted straight away by everyone. 「Thank you. What we would like is for the public to pay more attention to the band's musicianship first.」

Translator's Note: This was a very short interview that only had 8 questions and barely covered a whole page. But at the same time, it took a lot more effort than usual to get it translated via machine translation because of the way the article was written.

On that note, I've finally decided to set up my Ko-fi account for you guys to give me tips for the effort taken to get these translated articles for you all to read.

Do support me on my Ko-fi!

[cocrante]

Walking the Wire

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

warning: it contains significant spoilers, please do not read it unless you have read the third book of "The Trials of Apollo". If you decide to proceed, I will not be held responsible.

summary: The dreams at Camp Half-Blood have vanished. Gentle nights embrace the campers in their hours of sleep, but just as the dreams have disappeared, so have the prophecies. For a mortal, this might not mean anything—nightmares suddenly gone, sweet nights wrapped them in the warmth of the sheets—but for a demigod, dreams are the bridge that connects them between the mortal and immortal worlds, an annoying bell that keeps them constantly on alert, and without those to disturb their nights, it was like losing their compass. But not everyone is without dreams, if "dream" this can be called, one is still allowed to travel in the dream world, perhaps out of pity and compassion of the Fates.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Saturday. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 6]

It was a dreamless night.

NICO WOKE UP AT DAWN, LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW TO SEE THE SUNRISE. Everything had become silent in that cabin. The air was crisp as before a storm, and Nico had the horrible feeling that it would come much sooner than expected. That was the worst night of all: as long as he dreamed them —as long as he saw them— then it meant that that demigod, that hero, was still alive and wherever he was, he was still fine. But now he no longer had this certainty.

With a sigh, he got up, going out a few minutes later to go to the mess hall.

Even that morning, he found Will awake early, waiting for him at his table. He had prepared a tray with all the good things Nico liked. Nico thanked him with a smile, sitting down to eat, and finally managed to eat more after many mornings. Will was happy to see him like that, he looked much more rested, seemed more energetic than the other days, his appetite had even returned. Only his eyes were always the same: sunken, dull, thoughtful, they were the eyes of someone not looking at this world. Will was sure he was still searching for that person or somehow waiting for them. He couldn't imagine how horrible it must be not to know who the Fates were referring to.

"Have you had any more?" he asked, placing a hand on his, waking him from his reverie. Nico closed his eyes, letting those souls disappear from his gaze.

"No" he replied, playing with Will's fingers, unable to shake off that feeling that had been accompanying him for a while. He still thought about the dream he had had the night before, the pain in his arms, the tightness in his chest, the exhaustion in his body. He couldn't even remotely imagine what that demigod would have to feel when the time came. He didn't even want to think about it.

"Do you mind if I come with you to the infirmary?" he asked, lifting those tired eyes to Will's radiant ones.

"I'd be happy to" he smiled at him, and for a moment Nico felt warmth.

That morning there wasn't much activity in the infirmary, so Will could focus entirely on his boyfriend and listen to those worries that were slowly devouring him from within.

Often Will forgot how fragile that boy could be. Over time, he had become really good at masking his emotions until he self-destructed. Will had known Nico since he arrived at camp that year—they hadn't stopped to talk much, they couldn't even be called friends, but he remembered those rare times when they had spoken, and he had found Nico to be a truly interesting demigod.

During that time, Nico spent most of his days with the children of Hermes, assigned to the Hermes Cabin, and when he disappeared that night, and no one knew anything about him anymore, it saddened Will. He had just started to get to know him, and —as strange as it might seem— he was starting to like him. Then, during the war against the Titans, he saw him again. In those years, Nico had changed, he was no longer the child with a smile painted on his face that Will remembered: life with him must have been truly cruel. If one had enough courage to look at him, one could read it in his eyes.

Then that day, hidden among the trees, it was like finding a totally different person in front of him. Will more than ever wanted to know everything that had happened to him. He wanted to understand what had happened to that cheerful boy, who once ran with a smile on his face through the camp, who looked with wonder at everything around him. Will would do anything to see that smile again, even just once.

In the infirmary, away from the campers' prying eyes, Will let Nico tell him what he hadn't had the courage to tell him, and he found out that a strange and chilling sensation was running through his body, he couldn't explain it very well in words, much less describe what he really felt. "It's like with Bianca" he explained.

Nico didn't talk to anyone about his sister; even after all those years, he couldn't forget that pain. His features hardened, Will knew he was about to say something he had been holding inside for too long. "I feel the same sensation as back then. I felt it the night before she disappeared, at the time I didn't pay attention to it" he frowned, as if blaming himself for not understanding it sooner. "It's like my body is telling me that something is happening out there and soon someone I care about will die" he said, not beating around the bush. Will put a hand on his lips, shivering. Unintentionally, he cast a cold shadow over the room, Nico reproached himself for that too. "I'm sorry" Nico apologized, alarming him was certainly the last thing he wanted to do.

But Will shook his head. "No, it's okay" he replied. "I just want you to tell me everything that happens to you. I want to be able to help you, but to do that, I need you to tell me what's happening to you" he took both of Nico's hands, intertwining his fingers with his own. Nico blushed, happy that there was such a special person in his life. "Isn't that what any good boyfriend would do?" he asked ironically. Nico smiled again, for a moment it almost seemed like he could see that sweet smile of the past.

"I don't know, I've never had one before" he replied to the joke, wanting to play along.

"Then I'll be the best one" he declared as if it were a promise.

