#And no one responds because it's fucking useless information they have no interest in

[atomicc]

Hold on

#I'm going to keep freaking out on my tumblr blog because it's mine and I do what the hell I want with it #I hate that like. I hate that. That. Like. #I hate that the things about myself that I love are also things about myself that I hate #Does this make sense #I love that I'm full of wonder or whatever and love for things and get so excited and happy to talk about them #And that I know alot about things most people don't #But I hate that I just. Talk at length about things people just don't care about #And over explain things and just talk and talk and talk #And never catch myself until it's too late #And no one responds because it's fucking useless information they have no interest in #I love that I draw and draw and draw #And draw for me and myself and I #But I hate that I draw so much and it's so catered to my interests that no one give a shit!! #I love that I'm sensitive and able to connect with people and understand them #But I hate that I'm constantly hurt and upset about other people hurting #And forgive people who don't deserve forgiveness #I love my autism I hate my autism #I hate my anxiety and depression #I hate my psychosis and ptsd and whatever stupid shit else I have #I hate that I think almost everyone finds me really annoying and unbearable #But I'm so glad and thankful for the people I know don't #I hate that no one listens to me #But I'm thankful for the people who do or at least try #It's so much #I'm so tired #It's been two lifetimes of this #Of being this. This THING. that very few people genuinely understand and want around #Being so alien to everyone and everything #Hardly ever finding connections that won't use or abuse me #Not knowing if I'm a good person or worth spending time around

[demodraws0606]

The very weird plays in Tsukasa and Rui's last event and how they can be analysed and the weird detail that links them together

I made a post about this before but it was poorly made (and also not really a theory or analysis it was just me having brainworms) so I deleted it and I want to actually make an analysis about it. Unfortunatly this also means this post will be long as fuck which can be a positive or a negative depending on how you view it.

Warning for mentions of suicide and drowning

So Tsukasa and Rui both have plays that are kind of the focus of the event, to the point where wxs literally stop to basically explain to us the plot of them (in world they're just talking about it but like it's clear it's also meant for us the viewers to understand the plays they're doing).

And these two plays are already very interesting and...well dark on their own but they have a extremely strange similarity that I don't believe is a coincidence (because that would be insane) and also just kinda shakes the foundation on how colorpalet write these sorts of topics in general.

First I want to preface this by saying that me analysing these plays isn't some kind of fool's herrand as colorpalet has explicitely hid backstory information, future lore hints and overall just little bits of character into WxS's plays more often than not. Of course some plays are more explicit than others.

A huge exemple of this, is the first arc ender where the play they do to save Phennyland is one that obviously is meant to parallel Emu's backstory with her grandpa. It also stands as Very early foreshadowing between the parallels of Emu's grandpa and Tsukasa that Emu sees in Admist a Dream.

So yeah, from a writing standpoint, makes sense you don't want the plays you spent a lot of words describing to the audience to be useless especially considering colorpalet has a limited amount of time to explore these stories.

I also want to get this as early as possible before I get possible criticism because I know how this fandom acts towards analysis that delve into darker topics. Don't try and respond with "colorpalet wouldn't write something like that" or "this is too dark for colorpalet". Not only because I'm not insinuating that they will actually go full dark mode and depict something graphic.

But also because this is something that is already IN the text, I'm not making up darker themes here, that is something that colorpalet chose to add in WonderlandXShowtime's event stories. I'm only bringing up how odd this is for colorpalet and how it could relate to the overall story.

I'll bring this up later because this specific criticism gets very silly once you delve deeper into it but I don't want to stall the analysis any longer.

So now with this out of the way, let's get into the plays.

This is the story of the first play showed in Tsukasa's event

Of course the first thing that stands out is how much darker this play is compared to well...almost anything colorpalet addresses in stories ? This definitely shocked when I first read it, there is no usage of "disappearing" and it Actually describes the method as to which the protagonist wants to end their life which the only thing close to that we see is Kanade hinting on wanting to starve herself. But I'm gonna get into how weird this is for colorpalet later.

Extremely dark topics aside you can easily draw parallels to this story to Nene and Rui specifically already. The story is vague enough that those parallels don't hold too much water (ahaha get it) BUT it's still something that I feel is important to point out nontheless.

Nene and Rui were both unsuccesful in their dreams before the main story. Nene having given up going on stage and Rui never being able to be a director being forced to use robots for his plays.

Both were pretty jaded and well "worn out" until they met Tsukasa and Emu which would be a stand in for the protagonist of this play going through various encounters with many people and deciding to live a little longer.

(The reason I don't compare this protagonist to Tsukasa and Emu here is because I don't think they fit as well. Tsukasa's issues wasn't being unsuccesful its more so him forgetting the reasons behind his dreams and Emu's situation while similar just doesn't feel like it fits this story in particular)

So yeah this story is pretty simple so there is not much to analyse or pick apart. I could go scene by scene but then I would be distracting from the main point I want to make so I'll just be using the simple descriptions of the overall story.

NOW this one is a doozie, I didn't put the whole story that's described but I think compared to the last one this one is way more obvious as to what this could paralleling (or even foreshadowing if you want to be spicy).

I don't think this play is meant to be interpreted in only one way but the most obvious interpretation is the parallels to the disbandement arc. I think it particularly fits Rui in the disbandement considering how Katsuyuki is described but it can also work with Emurui in general as well.

Someone struggling meeting someone who brings joy in their life before they seemingly have to leave, said person being desperate for that not to happen.

I do think it's also meant to be a sort of double meaning here as if you have seen my cyberpunk deadboy analysis, the idea of someone leaving silently with the other trying to chase them down is something that just feels...idk intentional. But I don't have any evidence other than vibes here.

Now that I analysed these plays I want to get into the one common thread they have that is extremely baffling and concerning.

They both have the main character contemplating suicide by drowning.

Now you can be nitpicky and point out how the play in Rui's event doesn't explicitely say that this dude wants to drown himself but I just find it more likely mostly because of how this and the description of Katsuyuki's characters are phrased.

When Katsyuki is said to be "without the will to live"

THAT is a literal translation

Unfortunatly I'm not a japanese speaker so don't take my research with 100 pourcent certainty

However if you look at how this sentence is phrased in japanese, this translation is pretty much word for word

And also just what Hajime says doesn't feel like what someone would say to someone if they're just leaning to close to look at the ocean or just being reckless.

Anyways now that I've made my point that there is a 95 pourcent chance this is Heavily implying Katsuyuki was plannign on drowning himself the question is....

what the fuck ?

Now one time is already a big deal considering colorpalet's insitance on censoring explicit mentions of suicide and for it to be implied twice in the span of two events in a row ? And have it be specifically be by drowning both times ?????

I don't understand people just brushing this off because Colorpalet Actively chose to make the plays like this. These plays often take a large portion of the screentime, and I've showcased how they can hold story significance so such a blatant connection between them feels extremely intentional.

This is why complaints about expecting Colorpalet to get too dark and that it's unrealistic would be legitmatly silly because what's more unrealistic ?

That colorpalet has tackled this dark topic twice in a row to foreshadow or hint at possible topics that will be addressed in the future of WxS's story ? Weither it's through flashbacks or implications like 25ji OR even just symbolism.

Or that colorpalet just went and made the plays needlessly dark, for no reason ?????? Twice in a row with it being drowning both times ??????? With the same actor and both being the protagonist of the play ?????? Have those plays that take a lot of screentime being described just being completely devoid meaning ???????

I think I made my case about why the fandom's usual kneejerk reaction wouldn't make sense here, this isn't a "X character is secretly suicidal/depressed" situation.

Either way, I actually don't legitematly know what this could entail. This is clearly important enough that colorpalet is obviously shoving it in our faces but I do not know the meaning of it towards WxS's story just yet.

It could be hints at some of the members backstory (BTW by that I mean it could be hints at basically anything, it doesn't have to be explicitely 1/1 "they wanted to drown themselves") specifically Rui considering how suspicious they are at handling ms Rui but that is it's own can of wringling worms. But that could also be my fav character bias speaking tbf.

It could also just be meant to be some kind of like, message of colorpalet saying that they are willing to go darker with WxS's storyline if necessary. In a way showing that the gloves are off if they're not censoring dark topics that they usually censor.

Anyways I'm not delving further into it because otherwise i'd get into unhinged rants but honestly this subject just gives me so much brainworms because legit what the Fuck is colorpalet doing rn.

They are being so weird for literally no reason with WxS's story and I just have to sit back and watch them just drop weird shit out of nowhere.

Edit : One of my friends pointed out how one of them is a movie and one of them is a play and i realised I might've mixed those words up while writing this so yeah 😭

#project sekai #rui kamishiro #tsukasa tenma #emu otori #nene kusanagi #prsk #pjsk #prsk analysis #pjsk analysis #wxs #wonderlandxshowtime #tw suicide #tw drowning #tw mentions of suicide #warning before you interract with this post though #I'm doing this for fun #I appreciate wanting to give feedback but it kinda just kills the vibe for me #I'm sorry for being so defensive in a majority of the post but I feel like this is necessary considering what I know about the fandom #This is also not an invitation to try and criticise my post anyways just block and move on #This fandom just gets really touchey when people try and do analysis like this which I understand considering some rlly bad analysis #have come out of completely forgetting how colorpalet writes stories but like #that is very much not what i'm doing the topics are THERE i'm just reacting to them #And also just the “colorpalet wouldn't do that its unrealistic” is like pretty much not something I can argue against completely because #the point in itself is not based on evidence like we will never know how far colorpalet would go until they Go There #(also if you believe i'm vagueposting about someone through these constant warnings you'd be kind of right but like this is also just to #(make sure i'm understood because the last I post I made definitely gave people the wrong vibe which is my bad) #(these analysis mean a lot to me #personally so I want to make sure that this keeps being fun for me) #(anyways rlly sorry for the rant in the tags eirfuezij) #TLDR : i don't mean harm towards anyone if you don't agree with me it's in your full right but don't try and jump into the rb's to argue

[not-too-many-eyes]

Finally Finished Chapter 5 of Survive and OH BOY I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT SHUUJI!

Thoughts under the cut content warnings for discussions of self-hatred and suicide and uh Chapter 5 ending stuff. Thoughts May Change Who Knows

I remember reading in an interview a month ago I think that the Digimon are reflections of the human in Digimon Survive so Shuuji immediately caught my attention for his terrible relationship with his partner. Chapter 5 takes all of that Shuuji-Lopmon tension and goes "hey let's make this really fucked up mate."

So they did.

Shuuji gets eaten by Lopmon's Dark Evolution, which, emotionally is Something.

Shuuji sucks he's a coward, he's bossy, he always escalates conflict no matter how hard he tries not to, and consistently makes a situation worse, and he always wants to be the leader and he gets really really mean about it, and it's kinda hard not to hate him considering he's both verbally and eventually physically abusive to Lopmon.

But...Shuuji is not simply a terrible person, I'm not saying he's a GOOD person but he didn't wake up and decide "Lopmon is the the worst thing in existence which gives me the right to bully and mistreat him." he's hurting Lopmon...because Lopmon reminds him of himself.

Shuuji talks a lot about his "uselessness" in Chapter 5...the thing he's been ascribing to Lopmon this entire game, and even then Shuuji does cry a lot and tends to get really scared and isn't the greatest leader but he's obviously trying to make sure everyone is alive...just like Lopmon. Simply put Lopmon is a Mirror he can Punch Twice.

Really him getting eaten by Lopmon is...a very literal metaphor for Shuuji as a character, Shuuji is at his lowest moment, and in that moment his self-hatred and feelings of uselessness and despair and unresolved anger take over him and eventually it consumes him whole.

Lopmon and Shuuji even speak as one being after Lopmon consumes him, the things Lopmon feels are the same things Shuuji Feels, and that's Really Damn Interesting,

And also really depressing cause they constantly talk about how much they hate themselves and should die and how scared there are I just felt extremely sad reading those words knowing that information. Shuuji isn't a great person but I can't help but feel sad for him.

I don't want to talk much about Shuuji's family considering the very small info I have of them but it doesn't paint a pretty picture, there seems to be a chain of abuse going on here which is really depressing.

Also something I noticed while playing, Shuuji responds terribly if your concerned about him, it's most noticeable in Chapter 5 when he's at the start of his breakdown but even before that he didn't respond well to concern. I just find that a neat character detail.

I don't think he's my favorite, it's currently a three way tie between Minoru, Kaito and Miu, but he is incredibly interesting and really depressing. Excited to see more of him when I can save him, truly do wonder what happens when he digivolves properly and fixes his relationship with Lopmon.

#digimon #digimon survive #shuuji kayama

[prettybard]

So I’ve watched a ton of reactions to ofmd (indulging the ones mentioned in your post) because I was really curious to see how people responded to a show like this and I’ve observed some THINGS

• People generally don’t like/aren’t sold by ep 1 (crazy to me since it’s one of my faves and I was hooked instantly but it). Even people that liked it don’t seem to get the tone just from one ep.

