Btw, can you pls do a bsf!rafe (who's low-key a little perverted) with shy, innocent!reader??
haha i feel like everyone looves pervy best friend rafe. this is like maybe if kook trio reader was actually shy reader
the boys were so nice, such good friends to you. you hadn't expected that a friendship between parents would lead to them inviting you into their exclusive boys club, the fourth in their trio.
but all of you got on surprisingly well—you could tell they were censoring themselves sometimes, maybe a couple less inappropriate jokes, drinking a little curbed because you weren't quite comfortable yet handling three drunk boys.
topper and kelce were nice, if not a little too polite. they never really bothered you, though they tried to include you in their conversations and make an effort.
no, it was rafe who really included you. he was everything a good friend should be—picking you up and dropping you off, never letting you walk home alone even if you guys were just hanging out at tannyhill down the road. he would get you your drinks and make sure you were a part of the conversation, never letting you sit alone or feel ignored.
he was being a great friend.. if not a little too much, too posessive. he didn't like when you talked to other boys, sometimes even if you were entranced in a conversation with top or kelce. sometimes it felt like he found reasons to drag you away.
and sometimes, though you thought you were imagining it, that rafe wouldn't actually do such a thing, you felt like he was touchier with you than others. he would often rest a hand on your knee at lunch, keep you on his lap at a party when you were too drunk and giggly to know better, to know this wasn't normal.
"that girl was looking at me.." you tell rafe, seated next to him on the couch. he'd just had you in his lap, but you'd crawled off to go freshen up, returning to the spot next to him. his arm is swung around your shoulder, his hand on your thigh.
"who?" he asks, glancing around. he doesn't see anyone.
"over there. she's been looking at you all night. i think we gave her the wrong idea, rafe-"
"wrong idea?"
"she's gonna think.. y'know. that we're together, or something." he doesn't even turn to look around, to see who it is.
"who cares, kid? let 'em think what they want." you look up a little confused, and rafe leans in to talk into your ear. "lions don't care about the opinions of sheep, right?" the way he says it, though any other day you'd smack his arm and laugh, makes your whole body shiver.
"yeah," you agree, not wanting rafe to think you disagree with him.
he spots kelce and top in the distance, walking closer, and he scoops you back into his lap with two strong hands on your hips. "gotta make room," he says while you squirm.
you settle in though, making yourself comfortable. he has to try hard not to keep staring down the front of your dress or moving too much—doesn't want you to know he's hard for his new little best friend.
yet, that is. no, he's gonna have you folded in half on his bed that he keeps telling you is perfectly fine to sleepover in, bent over in the back seat of the truck he picks you up in, pushed against the wall in the bathroom at the club where he takes you to show you around.
he's playing the long game, and he's enjoying it, a hand on your waist while you sip on your drink and talk to him about something, not kelce or top.
Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.
####
"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."
Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.
"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.
"Uh-huh."
"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"
Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.
Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"
Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"
"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."
Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."
The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"
"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.
"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.
"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.
Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.
"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.
Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."
"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."
"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."
Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."
"Mac and cheese."
Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.
It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"
"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"
Ford shushed him.
Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."
"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."
"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."
Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."
"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.
"But I didn't go insane."
"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."
It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.
Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.
Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."
"You have been there before."
Ford didn't answer.
"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."
Ford thought of Fiddleford.
Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."
"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?
But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"
Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"
Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"
"What?" Bill said.
"What's the rest of it?"
"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."
Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"
"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."
Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"
Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"
"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."
Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.
Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."
Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"
"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.
He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.
####
"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.
"If you like it, you can have it."
"What happened to your coat?"
"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.
"How...?"
"I'll fill you in later."
Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.
He climbed into the back seat slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.
Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.
####
The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.
But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.
The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.
Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.
If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.
This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.
But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.
It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.
The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assume all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.
But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.
But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour
That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.
The triangle was terrified.
In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.
He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.
Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."
The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.
And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.
He stared in disbelief.
"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.
His stomach flopped. He was dead.
"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"
He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."
"Eclipses can zigzag?"
"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—
There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"
The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.
The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.
He howled in rage.
He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—
And the thing in the sky.
Stopped.
And looped back.
And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?
He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.
It stopped straight over him.
He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.
And they were looking at him.
A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.
He was terrified.
He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:
"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"
Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"
"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"
"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?
"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."
Him? "Me?"
"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.
Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."
The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.
It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"
The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"
"You... pass in front of the sun."
The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.
The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.
Shadows.
His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.
"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."
His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"
He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."
"But—"
"I can't," he said. "I can't."
He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.
####
And that was it.
From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.
From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"
And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.
Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.
People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.
Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.
It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.
He barely noticed.
####
For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.
He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.
He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.
He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.
And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.
In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.
But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.
True horror was knowing he mattered.
He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.
For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.
He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.
He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.
The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.
If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?
####
He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.
And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.
It would fester for the next trillion years.
####
(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)
just a lil something, completely self indulgent and inspired by miranda and steven in s2 of sex & the city 😔🥺
warnings: angst😤; a little fluffy; soft!rafe because i personally LOVE him
you did it without thinking.
it felt as if your body had a mind of its own and while your brain yelled at you to stay put and act normal, your heart simply didn’t allow it. your feet pounded against the street pavement, each step echoing the racing of your heart. you didn’t dare to look back, afraid that if you did, you’d crumble under the weight of your memories with him rushing back. the sound of your breath filled your ears, drowning out the chaos of the main street.
rafe.
the name echoed in your mind like some sort of haunted melody. you didn’t expect to see him, not after so many months without a single glimpse of his perfect face. you’d broken up months ago, you were supposed to be over him. and yet, despite all your attempts, his presence still stirred something within you.
this wasn’t how it was supposed to work out.
you rounded the corner, trying to convince yourself that it was fine. so what if he was back in town? so what if he didn’t call you? so what if you two promised to stay friends and yet…it’s none of your business. you should be thankful.
but seeing him out of the blue, it was like a sucker punch to the gut, except it felt like it came from a hundred directions at once. maybe you just needed a minute to process all of it. maybe a venti latte and some retail therapy would do the trick.
except they didn’t and hours later, here you are, stuck to your couch wondering how the hell you are supposed to step foot outside knowing there’s a possibility you might run into him again.
your brain always goes into overdrive when you think of rafe cameron. and now you’re stuck here, overthinking every little thing. should you text him? would that be too desperate? but what if he's thinking the same thing?
and if he isn’t?
there's a sudden knock on your apartment door, the sound cuts through the haze of your mind, jolting you back to reality. you reluctantly peel yourself off the couch and shuffle over to the door, wondering if that amazon package you ordered this morning is here already.
you glance towards the peephole, debating whether to check who it is or simply ignore it. after a moment of internal deliberation, curiosity wins out, and you approach the door cautiously.
you peer through the peephole, half expecting to see a stranger or maybe the mailman with a package. but to your surprise—it's rafe.
holy fuck.
your breath catches in your throat as you take in his familiar face from up close, a jumble of emotions stirring inside you.
what's he doing here? how did he get your new address? you moved from your parent’s home just a month ago.
for a beat, you’re frozen. no one taught you how to proceed in these kinds of situations, but you are fairly certain letting an ex-boyfriend, the one you’re still in love with, inside your personal space is a big no-no.
should you open the door? pretend you’re not home? smash your head against a wall and pray it knocks you out instantly? before you can even begin to form a plan, there's another knock, this time a little more insistent, as if he knows you’re on the other side.
“i can hear you breathing.”
panic sets in.
summoning whatever fake bravery you have left, you take a deep breath and reluctantly twist the doorknob. with your hands trembling like crazy, you swing the door open, revealing rafe standing there.
you gulp, feeling like your throat's suddenly decided to go on strike “yeah-uh. hi!”
his hands are clutched behind his back and his eyes take turns between your face and the door. there's a slight furrow in his brow, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline and the curve of his nice cheekbones.
“that was a shitty thing you did. running away from me on the street.”
you feel a crazy amount of guilt wash over you. he’s not wrong. running away like that was cowardly, but did he expect you to run into him with open arms?
“i didn’t run?”
his lips, usually set in a determined line, now quiver ever so slightly, “you ran.”
the weight of what you did hangs over you like a dark cloud. could you have acted any more immaturely?