"Believe me, you already are" he looked at him for a moment before kissing him on the lips.

At lunch, they sat together with the other children of Apollo, listening to Kayla complain about the new demigods who had arrived at camp and their poor archery skills.

"I don't know how many times I've put my hands in my hair today" she sighed, skewering the roast with her fork.

Will laughed, telling her she just had to wait and improvements would come.

"And then remember that no one can be worse than our Jackson with a bow" Austin reminded her, managing to get a laugh out of Kayla as well. Throughout lunch, the kids talked about their lives outside of camp, remembering what awaited them once all this was finally over. They also asked Nico if he missed New Rome, knowing that his decision hadn't been an easy one.

"Sometimes I miss it" he replied. "I hoped to see Hazel again soon and the others too" the thought made him even sadder, wondering if he would be able to see his friends all together again.

Will squeezed his hand, reminding him that he would always be there in his life. At that gesture, the other campers also saw a slight smile appear on Nico's face.

At the end of lunch, the group of demigods scattered throughout the camp. Will asked Nico if they could also go to the arena that day, wanting him to show him again how he had managed to parry his attack the day before. Nico agreed, going together to the arena where he showed him slowly how he had done it. Will tried to copy him, stumbling over his own steps, but tried again several times until he got it right enough. Nico was quite satisfied with his slight improvement. Then they started sparring for real.

Nico parried all of Will's attacks, responding with slow strikes so that he could find time to block them. He wasn't as fluid as the day before, maybe Will was still thinking too much, so he reminded him to let his instincts guide him, to let himself be guided by his senses, and as soon as he reminded him, his movements improved. Will started attacking him again, but still getting blocked by the opponent's blade. The boy didn't want to give up, he would make him drop his guard that day.

The Hade's son was ready to parry Will's sword again when suddenly everything around him stopped. Nico had a strong jolt,he often had it when his gaze ended up in the realm of the dead. For years he had managed to control it, not allowing his eyes to linger on every deceased person who crossed Charon's door, ignoring those specters, ignoring their faces, but that time it was impossible for him. His pupils dilated, his eyelids stopped beating, his eyes were looking at another world. It was like being there, halfway between the realm of the living and that of the dead. He slowly lowered the sword, which suddenly felt heavier, until it slipped from his hands. Will stopped, looking at that frozen body in front of him. A cold shiver ran through him.

He ran to him, taking his hand, placing the other on his cheek. He shouted to the campers who were there training to go call Chiron. The shadows of the trees and the dummies swayed, as if crazed, as if they wanted to detach and escape from that place at all costs. The Hade's son was trembling with anger, and with it, the camp began to shake too. Tears fell from those expressionless eyes, only one word came from his lips:—"No" he screamed.

That was just one of his bad dreams, it had to be. Will looked at him with tears in his eyes, unable to do anything but look at him with fear, trying in any way to make him look back at him. The earth around them shook harder and harder, Will knew it would split soon. "Nico!" the boy shouted, holding his face with both hands. But Nico didn't hear him; his eyes couldn't look at anything but the shadow of that soul waiting for permission to board the boat and cross the river of souls.

"Please, look at me" Will pleaded, embracing him as if to protect him from whatever his eyes were seeing, and as if released from a spell, Nico blinked again. Darkness gave way to light.

He was back at camp, he was in Will's arms. Nico held onto his boyfriend, happy that he was there hugging him. Will flinched feeling Nico's hands on his back, the tremors slowly ceased.

"Nico" he whispered, stroking his hair. The boy didn't speak, he just cried with his face buried in Will's shirt. The sobs spread throughout the arena, Nico couldn't believe what he had seen, who he had seen. Chiron galloped to the arena, along with the demigods who had called him, ordering the group to step aside and leave them alone. Will looked at that group watching them from afar, puzzled, worried, but above all curious. He looked at Chiron, thanking him with his eyes, silently asking him to leave them alone for a moment. The centaur took away the campers, the two would join them when Nico felt better. As soon as the crowd dispersed, Nico's legs gave way, collapsing to the ground on his knees, and Will followed him. He held him tightly in his arms, unable to let him go.

After endless minutes of silence, broken only by tears and sobs, Nico said his name: "Jason" his voice broke.

He pulled away from the boy's body to look at him in those perfect blue eyes. "It's Jason" he repeated with a trembling voice, more tears streaked his face, collapsing again into his boyfriend's arms, who now looked expressionless ahead of him.

He immediately understood what he meant, all those nightmares, the Fates, the thread, it was all meant for him.

"I couldn't even say goodbye to him" he sobbed, holding onto his orange shirt soaked with tears. "I couldn't even do it with him" the words choked in his throat.

Will couldn't speak, he didn't know what was right to say or do. He continued to hold him in that embrace, giving him all the warmth he needed at that moment. Jason was surely the best friend Nico had ever had and after Bianca, he had been one of the few to obtain permission to enter his little strange world. They had known each other for a short time, Will knew, and yet for that short time, Nico saw in Jason's eyes the figure of a brother.

prologue

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7

↬ masterlist

[k-s-morgan]

You mentioned that you have a scenario planned where Ciel will ask Sebastian to kill him at the end of S2. I find this absolutely fascinating - how do you think Sebastian would react to this? Would he understand Ciel's motivations behind asking him? What would Ciel's motivations and thoughts be? The young Phantomhive has always been breathtakingly noble, so I wouldn't be surprised if it were out of principle - he could no longer pay Sebastian what he was due, but he could at least give him the option to be free from an eternity as a servant. Unless you have something else in mind? I am desperate to hear your thoughts on this! How exciting!