• People always end up having a favorite crew member. Very fun to see who they end up gravitating towards

• Most people believe Black Pete’s stories at first/think they will be proven right later

•Most people don’t pay attention to Jim’s pronouns unless they are already aware that they are nb/are told by commenter that they are nb

• A lot of the little jokes and clever moments and line deliveries kinda go over a lot of peoples heads

• Queer people love Stede, straight people have to warm up to him

• Most people credit Taika for this show/most straight people heard about it because of his connection to it

• I’ve only seen one person previously unfamiliar with the foot touch in ep 8 notice it

• Everyone loves Lucius

• Hardly anyone notices how romantic the moonlight scene in ep 5 is (and of course the ones who pick up on it are the gays)

• This show reads much better for gay people. Like of course, but it’s interesting to actually watch the differences in reaction to a lot of moments. I mostly like to watch people who aren’t familiar with the show at all and I like to keep the mix of people (straight, queer, poc, white etc.) diverse so that I can see how people with different backgrounds respond. Queer people 100% of the time are feeling those themes and narratives.

• Everyone always loses their shit when Karl dies

• No one ever talks about how fun Geraldo is and that’s wild to me. Loved his character so much.

• End of ep 3/ep 4 is what usually hooks people

• Most people, including the straights, actually do see the kiss coming but there are a few who are still shocked

• People want to fuck Blackbeard and Jim but what else is new

• A surprising amount of people “predict” that Ed isn’t going to kill Stede because they’re going to end up friends. Like…..yeah. He’s the main character. Idk. They kinda set that up for you.

• A lot of Ed’s vulnerable moments go overlooked

• Most people can’t believe Ed leaves the dock and freak the hell out when he goes back to being Blackbeard. Very fun reactions to those things.

• Not many people point out Izzy’s attraction to Blackbeard

All this information may be completely useless but it’s really fun to observe how people respond to this show. OFMD is UNDOUBTEDLY a show for the gays but I love that by the end most straight people also highly praise and recommend the show.

omg anon i love you and im gonna try to respond to most of the points bc im v happy i got this message.

it genuinely made me so sad when ppl weren't that into the first episode, its so perfect and very easily shows the found family shit thats about to happen.

ik a lot of new people dont know about jims pronouns but by fucking god does it make me uncomfortable when ppl immediately use she/her pronouns for them,, but im glad that ppl start using it when commenters tell them abt jim.

OMG YEAH SO MANY LITTLE JOKES GO OVER PPLS HEADS AND IM JUST SCREAMING AT MY SCREEN TELLING THEM TO APPRECIATE IT ASKFJS,,, the scene where stedes like "no this is it,, thats it." THE FUCJING LINE DELIVERY ON THAT IS PERFECT BUT LIKE NO ONE MENTIONED IT

stede is for the gays,, only we can fully understand that little fucker

no bc it made me so mad that not many people credited david jenkins properly,, like its his show?!?!?!

everyone should love lucius,, hes perfect in every way

GOD I WOULD GET SO SAD WHEN MOST PPL JUST SKIMMED BY THE MOONLIGHT SCENE,, AND I DON'T THINK ILL EVER FORGET "nice , theyre friends now" HUH?!??!??!?!

i think alot of straight people just dont care, like most of the youtubers ive seen react to the show, mostly just care about the comedy and if its entertaining. it kinda shocking to me seeing ppl just act normally about the show and not completely dissect it and every single theme they can find

ahhh omg yeah idk how ppl can look at the bathtub scene with ed and just go "aww thats sad" and just dismiss it?!?! that scene changed my brain chemistry and ruined me,, ed vulnerable moments were my favorite and i really wanted more people to talk about that

oh man i feel like i can go on a whole ass rant about ed becoming the kraken,, like people say it doesn't make sense but if you just think about it for 2 fucking seconds you can see that it v much makes complete sense to his character,, hes just trying to protect himself

i like pointing out izzy's atrraction for blackbeard bc its fucking hilarious how pathetic he is for a man that barely even cared abt him and doesn't even exist (hes in love with the idea of blackbeard and but not ed)

anyways this was incredibly fun to respond to, anon!! pls send me more shit if you want <33

#i hope my responses make sense bc im working on 0 hours of sleep 3 coffees and my phone #and god i hope the toxic izzy stans don't come and fucking kill me for the last point.. ive had to deal with too many of them already😭😭 #ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #edward teach #gentlebeard

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Running on Empty

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of hunger pangs/cravings, cramped/crowded space, mentions of eating, cannibalism, talk of murder, implications of illegal business, implied death/murder, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(My beloved scrungly EgoPat is back, and this time, we get to see his cravings in action. This little drabble was inspired by one lovely Knife Anon, who has worked wonders for my validation. If you want to learn more about Caliban, go here. If you’d like to learn more about the mob he and Murdock work for, go here. Murdock/Murderplier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’re interested in my personal headcanons on him, go here. And, last but certainly not least, to learn more about R.D., go here.)

Somewhere among the Cove Port Inlets, a cannibal was trapped in a department store.

Well, not literally, but he certainly felt trapped. The elevator car he was currently riding in would’ve been cramped even without all the other people he was having to share the space with.

Most would assume that cannibals and crowded areas didn’t mix well together, and for the most part, they’d be right.

But in Caliban’s case, that normally wasn’t too much of a problem.

Caliban prided himself on being responsible. The authorities around here were generally pretty useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be careful with his habits. He’d organized a whole agenda just to keep his cravings in check. He typically didn’t have to worry about his urges unless he knew it was safe to give in to them.

That was actually why he and Murdock had started working together so long ago; too many disappearances happening in short succession of one another would cause suspicion in the community. Therefore, the hitman also had a schedule to stick to, which perfectly aligned with the cannibal’s meal-planning.

Or, at least, it USUALLY did.

Murdock had contacted him earlier, had promised to deliver a dead body in a few hours. That delivery was the reason Caliban had made this shopping trip in the first place. He’d been running low on some of his favorite herbs and spices, and he’d been eager to use them. He’d been excitedly waiting to make some deviled spleen with a side of simmered tongue (he’d also entertained the idea of putting all other edible organs into a stew for later).  

But NOOOOOOOO, no, no, no! It just COULDN’T be that easy!

Caliban grimaced at his cellphone, at the most recent exchange of his and Murdock’s encrypted messages.

So, I’ve got some bad news, Murdock had texted while Caliban had been paying for his new seasonings.

What, did you have to use a last-minute explosive on the target? Caliban had responded. If so, just bring some of the least-charred pieces. You know I’m not too picky.

Murdock had replied, No, I couldn’t have afforded to do something like that. And even if you were a picky eater, it wouldn’t matter.

Caliban asked, What’s that supposed to mean? He hadn’t gotten an immediate response, so after leaving the kitchen supply area, he’d tried again: Doc? What exactly are you saying right now?

A few more moments of silence passed after that, but by then, Caliban had finally connected the dots. (It’d only taken him so long because he didn’t want what he’d predicted to be true.)

You let the target get away, didn’t you? He’d eventually inquired. And boy howdy, did that get a quick reply.

I didn’t LET him get away! Due to the lack of things like facial expression and body language, reading someone’s emotions via text was usually pretty difficult. Not in this case, since Murdock took great pride in his work. Either the informants got something wrong in their analysis, or every potential witness in a hundred mile radius just randomly decided to come out of the fucking woodwork. Whichever the case, it’s not MY fault that the asshole’s still alive!

Something tells me you’re still gonna drink from that special mug, Caliban had texted, thinking of Murdock’s favorite coffee cup, which proclaimed IT’S ONLY MURDER IF THEY FIND A BODY—OTHERWISE IT’S JUST A MISSING PERSON in a bold, bright red font. Good job getting my hopes up.

Look, you’re not the only person losing out because of this. I’M gonna have to get reprimanded sooner or later. YOU are just gonna have to be a little more patient for once.

“For once,” huh? This wasn’t the first time Murdock had failed to kill a target. Granted, the other times were few and far between. Plus, Caliban’s frustration had been a bit easier to deal with since his accomplice hadn’t decided to just wait until the last minute to let him know.

It seemed like today really was just one of those days.

I’ve already got a couple more hits lined up. You’ll be getting some new grub in a month or so. Think about that before you complain next time. It was evident that Murdock had been trying to calm himself. You couldn’t be a killer-for-hire if you couldn’t keep an even head on your shoulders. (That was one of the stranger aspects of this line of work.) In other words: BITE ME.  

The hasty addition of “figuratively” never came. So, Caliban had decided to be cheeky. Is that a challenge?

Murdock was strong and an experienced fighter, but the fact that Caliban worked more on the body-disposal side of the spectrum nowadays did not mean he was a stranger to violence. The former still had scars on his knuckles from his and the latter’s very first altercation.

(Murdock had decked Caliban in the face, but he’d obviously never fought someone who would respond to being punched by grabbing hold of their assailant’s wrist and chomping down on said assailant’s hand. Just like how Caliban had never bitten into someone whose blood had a kick so similar to cinnamon. . .or capsaicin, maybe.) 

That message remained unanswered. Murdock had been infuriatingly prudent enough to disable the Read receipts that would’ve come with his text messages.

Caliban stuffed his phone into his pocket, trying to back even further into the corner he’d already claimed.

His head told him that Murdock was an accomplished killer; it was highly unlikely that he’d lose his future target. Nobody was perfect, and that definitely applied to murderers.

His stomach argued that Murdock was an irresponsible moron and it was his fault that the rest of Caliban’s day was now going to suck.

All in all, there were pretty good points on either side of the coin.

Caliban pursed his lips as a rumbling, pinching, gnawing sensation manifested in the pit of his belly. His shoulders slumped as his frustration invited some good ol’ fashioned dread to keep it company.

Oh, right. The urges. . .

Caliban took a deep breath and reminded himself that a single corpse was still a practical treasure-trove of flesh and organs. And since it didn’t take an Einstein to properly store meat, Caliban’s pantry was never empty. Even though the fresh-is-always-best rule applied to more than just seafood.

He had some human remains at home.

He could still appease his appetite without Murdock’s help.

He just. Had to. Get out. Of this. Damn. Elevator.  

Since he couldn’t afford to stare at the people he was trapped with, Caliban found himself gazing at the little signs adorning the space around the elevator’s door and buttons. The most prominent of these signs displayed a simple drawing of a stick-figure walking down a staircase, with a bright orange flame at the top of the stairs.

In spite of his frustration, Caliban raised an eyebrow at this. People seriously still didn’t know how dangerous it was to use an elevator in the event of a fire?

He thought of how easily the ventilation shaft would go through the Chimney Effect, thought of how quickly the metal framework of the car would heat up. Thought of how smoke could make meat more tender via breaking down the collagen inside. . .thought of how the color of flesh would shift from bright pinkish-red to differing shades of brown the longer it roasted. . .thought of how fat would eventually liquify as more heat was applied—

GgglRRRRkkkk…

The sound instantly snapped Caliban back into reality. That, and the feeling of something warm around his mouth that definitely hadn’t been there before. Blinking, Caliban realized that his face had subconsciously shifted into an open smile. This, in turn, had allowed a few drops of saliva to escape his lips. He could practically feel the blood rushing under his skin as he raised a hand to wipe at his mouth with his thumb.

The initial disappointment Caliban had felt was mostly gone (although stress, impatience, and some mild-but-kind-of-quickly-growing panic had taken its place, which wasn’t a very positive development). But Caliban’s stomach didn’t really know how to give a damn about that. What it did know how to do was to make itself seem to be squirming of its own accord inside Caliban’s abdomen.

Which didn’t feel pleasant. At all.

He didn’t dare look at the elevator’s other passengers, despite knowing that a few had definitely turned their heads to glance at him. What did they expect him to do? Apologize? For something that he had no control over? Were these really the types who got offended whenever they saw another person in discomfort?

Of course they were. Hell, they probably didn’t even know what discomfort actually felt like. Caliban hadn’t needed much time to analyze their clothing, their demeanors, their freshly-purchased goods. Even if he hadn’t been so skilled in observation, it would’ve been easy to guess that the people he was trapped with were the fortunate kind.

They probably led happy little stress-free lives, probably ate more than three multiple-course meals a day. They likely hadn’t grown up with the constant threat of food being withheld from them. They could be categorized under the human equivalent of Free-Range.

GwwwuuuOOOOOORRRBL. . .

Caliban could’ve sworn his intestines had just twitched. He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. He chewed at the inside of his cheek; his teeth felt just a tad too sharp.

He didn’t even know the person responsible for this building’s architecture—for the idiotic amount of time this elevator apparently took for each trip—and he still desperately wanted to butcher them and caramelize their kidneys.

___

After what sincerely felt like a few days since he’d finally gotten out of the department store, Caliban parked by one of many curbs in the downtown area. He was shaking as he exited his car and headed for the entrance to his house.

His hunger had been steadily getting worse and worse for the duration of the drive (because why the hell would it have gotten better?). 

The very millisecond the front door was securely closed and locked behind him, Caliban’s facade got the hell out of Dodge. He sprinted across the house to the hidden door in his closet, and it was a legitimate miracle that he didn’t trip on his way down the passageway to his subway tunnel security office turned macabre kitchen/dining room combo.