“well, i wasn’t expecting to see you-“ you manage to blurt out, your voice shaky, “and-and, i-“
“it really hurt my feelings.” rafe's finger points accusingly at his chest, and you feel like you’re about to shrink into the floor under the weight of his disappointment.
you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. you can feel your eyes starting to sting with unshed tears and you use every remaining strength inside you not to cry in front of him. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.
“i don’t deal very well with ex-boyfriends?”
his expression softens slightly, and he leans his weight against the doorframe, his eyes searching yours.
“hey, sweetheart, this is me.” his hand moves again and he gently places it on his chest, right over his heart, as if trying to convey the sincerity of his words “rafe.”
but he’s not your rafe anymore.
that’s the one thing you want to tell him. you chew on your lower lip wondering if honesty would do you any good right now. if it would erase all these months, weeks, days, hours, without him.
a moment of silence stretches between you, and then, after what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to utter a response.
"yeah..."
rafe's gaze remains fixed on you, “i held you while you were sleeping.”
if you weren’t crying before, you are now. it's like a dam has burst inside you. tears stream down your face like a leaky faucet, nothing strong enough to hold them back. they're not the dainty tears you see in movies, but big, ugly cries that leave your mascara streaked and your nose running.
you try to speak, but all that comes out are choked sobs and sniffles. it's embarrassing, really, how out of control you feel. but you can't help it even as your front neighbor comes into view.
you do quick 180 and bolt back into your apartment, hand pressed against your forehead as if holding it will stop the raging headache you’re about to experience. you don’t have to look back to know rafe’s following you, trailing inside and swiftly closing the door with a soft click.
"i’m sorry," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "i’m really sorry. i’m so sorry-“
rafe's hands reach out, his palms open as if he's dealing with a wounded animal.
"hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle reassurance, "it's okay.”
“i hadn’t seen you in so long,” you confess, your words tumbling out in a rush, “and i missed you and then i did that shit-“
his hand envelops yours, his touch grounding you. "hey, breathe," he urges softly, “it’s okay.”
tears well up in your eyes again, blurring your vision as you struggle to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. "’m sorry," you choke out, voice breaking with each syllable. "i'm so sorry, rafe."
“it wasn’t that shitty, okay?” rafe's expression softens further, the way it does only for you.
“it was! i’m a shitty person.”
his thumb gently brushes away your tears as he shakes his head slowly. "no, you're not.”
“i am! you would’ve never done something that shitty.”
the nagging feeling that you’ve let him down once again is eating you alive.
he raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "what do you call showing up here, in your apartment, in the middle of the afternoon and calling you shitty, huh?" he asks, his tone teasing yet affectionate.
you can't help but let out a shaky laugh, “t’s not the same.”
rafe reaches out, gently cupping your face in his palm as he brushes his thumb gently across your cheek. “yeah, it is.”
without even questioning it, you lean into his touch, closing your eyes as your allow yourself to bask in the warmth of his embrace. for the first time in months.
“i miss you,” you confess, “whenever something happens, i just want to tell you about it.”
“so, tell me.” the tender smile softens the lines on his face, "’m right here.”
you feel a rush of relief, a weight lifting off your chest as if he's just granted you permission to exhale. and yet, tears still well up in your eyes, blurring your vision and spilling over onto your cheeks in hot.
“i have a date.”
a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, tightening with each syllable. your voice quivers with uncertainty, the words tumbling out like stones from a crumbling cliff. you don’t have to look to know your hands are shaking like leaves in a storm. you’re pretty sure if you held them up, they'd look like one of those ridiculous earthquake simulations.
rafe nods, doing his best to stop the cheeky grin growing on his face, as he shakes his head understandingly, “looking forward to it, are ya?”
but you only sob harder.
"hey, hey- sweetheart. it's alright.” he says gently, his voice soothing you better than any depressing song on your playlist, “just jokin’ around.”
but you can't shake off the feeling of shame, the burning embarrassment of admitting to something you wish you hadn't. of letting someone take you out, someone who isn’t rafe, your rafe.
"i just... i thought it would help me move on, y’know?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
"i get it.” he tries to smile at you again, but it looks sad, and it makes your heart hurt. his hand reaches out to brush away a stray tear from your cheek, “i’m not mad.”
but you are. at you. at him.
the words linger in the back of your mind, gnawing at your insides. you want to scream, to lash out at him for being so understanding, for not fighting for you the way you wish he would.
you push his hands away from your face, your voice cracking. that’s all it seems to do since he walked back into your life ten minutes ago.
"that's it?" you exclaim, "you're just okay with it? with me going on a stupid date with someone else?"
it was like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him, and he didn't know how to stand back up.
rafe’s jaw is set in a firm clench, "i just want you to be happy.”
“but i'm not happy!" you retort, your voice rising in volume as tears continue to stream down your face. "i'm miserable, rafe! and you're just standing there, doing nothing!”
his chest is rising and falling heavily, as if he’s trying to contain himself.
"i'm doing nothing?” he asks so quietly; you take a double take to make sure it’s still him. his eyes flicker with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. it feels like staring into a wildfire, all fierce and untamed.
you swallow hard, suddenly feeling the weight of your words crashing down on you. the way rafe looks at you, it’s like he sees right through you.
but his words only fuel the fire of your frustration.
"i need you to tell me that you still care. that you don't want me to go on that date because you want me for yourself."
you could see the anger draining out of him, leaving behind this raw, broken man. he slumps forward, shoulders drooping. his eyes go from blazing with intensity to just... empty. like he just flicked off a light switch behind them.
it’s heartbreaking, honestly, to see him just fizzle out into nothing.
“’course i want you for myself," he whispers, "but i can't force you to choose me. you left me.”
it’s a devastating sight, really. to see someone you love so deeply, someone who’s always been so strong, just fall apart like that. it’s like watching a building crumble to the ground.
and the worst part is, you know you’re the one who caused it. you’re the reason he’s standing there looking so broken, so lost. and you hate yourself for it, hate that you couldn’t be what he needed, hate that you had to go and ruin everything.
“i left because i didn’t feel good enough,” your voice is hoarse from screaming and crying, “not because i stopped loving you.”
for a moment, the silence between you is deafening, stretching on through time. it’s like neither of you knows what to say.
and then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, something shifts in his expression, he looks as if you have hit him.
“i never wanted you to feel that way,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you. “i never wanted you to doubt how much you mean to me.”
his words hang in the air, like they’re carrying the weight of all the things you two never said, all the things you wished you could take back. as if he’s putting it all out there, laying his soul bare for you to see, finally showing you everything he’s been keeping bottled up inside.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers, the words a solemn oath sworn in the quiet of the night. “’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.”
“i’m sorry too,” you choke out. “i’m sorry for pushing you away.”
and then, without another word, without another moment wasted on regrets and what-ifs, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. it’s like coming home after a long time.
and yeah, you might have a shit ton of things and problems to sort through, but rafe cameron is worth that and more.
on my hands and knees begging you to write that legally blonde idea… obsessed with the idea of reader thinking chil wants to get back w his ex vs chil just wanting to be friends and crushing hard on reader
take it like a man!
…ft! chilchuck x fem! reader
…tags! fluff, reader is into fashion
…wc! 2294
…notes! chilchuck tims and emmett forrest are the same to me (my type). this is so incredibly self indulgent thank you for enabling me anon. a lot of dialogue is paraphrased from the song/show, such is the way of songfics. enjoy!
Oh, how Chilchuck wished he could say no to you.
He didn’t know what he was expecting from you and Marcille’s ‘sweep your wife off her feet operation’, otherwise shortened to SYWOHF which Chilchuck pointed out was an awful name for a campaign. You elected to ignore him.
In actuality, he really wanted to just do this his own way. What he had in mind was just to pay a visit and talk things through. As those with a little womanly touch, you and Marcille knew that wouldn’t be enough. Chilchuck had to prove he was serious about this – that he really wanted his wife back in his life!
Seeing how excited you were showing off your step by step plan… he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he really just wanted to remain friends with her.
So, here he is. Having his eyes covered by your hands as you guide him through the busy streets of… who knows where.
“Almost there,” your breathless though excited voice reaches his ears, “I promise!”