Hey! I'm so glad that you liked this tidbit from what it to come for Ciel and Sebastian :D

Here's what I envision. At the end of S2, Ciel and Sebastian are in a very interesting situation. While they are still technically united by a contract, they both understand that Sebastian can break it any time. Ciel knows that Claude killed Alois for no reason, out of blue, just because he wanted it. Sebastian can do it, too. In fact, he would be fully justified in killing Ciel now - he fulfilled his part of the bargain. He even had that demon-killing sword nearby. But he didn't do it.

Sebastian keeps Ciel alive: more than that, he keeps serving him. However, he looks somber and conflicted about it till the rest of the episode, and he did attack Ciel when he woke up, even though it wasn't to kill. He's torn and he's miserable because he no longer understands what he should do and why he feels the way he does.

Ciel tries to show that he’s in control, but there are flashes of vulnerability pointing out that he’s not sure where they stand any more. Both he and Sebastian are so confused that they both choose to maintain their habits in attempt to pretend that everything’s normal. The morning tea, the dressing ritual - all to avoid thinking of what happened and its repercussions.

Ciel needs Sebastian, he is dependent on him. He is terrified of being abandoned, so he’ll never break the contract despite knowing it’d be fair. From how I see the possible continuation, for some time, Ciel will try to act like nothing changed, but Sebastian's palpable misery and depression will bother and hurt him. It'll get so bad that at some point, he'll break down. He will no longer be able to act like everything is fine - he'll take Sebastian to the Demon Island, the place where he was supposed to die, and he'll order him to find the demon-killing sword that was buried with Claude.

Once Sebastian obeys, Ciel will tell him to kill him. He'll see it as his only solution: he's too possessive of Sebastian, he spent too long in certainty that he'd die as his Master, that he'd be consumed by him. Ciel will never let him go willingly by breaking the contract, but he respects Sebastian and himself enough to not want to be a burden when Sebastian is so clearly upset by it. So Ciel will put this decision in Sebastian's hands. If he wants to be free, he can fulfill Ciel's order and get rid of him for good.

This will push Sebastian into the very last corner. He'll be furious, scared, in disbelief. He'll keep stalling, and Ciel will lose his patience. He'll try to kill himself right there, maybe by throwing himself at the sword in Sebastian's hands, and Sebastian will save him - again. After this, he'll no longer be able to deny that he wants to stay with Ciel forever, that the thought of his death is unbearable.

So much angst to come, I can't wait :D

[mrsweasley23]

Has voyeur Steve gone too far this time...? (Part 3)

Full fic on ao3

Part 1 Part 2

Steve was thoroughly fucked. His waking hours were spent either with Eddie, trying to pretend that he wasn't in fact a disgusting pervert and the worst friend known to man, or thinking about Eddie, in terms that were certainty NOT platonic with a capital P. His moans. His growls. His dirty, dirty words. Steve found it exhilarating and infuriating in equal measure, just how responsive he was to Eddie's voice.

"Steeeeeeve?". Honestly, a fucking direct hit to the dick. He swallowed, trying to push down the bubbling desire, the wish to hear Eddie whine his name for another reason. How the fuck did he get to this point? From roommates to, if you don't bend me over and fuck me in the ass right now, I might actually die.

"Yeah". Keep it cool, Steve.

"What are your plans for later?"

Steve shrugged casually, feeling anything but as his heart began to pick up pace.

"Why? Fancy doing something?"

"Ah, shit, I would, but, I, erm... I kind of have a date. Well, not really a date but there's this guy"

Yes, yes, fucking yes! Steve is screamingly inside. Fucking cartwheels in his head. He's going to fuck the guy! Here! Later! Not to say that Steve wouldn't fucking love to have a kind of date with Eddie, but, well, he's a realist and will take what he can get.

"Say no more", Steve replied with a wink. Oh god, I'm such a fucking creep. Dial it in Harrington. "I'll clear out for the evening"

"You don't have to do that. I just wanted to give you a heads up..."

"Eds, I would not want to cramp your style. Honestly, I'll head over to Rob's. Give you some space to work your magic"

Eddie snorted.

"Do you, er, like this guy?". Just asking as a friend, you care about Eddie. You're a good friend. It's totally fine. You're totally fine. It doesn't mean anything. Fuck.

Eddie shrugged with a smirk. "He's hot. He's willing"

"Yeah?" Steve breathed, trying desperately to appear unbothered.

"We've been texting a bit. I don't think he's a keeper but..."

"But he sent you a dick pic?" Steve laughed.

"Pretty much" Eddie laughed, head in his hands. "Seems a shame to pass it up"

"A crying shame. What sort of roommate would I be to cockblock this opportunity? Consider me gone"

"Steve, man. I feel bad now..."

"Don't. You'd do the same for me, right?"

"You want to bring back a guy to fuck?"

Steve couldn't hide the flush.

Eddie elbowed him lightly. "I'm jesting. I know your love for pussy runs deep".

If only he knew. Since stumbling upon Eddie balls deep in some guy, girls have been the last thing on his mind. No dates, no sex, not even a kiss. Not even in the moments when he had his hand wrapped tightly around his own cock. He'd tried to play out scenarios in his head that would have previously had him dripping, throbbing, fucking gagging for it. Girl riding his face. Nada. Girl riding him like a cowgirl. Zilch. Pounding into a wet pussy. Zero. Eddie licking his lips at him. Boom. Eddie with his fingers in him. Holy. Fuck. Eddie had fucking ruined him for anyone else. And Eddie had no fucking idea.