He ripped the refrigerator open, and there it was: a portion of flesh he’d sliced from the thigh of Murdock’s latest target, hanging from a small meat hook he’d attached to the top shelf.

This particular appetizer had already been cured—he’d put it through both a dry rub and a few brine injections—and hanging was a great way to improve the flavor via letting natural enzymes break down the tissues.

It was a good thing Caliban always had the foresight to prepare his food ahead of time, because right now he was at the point where it wouldn’t have mattered if the meat was raw or not. The only thing that mattered was that. He. ATE.

Caliban wrenched the morsel off, leaving the meat hook to sway to and fro as he leaned against the wall, opened wide, and sank his teeth into the flesh.

MRGH-GRK

The meat was, unsurprisingly, cold. It had the expected metallic tang, but the texture was a bit more serumy than it probably should’ve been. The umami was there, but it definitely would’ve been better if the muscle had spent some time in a broiling pan.

But Caliban wasn’t in the mind to care about that.

He shook his head from side to side as he tore a chunk free.

HRUCKH-HKUNGH

He chewed furiously—the meat was tender in a way that managed to be wrong and so damn delicious at the same time. He could barely even feel how liquid dribbled out of his maw and down his chin. The first bite felt heavy in his throat, seeming to linger. Somehow, Caliban didn’t notice. He continued to rip the muscle apart, his pulse ringing in his ears all the while.

There was nothing but flavor and greed and impatience and joy.

He wasn’t sure how long it really took, but after what seemed like just a meager thirty seconds, half of the meat was gone. He wasn’t completely satisfied, of course, but his stomach wasn’t aching or growling anymore; instead, it was concentrating on what he’d just devoured. For the first time all day, he finally, finally felt comfortable. Relieved.

“Afternoon snack, Cal?” A familiar voice called from across the room.

Caliban flinched, then slowly turned his head to discover R.D., who was standing at the foot of the hidden staircase with her arms crossed. She tilted her head at him, her expression a mixture of understanding, concern, and amusement.

“I guess,” Caliban sighed. “Although you could probably call it stress-eating, too.”

R.D. wandered closer, nodding. “Probably.”

She fished her phone out of her pocket and tapped at the screen, then held it for her husband to see. She’d set her camera to self-portrait mode, which gave Caliban a perfect view of the dark red smudges splattered around his lips and cheeks, with even more running down his chin. A few spots marred the dark blue fabric of his button-down’s collar.

Caliban offered a sheepish smile in response, showing off his red-tinged teeth, his silver canine-cap gleaming. He walked over to the block kitchen island, grabbing a napkin from one of the drawers and cleaning up his face.

“You could’ve texted me on your way back,” R.D. said softly. “I could’ve prepared that for you; then you would’ve enjoyed it a bit more.”

Caliban shook his head. “I’m not going to disrupt your focus when I should’ve just been smart enough to eat something before I left. Your projects are more important.”

(She may not have been wearing any of her protective gear, but he knew full well that it hadn’t been long since she’d returned from the hidden-in-plain-sight laboratory of a warehouse on the other side of town.)

R.D. pursed her lips at this. “I didn’t have very much stuff lined up for today. Just some organization and a few basic chemical tests.”

“Still would’ve been inconvenient for you to rush back home because of me.” Caliban brought out a cutting board and his beloved cleaver, quickly chopping up his half-eaten morsel into several pieces. He then grinned. “Besides, haven’t you said that you need to keep at least five feet away from me when I eat?”

“I only say that when you decide to throw manners out the window,” R.D. chuckled, pointedly closing the refrigerator door, which Caliban had, admittedly, left open up until now. She opened a compartment beneath the oven, producing one of the smaller pans and setting it on the stove. “But seriously, you’ve already pulled strings to help me out when you didn’t have to; I might as well return the favor sometime. I’m honestly kind of shocked that you haven’t started holding that over my head by now.”

“That’s because I’m a humanitarian,” Caliban responded as he held the board above the pan to push the chunks of meat down onto its sizzling surface, laughing at how R.D. groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Aaaaaannd I regret this already,” R.D. muttered, though she still smiled when Caliban put the cleaver and board down in order to gently hug her from behind, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Oh, c’mon!” Caliban jokingly pouted. “I thought that one was pretty tasteful!”

“Snare is worried about you,” R.D. announced. “He’s been pacing around the hutch nonstop since you got back.”

Caliban froze, then raced up the stairs to go check on his pet.

@that-bat  @sammys-magical-au  @neons-trash-blog  @insane4fandoms    @ayoreneehere   @anxious-ace  @dleep-deprivation-idk-jelp  @overemotional-cactus  @congratscat @annoyeddeadartist  @butterboyfly  @i-dont-like-it-here-please-help  @echoing-night   @goopiguess  @akladyathena  @xyzkiss  @bispaceace  @alexpangender  @this1person  @4b-eraserlee  @jadefrompluto  @alexthen3rd  @destinys-dreamer  @cmaniac123 @sw33tst4rs  

#my writing #caliban #caliban the cannibal #matpat #matthew patrick #egopats #R.D. #stephanie patrick #my character #fanmade egos #my fan egos #iswm murdock #murdock/murderplier #markiplier #mark fischbach #the pentas family #[the future mob project] #tw cannibalism #tw eating #tw cravings #tw hunger pangs #tw implied death #tw talk of murder #tw cramed/crowded spaces #tw implied illegal business #🔪 anon

[cleverthylacine]

6. What’s one fact about the universe of Voice of Stanix that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

Well, the series is still updating, so this is something that has not come out yet. It is likely to come out sometime this year though. Gonna put a cut here because it is a spoiler although I'm not giving away too many plot details.

If you've read VOS as far as Every Day Is A Winding Road you know that Nickel--a medic--was actually gobsmacked to learn that sparklings can be produced by spark-merging. (Winding Road is still updating--it isn't done until all the major Events of MTMTE have either happened or been averted!)

Ratchet has mentioned elsewhere that Cybertronian medical science doesn't have any idea what the gestation tank is actually for. They know it's only found in forged mechs or mechs who came up out of the ground all by themselves, except for the Cougaraiders. Ratchet got interested in Cougaraider biology because he mentored Glit and put Ravage back together on numerous occasions, and one of the things that intrigued him is why a cold constructed model would have a gestation tank. In his mind, that is perverse and cruel, because the gestation tank is a useless organ whose main function is to become malignant, so why would you put that in a construct design?

However, on the Warworlds, everyone knows that if you're Kaiju (the polite word for "Predacon", which is considered a slur in their culture) and you spark-merge with your lover, you can get sparked up and have a sparkling. Lyzack is astonished that Nickel doesn't know.

When Nickel tells Glit, he is so freaked out that he forgets Howlback and Ravage have already had theirs removed and harangues them both about not getting knocked up--especially Howlback, because her partner is also a beastformer, unlike Soundwave. (I guess he can blame information creep. Howlback and Ravage were significantly less than a vorn old when they had theirs removed, and he wasn't involved in the decision; Ravage's got broken when she was beaten, so Ratchet took it out, and Howlback had Hook remove hers so she could have really amazing valve mods put in.*)

The Warworlders were originally colonies of mecha from Uraya (like the Eukarians), where there were always a lot of beastformers. They joined the Decepticon movement but they weren't down with it when Megatron got colonialist and expansionist. Maitriona (Megaempress) quietly volunteered her Warworld to guard a distant border and then just quietly stopped responding to comms. A few million years later. Deathsaurus got completely pissed off by the same issues and publicly fucked off to join her.

Anti-beastformer prejudice is the legacy of the Quints. The Quints could not subdue or find a good use for the Predacons and tried to wipe them out; the Iaconian nobility finished the job, or tried to.

So, after the Quints left and were scrubbed from the archives, rampant Iaconian colonialism drove the Urayajin off Cybertron, and they and the Vosni were the only people who still knew what sparklings even were.

You see, the Quints realised that one way to keep their slaves in line was to make normal reproduction impossible for them and they wrote a virus that disabled internal reproductive protocols, and then relied on the reproductive system of Cybertron itself to create the 'hot spots'. But the virus didn't work on Predacons. And since the Quints were written out of history, and the Primalist, functionist Iaconian colonial government wrote the history after every other culture was essentially destroyed or fucked off to live somewhere else, everyone just thinks this is how they are supposed to reproduce.

What's blue and bigger on the inside than the outside?*

A TARDIS?

Well, that too, but I was thinking of Howlback's valve.

#voice of stanix #meta #Cybertronian reproduction

[theomnicode]

Hold up, did Saitama actually get interviewed at all when he moved up to A-rank?

Like, did anybody even ASK him if he wanted to move to A-rank? Does he even know?

Or are we about to witness Amai-mask and some kind of Disaster level: God interview?

(Tbh I would pay to to see this happen lmao)

Saitama got interviewed when he moved up from C to B rank, so he should have gotten an interview if he wanted to take up more duties as a hero because you can't just bump someone up without their consent and then expect them to perform their new rank duties up to standards and get them killed if they can't actually do so...

And if Saitama had actually gotten interviewed, he would have a beeper issued to all A-rank heroes...

Unless ofc, he already broke it by using his powers and discarded it, not knowing why it even broke or he might've had it in his pocket all this time but using his powers at the gate broke it so it did not respond and we assumed he just does not have a beeper.

(Clever, clever, so many tiny little details we can figure out, like a web of information being pieced together. Never make assumptions.)

(Saitama is just not good with machines LOL, I guess his powers just disrupts electronics, that's why a phone would be useless on him. Maybe someone should become Saitama's personal smoke signaler.)

Well, won't that be a doozy if it turns out he never got an interview and Saitama figures out someone upranked him, without his consent mind you, something that feels entirely undeserved.

Maybe someone bumped him up in ranks just so they can actually get him to live in the Hero association HQ by offering him free housing...and keep an eye on him. And force him to actually act on higher difficulty duties if he wishes to keep his new house and new rank.

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

(I am actually looking at you Blast, he's gonna hear about Saitama and smell something is fishy.)

If someone dumped a lease in front of Saitama, he would not read it properly. He'd just be happy someone like HA would look after him, FINALLY and sign it without question and oh someone even gave him a free beeper like the one King has too, HA is being so nice now and helping him do his hero job properly and Saitama is finally feeling like he's actually on HA's radar and being worth noticing as a hero...

And not read the fine print about getting bumped to A-rank and only A-rank heroes being able to live in said house and not knowing that beepers are only distributed to A-rank heroes and above only and not even fucking knowing he's A-rank hero now, but by signing the lease which is an actual contract...he could get trapped into hero work.

Am I going crazy now to think that this is a large conspiracy done by Blast?

That he heard something about Saitama from the meeting, put 2+2 together and came to the conclusion that Saitama is a huge fucking threat and the reason God is even here, then traveled back in time to make sure Saitama gets housing in HA and to essentially trap him into being an A-rank hero and do his job.

That would be fucking insane, holy shit. And it would not be the first time Blast has done shit like this. Trap people into doing their hero work I mean. He practically did it to Tatsumaki.

Meanwhile, Saitama will think this would all be Genos' fault.

That Genos' influence got him secretly ranked up and all this favouritism thrown his way. Rise in rank and free housing. Large information gap and Genos spilling beans leading up to a shitstorm. Since Saitama does not recall doing all that heroism to warrant a rise in rank.

That's a large argument waiting to happen because Saitama does not take freebies. Freebies and nepotism get in the way of self-improvement and feeling accomplished and earning things via your own power.

Whatever is the case, next chapters are bound to be seriously interesting.

#opm #one punch man #opm meta #saitama #hero association #blast #conspiracy #opm manga panels

[sadistic-softie]

LORE DUMP ABOUT ME (I'm that bored)

I've been itching to write and also to share information about myself nobody asked for, so why not kill two birds with one stone? This could be considered an autobiography.

I think there was something fundamentally wrong with me from the start. As a child, and I mean in the single digits, I, for lack of better words, didn't give a shit about anyone but me and my family, and I cared much less about my family than the average kid. I found myself constantly annoyed whenever someone was being friendly with me or expressing something I disagreed with or didn't understand. I saw everyone as an annoyance and a lesser person. I was selfish. I hid it though. I would pretend to smile and laugh. Pretend to be interested. Pretend to care. That's how I made friends and got people to give me whatever little things I wanted. Toys, school supplies, food, etc.

If I wanted something I couldn't buy or sweet-talk myself into getting, I would steal it. Only if I knew I would get away with it, though. I didn't feel bad. I didn't feel bad when my friends would cry after I stole their toys. I felt satisfied. I just felt oddly proud. I did that. I caused them to cry and they don't even know it. This likely would have gone on if not for my stepfathers suicide.

I was nine when it happened. It destroyed and traumatized my mother, giving her PTSD, as she found the body. His death made me do nearly a complete 180 in personality. I really had cared about him, and it hurt. I gained the sense of empathy I once lacked and started treating people with a more genuine kindness and appreciation. I loved my friends for real. I felt bad when I stole, so I stopped.