You finally slow to a stop, and Chilchuck also gets the chance to speak about his thoughts on this. Simply being, “this is pointless. We don’t need to be doing all this.”
Scoffing, you fold your arms. “Don’t be like that! A conversation isn’t the only way to win her over.”
“No,” Chilchuck starts, “but it would sure make me look desperate!” He swats your hands off and away from his face. His back is turned away from the building you’re arguing outside of, not even bothering to see what you’re doing.
You frown. Chilchuck doesn’t easily get so frustrated with you. That’s what people usually say – if anyone can convince him to do anything, it’d be you. “Chil,” you try to appeal. You even try physically reaching out, hand hovering over his shoulder. “Work with me here. We can do this in a way that will prove yourself, and let her know you’ve changed. For the better.”
Chilchuck listens to you, sparing you a sidelong glance as you go on with your speech. “You make it sound like we’re in some romance novel. This isn’t ‘for the better’ I just want to talk to her.”
“No you don’t, you want her back in your life!”
“Well…!” Chilchuck stutters at how blunt your words are. You are way too observant for your own good. He never knows how to talk to you cooly when you do this. “Well, of course I do! And I can do that by slowly building up trust between us again, without rushing anyone.”
Where Chilchuck expects begging to follow through with your scheme, you simply look at him with a cold expression– colder than he’s ever seen you wear. “So you have the chance to run away again if things get too much? Sacrificing your integrity?”
You’re both lucky this little nook in the streets was away from most crowds. Save for the passersby' conversations, the silence would have been strife with weight. Chilchuck opens his mouth, then closes it again. He repeats the action, and tries to use his hands to communicate his thoughts to no avail.
He settles for turning away from you in angered shame, fists balled at his sides and tips of his ears growing red. “...I guess.”
You smile, knowing you have swayed the half-foot to your side. Even in the dungeon, your debates went this way. Chilchuck would present a cynical, logical approach whilst you were more realistic – something your appearance doesn’t really match with. Chilchuck thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Not like he’d say that to your face.
Hearing your confident hum, Chilchuck sighs and turns back to you. “Why do you always have to be right?” He complains about this constantly. You always seem to one-up him in ways he can never prepare for.
“I don’t have to be,” your attitude and voice returns to its usual, jovial form, “when I’m with you, I just am!”
You reach over to Chilchuck once more right as he’s about to make a scathing comment back at you. His face is a bit too close for comfort with a wooden door, an entrance somewhere.
“You trust me to help you impress your wife, don’t you?” You ask, with a clear sense of finality.
Chilchuck doesn’t think he has much of a choice in the matter. “...Of course,” he responds honestly but you can hear his voice waver.
He can practically sense your smile from behind. “Then don’t stop now.”
You wish you could say without a spot of bias that you were 100% supporting the operation at hand. In actuality, it came with a heavy sacrifice of your own feelings remaining unsaid. Of course you just had to fall for the semi-married man. You have already tried to move on, from distracting yourself with an operation like this, to asking Izutsumi to pummel your head with a rock (which she was very close to doing).
This will have to do.
It was like magic, how the environment of the building interior rushes through you. Chilchuck even feels it, his large eyes blinking as he drinks in the sight.
“...Where are we?” he asks, almost dreamily. A beautiful ceiling lamp shines onto coloured wallpaper. The scent reminds him of the kind of perfume Marcille would use. It’s strangely… alluring.
You lean your face over Chilchuck’s shoulder. “Oh, nothing much. Just the most trendy half-foot exclusive clothing store in Kahka Brud.” You can easily sense Chilchuck’s shock from this position – amusing you greatly. “Here.”
You stand up behind Chilchuck again, massaging his shoulders. “Just take a deep breath, and let it sink in. We’ll be here for a bit so get used to the smells and lights. Feel how it draws you in.”
“I’m feelin’ it alright,” Chilchuck responds, moreso about how he has no idea what convinces people to remain in these environments for so long without feeling overstimulated.
He already feels hot with how you’re handling him.
You move around so you’re in front of Chilchuck. “Listen, I know this can be… overwhelming,” you start, giving the understatement of the century, “but think about who you’re doing this for. Swallow your pride and… pick out anything you think is nice. I’ll do the same.”
Chilchuck nods, about to set off, but not before you take his face, squishing his cheeks a comedic amount so he’s forced to pout and look you in the eye.
“Promise me you won’t run. Take it like a man, alright?”
You let him go, and Chilchuck swears the heat on his body is from the stuffy maze of clothes stalls. As he navigates the first selection of half-foot men’s clothes he sees, he tries to ignore the thoughts that seem to non-stop course through his brain.
He’s largely unsuccessful.
What are you getting out of this? Some sort of second-hand pride at bringing together two estranged lovers? Wait ‘til you find out the truth – that those aren’t where his true feelings lie. Why can’t you leave well enough alone?
Why does he let you string him along with every plan you come up with?
You arrive back with a couple of blazer–pants combos, calling out Chilchuck’s name as you do so. Damn, you sure are speeding through the process.
“So, I took the liberty of picking some of the more fancy kinds of suits.” You hold them up in your arms. “Whaddya think?”
“Suits,” Chilchuck repeats dryly, in disbelief of how far you’re taking the idea of impressing a woman. He looks through each of the three upon seeing your determined expression.
He points at the pale pink option. “Absolutely not.”
He gestures to the navy one with a thinner fabric. “I like this one.”
Finally, he only spares at a glance at the creatively patterned suit. “I think I’d sooner be fed to wargs than be seen in that.”
You assemble each of the selections in order of preference. You muse, “I see, I see… Something refined but masculine. Much better than your ‘tattered chic’ look. Like an old book forever trapped in a library.”
Chilchuck furrows his brow as you run off again. “Wh– What’s that supposed to mean, jerk?!”
He sighs. He watches you as you make a few more choices again, before Chilchuck tries to distract himself looking at ties. He’s come this far. He should trust in your instinct. It hasn’t failed him– or anyone yet.
So what the Hell?
Before Chilchuck knows it, he’s handed the acutely sized down, perfect combination of blazer and pants, and he’s stuffed inside a changing room. He’s instructed to change into the whole thing.
As he does so, you can’t help but pace. This is it. This is the winning goal to help him impress his old flame. It’ll be like an academy romance – falling in love all over again like you’re teenagers. You sigh longingly. If only you can be there, in her place.
“You’re gonna look great!” You converse with Chilchuck through the curtain. “You’ll become a whole new man, promise! You’ll bloom like a rose!”
“It’s just clothes,” Chilchuck, in his usual cynicism, calls back.
You return with a raspberry. “Don’t be such a Debbie-downer.”
“Wow. No one’s called me that since grade school.”
“Maybe not to your face.”
Even without looking at him, you can imagine the scoff and eye roll he must be giving you, interrupted by a small choke on his own spit. “Is this the price?”
“Ignore that!” You quickly respond. “It’s my treat! Come out, come out, I wanna see you!”
Better to gloss over the fact you worked hard to do this for Chilchuck with a high budget. No doubt he’d tease you or outright refuse it. You open the curtain and pull Chilchuck out by his arm. He quickly adjusts himself and you both stand in front of the wall length mirror.
“...Woah.”
It’s said naturally in sync. Both of you hardly recognise the brunette half-foot in the form fitting suit and tie. With a bit of hair maintenance and more time to actually make himself look presentable…
“I look like Laios on a good day,” Chilchuck jokes.
Your breath caught in your throat, you can only let out, “y-yeah.”
You pray he doesn’t notice how enthralled you are in his appearance, if slightly ungroomed.
Once the moment passes, Chilchuck makes himself comfortable by loosening his tie and undoing a button or two, then putting his arms where they usually are behind his neck. “But it’s just me.”
Without hesitation, you find yourself speaking without meaning to. “Is that not the best part?”
Chilchuck looks at you in confusion. “What?”
“I-I mean…” you trail off. You look nervous. That’s rare for you. Usually you always had something to say. Now you look like you’re trying to figure out how to word something in a specific way. Why?
You move behind Chilchuck to smooth down some of his hair. “You may look more charming but… this is all you. Your choices, your style… It reflects who you are on the inside. That’s the magic of fashion.”