"You're fucking gross, man" Steve laughed lightly, batting his hand against Eddie's arm. Fuck. Okay. Touching was now off the table. That was too much. How could something so simple drive him so wild?

Eddie smiled back at him, oblivious to the near total breakdown Steve was experiencing. "Well, whatever. Just let me know if you need me to return the favour".

"Maybe one day" Steve shrugged.

"Come off it pretty boy. If you really wanted it, you could have them lined up around the block". And, if Steve wasn't already in the depths of hell, then hearing Eddie refer to him as pretty boy pushed him right over the precipice, Eddie's words from his last encounter ringing in his ears.

"I love to fuck pretty little boys like you. Pretty little boys go wild for my cock splitting them wide open".

Steve laughed it off, Eddie read it as humble and then Steve began to formulate his plan.

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 22: Sun Screen

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Word Count: 983

Summary: No plot, just Eugene and Rapunzel rummaging through a storage closet; I have hit the point in Writer's Month where I have decided that they can't all be masterpieces. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I don't usually make statements of certainty, but I can guarantee that no one else approached the prompt of 'Sunscreen' like this (very, very, very loosely). 😅

+++

“You’re sure it’s *this* one, Sunshine?”

“That’s what Mom said. And, well,” Rapunzel lifted her candle higher to better take in the creatively named Storage Closer Number Eleven and the miscellany that was crammed in from wall to wall. “With this much stuff in it, there’s bound to be a screen or two in here somewhere.”

It was Eugene’s first summer having the captainship of the Royal Guard, and it had taken him all of a week to learn one small detail of the position Cap had failed to mention: his new office, with its curtain-less southern-facing windows, got hot. From it’s rising in the morning to disappearance behind the western peaks, the merciless summer sun shone, with an enthusiasm and vigor it would do his men good to imitate, directly into the office, heating the space so it was only marginally less unbearable than Xavier’s forges.

This, Eugene had decided before Wednesday had made its bow, could not go on; either the office had to relocate or the windows needed to vamoose. Seeing how the neither the former nor the latter was a possibility, Rapunzel put forth a compromise: perhaps they could cover the windows? Granted, with the Festival of Fashion on the horizon and a Seven Kingdom Summit imminent, there wasn’t a spare needle to be found to make curtains, but maybe they could find some?

Her Majesty had been chancing past their quarters just then, and brought with her a proposed solution: some years ago, before both their times, there had been a rage for screens. Usually relegated to the fireside to best direct the hearth’s heat and light, people had realize the versatility they offered and began making them in a variety of sizes for just as many purposes, one of the most popular being blocking the sun’s dogged rays in the summer months. They’d ended up with quite a few, more than they needed; surely they could be put to such a purpose as shielding the Captain’s Office?

“And you needn’t worry about them clashing with the décor,” Arianna had chuckled. “Cassandra, as I recall, spent more of that summer than she would have liked recovering from a bad flu and painted a couple.”

If Rapunzel hadn’t already been convinced, that did it (and, Eugene could admit, he was curious to see some of younger-Cass’s handiwork; mildly concerned, since he knew how arts and crafts with her tended to go, but still curious). Hence their spending valuable and elusive free-time exploring the depths of Storage Closet Eleven, something he was starting to think wasn’t their best idea…

Eugene gulped, taking in the cavern of a closet. Teetering piles of crates frowned menacingly from shadow-drenched corners guarded by a labyrinth of chests and trunks and castle furnishings too nice to throw away not nice enough to display (or, in some cases, downright extraneous; he *swore* there was a sette *exactly like that* in one of the guest suites) that would have had Theseus saying “Nope” and doing an about-face (Greek mythology was decidedly not his area of interest, but he’d hung around Cass long enough). Not a square inch of the place looked remotely safe or like it wasn't waiting for an ankle to turn, rib to crack, or insanely handsome face to crush.

“You know, the sun really isn’t all that strong in the Captain’s Office, now that I’m thinking about it. How’s ‘bout we just let sleeping coatracks lie and besides,” Eugene shuddered as his candle found the snarling head of a bearskin rug. “Trip’s not a total loss: look, I just found Dad’s birthday present!”

“Oh, come on, Eugene!” Rapunzel grinned over her shoulder at him as she picked her way between an armoire with one door off its hinges and an ancient-looking chest held shut with a padlock that looked strangely new (did he want to know…?). “It’s not that bad!”

As though on cue, a vase (how were there so many vases in this castle?) fell from one of the stacks and shattered to death on an ink-stained desktop, sending a small army of mice squeaking and scurrying to new, relatively safer shadows.

Eugene shot Rapunzel a deadpan look.

She was, of course, undaunted. “We’ve been through worse. Like that forest with the bat-spider things, remember?”

How could he forget? How could anyone? “Low bar we’re clearing there, eh Sunshine?”

“Eugene...”

“Fine.” Eugene gave up with a huff, shuffling around so the snarling bear rug was out of his line of sight. “But if we find anything that looks remotely magical, haunted, or like it has a personal vendetta against good-looking Captains and their beautiful wives, we call retreat.”

“Yes sir, Captain, sir.” Rapunzel saluted, then giggled at his eyeroll before turning her attention to a dust-covered drop cloth. “Anyway, so long as we don’t get distracted or run into any hourglasses-" (again, did he want to know?) "-I’m sure we’ll find those screens in no time.”