I stopped caring about myself and began to value all other lives over mine, to the point where I thought to myself that if I ever had to sacrifice myself for someone I didn't know, that I would and I should, because they're worth so much more than me. I would constantly put myself in everyones shoes. Constantly wanting to understand them deeply and psycologically. In my head, I was useless if I couldn't aid or protect my family, but I was still so young. This mindset has now proven to be detrimental to my mental development.

As I, my mother was changed significantly by the trauma. She was paranoid about our saftey to the point where she would angirly panic if we did not immediately respond to her or if she heard a loud sound. Over time, she slowly became more and more difficult to please. Every action I took was more and more scrutinized. I began being yelled at and scolded for a lack of intilligence. Being told over and over for years and years that I'm not using my brain, "You're not fucking stupid! I don't know why you act like you are!"

No matter how hard I tried to avoid it, I always ended up being scolded harshly for stupidity. I was doing something innefficiently, I didn't think of something I should have, I didn't know something I was supposed to, I didn't do something I should have thought to do, whatever it was, I was subjected to scoldings of at least 2 hours if clocks were right, though it felt longer, of course. It would be continually bought up again and again in later hours and days and especially in later scoldings, being told, "I don't know what's wrong with you, but you need to find a way to fucking fix it!"

I began a spiral of self-hatred and became desperate to, "get smarter," getting higher and higher grades in school, averaging Bs and As. It didn't help. Reading endless numbers of books and articles and anything I could get my hands on. It didn't help. Doing brain strengtheing activities. Mostly puzzles; solving riddles, crosswords, cryptograms, sudoku, memory games, etc. It didn't help. I contiued doing everything I could think of, obsessively, in desperation to stop being so stupid, but it never got any better. It only got worse.

I just wanted to stop failing her. Stop disappointing her. Stop being subjected to that look in her eyes that made my heart sink into my gut, the voice that stung my ears, and the words that dampened my eyes and cheeks. It was all impossible. I spent the rest of my time with her, roughly ten years, overworking myself to try and avoid it, but it only continued getting worse.

I had to learn how to shut my feelings back off. Force myself into a blank state around her. It didn't prevent what she did, but lessened the chances of it enough to be worth it. I could show nothing but calm joy or neutrality. Never get caught crying, never be sad, never be angry, be quiet, remain calm, never laugh without a good excuse to laugh, and most importantly, don't show that you're afraid. If I did any of those things, life was so so much worse.

When I turned 12, I began to develop intense and vivid intrusive thoughts that were exclusively violent and homocidal. They went against my nature of caring about others over myself and caused me so much distress that, by 13, I attempted. Tried to drown myself in the tub via waterboarding with a towel. Freaked out and quit when I got really desperate for air. Mom never found out. The strangest thing about it though, was that the more I loved a person, the more frequent and violent my intrusive thoughts about them were. My best friend was the one I though of in this way the most.

I thought of violent tricks, mutilation, stabbing, dismemberment, torture, staged accidents, cannibalism, burning alive, poisoning, drowning, and many other violent things one could do to another. I didn't understand why. Regardless, I had a mental breakdown and confessed my intrustive thoughts. Because my mom was scared for my saftey and didn't know what to do with me, I was temporarily sent away to live in a large building with other teens who had various mental illnesses.

We were on suicide watch. Constant survailance. Reinforced windows that couldn't open. Bedrooms with six beds. Staff watched us sleep. Every activity and meal was monitored. I was at peace, but after a month, I became restless. Therapy sessions were too frequent. I had no privacy. I wasn't allowed my hobbies because pencils were not allowed. There were no books to read either. Everything there was so boring. All I got to do was watch awful childrens shows, listen to clean karaoke sessions, and watch people play "Just Dance." I felt like I was getting worse.

Luckily, I got to go back home. Those days, I got about an hour alone in the house after school. I used it to cry and scream. The thoughs subsided at 15. At 18, my best friends betrayed, spread rumors about, and abandoned me. I won't go into too much about what they did because it hurts too much, but it was the most traumatic period of time in my life. One of the friends was also an ex I'm still not over. Everything with my mother continued and kept getting worse.

Still had to hide all my feelings. You have no excuse to be sad! I give you everything and you have nothing to worry about! Being blamed for things out of my control, never being able to be enough, overworking myself, feeling guilty for resting, being insulted, talked down to, and threatened. So tired. I noticed my pet rabbit lost a significant and dangerous ammount of weight when I was away on vacation with my father. When I came back and saw her, I had to shut the door because I had started to cry. She was noticably lighter and I could feel all her bones. Yeah, I told the kids to take care of her. I did notice this morning she'd lost some weight. It had never been so hard to hold back my anger.

This mental pain went on and on until I reached a breaking point. My mom had had one of her breakdowns due to work stress and my innability to help her well enough and ran away from home for the night. I thought, This is my only chance. She's never away. If I don't do something now, I'm going to kill myself later. I couldn't take it any more. I felt trapped. I just couldn't let my family suffer through another suicide. I called several crisis lines over and over. I called 988 as well.

All they wanted besides to talk me down was get DCF involved. Fucking mandated reporters, of course. They don't understand nuance. They see only "good" and "bad". The see my mom as some evil, irrideemable monster, and me as some sort of damsel in distress. From experience with a close call, I knew better. The day DCF called my mother was a terrifying day. It was't even about her. It was about a neighborhood case, yet she still lashed out. DCF rarely ever helps anybody, I've heard. It makes things worse, if anything. It's a dangerous trap that would destroy my family. I wouldn't let them do that. I didn't let myself share too much.

I gave up on 988 and the crisis lines and called my father instead. I told him everything. He said he knew this was coming. That she was always like that. That it was why they divorced. I didn't know what to believe, but I felt safe every time I was over there, and they treat me with respect and humanity. I took the chance, packed my shit, and I'm living with him now. Safe. Healing slowly. And I took my best friend with me. The one I trust more than anyone. My beloved rabbit. I will see to it that she never starves again.

#tw violent imagery #tw violent thoughts #tw violence #tw violent language #family trauma #trauma #tw trauma #tw sui ideation #tw sui talk #tw sui attempt #tw sucidal ideation #tw intrusive thoughts #mental illness #tw mental illness #animal neglect #tw animal neglect

[netherworldpost]

i really admire your confidence and attitude towards things. i have a tendency to fear everything and doubt endlessly every decision i make, and doubt myself and my intelect and my skill. I'm in my first year of college and i am afraid of everything. Do you have a word of encouragement? 🥺

There are incredibly few and very overt things you can do, especially in the context of being in your first year of college, that can permanently ruin your life. Or really, damage your life beyond making the next few weeks or months uncomfortable.

Things like -- don't drink and drive, don't embezzle money from work, etc. Big, easy to avoid things.

DECISION PARALYSIS

Throw out notions of graduating in X years and it'll go a lot easier.

I started college at 18 and finished grad school when I was 26. Which is, like, "doctor years" and not "graphic designer" years. I also learned a lot about a lot of things that informed my life and have had an amazing time doing it. My only regret is the financial cost but that is more on the American education system than anything.

Trust your gut. It'll be wrong a lot and that's okay. You're learning how to navigate. You're learning how to recover from failure.

You're learning that the consequences of the vast majority of failures are extremely low.

Go do weird things with weird people and be safe about it and just enjoy this time in your life. It isn't the best or most magical but it is among the first times when the rails are gone and you can become who you are.

Fail a class and take it again or forget to do a report or show up to the wrong Humanities class for half a semester and have an war with both professors (the one you should be in via email for not showing up, the one in person via voice because you aren't responding to class emails).

It doesn't matter. Just take the class again.

Every job I've ever gotten as an adult has been because someone I knew knew that I had adequate (when I was getting started) or great (after I got established) skill. Grades don't matter. Networking does.

49% of networking is being genuine and helpful when you can

49% of it is sharing resources when you have more than you need

2% is dumb luck (life in general is at least 2% dumb luck)

DOUBTING INTELLIGENCE

It is doubtful you're as dumb as fence post. But let's skew the average and say you are.

If you're stupid -- so what? Does it have consequences? Is it permanent?

Look at every successful person you can name, famous and/or that you know personally. How many of them are brilliant? Now, how many of them are brilliant in everything vs. their area of expertise?

I'm not going to get into the mental puzzle of "you go to college to get smart" because it's fucking stupid. You go to college to learn how to do a thing. A job, research, whatever.

You become intelligent by living your life and having adventures, professional and personal. You will find far more life-energy profit by assessing your desires and resources and pursuing the former with the latter.

I've known incredibly academically brilliant people who are, in practicality, useless. I've known people for whom Classical Knowledge as colleges judge is as useful as edible hammers that are incredibly interesting and financially successful.

Live your life and figure out who you are and who you want to be and you'll be fine. Pursue your passions and you'll succeed.

#small business

[ms-demeanor]

My friend says not to vote in the upcoming election because our liberal establishment is no different from fascism and because Trump's policies are merely an extension of existing policies (like the ICE concentration camps that were established under Obama). How would you, being a leftist like me and my friend, respond to this attitude?

When I was in high school there was one cataclysmic, catastrophic, Very Important school board meeting.

It was a perfect storm of religious freedom, LGBT Rights, and Holy Shit You’re Talking About Taking Daycare Away from Students Who Are Parents.

The first thing, religious freedom, was exceptionally stupid but I think it’s a great example of how shitty the suburb I lived in was and what we were dealing with. Basically the D&D club that I started was accused of being Satanists and the Campus Christian Club was trying to get us shut down for worshipping satan. (I live in the fucking WORST part of LA County, I swear). The defense for the D&D club was pretty simple: If we’re worshipping satan as an on-campus activity at lunchtime we have every right to do so just like the Campus Christian Club an in fact if the Campus Christian Club got us shut down for practicing a different religion they’d made a very effective argument for shutting down their Praising Christ on-campus lunchtime activity.

The second thing was ANOTHER conflict with the Campus Christian Club - this was more serious. This was “High schoolers shouldn’t be exposed to deviant lifestyles and therefore we need to shut down the Gay/Straight Alliance.” At that point the GSA was also very new and I was also the VP of it. Spoilers: we were allowed to continue existing and we had speakers come in from time to time - we had grownups who talked to us about dealing with homophobia and resources for what happened if your parents kicked you out; we had a trans woman in her 50s come and talk to us (in 2003!) about transphobia and dysphoria and how to cope. The adviser handed out a packet to all of us that had the suicide hotline number right at the top, I know at least three people used that number the first year. The defense for the GSA was actually another handy-dandy page out of the ACLU handbook: The Campus Christian Club’s definition of deviance is something they have a right to hold but not to impose on other people - if you ban the GSA based on being ‘deviants’ you are imposing someone else’s belief system on us so knock it off unless you want to be a fun LA Times story.

The third thing didn’t have ANYTHING to do with the Campus Christian Club and was much worse because it had to do with funding and teen moms. The third thing was “The district believes it’s a waste of money to continue to pay for childcare at the district continuation school; if you can’t afford childcare you should have thought of that before becoming a teen mom, good luck getting a babysitter while you’re trying to finish high school.” Four of the students from the continuation school had showed up with their children and their defense of the daycare program was basically (and understandably) “What the fuck you fucking ghouls we just want to finish school and it’s one fucking daycare provider on campus you already have to pay the insurance for childcare providers for other schools in the district what the fucking fuck.”

The D&D Club, GSA, and Childcare for Teen Parents Program were all allowed to continue existing.

By one vote.

By someone who had recently been elected to the school board.

By four votes.

Four people went out and voted that November. Four people filled in a bubble on a ballot.

The GSA did fundraisers to pay for STI testing and suicide prevention. My friend Michelle graduated on time with her daughter waiting in the crowd. Knowing that adult trans people could survive and exist and thrive and love themselves was lifesaving information for a few kids in the GSA.

Four votes. If four people stayed home that’s a hundred fewer STI tests, that’s wondering if Michelle would ever be able to get a job when she didn’t have a diploma and couldn’t hire a babysitter. That’s three dead queer kids and another two homeless.

And it didn’t happen. Because four people filled in a couple of bubbles one night in November.

Voting is not activism but it is by no means useless. If your friend is incapable of distinguishing fascism and liberalism that sounds like a them problem and it sucks to be them; that amount of nihilism is hard to carry around.

People who criticize leftists for “electoral apologism” or whatever for voting are the “yet you participate in society, curious. I am very intelligent” comic

Yeah, the system’s shitty. Yeah, it sucks and should be overthrown. But it’s not overthrown YET so we may as well take advantage of the few areas of harm reduction the system allows. Voting doesn’t mean you STOP doing direct action or that you stop pushing for change, it just means you’re doing the single easiest real-world thing to alleviate suffering. And if it doesn’t work who gives a fuck - you did the bare minimum and it cost you a small amount of time.

Vote and then go hand out food in the park or cut the valve stems off a cop car if you’re feeling angsty about conceding to the system.

(also FUCK, you have no idea how much I hate having to defend the Obama administration but please go talk to a trans person about whether it is easier or harder to get healthcare in their state under Trump or under Obama. I fucking hate liberals but I don’t think that they’re actively interested in overturning Roe V. Wade. Fuck this political purity culture and go learn about harm reduction.)