Chilchuck laughs a little, mostly at his own cluelessness. He can’t believe he’s underestimated a simple shopping trip. “Thank you,” he says, with complete sincerity.
“No.” You shake your head. “This is not a gift. I’m just… This is me thanking you for how you let me get away with so much.”
Your hands land on his shoulders, and Chilchuck’s fingers find their way to interlace with yours. For just a few more moments, you look at yourselves in the mirror.
Catching yourself, you step away from the situation – from him. “Well? Come on, you need to buy this. I’d want to marry you if you took me out looking like this!”
The half-foot flushes red. You got to know what you’re doing to him. “That’s not really—”
“Chilchuck. Please.” You place your hands on your hips, looking dead serious. “You look hot.”
…Well, he can’t argue with you. If you really think that, then who is he to deny it?
“Fine. I’ll get it.”
You smile that cocky grin Chilchuck has grown to love. “That’s our man.”
Leaving the shop was like a breath of fresh, unperfumed air. Chilchuck would nearly fall to his knees and start kissing the ground if he paid too much attention to how his legs ached. The post shopping trip fatigue is really hitting him.
“I enjoyed this,” he however admits. “Maybe women are onto something when it comes to clothes.”
“That’s why you should always listen to whenever a woman is speaking,” you wisely advise, making Chilchuck nod with a slight snort.
He stops at a crossroads, where you go back to his place, and he goes back to his. “You can trust that I will now.”
“Good.” You sigh in relief knowing your venture was successful. Maybe too successful, because now you may lose him.
Chilchuck keeps looking at you with affection. You can’t say you haven’t noticed how he keeps sparing you glances, mostly throughout the shopping trip. Maybe he has warmed up to you?
Still, neither of you can stop yourselves at this point.
You approach, and for a hopeful second, Chilchuck tilts his head a bit to the left, eyelids lowering and leaning into you. Your arms wrap around his middle.
Your face nuzzles into his neck as you hug the man tight. Chilchuck is still for a few seconds. A hug. Right. Of course you’d want a hug… He responds in kind.
“See you soon, Chil. I wish you luck.”
“Y-Yeah. Luck with the lady.”
Your happiness comes with a heavy sacrifice of Chilchuck’s feelings remaining unsaid.
Realistically there are enough green haired people in the One Piece universe that I don’t think Sanji, upon meeting Zoro initially, would associate him with Yonji. He hadn’t seen Yonji in like a decade-ish at that point, and the last time he’d seen him he’d been a kid.
BUT
I do feel like after Whole Cake it might be a different story. He’s seen Yonji all grown up, and he’s got muscles the same way Zoro does. Maybe the first time Zoro gets closed to him during Wano is when Sanji flinches away on instinct
Which would fuck Zoro up because like. Sanji FIGHTS when confronted, he doesn’t FLINCH.
But Sanji knew better than to fight back against his brothers, that programming is still deep in there.
and at the same time Sanji would never TELL Zoro about all that.
It takes Luffy offhandedly mentioning that Zoro has the same hair as one of Sanji’s brothers for it to click. And even then, it doesn’t click so much as it feels like a puzzle piece in a puzzle he only has half the pieces for.
But Zoro doesn’t know how to be Kind or Soft with Sanji, only knows how to fight, and the second and third time Sanji takes an involuntary step back from him when Zoro’s striding towards him, well— he gets SO angry.
He’s not even sure WHY he’s angry, or at who.
He thinks it’s Sanji at first, mad that Sanji’s showing such weakness. But— that’s not right. He wouldn’t be mad at anyone else for that. Hell, Usopp’s weak all the time.
He figures it out eventually. He’s mad at that brother that has his hair.
But the brother isn’t fucking HERE now, and Sanji is. And Zoro gets stupid when he’s angry.
He ends up confronting Sanji in a stupid way, by storming up to him and grabbing his collar and yelling to LISTEN UP, COOK.
He ignores the flinch that comes as he does, the way Sanji doesn’t meet his eyes.
He says, “I’m not HIM, stop LOOKING AT ME like I AM.”
Sanji’s gaze is locked on the floor, but he kicks— uppercuts him, sends Zoro flying backward. And he leaves.
Then Wano keeps happening, as it does, and Zoro doesn’t see him again until Sanji’s wrapping him from head to toe in bandages.
And all Sanji says is, “I know you’re not him.”
But he still doesn’t look Zoro in the eye.
And when it’s all over, and they’re feasting, and Zoro’s gone to hell and back, he finds the cook again. And Sanji, when he spots Zoro, still flinches for a moment before righting himself.
But then he slides up to Zoro and hands him a bottle and says, “I can’t just turn it off.”
He says, “Don’t take it personally.”
He says, “You’re nothing like him.”
“Nothing?” Asks Zoro.
And Sanji’s touch lingers a little too long. Maybe he’s had too much to drink.
“You have kindness,” he says. “I can look into your eyes and see something other than cruel indifference.” Then he smacks Zoro’s arm. “You’re nothing like him. But memories are hard to bury.”
Zoro chugs the bottle. It tastes expensive.
“Fine,” he says. “Let me give you something better to dwell on then.”
And he kisses Sanji. Sanji, who tastes like peach saké and soba noodles.
Sanji pulls back, and slaps him across the face.
But then he pulls him in for a second kiss, so Zoro lets that go.
really lovvvve toxic ex megumi who can't stop being around you after you're break up. follows you to the parties you attend, meets with you, you both have an argument and then make out. <33
The cycle repeats until you take him back, you might as well anyway, it's not like you can get rid of him<3
godddd toxic ex megumi <3 <3 we'll always go back to uuuu
you see him before he sees you. or at least, he happens to not be looking when your eyes find him in the crowd. it happens too naturally for your taste. instantly there's something bitter in your mouth and you feel your eye begin to twitch.
but you play it off and try not to pay him any attention. you're at a house party, and you already found some eye candy that would much better suit your attention for the time being. would you see him after tonight? no, definitely not. but the more you sip your drink and flutter your lashes at him, the more appealing he becomes. especially now that you-know-who is here.
and who invited him anyways? your mind wanders even as you keep your eyes on the handsome company you forget the name of. all that matters is he's blonde- not a ravenette- and he's got brown eyes -not deep, beautiful ocean blue...- and what were you thinking about again..?
"she has a boyfriend you know"
you have to shut your eyes to regain some false sense of peace. otherwise you would've whirlled around already to try to kick the shins of the 6 foot toxic piece of-
"you do?" your blonde placeholder looks down at you with confusion in his eyebrows. your own expression is unamused, bored, and quite frankly you're not sure who to direct it at at this point.
"she does" megumi confirms. your elbow hits his forearm in warning, but it's not nearly strong enough to get him to back off. he's already made his stance clear in coming straight to you in this crowd of people, and your gut is already telling you that you're going to fall for it.
"i don't, actually," you reply, giving your nameless suitor a sickeningly sweet smile. "in fact, i'd even go as far to say i've never been as single as i am right now"
the blonde man clearly isn't in the state of mind for these games, his eyes shifting between you and megumi, and it's obvious to you both that he's made up his mind before he's even said anything. you don't have to turn around to know that megumi is glaring this sucker down until he cowers out.
and as expected, your once suitor bids you a fast, "well, have a good time!" before turning and booking it away from you and your baggage.
your baggage grins down at you as he takes his place. you huff and shut your eyes again, this time pinching the bridge of your nose as you wrap your half-drunken head around what just happened.
"what the hell do you think you're-"
"you look stunning, by the way,"
megumi cuts you off, he could skip the part where you chew him out for his behavior, it's nothing he hasn't heard before. you try to smack his hand away when his fingers tug at the fabric resting over your hip, but he ignores that too. he's far too interested in watching the short skirt of your dress ride up your thigh when he tugs on it.
"i like this dress," he mumbles out his thoughts, and you should smack him again, but you don't. his knuckles graze your skin and your thoughts start to go blurry. "haven't seen this before"
"well, it's been a month, so..."
your answer is weak and you both know it. you hate that when he looks at you, your heart starts to race. you hate that you know what's coming next, and that if you wanted to badly enough, you could stop it.
because when megumi says, "come with me" and beckons you to follow him, you do without a word. you follow close behind him as he wanders through the crowd before he gets to the patio door, and you stupidly follow him out through it, where you're both alone.