‘No time,’ as it turned out, was long enough for Eugene to start questioning if they should replace the candles. Rapunzel, true to form, found interest and excitement and potential in even the dustiest, most pathetic excuse for a tablecloth (“It wouldn’t be that hard to fix it up”), causing their search to drag on far longer than Eugene would have liked. Eventually, though, the proper dropcloth was yanked aside- *cough cough COUGH!* “Sunshine!” “Oops! Sorry!” – and the screens, standing dutiful and unbothered on their burnished wood poles, were unearthed.

“Yay!” Rapunzel cheered, clapping her hands and jumping in place. “I told you we’d find them!” (a lot later than she’d initially thought, but finding was still finding, so this was still a win!). She started rifling through the screens, bases scraping across the floor as she peered critically at the flowers and suns and rolling hills of landscapes decorating the linen screens. “I wonder which ones Cass did?”

Eugene huffed, pulling out a screen decorated with a scene of Phaeton losing his hold on a quartet of fiery steeds, each one with murder in its eyes, and tumbling head-first out of Apollo’s chariot to his tragic doom.

"Well, I'm not the art expert here," he said with a grim smile as Rapunzel's hand flew to cover her mouth as she took in the...interesting tableau. “But I can guess.”

+++

Author's Note: ...nothing happened in this; you have my apologies. 🤦‍♀️

[eolewyn1010]

Farewell, Darkover - part 1

So. Once upon a long past time, I was a kid of 10 years who was given a book that said on its cover it was rated "13+". Well, I was a wannabe-precocious kid who mistook reading complex Fantasy for having a personality, so I read the damn thing. It was one of the Darkover books Marion Zimmer Bradley had written. It was several years after MZB's death (not that I was aware of that; at that age, I didn't think much of the authors of books that I read), but several years before everyone learned what, by now, everyone knows about MZB and her husband. Back then, there was no way for me to know that this particular series and 'verse had been created by a pedophile rapist and abuse apologist.

The book caught my attention, and I went and asked for more. The friend who gave me the first soon borrowed me the entire series, one by one, and the same way others got engulfed by Hogwarts or Middle Earth when they were young, I got engulfed by Darkover. It was Fantasy, it was Sci-Fi; I loved it. And while I enjoyed them immensely, I didn't have much more critical reading comprehension than your average pre-teen, or else some alarm bells might have gone off earlier. Back then, they didn't. I didn't analyse what I read; I built myself into that world, made myself a home there. It was a world of magic, powerful women, difficult relationships, its very own kind of technology and society, a play on speculative history - it was my very first great love among books, just a little more obscure than the usual picks of most of my generation because the friend who introduced me to them was a generation older and as such had books from the 1970s just lying around. And by now, I've reached the point where I taste bile whenever I see MZB's name. Oh well, it is a farewell comparable to what many young trans people had with the Harry Potter books. And rejecting books that had such an impact on me hurts, which I'm sure is an experience a lot of kids had with some revered media at some point.

From 10 to maybe 13 or 14, I read everything Darkover had to offer. I spent hours upon hours talking about them with my friend, I drew my favorite characters, I drafted up fanfiction long before I knew the word "fanfiction". There were parts of the books, parts of the worldbuilding that, even then, were a little dark for my age. Discussions of sexuality, incest, abuse in families and relationships, systemic oppression... I wasn't ignorant of these themes, but I also can't say that I fully comprehended how Darkover presented them. If I had, I might have noped out way back when. I knew the books discussed pedophilia, incest, rape and controlling, abusive, authoritarian relationships in the framing of its fantasy society - but I would have claimed with all the same certainty that these things were being condemned in the books. In hindsight, and with a look at a critical review of MZB's way more famous bestseller, The Mists of Avalon, I can't help but think that a lot of Darkover was actually, much like MoA, some form of apologia.

After MZB's kids told the public in 2014 what the hell had been going on in their home, I feel like her books very quickly made their way into obscurity - which is right and well; the generations who grow up without them will probably be happier and healthier for it. But I haven't seen a lot of later reflection by those who have read MZB, and who were influenced by her writings. I suspect it's because I'm born too late to be in contact with the people who did; that isn't actually my generation, as the books reached me by way of someone in whose time they "belonged". Despite MZB being occasionally called a "female Tolkien", her books weren't the evergreen The Lord of the Rings is. They were very much 60s' and 70s' books. But there's also a darker side to this: A few people whose opinions I've read who insist, even now, that even The Mists of Avalon, the darkest and most vile of hers in terms of apologia and disgusting content, is and always has been a feminist masterpiece. Which it is not. It's not worthy of reverence, it's not worthy of praise or of being defended. Because it cannot be separated from MZB's crimes. The concept of Death of the Author fails where the author made her books all about her personal views - and those views are a nightmare.

MoA will be part of what I want to talk about here, but my primary experience was with Darkover, the oldest books of which predated Avalon by about 20 years. I genuinely think MZB got a lot worse and a lot more blunt about her bullshit in later years, and perhaps that's part of why I didn't get it. Perhaps Darkover was too subtle for dumbass lil' me. This is the first part of what'll be a sort of serial essay in which I look into my personal history with MZB's books, and how I came to terms with recognizing, rejecting and condemning wholeheartedly what had once been my fantasy refuge. It's also a bit about taking a stance - by now, I should be enough of an adult to say out loud that MZB was a piece of human garbage who should never have been celebrated as a feminist heroine writer (no, not even "for her time") and whose ideas should hold no place in highly praised literature. And that includes literature I used to love.