[nadisabug]

How They React To You Gaining Weight

Pairing: Bokuto Kotaro/Iwaizumi Hajime/Tsukishima Kei x fem! reader

Requested: @animexwonderland

Genre: Angst, Hurt/comfort

Warnings: okay so there is A LOT of self hate in this one, lots of insecure thoughts and overall sad times BUT comfort at the end, cursing, and suggestive themes 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: ofc if you give me the choice I’ll pick tsukki bby

Haikyuu Masterlist // Part 2

Bokuto K.

"Baby come here," Kotaro whined.

"No!" You darted away from him again.

"Please just let me pick you up!"

For some reason, your boyfriend got it into his head that it would be cute for you two to do the classic end-of-Hallmark-movie spin together. The one where the two run towards each other and the boy picks up the girl and spins her around.

Adorable right? And oh so very Kotaro. But only one problem.

You didn't want him to notice how heavy you were.

Recently you had put on some weight and now none of your jeans fit. So, you had resorted to wearing sweatpants and baggy sweatshirts everyday out of necessity and to hide the weight. You had been feeling so insecure about it and you didn't want your fit, toned, athletic, sexy boyfriend to notice.

Thinking about all your weight and the shame behind it, you snapped.

"Just quit it!"

Kotaro stopped chasing you and adopted one of his rare serious looks. "Baby, what's wrong?"

He waited for you to answer but you couldn't say anything.

"This isn't about me picking you up, is it?"

"Yes it is!" You shot back. You folded your arms and looked away. "I just don't want to be picked up."

Kotaro took a couple steps forward and reached out to cup your cheek. He held it softly, but firmly turned it so that you were looking at him. "Baby, just tell me what's really wrong."

"Fine," you snapped. "I gained weight and I didn't want you to notice. Happy?"

"Why didn't you want me to notice?" Kotaro asked genuinely.

You blinked at him dumbfoundedly. How could he not know?

"Because..." you started slowly. "I was afraid you'd leave me..."

Kotaro smiled ruefully. "Baby, do you really think I am that vain?"

"No of course not," you answered quickly. "I just... you're so athletic and goodlooking and perfect and-"

"And you're gorgeous and sexy and stunning and beautiful and-"

"Baby stop," you flushed and covered his mouth. He continued to mumble more compliments until he seemed to run out of words. Then he gently took your hands off of his mouth.

"Skinny does not equal pretty, baby. I love you and everything about you and nothing will change that okay." Kotaro adopted a sly look on his face. "Besides it sounds like you're doubting my absolute, super-human strength."

“Oh shove off,” you rolled your eyes. 

“You don’t know how much I can bench,” he winked. 

“Do you even lift,” you paused. “Bro?”

Kotaro gasped dramatically. “My own dearest lover, doubting me?” He sobered up for a second. “If it bothers you, I won’t do it. But just know that I love you, despite whatever you may weigh.”

You nodded with a smile. “C’mon, let’s go back to my place.” Kotaro’s eyebrows shot up and his cheeks reddened. You slapped him on the arm. “Not like that, we had a study date remember?” His mouth formed an o and he nodded. 

“Let’s go.” You took his hand and couldn’t help but feel just a little bit better.

Iwaizumi H.

You felt your heart sink as soon as you stepped on the scale. You already had been feeling it, but this just confirmed it. You had gained weight.

You felt tears start to prickle at your eyes. Sure your live-in boyfriend told you you were pretty, but did he really mean it? Would he think that forever?

It had all started when your clothes felt just a little tighter. It was likely due to the fact that your school was all online now (thank you covid) so you got out less and weren't as active. Even though you knew there was a reasonable explanation, it didn't help the sorrow at the pit of your stomach. You felt nauseous.

And then the tears began to fall. You felt so helpless, so much useless hate directed nowhere but yourself. You couldn't help it. You silently cried as you stared at the number.

Too high, too high.

You watched it until the digital scale when black, but you didn't hop off. You couldn't move. All you could do was stand there and just cry. You were so absorbed in your anguish that you didn't hear you boyfriend's footsteps.

He pushed open the half closed door and peeked in. "Babe, where are th- oh shit babe!" He rushed to your side quickly and looked you up and down. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

You tried to answer him, but the lump in your throat was too thick. All you could do was look back down at the scale and cry more.

Hajime quizzically followed your eyes down to the scale and slowly the pieces clicked together in his mind. Without asking, he grabbed your hand and pulled you off the scale and into his arms.

At that motion, you completely lost it. Large hiccuping sobs racked your body as Hajime held you close. You fisted your hands into his shirt and buried your face into his chest and just cried. He rubbed comforting circles into your back and squeezed you tight. He didn't say a word, just held you as you cried.

You weren't sure for how long you cried, but you knew it was a while. You didn't stop crying until your body felt drained and your head hurt slightly from the dehydration.

Once you stopped sniffling, you pushed against Hajime's chest.

"I... I'm okay now..." You whispered softly, voice nasal from your stuffy nose.

"I'm not," Hajime whispered back.

You squirmed until you could see his face. Surprisingly, he was crying too.

"What, babe why are you crying?" You reached up and wiped the tears off of his face. "Everything's all right now."

Hajime shook his head. "You're not supposed to be comforting me, I'm supposed to be comforting you," he chuckled softly. "Besides everything is not alright. Why did that number upset you so much?"

At this, you broke eye-contact. "I... I was worried..." You paused, but Hajime waited for you to finish. "I was just so upset because you're so perfect you deserve bett-"

"Don't you finish that sentence," Hajime warned in a low voice. You closed you mouth slowly. "Look at me." You bit your lip. "Babe, look at me," Hajime ordered once more.

At that you raised your watery eyes to meet his stern ones. They were hard, but they held so much love and adoration in the you almost wanted to cry. Again.

"I love you. I want to spend every moment I have left with you and a few pounds will never change that."

"It's not just a few pounds, it's a lot-"

"Don't. I don't care. You are beautiful and nothing will ever change that. Don't you ever think you don't deserve me because that's bullshit and I don't want to hear it. I don't want anyone else and nothing, you hear me, nothing will change that."

A few years escaped from your eyes. "Are you sure?" You asked in a fragile voice.

"Deadly," he confirmed with an unwavering gaze. "Now, let's go cuddle outside the bathroom please?"

You giggled and nodded, letting him drag you away.

Tsukishima K.

“Do I smell like shit?”

The question was blunt and straight to the point, just like your boyfriend was. 

You blinked, pausing to collect your thoughts. You were at the table in the library, studying together. But Kei was doing anything but studying. It looked like he had been staring at you for a while before popping his question. His text book was off to the side, closed, and he was leaning his head on the palm of his hand as his eyes bore into you. 

“Wh-uh, what the fuck?” You finally stammered. Kei just kept looking at you. 

You sighed and marked the page you were on and closed the book. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and looked back up at him. “I’m going to need more information than that, love.”

“Its a simple question.”

“Yes, but why are you asking?”

“Answer mine first.”

You sighed. “No, of course you don’t smell like shit. What’s gotten into you?”

He hummed but his blank expression did not change. “Interesting.”

“You need to start explaining now bec-”

“You told me a couple months back that you borrowed my sweatshirts because you liked the way that I smelled. However, recently, you haven’t been asking for them. Hence the question, do I smell like shit.” Kei folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “But you just said I don’t. So now I am confused, because that was the only reason I could come up with.”

You felt your heartbeat in your head, pulsing to the rhythm of your anxiety. It was obvious that Kei knew something was up. Curse you for picking a fucking genius for a boyfriend. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and thought of what to say. It was going to be hard to lie to him, but you didn’t want to tell him the truth. The scary truth that you were afraid they wouldn’t fit. 

Part of the allure and aesthetic of wearing your boyfriend’s sweatshirts were that they were big on the girl. However, you had recently put on some weight so you were very sure that they would be anything but big on you. The image of your belly stretching the fabric was poison in your mind. 

“Y/n?” Kei called, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Uh, yeah, um, I have my own sweaters?”

“That never stopped you before,” he replied dryly. 

“Well, I just don’t feel like bothering you to-”

Kei sighed loudly, cutting you off. He leaned into his hand and pinched his temple, squeezing his eyes tight. “Why are you lying to me? What is the real reason?”

You closed your mouth and looked down at your hands. You felt the lump in your throat rising and you fought to keep it down. 

“I just...” You sighed. There was no point in lying to him. He would find out eventually. “I’m afraid they won’t fit.”

“What?” Kei responded, seemingly surprised. 

“I am not repeating myself,” you frowned and looked up at him. 

“No, no, it’s just that’s so stupid.”

“Thanks for validating my feelings,” you rolled your eyes. Typical Kei. 

“How am I supposed to validate that when its absurd? Y/n I am 190 centimetres, I wear a double XL, how would that not fit you?”

“I gained weight oka-”

“Fine. If you’re going to be like this, be like this.” He started packing up his stuff. 

“W-wait Kei-” Images of the worst case scenario flashed through your mind.

“We’re going to my to try on my sweatshirt. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll get a bigger one so you can wear it.” 

You were dumbstruck. This was possibly the nicest thing Kei had ever done for you. Whether it was the built up emotions or the actual act, you felt tears welling at your eyes. 

“Pack up, or are you just gonna stare at me?” Kei snapped. 

You smiled and nodded, then turned to start packing up. You knew his anger wasn’t directed at you, it was just his frustration peeking out. He always had a terrible time managing his emotions. You were thankful for him, though. No matter how rough he was around the edges, he really did love you. 

Once you were done packing, you stood up and slipped your hand into his. “I love you.”

“Yeah, even though you’re frustrating as fuck I kinda like you too.”

You smiled and couldn’t help but feel just a little better. 

Taglist: {OPEN}

#bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto imagine #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hajime x reader #hajime imagine #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima imagine #tsukki x reader #tsukkishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #tw self hate #tw; self hate

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter one

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!reader

Content warnings: violence, swearing

Word count: 4K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

A/N: asdfghjkl hello there. so, this has been on my brain for a while now, so i started this as just a drabble. what i thought would stay as just a drabble turned into this 22k+ multi chapter fic because i have zero self restraint or self respect. i’m currently finishing chapter 5 as this is being posted, but i want to keep chapters posted around once every two weeks so i can keep up with the workload. maybe once a week if i start feeling spicy. yeah plot twist this is actually the second time i’ve drafted this up. the first time i managed to get everything done and in order and then manages to delete the entire post with my huge disgusting thumbs. Genuinely felt like crying for a good half an hour.

This is also my first Levi fic! yay! lmk if it sucks and idk i’ll cry or something. nah, in all seriousness please send me criticism cuz i really want to improve and critiques are the best way.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“How down, Raven?”

“Six feet.”

Within the dank confines of a stinking alleyway, two green capes marked with the Military Police insignia crept ever closer to the taller, run-down building upon which you and your little squad of Shadows were now perched. No sunlight illuminated your position. Not that you’d ever seen the sun, or know what it even looked like, but you based your guesses upon the pathetic rays shining through the grates littering the ceiling of the Underground City.

The language you used with your Shadows, coded words translated to:

‘How do you want them to be dealt with?’

‘Death.’

It was something developed by your late guardian and mentor, Viper. See, you all had aliases in The Nest, your criminal organisation. The leader was often referred to as The Raven, however your mentor preferred to use his own nickname, stemming from his own reputation.

Then come the aliases for your Shadows. Prongs was your second, a tall, stern looking man with the black mask of a stag settled across his features.

Then came Wolf, and you swore the first time you’d set eyes on him, you thought a titan had wandered into the city. He was enormous, all 6ft 6ins of him carved in hard muscle. Slicked back silver hair and a beard that to rival a bear. Similar to Prongs, a mask sat upon his face, resembling that of a snarling wolf.

Following him was Verdant, Scales and Diablo. Your power trio. Though their special talents lay in different professions, get these three together and they were borderline unstoppable. A white mask decorated with three broad maple leaves obscured Verdant’s pretty features, Scales sported a bronze half mask etched with a snake-like diamond pattern, whilst Diablo, your trained escort, had opted for something that accentuated her own gorgeous features, a mask of black leather arcing high onto her brow on the left side, whilst the right arced low by her jaw. Though you were already spoken for, you couldn’t deny the beauty of Diablo. She did wonders when prying information between the legs of a moaning MP.

To your left crouched the twins, Una and Leaf. Una was gifted her name by none other than you yourself, after seeing her accuracy with a rifle. A single shot was all it took, from any distance. She wore no mask, something you’d allowed simply because she’d complained about the sight obstruction when lining up a shot. You’d agreed, but only under the condition that she wore a low hood. Her fiercely protective brother Leaf had chewed you out for that, but you knew he meant well. Leaf was good at what he did, excellent, in fact. Which was part of the reason you kept him on as a Shadow. The larger part was that you were damn fond of him. Of all of them, in fact. You loved every single one of your Shadows. Every single damned member of The Nest, you adored. You were their leader, afterall.