"you can't keep doing this" you say, but it's a mumble, and when you lean into the exterior wall of the house, he's in your space again in a second.
megumi's convinced himself that he's not manipulative, you're just so willing. why else would you wear that dress to a party you knew he'd be at? why else would you follow him somewhere where you could be alone? and you don't exactly push him away when he leans in close and tilts your chin up to bring you even closer. you bat your lashes at him and pout your lips- you're practically begging for it.
"don't be like that baby," he murmurs and you're melting before him. did you leave your drink inside? because now you find your hands empty and you need something to fiddle with or else they're gonna end up in his hair- "missed you, y'know"
you sigh, shutting your eyes and trying to tilt your head away, lean it back into the wall, but megumi's quick to cup his large palm around the back of your head and bring you back towards him.
or into him would be more like it, because his lips are on yours without any other warning.
you move your hands to shove him away, but they have their own will and they end up fisting his tee shirt to pull him in closer until you're so pushed up against the wall that your dress is being dragged up your thighs. the material wants to bunch up at your hips, despite your efforts to keep yourself partially decent, megumi has other ideas in mind when he decides to grab you by the legs and lift you. his hips pin you to the wall again with an ease you're all too used to, and it's around then that you don't care where the state of your dress lies.
he has the nerve to mumble nothings into your mouth as you sloppily meet his lips in every heated kiss. things you've heard too many times,
"see? you missed me too"
"i knew you'd want to get back together"
"we're so good together, baby"
and as you always do, you'll fall for it for however long it lasts this time. because no matter how many times you've broken up, you've never gotten over megumi.
Warnings - implied smut, reader could be seen as trashy but Rhys loves it
A/n - This anon actually came from an IRL friend. She texted me about it, and I had her clarify if she meant a gossip or big mouth as in a girl who is prone to talking shit and fighting. It was talking shit and fighting, so thanks, Sammie 💕💕
Ps- I will figure out what your username is 👀 but you're very sweet for doing this the way the rest of my followers do instead of just texting me first😭
You aren't a doormat. He refuses to let you be seen as one. Even if that means you get into a verbal argument here and there.
Those verbal arguments have gotten physical.
My baby daddy always tells me not to write a check he can't cash (if you don't know what that means, it means don't start a fight that he can't finsh.) You don't have that problem with Rhysand.
If you stand, mouth firing off insults as someone else is, he will stand too. Ride or die, he won't let you fight without him.
And that is if the man isn’t already behind you, warning the male standing over you without even having to speak that if he lays a hand on you or speaks out of line, he will be finding out why Rhysand is proud to be half illyrian.
You do know time and place, but if someone insults your male, your family, or your court first, all bets are off.
Your mouth is equal opportunity. High fae, lower, male, female, high lord? You don't care. All bets are off the table with you. No one is safe.
Beron? Constantly roasting him. Asking him if beating his wife helps him feel like a real male. Keir? Verbally torn apart. How pathetic he must be to think he has some pull when he lost out on being high lord.
Hell, illyrian males aren't even safe from you. Not when three immediately are behind you the second they feel your mood change.
And it isn't that you can't fight. You are well trained and can more than hold your own. He just prefers you let him.
He's only held you back once. It was from Amren, and he hardly caught you in time before you jumped on her.
Cassian was disappointed. He wanted to watch two tiny females wrestle it out. He said it would be better if pretty lacy outfits were involved, but he was ready to settle for you in your dress and Amren in her two piece outfit.
Rhys did not stop you, nor Amren, from tackling Cassian for that comment.
He will throw you over his shoulder, ignoring you as you scream for him to put you down while still running your mouth as you're carried out of the room. But only if family is involved.
Mother knows they are no exception. You all get on each other's nerves from time to time. Besides Azriel. You could never fight Azriel.
Rhys loves it. He loves how spicy you are. He loves how much fight and sass you have. He loves how it's always to people who are mean.
He does love fighting for you as well. Sometimes, he asks you to pick fights when it's someone he has been itching to get his hands on.
He rewards you throughly when you oblige him.
"Where's that big mouth now, darling?" While your back is arched off the bed, and your mind is just a haze. "Thought you had so much to say earlier."
He loves making his girl with so much to say and so many opinions go dumb for him.
He loves it when all you can think to say is his name and barely thrown together words.
He loves putting your mouth to other uses if you start in on him, too.
He'd keep you tucked under his desk for hours, putting your mouth towards something actually useful if you two fight.
And that's rare. Your opinions are normally shared and mutual. It's why you two work. Otherwise, you would be constantly at each other's throats with how vocally dominant you both like to be.
Overall, he'd change nothing about how sassy you can be. He loves you as is. Even if it means you bandaging his hands after a trip to Illyria.
putting on lip gloss/balm before the kiss, having fun sharing different flavors
with david and darlin pleaseee?? thank youuu ♥️♥️♥️♥️
ZOZO!!!! Okay, this was great and soo much fun! Thank you!! I hope you like how it turned out. <3 <3 <3 You're amazing, thank you so much for the ask!!
David/Darlin
tags: first kiss, prompt fic, a little tipsy, idiots in love
Coconut.
The warehouse was trashed from the pack party but David couldn’t quite muster the energy to care. It was almost four in the morning. He should start sending them home… really he should have done that an hour ago. Several of the pack were already passed out on the couches or the floor. He knew they kept some bedding at the warehouse but he hadn’t realized it was quite this much. They’d basically built a nest.
Fuck it. They could sleep here. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about them all getting home safely. He closed his eyes, arms folded across his chest and body settling into the couch. He could make breakfast in the morning. That would be nice.
The couch bounced when someone plopped down next to him.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. He could feel their aura against his. Loyal, sharp, quick to anger, quick to run, brave, but so damn scared. His nose wrinkled, eyes still closed. “Why do you smell like coconut?”
He felt them shrug, their arm against his.
David opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Darlin. Their eyes were half-lidded. They’d been riding their buzz for the last hour or two. His gaze flicked to their mouth and the gloss on their lips.
“This was all Milo had,” they explained with another shrug.
David nodded, watching their lips move as they spoke. He was riding a buzz too. Their mouth was lush. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He’d been crushing on this idiot for years but never really noticed those lips... They’d been flirting for months now. Asher didn’t think Darlin really thought they were flirting though. He was probably right.
David uncurled his arms and held out a hand, palm up, doing gimmie fingers.
Darlin grinned. “You want some?”
“Hn.” He wanted it.
Something mischievous lit their eyes and they tipped their chin up, offering their lips, eyes always on him, daring him to get some.
David smiled despite all efforts not to. “Oh, don’t be cute.” Don’t tempt me, he thought.
Darlin laughed and looked away, sinking back against the cushions next to him, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. “Wait. Did you just say that I’m cute?” They turned their head to look at him again, surprise hitting late.
David was looking back, their faces close. He saw the moment Darlin realized it and heard their pulse jump. Their gaze flicked down to his mouth. They didn’t pull away, but forced a sideways smile that made him think they were about to say something self-deprecating to cut the tension…
“No one would call me cute, Davey.”
Yep. He didn’t look away. “I did. Want me to call you more names?” he asked, deadpan and patient.
Their eyes widened a fraction and he could practically hear the battle in their mind, wanting to egg him on, wanting to know what he would say, but not wanting to risk it either. They nodded once. The whole warehouse was a hive of activity but it all faded.
“You bite hard, you’re brave, and your mouth is really pretty.”
Darlin’s eyes were as wide as he’d ever seen them and their smile was an explosion. “Fuck you, you did not just say my mouth was pretty!”
David ignored all of his own nerves and the heat climbing his face. He wasn’t going to look away from this. “I said really pretty.”
“You’re messing with me, Shaw.”
He finally smiled, because how could he not when they served it up like that? “I’ll mess with you if you want, any time… if you’re willing to share your chapstick.”
Darlin stared, practically gawked, seeming to realize again just how close they were sitting. “You’re drunk,” they said in way of explanation.
David just watched them, waiting. He was tipsy, sure, but he wasn’t drunk and they knew it. Their eyes flicked to his lips again. He wanted so much to close that distance but he couldn’t. He needed them to make that move.