[dame-nervy]

"You didn't think of me once?" (Bruce Banner x Reader)

After Bruce Hulked out and disappeared, you thought you'd never see him again. Then there was an alien attack on New York and you saw a familiar green figure all over the news, yet it was still months after that before you saw Bruce with your own eyes.

[angst] [no grammar check or second read through at all]

A/N; GUESS who's had absolutely no desire to write for the past several months and still has no desire to write but realises that she should write something so that she hopefully wont loose the small following she has and chose to randomly pick a concept idea she once had and now has no recollection of why she picked it? It's me. I'm her. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy.

"I guess it was inevitable, but I still don't like it." Seeing Bruce again had brought up many emotions, but the one that won the charge on how you were going to act was bitter spite. "Hello Y/n. How have you been?" Bruce's uncomfortable formality made you grind your teeth together as you turned away from him. "Don't play pleasantries Banner. You've been in New York for months now and I don't even get a phone call? Though truthfully I shouldn't be surprised, now should I? I'm no Betty Ross."

Bruce frowned at you as you gave a slight glance over your shoulder as you said the last part. "that's not fair-" You cut him off with a light tone as you turned fully to him "isn't it? We were best friends Bruce. More than that at one point. But then again, 'I wasn't really all that smart' now was I?" you quoted something you had once heard Betty say about you as Bruce and a group of his science friends sat around, him right next to her. Bruce looked away, unable to deny it as he remembered the laugh Betty did after she said it, like she was joking, which hadn't been helped when everyone else had joined in as well. "How's your mother?" Bruce asked, trying to move the situation along. "She died. During New York." You informed him as you swallowed hard, still finding it hard to talk about. "I'm sorry." Bruce genuinely told you, though your next words stunned him. "Don't be, she hated you in the end." He stopped, shocked about what he'd heard before realising what caused it. "Because of the other guy." He said with certainty. "Because you vanished." You corrected him, creating a silence between yourselves as you both just looked at each other.

"I would have come with you." You practically whispered. "I couldn't ask you to leave your life." Bruce told you as he shook his head in disbelief that you'd even suggest such a thing. "You also couldn't say goodbye." Bitterness working it's way back into your speech. "I was running Y/n. I didn't even get a chance to pack my toothbrush." Bruce spat back, finally getting sick of your attitude. You were taken aback by this, now being your turn to stand silent. Without your response, Bruce assumed that your reunion over, starting to make his way towards the door. "I spent so much time wonder and worrying about you." Your statement stopped Bruce, causing him to turn back to you, an anxious look on your face before you asked, "You didn’t think of me once?" The silence deafened you as his head angled down, eyes drawn to the floor as he spoke.

"It’s better this way."

And again, he was gone from your life. Leaving you alone as your tears fell down your face. The only difference between this time and last time was that this time you knew for sure he wasn't going to call.

[augment-techs]

What happens now? Do we have another go?/Do we bow out and take our separate roads?- Allies or enemies by the crane wives

Kim and Sharkie

(I'm not gonna lie, this was really hard and after five drafts, this was also as far as I could get without tossing my computer out the window. I apologize.)

Of course since Tommy had a tragic backstory, it really did stand to reason that maybe Kim had one too.

Not tragic, not fully in the style of Shakespeare or Bronte, but...less than idyllic.

Kim was made for the bright lights, big city setting of Los Angeles; born and raised, and raised in the manner of the upward mobility of her family money and "good breeding" as her grandparents used to say when she saw them at holiday parties that included fake snow on pine trees three stories tall and covered in decorations that cost more than some families made in a year. She went to ballet when she was three and moved onto gymnastics when she was five; had the best tutors and trainers and parents who (she thought; was pretty sure) loved her and only wanted the best.

She also went to a private school before they moved to Angel Grove, from kindergarten to Freshman year, with her best friend that, well...

Sharkie reminded her of Bulk and Skull, when she thought about her between being a Ranger and her so-called "normal" life.

Pretty girl with a petty, mischievous attitude, a preference for nonconformity that often left her in trouble with teachers, and a complete disinclination to ever use her real name--though why, Kim never understood; Stella Angel wasn't such a bad name.

(It was the roots that the name carried that the girl didn't like to think about. If she had told Kim...well, she might not have fully comprehended what it was to be an immigrant and an abuse survivor, but she might have been more sympathetic. Even though there was no certainty in that, either. Kim could look back and realize she was rather innocent in her sheltered life and in that way, ignorant.)

Sharkie picked Kim up off the floor in gym class the day she got her first period and thought she was going to die, the other girls sneering and giggling and the teacher trying to keep Kim calm as she hyperventilated. Sharkie just told the others to get out of the way and carried the tiny brunette princess style into the shower room so she could rinse off and calm down, and handed her a thick pad for the spare underwear she yanked out of her own locker (they were cute and purple with a pair of pink ribbons sewn into the sides no bigger than a dime) and asked rather calmly if she would have preferred a tampon, "Since they last longer and you won't have to freak out if the pad leaks a little."

Kim had been too out of sorts to really think about it at the time, except that she didn't want to put anything inside her that looked like it would hurt, and the instructions weren't very helpful. Sharkie had merely shrugged and gave Kim a couple for later in case she changed her mind.