A masked helmet of black leather, similar material to Diablo’s, perched snug upon your own features. The hooked beak and obsidian feathers of a raven decorated the necessity, covering your face and hair, though leaving your lower features visible. It was a rite of passage, for you especially, and it signalled the start of your leadership.

“Una, set up. Verdant, Prongs, roundabout. Wolf…” your eyes slid to the giant man on your right, a dark smile slicing across your mouth. “Heel.”

The boulder of a man visibly sagged, clearly disappointed at your orders whilst the others sprang into action. Prongs and Verdant leapt across the rooftops in separate directions whilst Una removed her rifle from her back, parting her heavy cloak to reveal rounds and rounds of bullets strapped across her body. Leaf nestled closer into her side, whilst the other four took a step back. It was obvious you’d all been at this for a very long time, despite the twins not looking a day older than sixteen. In fact, most of your squad was younger than you, save for Wolf and Prongs, who had served their respective roles twice previously.

Sitting back on your heels, you watched your team get to work, the warmth of pride blossoming in your chest. Whilst you knew Prongs and Wolf were already incredibly skilled, the rest had flourished under your leadership. It had been ten years since you’d witnessed MPs put a bullet through your mentor’s skull. Ten long years since you’d taken up leadership and expanded the reaches of The Nest. Honestly, you were pretty proud of yourself, and none more so than when you watched your Shadows do what they do best.

Taking care of unwanted visitors.

Una took aim, resting the butt of her rifle in the crook of her shoulder, staring down the makeshift scope. She would be ready to take care of the two soldiers if either Prongs or Verdant failed to eliminate their targets.

Speaking of which…

That kernel of pride ignited as your (E/C) eyes followed Verdant’s careful, calculating form dropping from the rooftops above the alleyway, in sync with Prong’s own movements. The two assassins swooped with the grace of a stooping hawk, the silver glint of metal caught your eye as they both brandished their blades, before sinking the steel into the necks of the two soldiers. You didn’t need to be closer to see they were both dead. Expert precision. Deadly accuracy. That was why these people were your hand-picked Shadows. And why you were the most formidable gang leader in the Underground City. Your little criminal organisation had expanded into something to rival the killcount of Kenny the Ripper. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Una lowered her weapon, strapping it back in the buckles between her shoulder blades.

“Finished.” she simply stated, turning back to drop down between the shattered tiles and splintered ceiling beams that marked your entrance and exit to this lookout point.

“Rendezvous back at The Nest,” you ordered flatly, before dropping forward and into the alleyway below.

“Anything?” you ask, a brow raised behind your raven mask as you saunter over. Prongs held up two sets of blades from one of the crimson bodies now gathering dirt and grime. Useless to you as they were, but somebody would definitely find an interest in them. Verdant seemed to be struggling with the straps of whatever gear these mosquitoes used to fly around. You’d never been able to figure out how to use it, but that shit made good money when in doubt. However, your usual buyers had disappeared off the face of the city, and you’d noticed a decline in gear sales since then. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head to Verdant, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it. The thug trio haven’t been back in years. I doubt they’d return to us now,” you explain softly, prompting the girl to stop her struggles and huff defeatedly. You’re heart ached softly at the thought of him, but you pushed the feeling down.

“Here,” she muttered, handing you another rifle. It seemed to be a newer model, something of an upgrade for Una.

“You did good, Ver. I’m proud of you,” that seemed to immediately lighten the girl’s mood, her eyes shining behind her mask as her mouth widened into a toothy grin.

“Thanks Raven!” she beamed, before scampering off back to The Nest, almost forgetting to take the gun back from your outstretched hand in her haste to make it back and tell everyone she’d received a compliment from you. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Rather it only happened once in a blue moon…

A huffed chuckle had your head turning and eyes narrowing to your second in command.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your tone dripping with the poisonous threat of hell if he chose his next words poorly. But Prongs continued to smile ever so slightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Raven. It’s just, in the last few years, since you drafted her into the Shadows, she’s really come into her own,” Prongs explained simply, shrugging as she stooped to kick over the now drained corpse, hoping to find anything useful. You bristle ever so slightly. That was something you hated. Compliments. How the fuck were you supposed to respond? You tried to think back to when Viper tried to teach you simple social skills.

“Uh, yeah. She has,” you respond, keeping your features as neutral as you could as you turned away, beginning to trudge back to The Nest.

“I’m serious, Rave. You’ve done incredible things for us. You know Viper would be proud of you. I am too. But…” Prongs trailed off, clearing having something to say but not knowing how to say it.

“Go on. But what?” you pressed, wanting to hear what your second in command had to say.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit much? Rave, it’s been years. Eyes have started looking in our direction since those three vanished. You don’t think we should be lying low for a bit? Calming suspicions instead of rousing them?” Prongs offered gently. You knew, deep down, he was right. But some notable gang disappearing hasn’t stopped you before, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you now.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” even just the mention of your advisor, and wife’s name gave your stomach butterflies. Scarlett Obsidine, your other, and better, half. After the disappearance of a certain dark haired man, Scar was the woman who comforted you, and though you missed him dearly, your heart managed to haphazardly piece itself back together and love all over again.

“Rave, listen—“

“Let’s go,” Prongs closed his mouth, the tone of your voice stating clearly that this matter wasn’t up for discussion. Especially not with him.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“You know he’s right,” you couldn’t help but sigh when your wife’s soft tones calmed your irritated mood. Soft hands gently kneaded at the tense muscles in your shoulders, forcing them to relax as a tired moan escaped your lips. Leaning back, you peer into her shining sapphire eyes, locks of brunette framing your face as she took the sides of your cheeks in her hands and leaned down, softly pecking your lips with her own. You couldn’t help humming a smile against her mouth, reaching up to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Scaaaaar…” you pout, looking up at her mischievous smirk as she winked playfully.

“(Y/N)...” Scarlett sighed, swinging her legs over your body to sink into your lap, one thumb now caressing one of the most prominent features on your face. A nasty, jagged scar ran down from the the top of your forehead, over your right eye and finishing just past your jaw bone. One (E/C) iris lighter than the other as a result of the old wound. Soft lips chase away the shadows of your past as Scarlett replaced her thumb with her mouth.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to find you dead in some alleyway because you picked a fight you couldn’t win,” a finger poked your chest as she huffed above you, feigning irritation. You roll your eyes, (E/C) landing on your gear now strung across the table. That raven helmet almost calling to you as you shook your head. Disagreeing with your wife was never a good idea, but you were feeling particularly bold this evening.

“Look. So many jobs have opened up recently. We have so many opportunities to make this life more comfortable. More jobs means more money, more money means we can afford the gate toll and actually see the world above ground. And I can finally buy you an actual ring.”. Technically, you two weren’t married. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to perform marriage ceremonies in the underground City? But, it was easier than saying you were devoted to each other in every single way.

Lightly smacking your chest, Scarlett raised herself from your lap with a hefty sigh. “One of these days (Y/N), you’re going to be captured or killed,” she said quietly, unable to meet your eyes. “And then what the hell will I do…?” Scarlett had now completely turned away from you, shoulders hunched. Running a hand down your face, you pick your sore body up from the chair, reaching her in a matter of strides.

“I can’t give this up, Scar. You know that. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew The Nest was always going to be my priority,” you held out your arm, hand hovering over her back, not sure whether to comfort her or let her go. The admission almost had her in tears, you could tell by the way her shoulders shook ever so gently.

“You still miss him don’t you?” It was her vulnerable, defeated tone that alerted you to the slight change of topic.

You fell silent, not really knowing how to respond. Yes, of course you missed him. You loved him more than anything. But those days are over, you knew that. You’d cried enough those following nights after his disappearance.

He was probably dead anyway.

“Of course I do,” you wouldn’t lie to her. That wasn’t fair. But you knew the truth was just as painful for her.

“Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be enough to replace him?” the sound of her voice had your heart in pieces. You loved Scarlett. You really did. But your heart wouldn’t let you love her wholly. Part of yourself will always be dedicated to that grumpy kid you’d fallen for all those years ago.

“Scar… I—”

“I know,” she whispered, stepping forward away from your outstretched grasp. “I know,” you watched as the woman you loved, and who loved you, stepped from your shared quarters, hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry I asked,” she closed the door as she left, leaving you a frustrated, conflicted mess.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“Understood, I’ll bring them in right away. Thank you Niles,” The Commander of the MPs stood opposite Erwin, arms folded. An expression of irritation plastered on his sunken features. Erwin simply sighed, realising Niles was wanting to stay for this seemingly impromptu meeting. With a nod of his head, a cadet rushed off to find the two soldiers mentioned in their little conversation. Being Commander of the Scouts often had its perks, like having cadets around to run errands for him.

Niles cleared his throat, taking a seat on the green leather sofa within Erwin’s office. “You sure he’d help us? I mean, it wasn’t too long ago he actually decided killing you was probably a bad idea.”—he raised a thin brow, peering at Erwin with barely concealed suspicion—“I’m pretty sure the Underground City would be the last place he’d want to return.” a knock at the door cut their conversation short, both turning their heads as Erwin called;

“Enter.”

Hange was the first to make her presence known, poking her head in as she opened the door. A smile adorned the slightly dishevelled section commander, her hair sticking up in all directions. Clearly she had been in the middle of something when Erwin requested her presence.

“You asked to see us, Erwin?” her eyes sparkling with curiosity behind her glasses as she stepped through the door.

“Tch, just make it quick, I have shit to do,” the monotone voice of Levi behind her made Erwin pinch the bridge of his nose. How many times has he told him not to talk to him like that?

“Yes, come in and make yourselves comfortable.” Hange immediately took up a seat next to Niles on the sofa, Levi preferring to stand against the now closed door, arms folded. Erwin’s sharp eyes shifted to Niles, an indication for the MP Commander to speak.

“Well, no point in beating around the bush. We’ve received an anonymous tip about some criminal gang that’s been plaguing my soldiers in the Underground City.” Levi visibly stiffened at the mention of his old home. His jaw tensed in anticipation. There would be only one reason he would be called into such a discussion, and the answer was a firm no.

Without his permission, his mind flashed back to a (H/C) girl, her face etched with that ever mischievous smirk. He quelled the thoughts as quickly as he could. He needed his wits with him, and allowing his mind to wander back to what he’d left behind wouldn’t help anything. Besides, the likelihood of you being alive was close to none.

“Section Commander, I don’t suppose you would have heard of the group but Captain Levi here surely would have done. The Nest.” Niles continued, now eyeing Levi to gage his reaction. And for a man whose emotions were usually on a tight leash, this seemed to be what cracked his impenetrable walls. His eyes flew wide open, frantically searching between Niles and Erwin. They couldn’t be serious. The Nest? That was where Farlan and Isobel used to—

Shit, he really needed to keep his thoughts at bay. But what he did know was that The Nest was an impenetrable fortress of criminal activity. Trying to mess with them was suicide.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume you are familiar with them, Levi,” Erwin’s surprisingly calm tone eased the growing tension in the room. Taking a subtle breath to calm himself, Levi’s eyes narrowed to his commander.

“Yeah. I know of it. Why?” it was a rhetorical question, he already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Erwin himself. Hange looked incredibly confused, looking between the men in the office, trying to glean something, anything, about what the hell was going on.

“The Nest? Why are they so bad?” she asked, not afraid to show how completely oblivious she is to anything that doesn’t concern titans or science. Erwin gestured to Levi.

“Levi? Care to explain? You probably know more than myself and Niles combined,” though his voice seemed kind, there was a slight edge to his deep tones. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Levi.

A heavy silence filled the room as the Captain wracked his brain for all the information he could think of regarding the organisation. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“Well, you got one thing right. The Nest is a criminal organisation. A nasty one at that. Merciless bastards. Whether you’re a soldier or a citizen, they don’t give a shit. They’ll leave you a broken, bloodied mess in the street. I don’t know much about their leader. Only that he took over from the previous one around ten-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded their shitty little gang and taken over an entire section of the city,” he explained, poison lacing his tone. It wasn’t that he was above the whole gang thing, oh no. It was more the state Farlan would be in before he left to meet whoever the fuck led that group of demons. He’d never seen his friend so anxious. So afraid.

“You never met him? Their leader?” Erwin inquired, lacing his hands together on the desk in front of him. Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If I had, I would tell you. But I know he’s smart. And not the good kind of smart. The kind of smart where he would always be ten steps ahead of you. He has a small group of trusted criminals surrounding him at all times, called his Shadows. They’ll be the ones to look out for,” Despite his voice sounding bored, Levi’s heart was racing. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of facing The Nest, could they? But something in the expressions of both Niles and Erwin told him he was wrong. Dead wrong.

“They’ve been picking off my soldiers. Always in the same places as well. I was going to leave it, just tell them to avoid certain areas until this tip. Their next job. We know what it is,” Niles interjected, looking down to the floor, his own mind a whirlwind.

“And you want to intercept them. The same way you did with me, right?” Levi finished through gritted teeth. This was absurd. There was no way they could pick them all off. Unless… that wasn’t the goal. Levi’s grey eyes widened slightly, realising what they wanted to do. Yep, this was total suicide. Hange clapped her hands together almost excitedly, as if she was also able to read Erwin’s mind.