His heart beat faster when the leaned in, his hands curling into fists against his own arms to keep from grabbing at them right away. They kissed him so softly, lips sticky with that coconut chapstick. For a split second after, he felt the flutter of uncertainty in them, not regret for kissing but fear that it was a joke at their expense and they’d fallen for it—that he didn’t feel the same—that he was just messing with them. It all vibrated there across those indescribable threads that connected them.
David reached across and curled a hand behind their neck, pulling them in again and this time kissing them deep enough to taste the pina colada on their tongue. The kiss was long and slow and when it broke he smiled. “So… You like coconut, huh?”
Would a prompt for Tubbo to show up at Fit an Pac's doorstep absolutely fuming work? Like maybe it isn't Tubbo in control it's Tommy here to give the 2 an ear full because Tubbo has been a mess, months of miscommunication building to thinking they have been left behind, months of Tommy hoping he was right not to jump in cause it meant his husband paid attention to him. But Tubbo's a wreck heartbroken it can't be ignored anymore, how could they just drop him like that weren't they steps away from all 3 of them dating? Was that not worth fighting for?
Sorry if it's too detailed prompts are not my specialty it seems 9 w 9;;
I thought maybe a prompt of how left out Tubbo felt would be nice something that gave Fit and Pac pause to see that the hostility Tubbo shows at times to their relationship was because of that but also thought Tubbo would never say it or open up to anyone but I know you also subscribe to Tommy possessing his husband sometimes... I'm going to flee now I'm rambling too much ...
Have a lovely day!
it's been a while but you have a lovely day!
Tommy was mad. Tommy was furious.
Tubbo was in the back of the mind they were currently sharing, sulking. He was so upset and it made Tommy furious. So he took over. Grabbed the reins of Tubbo's body and took control.
Tommy stomped their body right over to Pac and Fit's house while Tubbo was too busy keeping his tears at bay to protest.
“Hey!”
Pac looked confused when he opened the door. “Ola?”
Tommy huffed, crossing his arms firmly. “Listen to me, man.”
Fit appeared behind him with a cautious look. “Hey, Tubbo. What's up?”
“Listen to me!” Tommy repeated. “You guys are assholes. He's not perfect, okay? He pulls away from affection and he's a little bitch half the time. But he's my best friend. He's an amazing person and he would rather choke than say it but he fucking loves you two. He's been moping in our fucking mind for ages. He won't stop crying and as soon as he figures out I'm saying this he's gonna take over this vessel and I won't be able to tell you. So fucking listen.”
They both stared at him with wide eyes as he drove his finger forward to drive them further back into their own house.
“He loves you both. Not the deep platonic bond he has with me. Because trust me,” Tommy scoffed. “What I have with him will last beyond your lifetimes. Completely and utterly. But he fucking loves you guys. I mean the way he talks about you two. The way he thinks about you two. God. It's so fucking annoying. He's mentally collapsing over how attractive he thinks you two are. It's so ridiculous.”
Tommy took a deep breath. Pac tried to cut in but he made sure he couldn't.
“No. Let me finish. Right now he's starting to stir in our consciousness. When he takes over I need you to kiss him and make up. Fuck, it's gonna be disgusting and I'm going to hate it but its better then having to see… the most important fucking person in my fucking life… having to be hurt over and over again by people he loves. So do your cringe ass lovey dovey shit and make sure he feels loved. For the love of-”
He was cut off. Snapped back into the back of Tubbo's mind. Fuck, he swore to himself. Please let those idiots understand me.
Through Tubbo's eyes he watched. Watched as Pac took Tubbo's face as soon as his own words slipped out of his lips and kissed him. Murmured the sappiest shit he had ever heard in his ears while Fit hesitantly took him by the hand.
And Tommy was right. It was gross and he hated it. But the joy that flooded through Tubbo's body was undeniable and calmed his spirit. He could finally rest.
you’re pretty upset when you spot your husband not wearing his ring in a recent video
andrew robertson x reader
A/N: a tricky one, but I think I made it work ;) thank you for requesting!
W/C: 1.427
a wedding ring
to some, it’s a tangible object that is meant to symbolize the unification of two people. to others, a ring wasn't that much of importance, even paper rings would suffice to signify the love two individuals have for each other.
you were part of the first group. you had never even dreamed of taking the rock off your finger. the only exception being when you needed to get your hands dirty when cooking up some delicious food.
of course, the glimmering diamond on your ring finger was absolutely breathtaking. carefully chosen by your husband. suited exactly to your personal style and taste.
it was something you also tried to do for him. you didn't want to gift him a boring, silver wedding band, bland and basic. so, you'd visited multiple different jewelers until you found the right one.
then, imagine how pissed off you are when you're scrolling on your phone, only to see a video of your husband not wearing his ring during a recent press conference concerning his upcoming match.
you glance down at your own wedding ring, getting more and more irritated by the second.
your husband wasn't even home from training yet, which allowed your anger to boil up ever more, because you couldn’t ask him about it immediately.
you finally turn your phone off, grumbling to yourself, and get up to do some last minute work around the house. it was your turn to make dinner tonight. safe to say those vegetables were chopped too finely due to the fury you couldn’t contain.
andrew usually came home right on time for dinner. so, you decide to eat dinner early, just to interact less with him.
you were being petty, but you felt like him not wearing his wedding ring shouldn't go unpunished.
the front door opens half an hour later, your husband calling out to you from the entrance.
you ignore him, too focused on washing the dishes you used, to answer him, knowing it would become a childish argument.
"sweetheart? are you home?" he calls out, the confusion in his voice audible. you can hear him zip his jacket off, and the jingling of his keys, which he hangs up on the little sculpture you bought to spruce up the entrance.
again, you refuse to answer. drying the washed dishes with the gray kitchen towel and placing them back in the cupboard.
"bonnie?"
you try to ignore the sweet scottish nickname he loved using, too focused on cleaning up.
you can hear some footsteps come closer, his shoes paddling against the gray floorboards.
you decide to turn around when you can feel how close he is. watching his arm reach over to bring you into a tight embrace. though, you move right on time to avoid his touch. escaping from underneath his arms.
he gasps, brows furrowing at your sudden behavior. you were fine this morning, happy as ever, only a little sad about him leaving so early for training.
so, why would you be avoiding his hugs, let alone his touch?
"love, what's wrong?" he asks, trying to analyze your facial expression.
"nothing.." you mumble, avoiding eye contact. your arms folded defensively.
"do you want a hug?" he asks, wondering if you need comfort. he inches closer, but you decide that to be petty - so you shake your head.
"that involves physical contact, and that's gross, so no." you deadpan, words harsh and stubborn.
‘gross?’ he thinks, frowning at your choice of words.
"eat dinner, table's set.." you add, voice quiet.
you immediately turn away, sulking when you catch glimpse of your ring again.
you can hear him call out to you, but you keep on walking up the stairs and step into your bedroom. maybe the comfort of the soft pillows and firm mattress will help instead.
"love, can you please tell me what's wrong?" he pleads, hand stopping you from closing the door.
you gnaw on your bottom lip, sighing while looking at him.
"just give me a moment.." you state, his eyes warm up, realizing you probably wanted a minute to yourself to sort your thoughts out.
"okay, I'll have dinner then..I’m going to come back later..." his voice is soft, just like how he speaks to you when you're crying over something or are feeling particularly down on dark, cloudy days.
guilt immediately creeps up on you. maybe you were being too petty and rude?
no, you always wear your ring- why wouldn't he?
you close the door in his face, shuffling to your bed and pulling the covers over your body.
all different types of thoughts go through your head. were you too dramatic, or were you rightfully upset? was this approach even a good one?
it doesn't take too much time, as you hear a knock on your bedroom door. you shift and turn, sitting up in bed.
"come in.." you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers.
andy steps inside slowly, his eyebrows raising at the sight of your defeated-looking figure.
"bonnie.." he begins, getting into the bed next to you.
"we're literally married. if you're angry at me, just tell me.." he says, hand reaching to carefully touch your hand. eyes on your face to detect any irritation or sadness on your face.
you look up at him when he grips your hand, his bigger hands entangled with yours. your eyes flicker around, finally making eye contact with him.
he can practically read all of the emotions you hold in your eyes after all these years together.