She walked out to tell the teacher Kim could talk to her, and spent the rest of the week tormenting the "little bitches" that tried to give Kim a hard time about something, "Totally normal; not her fault her parents weren't looking out for her with basic information."

Kim had her own sort-of friends, and her parents had their expectations of her that kept piling up and stifling her as they got closer and closer to the date she wasn't yet aware of that marked their moving to Angel Grove and away from all that she knew, but she tried to be something close to friendly with the girl that had looked out for her best interests in her own abrasive little ways.

They had lunch together in the art room sometimes, Sharkie chewing on a tongue sandwich between drawing charcoal shadow monsters and breaking glass and ceramics just to paste them back together into something else entirely that looked both scary and wonderful; kind of like her.

They went to the mall, sometimes, when being at home got to be too much for Kim, trying to block out her parents sniping at each other, and Sharkie sometimes goaded her into trying out new styles; grunge and punk and extremely femme or academic or--something that nobody would ever see the pictures of or Kim would walk directly into the bottom of the ocean--honest to god southern gothic. Everyone at school gave them a wide berth for a week when they made a bet that Kim couldn't handle wearing so much black and makeup and Sharkie couldn't handle going for something so pastel and girly.

They both lost because it was the summer five days before Kim's parents told her they were moving; Kim came close to suffering heatstroke and Sharkie almost caught on fire from showing so much pale skin without remembering to put on sunscreen for the boardwalk or getting Kim to go to the fair before it moved on.

When Tommy talked about Tyler and growing up in New York in the aftermath of her being so fucking mad at him for going off on his own to infiltrate a secret society of ninja, she didn't let up on her pouting and guilt tripping, but she could understand the need to do what you could for someone that cared about you when you didn't know you needed someone like that.

He showed her a photo they took at one of those little booths for tourists, tiny and with clothes too big for them, but happy in the moment with each other.

Kim showed him one similar, but not quite after the Eltarian War and the new surge of rebuilding sites and feeling like she kept missing running into a familiar face she almost didn't think about so often, phantom feeling of her hanging out in the girl's bathroom that almost none of the teachers went into, smoking a joint with the dates Bulk and Skull had at their failed Homecoming.

*

"A drug Renaissance in Angel Grove? Really?"

"Yeah, I know, it's fucking stupid, but Grace asked if I--if we, actually, because I am not good at this--could look into this on the down-low because the police are worthless and some of Grace's employees are worried about their kids dropping like flies at the college."

"Is it really that bad?" Matt steepled his fingers like the roof of a house before waving them a little back and forth, thumbs hooked and reminding her--awkwardly--of a little child trying to make shadow puppets.

"Bulk beat the shit out of some guy that offered to sell him some last week for distribution after the guy had already tried his luck following Skull around like a creep and asked basically the same thing but, like, the wrong way? And the poor bastard reported him to the school security guard under the impression that he was gonna snatch some Freshman. So, yeah, I'd say it's pretty bad."

"No, I meant the drugs--although, thank you for that information; that actually explains...some stuff going on with those two," the two of them keeping court with the other loners and stragglers and being less impulsive and more protective lately came to mind, but Kim needn't comment on that when Matt knew too, "Anyway, is it something like meth or cocaine?"

"Eh, I think it's more like some fast acting roofies? Terona tried to explain it like I'm five, but all I got was that the first symptoms are usually waved away as just general dizziness from drinking, followed by either lowered or increased body heat, and then blacking out of memory even while conscious at the time. Most of the people reported not remembering anything beyond looking for water or a bathroom and then waking up in various states that heavily implied assault. Two college students ended up in a coma because the offenders used to much of the drug and just left them to the elements after...Just after."

Kim sighed, thinking of all the schoolwork she already had piled up, the little class of beginner gymnasts as Ernie's she needed to teach the next day, the promise to take Aisha on a girl's only shopping quest after realizing both their closets were in sorry need of improvement...

Still, she was getting better at doing the right thing, and the words just fell out with as much ease as anything else in her life, "Yeah, yeah. Lemme just talk to the others. Maybe me and Billy can get Bulk and Skull talking about the party circuit they mentioned and we can grab an invite without seeming too suspicious."

*

Salt and water poured in a glass and pressed to her lips.

Between the swallow and the burning of the vomit it brought up--bright blue, never a good sign when she'd been drinking her precious color from the wine cooler selections she'd heavily watered down--Kim was aware of the girl holding her hair back and the look of distaste across her face as she told Skull to get Bulk and start clearing out the drugged drinks (bless him, bless him for noticing and getting someone with more experience; she'd hate to think what would have happened otherwise).

When she was done vomiting up the foam and toxin, and blinked at the other girl, Kim suddenly felt as though she'd scratched open an old wound without realizing it.

"Hope you didn't develop an eating disorder with all the monsters that run around here, Kimmy."

The hair was longer and wilder, the clothing not too different from what Kim expected the girl to grow into liking, the makeup popping in such a dark shade compared to such gray skin. The accessories of silver hoop earrings and black pewter knuckle rings shouldn't have drawn Kim's eyes, but they stood out in the kitchen as she slowly came back into some semblance of her right might and kept her from looking directly into the other (beautiful) face.

Then she doubled up and puked on the combat boots that went thigh high and looked expensive, yet well used.

"I was kidding."

[winwinwrites]

Would I hesitate? This is a fic about the Characters, not the real people.

Pairing: c!Dream & c!GeorgeNotFound

Word count: 1.3k

Summary:

Dream spent a long time in prison, with so much time on hand there isn't much more than to think. One day a question arrises: Would he kill George if it’d come down to it?