“You want to capture him! The leader! Ah! This all makes so much sense now, I was starting to wonder why I was here,” the scientist mused almost to herself, before jumping to her feet. “This is the perfect opportunity to test some of the concept traps I have in mind. Obviously for titans they’d need to be much, MUCH bigger. And of course a few modifications would have to be made so they could adapt to size and body type but oooooooh this is so exciting! I’ll start right away!'' Without allowing anybody to get a word in edgeways, Hange dashed back to her lab to begin her preparations.

“Thank you Erwin, the Military Police will remember this,” Niles said, before he too was rising from his seat. Throwing Levi an unsure glance, he made his way towards the door, only to be shoved into the hallway by Levi, who promptly closed the door behind him.

“Don’t.” he simply said, turning back to Erwin who was peering at him, his expression puzzled. Levi rolled his eyes again, clearly having to clarify what he meant. “Don’t pursue them. It’s suicide,” The Commander’s expression relaxed slightly in understanding.

“We don’t have a choice, Levi. Not only are hundreds of MPs being slaughtered down there, but relationships between the Scouts and the MPs are strenuous at best. It would be in our best interests to—“

“Bullshit.”

Erwin sighed again, having to hold his tongue. Snapping at Levi now for his language would only rile up the man more.

“Levi, we already have a plan in motion. There are soldiers down there now meeting whoever gave us that anonymous tip to further discuss the job The Nest has taken. It’ll be fine, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Erwin’s eyes bore into Levi’s own, the man once again asking his Captain to trust him in a risky call he’s made. Levi’s done it so many times before, why was it so difficult now?

It took yet another pregnant silence before Levi eventually yielded.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when we’re once again forced to retreat with our tails between our legs.” it was a savage comment, but one that Erwin didn’t take to heart as he watched the raven haired man leave. Yes, this was a risk, but all his risks so far had worked out fairly well. There was no reason why this one would fail. No reason at all.

Levi leant against the door to Erwin’s office, looking down the hallway before letting loose a long breath. Not only would he have to go toe to toe with The Raven, but he also had to face so much of his past he’d wanted to forget. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Why did Erwin always have to gamble? It was exhausting for everyone else involved.

Folding his arms, the shorter man strode back to his own office, lost in thought the entire way. Would he see you again? Were you even alive? Did you know just how much he had missed you. Just how much he’d wanted to see you again. To hold you again.

Did you know he’d looked for you? How his heart shattered over and over again each time he found no trace of you. He’d never accepted you were gone. Always holding onto that thorn of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d survived.

Collapsing in his chair behind his desk, Levi unlocked the bottom draw and gently pulled it out. He delicately picked out a small, ebony bird feather you’d crafted into a quill pen. Even though neither of you knew how to write, you knew back then how much he had wanted to learn despite never voicing it directly. All those nights spent copying out basic letters from discarded newspapers and wanted posters. You always had this way of reading his mind.

The smallest fond smile crept across his usually bored face. God he missed you. It had been years and he still missed you like he only lost you yesterday.

#levi attack on titan #captain levi #snk levi #levi x reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you

[loverofallthingssarah]

If Flames Could Talk

Part 3

Ellie Staple x Reaper

WARNING: nothing in this chapter

Word Count: 900 +

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: U pdates may be sporadic & sorry if there are errors I’m shit at proofreading my own writing cause I read it how I meant to write it ☹️

A couple of weeks have passed working with Dr. Staple; nothing much has changed in the short amount of time you’ve talked. You keep pushing her for answers, and she keeps telling you it takes time. Time is a luxury you just couldn’t afford. But Dr. staple didn’t seem to understand how much you needed to remember that night. Anything piece to the puzzle that could prove your innocence that could be your alibi.

With each session working together, Ellie would extend the time. You started with one hour sessions, and we’re currently with her for two hours every day. Working on what you felt was completely useless things. You hated sitting there answered and discussing your life’s “trauma” this wasn’t some afterschool special. This was your life. This attitude you were portraying in the halls of Allentown Hospital wasn’t you, you weren’t this dark and melancholy, but you hated it here with your whole fucking chest.

“Alright, Y/n, today I think we are going…,” all you hear is dribble drabble of what she has planned for today, but you’re not in the mood for any introspection bullshit today. Dr. Staple always went on and on about how you should take a step back and look into how you process, but there was no time for that today. It wasn’t helping to pull anything from your memory loss, and to be honest, you couldn’t be bothered with it today. You just wanted fuck around a bit.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“I… um… what?” Ellie cocks her head to the side, clearly confused by your outburst. Since the beginning of your sessions, you barely spoke, and when you did, it was short and concise. No more, no less. Most of the time, she was met with dirty looks and burning eyes filled with disdain. “What’s your favorite color?”

“It’s powder blue, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with-” you cut Dr. Staple off, “My favorite color is a mix between a lilac or a soft yellow. Which really isn’t all interesting, so let’s get down to the nitty gritty. What’s your first name?”

Shock pours from every beautiful line on Ellie’s face. She quickly recovers to her ever neutral facial expressions, “What are you doing, Y/n?”

“I want to know your name,” she looks you dead in the eye, “why?”

You smirk before you reply, “I thought we needed to build trust between us, Dr. Staple,” your voice rises when you say her name, “and how could I ever possibly trust you enough to really open up and commit to any of your psychoanalysis bullshit? Plus, it’s not like your name is some top secret information.”

“It’s Ellie.”

Ellie, such a gorgeous name, meaning bright shining light. It fits such a person as Ellie. She always wanted to find a spin on how anything can be seen in such a positive way. You being here was a way to gain insight into your life; this is what she would always tell you. Not only her outlook as a psychiatrist was bright but also her demeanor. Her hair, her eyes…

“I like that name, so Ellie, how’d you know you were gay?”

Ellie felt a tingle when she heard her name escape your lips, “What? First of all, I think you shouldn’t be calling me Ellie. Call me Dr. Staple. Second of all, why are you asking me that? How can you just assume I’m gay?”

“I can tell. Most gays have gaydar. Mine just happens to be excellent. So, again Ellie,” you said her name in a singsong voice, “how did you know?” Ellie didn’t respond and just stared at you in surprise, “Well, I’ll go first. I realized in middle school when I had a crush on my 6th grade science teacher. I didn’t really know what it was at first, but then it just kind of hit me. I kept it hidden for the longest time because, well, society sucks, as you already know.”

You give her a look to tell her it’s her time to share, she starts to stutter, “Um… I…,” she knows how inappropriate it is to share her personal stories with you, but there’s something about you that she can’t deny, “I was in college, and I had this roommate. She was unlike anyone I had ever met before. We both just fell hard for each other, but it just didn’t work out. We both wanted different things. Which is probably way more than I should have shared, Y/n we should really get back too-,” you found yourself wanting to get to know her better. Wanting to ask her as many questions as you could possibly think of, but you knew where this was heading, and you just couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t fall for her. She’s your doctor and the only ticket out of this hell hole you were not going to screw that up.

“I’m done for today,” you look away from Ellie.

“Y/n, our session isn’t finished-,” you cut her off yet again, “I’m done for today. You told me if I wasn't comfortable with continuing at any time, we could cut a session short. I would like to go back to my room, now!”

“O-okay,” Ellie reaches for the phone on her desk to call your nurse to escort you back to your room. While you’re waiting for her to return, you avoid any kind of eye contact with Ellie.

Once your nurse arrives, you scurry out of her office and make your trek back to your bubble.

While Ellie sits there and wonders where this session went wrong. She knew she shouldn’t have opened up like that to you. It was appropriate and not to mention unethical. She knew this wasn’t good because she knew what these feelings were. She knew she was developing feelings for you.

sfw taglist: @orchid-fairy @rainbow-hedgehog @twistedpoeticjustice @dreamer-queen @kais-rose-garden @magnificent-paulsonn @mrsdeanhoward @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @commanderspeach @in-cordelias-coven @lntlmate

#ellie staple imagine #ellie staple #ellie staple x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson x reader #glass #glass imagine #wlw imagine

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Hiii!! For your Follower Event could I request a Natasha x R fic where Nat and supersoldier!R start hanging out a lot and then Nat realizes shes falling for reader?? confessions or something? go wild!

A/n: Oops this is longer than I blurb should be but it doesn’t really matter. Thank you so much for this, I started writing it the second you sent it in because I love it so much!

It had started off simple enough one day in the training room when you had decided to wear a tank top instead of your normal sweatshirt and she had gotten a close look at your muscles for the first time. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that her attraction began as superficial as that, the serum had done you justice and she dared anyone to disagree with that. Being attracted to you didn’t mean anything to her, it was just looks. There were many people on the team she was attracted to and she would never date any of them. 

It began to be a problem when you had suddenly decided to be her friend. It was like a challenge to you, breaking down her frosty exterior with pastries from her favourite coffee shop and late night movies. She let you in quicker than she had ever opened up to anyone before and it scared her. As kind as you were she knew it wasn’t just the kindest, it was the fact that her attraction to your muscles had turned into attraction for you. All of you.

Her way of dealing with it was easy, all she had to do was find some unattractive qualities. But she only realized she was in deeper than she thought. Everything you did seemed to make her heart flutter. Rambling on about whatever your current interest is? That isn’t annoying it’s cute. Holding doors open for her? If anyone else did it she would punch them but when you did it she felt special. Even the time you had fallen asleep on the couch after a movie and she looked over to see you with a bit of drool she couldn’t help but smile. 

Obviously it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of her feelings so instead she had to find a way to deal with them until they went away on their own. Her method was just to try to ignore them but after she caught herself in the mirror blushing like a schoolgirl after you had complimented her hairstyle she had to admit that they weren’t likely to go away on their own. So she had to get some help in forcing them away. 

Asking anybody on the team was out of the question. They would either tease her or give useless advice or probably both in most cases. She didn’t want to admit how experienced in real relationships so she had to do this on her own. With help from google because she really was clueless. She read through countless sights full of tips, wanting to do proper research instead of relying on one source. Much to her dismay the only common theme seemed to be confessing her feelings. She kept searching, wanting to do anything but that until one article forced her to admit that confessing might be the right option.

“Confessing feelings may seem scary,” it said, “but until you do you will always hold out hope and it will be impossible to move on.”

It made sense as much as she hated it. Even though she tried not to hope for you to return her feelings deep down she knows she does. So even though it will hurt in the short term perhaps getting shot down by you will be beneficial in the long term. Which is why she is currently standing in front of your door with her hand hovering over the doorbell. 

When she made her plan she didn’t account for the nerves. It makes the normal butterflies in her stomach feel like nothing compared to this and if she didn’t have a strong stomach she things she might have thrown up. She’s almost died without being this scared so she should be able to handle telling her friend she likes them. It’s the last thought that makes her ring the bell, determined to do it before she chickens out again.

You answer the door a second later with a smile. “Finally decided to ring? I was wondering how long it would take you.”

Against her wishes she can feel herself blush. “You saw that?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small laugh, “what’s going on?”

She fiddles with her hands, a rarely used nervous habit that she hates. “I needed to tell you something.”

You wait for her to say more but she doesn’t. “Okay, you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“I know.” she says, taking a deep breath and trying to muster the courage. “I’ve been having these feelings.”

“Feelings?” you prompt when she stops talking again.

“Romantic ones and I-” she pauses, stumbling over her words nervously. “Fuck it.”

Without warning suddenly she’s in your space and she’s leaning in until her lips reach yours. It’s short and sweet, only a second before she starts to pull away. You don’t want it to be over so fast so you wrap one of your hands around her waist and the other at the back of your neck to pull her in closer. This time it’s longer although when you finally pull away you still want more.

“I’m assuming those romantic feelings you were talking about were for me?” you tease, breathing heavily.

Suddenly she’s nervous again. “Yeah.”

“Well then I should probably inform you that I have feelings for you as well.” you tell her, making your voice into a weird formal one to draw out a laugh.

“You’re a dork.” she says but it’s hard to take her seriously when she can’t keep the smile off her face.

“Your dork.” you respond before realizing it might be a little too early for that.

She considers what you’ve said for a moment. “Mine, I like that.”

“All yours.” you tell her as you lean in for another kiss which she gladly provides. She can’t believe that google is better at relationships than she.

#natasha romanoff x reader #allie's 1000 followers celebration

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means. 

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place. 

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking? 

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his. 

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today. 

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way. 

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan. 

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!” 

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.” 

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.” 

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

 Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile. 

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried. 

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life. 

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.  

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism. 

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want! 

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart. 

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time. 

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

 “But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much. 

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line. 

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one. 

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi  to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!” 

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour. 

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made. 

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them. 

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good. 

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into. 

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie? 

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun. 

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking. 

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable. 

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up. 

 Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this? 

It didn’t matter. 

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed. 

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good. 

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?” 

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully. 

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus #Logan is bad at feelings #so bad #now with more logan angst #Patton is a good friend #This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that #alcohol #drunk logan

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 5 (Elriel)

Elain's part of the Damnation series.