"won't you tell me, sweetheart? are you angry?"
he encourages, thumb running over your knuckles.
"yes, I’m angry- is that what you want to know?"
"about what?"
you sigh, a little embarrassed now.
"you love me, right?"
you notice the confusion and surprise on your husband's face, he starts nodding the moment the question leaves your mouth.
"of course, I love you.. with every part of my being.." he whispers, leaning in closer.
"then why did I see a video of you not wearing your ring?" you confront, facial expression hardening.
"what are you talking about?"
you grab your phone off the nightstand, showing him the evidence that had you spiraling for the past hour or two.
"bonnie.." he begins, a chuckle leaving his lips.
you almost lash out at him when he laughs. was your sadness funny to him?
"come 'ere.." he urges, patting his lap. you eye him for a moment, but don’t fight back when he pulls you onto his lap.
"listen to me, ye?"
you nod, waiting to hear his explanation.
"remember when we talked about our wedding rings last month?"
you nod, tilting your head in confusion.
"and don't you remember me telling you I had to get mine cleaned?" he asks, thumb making soft and soothing circles on your knee.
you freeze, heat from embarrassment creeping up on your face. you groan, covering your face with your hands, moving your head away.
"hey, look at me, ye?" he says, trying to pry your hands away from your face.
"there's my love's precious face.." he coos, grinning softly at your cute behavior.
he raises his hand, showing off the wedding band that is clearly on his finger.
"you know, I wear it all the time except for training and during matches. if I was allowed to wear it I would..” he reminds you, leaning in to kiss your forehead tenderly.
"I wear mine constantly, just like you do. it's as important to me, as it is to you. you got that?" he asks, running his hand down your back.
you hum, feeling silly and stupid for fretting over something so easily explained away.
"I'm sorry, kind of stupid of me to assume.." you trail off, looking into his brown eyes.
"it's alright, I understand the confusion, but please just ask me about something that’s bothering you, before you start to ignore me?"
you nod, pressing your cheek against his chest.
"I will, I'll ask you before assuming.."
he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your head. the sound makes his chest rumble, in turn, you feel the vibrations on your cheek.
your husband would do anything to please his partner. so, don't you be surprised the next time he comes home with a tattoo on his ring finger.
yes, the needle pressing against the bone of his knuckle hurt like a bitch. but, if it meant he could ease your mind and wear a symbol of his love for you 24/7. he would do it without hesitation.
I kinda wanna know about the shared trauma Annabeth and Alabaster both have from Luke and how they deal with it? How does Percy deal with them going completely insane just thinking about it? Does Annabeth ever realize she was used by Luke too (I feel like in a way she was)? I just kind of wanted you to explore this a bit more.
Ohohohoho -> you can hear me wringing my hands and cackling if you squint lol. This is going to get long so buckle up folks, I am breaking out the "•" format again
(CW:suicide mention, it's about Luke's death)
It's very important to start that the love was there. Luke loved them, they were his little siblings. It didn't change anything. It didn't stop the hurt. Perhaps it made it worse. But it's very important that the love was there.
Percabeth didn't talk about Luke after Manhattan, not really. That off-hand comment about his flying shoes in Cotg was the first time either of them mentioned him out-loud.
It's Alabaster coming into their life that opened up that baggage along with several more they were happy to ignore until it eventually burst.
I think it would be good for both of them when they come to the realisation that Luke wasn't evil and he wasn't a can-do-no-wrong-hero either. (He is still the hero of the prophecy of course but yeah, you all get it)
He was just a traumatised kid who grew into a traumatised young adult and caused the deaths and traumas of dozens of other kids whether he wanted to or not.
Just Annabeth realising she was the same age as when Luke took her in when she took the sky from him. Just Annabeth having a talk with Thalia, learning about Halycon Green, and how Luke changed after that, and how he again changed after that visit to May and the confrontation with Hermes. How he seemed to intentionally provoke and go after monsters. Just Annabeth mourning the loss of her dagger and her family. Luke has been dead from the start. Thalia will never be the cool 12 year old that took her under her wing again. Annabeth will out-age and Thalia will out-live both of them.
Just Alabaster realising hey, maybe Luke wasn't this almost god-like being he idolised. That maybe Luke himself didn't believe in half the things he promised. That maybe it shouldn't have been his, a 14 year old's, job to coax out a drunk Luke from the corner of Othrys he backed himself to. That maybe he wasn't wrong to think that he was used as an emotional replacement for Annabeth.
If Alabaster spared a drachma for every time Luke called him Annabeth— well no matter. He was dead now. (He would do anything to hear Luke's voice again, even if that was by being called Annabeth.)
But Luke didn't only hurt them, did he? Like I said he was their big brother. Just the memories of Annabeth staying up full night with Luke, him shielding her from the cold and the harpies as they sat on Thalia's branches. Just Luke protecting Alabaster from bullies who thought picking on the weird scrawny minor god kid no. 1263 would be fun. Luke who saw a little seven year old and took her in, promised family and tried to protect her to his best. Luke who killed himself for her. Luke who tried to maintain the familiy bonds he had with these children that followed him to the Titan army. Luke who tried to keep Alabaster away from Kronos as much as possible, and yet still promoted him to his second in command anyways.
Does that make up for the hurt? Does it matter he loved them if he intentionally or not got them in the middle of the crossfire? That's for Annabaster to decide.
They do miss him though. Once the gates open they can't stop the incoming emotional flood. Sometimes they curse him out, sometimes they cry after him, sometimes they sit in silence of their overwhelming feelings. Sometimes... well, Percy doesn't know, but it's better than Luke being a constant topic of their relationship arguments he guesses.
And it's the way Alabaster still talks like he's trying to imitate Luke: half successful silver tongue, laced with magic and the passion Luke used to have at the very start of the war. It's the way Annabeth paces around like Luke did when he was stressed, all lost in thoughts at picking at her elbows. It's the way all three of them are bone tired, and world weary and if they look at the mirror they just see Luke Luke Luke—
Some nights, when none of them can sleep, under the soft light of the moon and a cozy blanket, with hot drinks in their hands and kisses shared they talk about just how easy it would be to stage Olympus's downfall, how fast, how it would hit them before they can even suspect a thing... All hypothetical certainly, just whispers between lovers.
And Percy. He doesn't even have half the memories his partners have with Luke. But three of what he has stick out the most: Luke teaching him sword-fighting, him siccing a scorpion on little 12 year old Percy with no hesitation and him making him promise to not let things happen this way again as he bled out to death in his lap.
Olympians may have not went through their promise. Percy sure does intend to keep his own one though, gods be damned.
He'll just settle for being there for his partners for however long they grieve, though.
Oh boy, i would love to, if Everyone in show would go see an professianal Thearpist for once.
Like, i love Earth, she is an amazing person. She is trying her best and It makes it even more Sad. However, Earth´s Theapy session from her not helping and i will explain to you guys my reasson alright? So Earth is very kind and she is polite and open to lisstening to the diffrentent kind of issues, which is fine and already been heard can be enough. The after effect is been how everyone who have doing thearpy session with her, refuse to see other Therapy and completly reliance on her. Earth never been trained to be a thearpist and she can help like a very good friend, but people that been having seriousely issues, for example Monty being abusive at times to Foxy is been overlooked. Sure Monty is doing a bit better, but he can´t doing thearpy with his girlfriend. Monty would never admit beeing awfull. (also even if he would, Earth loves Monty, so she blindly ignore it)
If you even analyse every person in the show who been doing the thearpy session with her, let me ask you something real quick, DOES anyone get better from it? No,... really not a single person.
-Solar? right, he have some seriously issues with his Moon, he killed him and he abandoned his Dimention. He replace his people by moveing on to life in another Dimention, but if i take a guss, he surely just want to fix his place and whatever. He is ignoreing his feelings and be nice to others. It only takes a,...(sun death)... moment and he leaveing everyone behind, cause he have trauma and not talk about himself.
-Lunar thearpy session was also less about him, it was more about Lunar and Earth talking things out. When Lunar had the chance to talk about his problem, he switch back to beening worried over Earth, which is bad, it´s not about her, it was supposted to be over him. They should haveing another thearpy session, The whole Lunar is going to die is ignored with leaving Lunar in the dark. With what is he even suppose to do.