Tags: Pandora's Vault; Character Study; Memories; Implied/Refrenced Character Death; Paranoia, Trust Issues; Hurt No Comfort; No Fluff; Ambiguous Relationships; Dream-centric

TW: talk about Death

Read on Ao3 || My Ao3 || Other Dsmp works

Dream had a lot of time on his hands while in Prison, one might even say too much. For the prisoner it was definitely far too much time wasted on just sitting around and doing nothing all day. He does reflect on the things of the past, there is no other entertainment for him in here so that would have to do. Dream does reflect, just doesn't regret his doings like everyone expects him to. Of course there has been things he could have done better, planed further and is now beating himself up about it, but there is nothing he could do to fix it now.

Everyone could tell Dream with a hundred percent certainty that what he did was wrong and that he is never ever going to get out of the prison for his doings, maybe only via death after he has finally handed over the revival book. Which will only happen over his own dead body, because that was the only thing he could bargen with, the only upper hand he had against the rest of the server. His life line.

It could have been hurtful to the prisoner that the only reason why he is still breathing this stuffy hot air was a book and not he himself. The others like to be on the high horse and tell him that he is the worst, that he never showed any mercy to anyone, but what would they do by killing him after giving back the book? Dream wouldn't call that mercy either.

It annoyed Dream to no end in what conditions he has to live in. No, he never got used to them, probably never will, doesn't want to, because if he did that would mean that he has accepted his fait, that he has become docile. But with his upper hand he won't succumb to that.

Because Dream still has power, but it didn't matter in here.

Even though the prisoner would not look back on his actions in regret, nor would he let that nonexistant regret reform him, Dream still did a lot of thinking, about all kind of things, but he would, even though he had the oportunity, write them down. It was too risky.

If anyone would get access to them he could do nothing but let them see into his broken mind. They could use his thoughts as leverage, as something to mock him for and break his dwindling morale. So no, he would never write anything down for his thoughts are the only thing that are still his.

One thing that came up in his mind seemingly out of no where one day was the question, if hew would kill george.

Would he?

That was the moment where Dream had to reevaluate his priorities and relationship, even if the were in the past. The man prided himself on not having an attachment and he didn't have one. But if someone were to threaten him that the person would kill George if he wouldn't hand over the revival book, would he still refuse to hand it over? Dream wants to say yes, he truly did, because any other answer would mean that he had a weakness, that he was weak, that he had an attachment, but just something, as much as he hated it, in him felt like he would at least hesitate, which was bad enough.

The question in this scenario wasn't really if he would kill George, it was would he give his life for the other.

That was a complicated question. In this world, no matter who you are, it is always you alone against the world. Allies could turn on you, so could friends and family, enemies could become comrades and then use you. This world was a fucked up place to have a relationship with anyone.

Did the world just spin that way, or was it them who made that problem?

George did make him believe though, that against all odds, there was such a thing like soulmates, even though he now knows that the world is a too broken place to have any kinds of relationships in. He still likes to believe that him and George share a special bond.

But Dream knew that if it would come down to it, that if he would have to choose between him and his friend, he would not give his life for the other. It was not for hatred of the other, it was for the bigger picture, because as much as his friend impacted the history of the world, most often than not on accident, he did nothing to change it, he was just a passive peace in the game of war.

It was a hard thing to admit for Dream, but he taught himself that his life is the most important than everyone else, that included George.

Sapnap chose to go against Dream and as much as it hurt he accepted that outcome and already readied himself on killing his past friend, just how Sapnap did the same for him.

But George never had any ill will or anything against Dream. But Dream suspects that it wasn't because the other was encouraging him or standing besides him against this chaos, it was because he didn't care. Dream came to find that George was indeed selfish in that regard, he just did not care about how his doings would impact him as long as he was on top. The prisoner didn't blame him, in fact he could respect it.

George would probably just accept him right back into his world as soon as Dream got out again. It was just how George ticked. No one really knew what the human was thinking, even Dream and somehow he still felt like he knew the other.

But even as much as he would accept Dream back, Dream just knew that the other had the same outlook as him, if not even more so. George would give Dreams life away any day of the week, if it meant getting ahead. Maybe it was really George who manipulated him into his doings?

The man didn't really want to ponder about it, because that would probably tarnish all his memories with his friend, but he couldn't help but ask himself if Dream really did this for himself, or was he just influenced by George just by proxy? Was it Dream who wanted power, or was it George who made him this way unintentionally, or maybe even intentionally? Back then at the beginning when there wasn't even any Tommy to worry about, George was working hard, very hard indeed, to get the best gear, but after Dream and Sapnap dealt with that he seemingly gave up the power and let Dream do his thing.

If George didn't manipulate Dream, it sure felt like he started it with submitting his power to Dream, to let him speak. He gave Dream the first rush of power, even though Dream was doing it for the right cause, which was being equal, not for power, well that is what the prisoner has told himself.

He still wanted it. For all to be equal and balanced, but the more power he could feel at his grasp, the greedier he got.

Dream snickered to himself out loud, making the sound echo through the little cell, most likely reverberating in the halls of the whole prison with how hollow and lifeless it was.

He knew that he was reaching a new low. George didn't care about him or maybe stopped caring. It was almost pathetic to Dream himself to blame it on the other, even if some of the things he thought might be true.

Dream might not give his life for George, but he would have hesitated, because as much as he doesn't form attachments, he does remember better times.