Last part! I know I said this would be 6/7 parts, but I realized I have no idea what the fuck I had planned to write in those parts, so it's 5 instead hahah. didn't edit the ending whoops

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

__________________________________________

~Elain~

It's three in the morning when I hear it.

We're laying in bed, and even though I should asleep like the man next to me, I can't stop thinking about how little time we have left.

How has the past month gone by so fast?

It feels like yesterday I was standing on my stoop, watching Azriel open up and tell me things he's since admitted he's never told another person.

It feels like yesterday since I decided that I care for him more than I care about what he does.

But it wasn't yesterday; it was a month ago.

A month that's been filled with dinner dates, soft smiles, laughter, and enough tender moments my heart feels full. He's a

The plane ticket hidden in the bottom of my purse is a constant reminder that this is just a summer fling, that it isn't supposed to mean anything. Two weeks from now, I'm supposed to get on that flight and never look back.

Except it feels impossible.

It broke my heart when I walked away from him a month ago, and that was before he told me the details of his life.

Now I know him.

I know about the way he smiles in the morning and how he shakes his head when he laughs, like he can't believe he's doing so. I've learned how ticklish his ribs are, how he likes his coffee, his favorite type of cigarettes.

I know about his family, how his mother died giving birth to him and his father resented him from the day it happened. I know about the first man he killed, how it made him sick. I know what his tattoos really mean.

And what I never could've expected is that everything I've learned, the good and the bad, have tied me to him in a way that feels permanent.

How am I supposed to just walk away from that?

The thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his rough hands cup my face with a gentleness he doesn't show the world... it feels like missing a part of me.

And it worries me enough I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights. Like I'm incapable of wasting a minute, I spend the nights watching him sleep.

Which is why I'm perfectly awake when he pulls me close in his sleep and whispers two words that ruin me.

Ti amo.

Tears well in my eyes as I stay perfectly still, replaying the moment over and over.

He loves me.

It's something I knew--something we both probably knew--ever since that day in the rain, but I think we both never said it because we knew our time is limited.

It's been in every touch, every kiss, every moment where we get caught up just staring at each other.

But I want to tell him, I have to tell him, because however good it makes me feel to hear that from him... I know he needs it more.

He's never been loved--never been anyone's first choice, but he's mine, and I want him to know. And I don't want to be just one more person that leaves him and makes him wondering if he'll ever be enough.

So I start to plan.

~A week later, Azriel~

Well, the worst has happened.

I love the fucking woman.

Now my biggest weakness now walks outside my body, with soft brown eyes and dirty blonde hair and bright smiles that light up the world.

And she's leaving in a week.

It scares the shit out of me.

She scares the shit out of me.

Honestly, I hadn't even realized I was in so deep until she said the words "We're done."

All I remember about that day is feeling I'd been stabbed in the chest and looking down to find the blade but not seeing anything but my own hands.

One moment I was convinced I was dying, the next I was in front of her on her stoop, telling her shit I've never told a living soul.

It wasn't then that I realized I love her, but that was when I realized something maybe even more important. I trust her.

Rule 3's been thrown out the window, and I don't even remember when it happened. Was it when she told me I'm not a monster? Or the first time I noticed the way her lips turn up every time I tell her she's beautiful?

Or maybe it was the first time I laid eyes on her as she stumbled into that opera booth, looking like everything I never knew I wanted.

Either way, I'm about a mile up shit's creek with no fucking paddle.

I trust her, love her, and I've only known her ten weeks. Which reminds me, she's leaving.

Which is irritating, because while the mere thought of watching her leave makes me want to level a building, she's currently acting like nothing's wrong.

She's in the bathroom, putting on red lipstick in a slow, taunting way that makes me want to mess it up. I'm sitting in the chair next to my bed, trying to stay calm.

She's watching me watch her in the mirror, and her eyes meet mine for a split second before she looks away, making me suspicious.

That look... I've seen that look before, more times than I can count.

But never from her.

It's a secret.

She looks like she's hiding something.

"Something you need to tell me?" I ask, putting a hand behind my head to prop it up.

Nodding, she comes to stand at the foot of the bed. "Yep."

I raise a brow. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you tonight if you meet me for dinner."

Suspicion and curiosity make me ask, "Where?"

"La Rosa," she responds casually, making me narrow my eyes. It's outside of the city a bit, a small place on the coast I've never had an interest in owning or visiting.

"I've never been there."

"New experiences are good for the soul," she quips, sliding on her sandals. "Just say you'll meet me."

There's a hint of nerves in her voice, so I say, "Of course, dolce mia."

She smiles, victorious. Then she's bounding over, taking my face between her palms, and pressing her mouth to mine.

Before I can ask what she's up to, she's out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Seven o'clock! I'll meet you there."

I get up and slide my jacket on, slipping my hand in the pocket and toying with the piece of metal I've been carrying around for a month.

Sighing, I take it out and throw it on the counter, knowing that if this life has taught me one thing, it's that it won't make a difference.

~

When seven o'clock rolls around, I'm seated at a table, frowning at my surroundings.

I've definitely never been here.

No man has, I'm willing to bet. At least not on his own volition.

There are flowers everywhere. Spilling out of vases, growing on the vines surrounding the open windows, lining the doors that are open to the patio out back.

Besides that, I guess the place isn't too bad, actually. The lights are soft, the weather's nice, and by the smells coming from tables around me, the food will be good.

Elain's running a few minutes late, but she called and told me to go ahead and order.

Apparently, she's come here before, because she told me what to order her. Odd.

A few minutes after I relay the information to the waitress, I spot her coming in the front door and wave her over.

She's a little flushed, her eyes are bright, and the smile on her face gives no doubt she's excited.

I stand up when she reaches me, kiss her, then ask, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she says too quickly. "Did you order?"

"Yeah. Have you been here before or something?"

She nods, diverting her eyes down and to the right in the classic tell of a lie.

I sigh, frustration getting the better of me. "Elain, what are you hiding from me?"

Before she can answer, the food comes. Two plates of pasta are set in front of us, and I know instantly I was right about the food being good.

But no matter how good it looks, there's only one thing on my mind.

"Elain."

She waves a hand. "Just eat, Azriel. I promise I'll tell you in like five minutes."

"Why not just tell me now?"

"It's more dramatic this way," she explains, making me sigh again.

Women.

She's going to give me a fucking heart attack with her drama.

A little aggressively, I stab the fork in the pasta, taking a huge bite.

I feel her eyes on me, watching me eat, but I act like I don't notice, mentally counting down the seconds until five minutes is up.

I'm at 263 when she asks, "Do you like it?"

"What?"

Rolling her eyes, she gestures to the plate in front of me. "Do you like it?"

"It's good," I reply honestly, a little surprised. I've lived here long enough to know the best places to eat, and I've never heard more than a decent review about this place.

"I'm glad," she says, full lips tilting up. "Since I made it."

I don't get it. Did she bring it with her? Is that why she was late?

Also, why did we come to a restaurant if she was going to cook?

"What? Why?"

She tilts her head, smile growing.

Right as my still-counting subconscious gets to five minutes, she explains, "Because I work here."

~Elain~

He stares at me, bite of pasta halfway between his mouth and the plate.

I've been almost bursting at the seems the past four days trying to keep the secret.

I mean, given what the man does for a living, I didn't think I'd make it more than an hour. And while he's definitely been suspicious, I made it.

"What?" he finally asks, dark brows furrowing as he leans in.

"I have a lot to say," I tell him. "So don't interrupt me."

His eyes narrow like they always do when I tell him what to do, but I ignore it and start listing off the different secrets I've been keeping.

I start with the most important.

"First, I love you."

The fork clangs against the plate as he drops it.

I smile, biting my lip and trying not to cry at the look on his face.

"I think I have since that first night when we danced in the bar. Or maybe when you took me to the beach. I don't know." Taking a deep breath, I say, "I tried to stop, when I found out... everything. But it was useless, because I was as in love with you then as I am now."

He shakes his head, almost like he's panicked, but I keep going.

"I love you, Azriel. I want to be with you more than I've ever wanted anything. And I can't bear the thought of leaving you. I don't want to."

Gesturing around us, I say, "I got a job here, and my landlord said she can draw up a lease. And before you say anything, I'm not giving anything up. The past months have felt like paradise, and I love it here. I liked my job in New York, but it wasn't anything I'll miss."

His eyes are so wide, it'd be a little funny if I wasn't so serious.

I take a sip of wine and try to puta brave face on. A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to say, "But we never talked about anything long term, so if this isn't what you want... I'll go. I promise. I just wanted you to know that you're... it for me. You're everything to me. I choose you."

He shudders, closing his eyes, and I take in how tight his jaw is, how close he seems to coming unraveled.

Is he freaking out? I definitely am.

After a few moments, I realize he's still waiting on me, so I laugh and say, "You can talk now."

He doesn't.

He just opens his eyes and stares at me, the shock in his gaze clear to read.

Nerves blossom. I was so sure he'd be happy, but maybe he isn't ready. Voice turning shaky, I ask, "Is this what you want?"

Slowly, he shakes his head, but before I can panic, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key, holding it out between us. "I want you to live with me, not at the townhouse."

All the nerves fly out the door, and I laugh, not quite able to believe it.

How long has he been carrying this around?

The tears finally spilling over as I take the key from him. "Okay."

He brushes my cheeks off with his thumb, looking at me like he's never seen anything more beautiful.

Azriel's quiet for a moment, and I give him time, knowing that whatever he wants to say is hard for him.

"Ti amo. Mi spaventa così tanto."

I love you. So much is scares me.

"You? Scared? I don't believe it."

I'm trying to joke and lighten the mood, but he's completely serious as he shakes his head, cupping my jaw with his hand. "You scare the shit out of me, Elain."

My heart clenches, and I fight a fresh wave of tears as I lean into his touch. "You scare me, too."

"But you're not leaving."

It's said like a hopeful promise, like something he needs to hear again and again to accept it's true.

I shake my head. "I'm not leaving," I whisper.

He finally smiles, that big smile I'm positive he only gives me, and leans over the table to kiss me softly. "Say it again."

"I love you."

He kisses me again, and I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him back, feeling like everything before now has led up to this. He's the grand finale, the one I didn't know I was waiting for.

I pull back a little, just far enough to see his reaction as I whisper, "Meet me in the bathroom."

His eyes flare and his mouth drops open, and I laugh as I get up from my seat and try to walk nonchalantly towards the back.

This hadn't been part of the plan, but I've told him I love him, and now... I want to prove it.

Plus, I don't know what it is about him, but he feeds the adventurous side of me like nothing else.

I can feel him watching me from the table as I make my way across the restaurant.

Thankfully, the place is busy tonight, so I don't think anyone notices when, as soon as I shut the bathroom door, he rises to follow me.

A moment later, he slips in with me, taking in the dim lights, closed stall, low music. He flips the lock, and it's like it snaps the thread between us, descending us into chaos.

He's on me in a second, arms wrapping around me and lifting me. My legs bracket his hips as he pushes me up against the wall and traps my hands above my head.

"Say it again," he demands breathlessly, eyes bright and full of heat.

I nip his lower lip, then kiss it softly. "I love you, Azriel."

His mouth crashes into mine, unrestrained and demanding and deep enough I lose myself in him.

My hands are in his hair, his are pushing up the hem of my dress.

There's a brief moment of adjusting, and then he's easing into me. His eyes are on me, his lips are parted, and as I tighten around him, he makes a deep rumbling sound. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"You're mine," I tell him, tilting my hips to take him deeper. "And I'm yours."

He shudders, eyes going black. "You're mine."

His hips claim mine, then, pulling out and thrusting back in, moving me up the wall. I tighten my fingers in his hair as he hits a spot deep inside me, and he groans.

Moving his hands to my hips, he brings me down as he thrusts up, and I moan, then slap a hand over my mouth.

I work here, for God's sake.

"This is not very professional," I mutter, smiling when his lips twitch.

"No," he agrees, thrusting into me harder. "And it's definitely inappropriate."

I clamp my lips together, pressing my hand to my mouth again to stifle the involuntary whimper I let out.

Azriel grins, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth and whispering, "You might need to go to confessional again."

Rolling my eyes, I move my hands to his shoulders, then lean in to lick up the column of his neck. "Between the two of us, I'd say you're more likely to end up on your knees tonight."

He laughs, tugging my head back to kiss me again. His tongue meets mine in a wet, deep slide that makes me shiver. His hips brush mine. His hands hold me just right, keeping me against him.

Pulling back, he brushes his lips over mine and whispers, "I love you."

The easy, conversational pace is abandoned, and we're moving harder against each other, the only sounds our labored breathing and muffled moans.

He brings a hand to cover my mouth, and I cover his with mine, and we're in tandem, both of us lost in the other.

He comes when I do, driving deeply into me and stilling, his head buried in my neck.

We spend a while like that, and when I eventually slide down the wall, we take our time adjusting our clothes. He keeps stopping me to kiss my shoulder or brow, and I waste too much time just looking at him.

When we're both ready, he extends a hand and grins. "Let's go home."

I smile, unable to help it. "Let's go home."

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! This is the last part, although I might do an epilogue one day (don't hold your breath lol).

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