-Moon been worried over Sun drinking problem and Earth overlocked this and claim Sun been alright, is also weard. She is not even concidere it that there is a chance of Sun having more going on. I think Moon been afrait to be Old Moon is also wild. People might should be suggest it, Old Moon IS a part of New Moon. They are the same person and they should try to understand themself more. Even if New Moon would go on with his life without Old moon ever be in it, he should TAKE responsiablty with his old self. If he would try that, Then he would understand his BROTHER way better. (SO yea, it just a way of Moon running away from his issues, cause he did it with 1th Moon too who he rip him a part and claim to be so much diffrent, only to come to the point where he believe he is just as bad as him.) The point is, Moon will allways hurt Sun, because he never learned from his past mistakes, he will even with a 99 prozent possiablity kill himself again and give Sun a new Moon (or leave him and give him Old Moon cause he isn´t as smart as his other self) This is not a question of do you want Old Moon or do you want New Moon? You would want the whole Picture and not half of it.
-Sun is suicide and heave mental issues and experience his Brother been dying and think it was his fault. He have now New Moon, but he surely want that New Moon would remember the past times, the times when Sun and Moon bond,.. the times when they getting clouser and build trust. If you would ask eveyone else like Earth if she would be alright to have a NEW Solar then the answer is NO. So how is she not understanding Sun problem with New Moon? Like not even a little bit. Sun also never got the chance to get in himself and be honnest about Moons abusive behaviour. He can´t tell his Sister of how MUCH he suffer from Moon. Sun is just to much of a Good heart person and don´t want anyone to worried over him. So Sun dig his feelings aside till he one day can´t handle it anymore.
To not makeing it any longer, i leave it to be. What Earth is doing, is not principle wrong, she helped her Family, but she isn´t even going to see herself professional Thearpy. Every Thearpist have to see Thearpy too. People that any of thouse people could see is for Example Golden Freddy, but also some Mother/Father figure yk actuall Parents from Pizzaplex is also a good choice.
You're absolutely right! With everything!
I don't have anything to add to that.. I just simply agree with you.
They all have issues so big to resolve them by talking to their sister who even if has good intentions and wants to help simply can't because she's their sister..
They should go to professional therapist and that's it.
But I think that they won't realize that they need serious help till something really bad happen - Sun's death probably by suicide..
That's what I think that all of this is heading towards.. they all need a wake up call..
Thank you for pointing out all of those things, there are even things that I forgot to mention such as the fact that Earth wouldn't want to have new Solar and yet can't understand that Sun had a hard time to accept New Moon and move on from Old Moon's death..
Thank you so much for this input. This is really important and I hope that many people will see this ^^
Okay I don’t want this to be like an obnoxious millennial assumption because I’m positive that every generation has things like this, but the way autism and ADHD was treated for us in the 90’s and how it affects adult diagnoses is like, imo, so integral to our coming of age and the stories we tell and the way we’ve gotten to know ourselves, even the way it relates to our job market and economy and how we operate inside it, and especially the way a pandemic uncovered it for so many people and exposed the cracks and revealed that we were all just barely functioning and held together with popsicle sticks and anyway
I say that because maybe it’s the un-diagnosed 90’s child in me but I feel particularly emotional about Keith’s arc in learning that he’s part Galra, and the way even the creators said they made him sort of prickly because of his biology, and I just !! Think so much about Keith’s neurotype as a part Galra!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cause something about being diagnosed later in life is like, looking back at all the other ways you tried to handle yourself, all the missteps, maybe even misdiagnoses. Like, how many times did you try to treat ANXIETY without realizing you didn’t have an anxiety disorder, you just can’t deal with your family blaring the TV from the next room? How many times were you told you were lazy, or lying, when you didn’t know what executive dysfunction is?
Keith is such a lovely rich character because his prickliness is EARNED—we know what happened to him, we know he’s traumatized, we know he’s been treated poorly by many people in his life. We know that he grew up thinking that he’d been abandoned by one of the people who should’ve loved him the most, in the whole world. He even questions that in his vlog—he makes the connection that he has trouble with people because of his mom.
But I just wonder like, how much of it is just his biology. Not understanding the body he’s in, being completely ignorant of one whole half of his culture. Had he ever mutated before the TBP fight? Did it take him by surprise, did it frighten him? ((* This is head canon territory LMAO there’s no way to really know—like, is he able to do this because he just spent so much time with Krolia, or does Shiro going That’s the Keith I remember mean they used to have really primal sex that turned his eyes yellow? Lol))
Like when we talk about even the most broad generic terms of saying someone is neurodivergent, we don't even need to put a real life label on Keith. Like he's literally not human! Of course his brain looks different! Of course he functions differently! And I wonder how much is nature v nurture -- if he knew the truth about his mom, if his dad had lived, if he'd been allowed a normal childhood, would he still have been a weird kid?
Cause like, even seeing the way Shiro is able to get through to him, we see ways that he allowed for thrill seeking, and he didn't judge Keith for stealing his car. It reminds me of like, what we know now about asking children to sit still in school, and how perhaps some children would do better with standing desks. Shiro wants him to behave and succeed, and doesn't judge him for being a car thief, and gets through to him by bringing him cliff diving. And it just feels like this clue, you know, that nothing is wrong with Keith, he's just living in a weird place where people don't get him.
It’s just really special to me, because there’s so many pieces in the sequence of events of Keith’s character arc, and I know I’ve said this a handful of times now, but I really sincerely believe it’s the only thing the show really nailed. Accepting himself during the BOM Trial -> MOMENTS later learning something ver important about his biology -> spending time with Krolia -> coming back to pilot Black when he’s READY and WANTS to (unlike the first time, when he resisted) -> becoming a pragmatic strong leader by the end.
Gosh idk.
I don’t really have anywhere to go with this, it’s just something I was thinking about today and it gets me real emotional. Like, Keith must have had these moments, re-evaluating who he’d been before he’d known, finally understanding why he was Like That, and it’s so healing to imagine him accepting his past self and forgiving it because he understands now.
Saw this prompt for incorrect OC quotes and couldn't resist with a bunch of my Breach goobers. Some of them would absolutely say these things word for word in canon if I gave them half the chance to, though. XD
They're in order of when they showed up in person - Qīng, Ghost, Red, Marisol, Shio, Cam, Daruk, Tawoos, and Alondra - as well as some important honorable mentions who have only been mentioned or gotten dialogue - Star, Blake, and Creation.
Star's design is a slight spoiler, I suppose, but it doesn't reveal if they're human or impostor, so it's all good. Creation's "design" also isn't a spoiler at all, because They can look however They want, LOL. As for Shio...some of you who have seen the body horror I've done of them may be wondering why they look so normal here, but I promise there are Reasons. :3c
In other news, will I be making a liar out of Shio in an upcoming Breach canon divergence? ..........Maybe~ >:3c
Pride is supposed to be month of education and of the community’s struggle with oppression, documenting and retelling history for younger ppl learn from, engaging in open dialogue with the silent majority who still dissent, not alienating or ostracizing them, but conversing with the hope that we are to be seen, heard and respected.
I’m kinda damn sick of how commodified my own sexuality has become. Like. It’s a holiday, and once that holiday’s passed the decorations and sentiments are stored away in the attic for the rest of the year. and those who don’t celebrate it (i.e, share the same belief behind it) simply stand aside quietly and tolerate it. Despite what corporations have made it, i’m bi 24/7, not just during June. But the ads and the merchandising are so glaringly loud and disingenuous and off the mark that I can see in the extremely religious conservative circle I live in, that Pride is achieving the opposite of its goal. Every year my family and family friends dread the month, and double down that we’re “pushing an agenda” or “trying to trick people into sin”. It sucks. Companies and brands are tonally deaf with good intentions at best and patronizing at worst.
I’m just complaining into the void. June is almost over and I’ve not once felt comfortable celebrating my own sexuality because the month like. glaringly illuminates it, but never educates ppl about it?? it feels so overbearing and I have to see my family and family friends make more intolerant comments and jokes than usual. Idk. Despite what’s advertised, we (america) aren’t as progressive as we think we are. We’re kinda… going backwards? It’s estranging the ppl who are key to our acceptance— the opposing side lol.