#nic tag

[metanarrates]

i feel like there's a number of posts that are like omg stratt is sooo complex and morally grey and we love her for being complex. and that's not untrue but WHERE ‼️‼️‼️ are the people who are just fully on board with whatever she does because she's hot. yes i did think it was sexy when she betrayed her second in command and forced him to die for the sake of the world. she should blow up antarctica again it would be so hot of her can anyone hear me

[galaxoshine]

i’m sitting in a parking lot and too lazy to drive so gimme a Riko headcanon pls and thank u

hello love <3

i wake up in five hours and can’t fall asleep so this is a perfect distraction

he’s always running hot

he doesn’t give two fucks abt history but he thinks it’s funny and endearing how kevin gets into it, so he’ll purposely mention smthg and say the wrong date or debate abt a fact calling it “hypothetical” or “a theory” just to see his eye twitch and his jaw tick

he’s obsessed w numbers. stats. kilometers. calories. kilograms. number of people in a room. number of tiles on the ceiling. he always needs to be calculating smthg, it gives him an illusion of control.

on that same train, he likes maths because they’re rational. they’re stable. and they always teach him anything complicated can be broken down to something simpler.

he sleeps on his back like a corpse. smthg smthg abt never being defenseless even in his sleep

he pops his back and cracks his knuckles all the time, it’s annoying af

he despises chewing gums

he has deep repressed homophobia and big gay feelings for kevin which creates a wonderful combo recognizing the look of adoration in jean’s eyes when he’s looking at kevin and translating that jealousy into brutal possessiveness ahem

he has very very bad mental health. he’s like the most lost, desperate for validation-kid with a world of expectations on his shoulders, no other choice but to be the great and no idea of what love is, so violence feels good, yes, it’s a rush of endorphins bc it’s the only thing that regulates his emotions and soothes the constant tempest in his head

I think he trained his voice to be lower bc it holds more power

after kevin left, he started getting eczema

additionally, after kevin left, riko spent a lot of nights in kevin’s bed bc his scent would soothe him to sleep

he thinks everyone rlly is inferior to him but at the same time, is his biggest bully towards himself and constantly berates himself

he hates religion and religious people, also hates art and thinks it’s a waste of time

he’s very observant and learns everything abt anyone to make little snide remarks here and there that make people uncomfortable.

the ravens are his family. in a weird way yeah but. i think deep down he seems them all as his.

he doesn’t trust women at all, and partly bc a side of him craves a feminine presence but he doesn’t understand it and hates it, partly bc he’s never truly been confronted to a lot of them.

riko is actually extremely fond of animals. they don’t talk, and can be trained to obey him, and coincidentally like him. he loves dogs especially. feels safe with them, and dogs love him in return, tame this craving for touch and tenderness. he had one growing up, but got too attached, too indulgent with it, and when the dog got sick, riko panicked and asked to bring him to the vet but the master, upon such weakness in the “king”, ordered him to shoot the dog bc that’s what you do to liabilities. riko did. and riko was not the same after that.

I think riko is actually an introvert and also that he’s flirty with everyone without even realizing it, conversations can be boring so flirting kinda turns them into a game and boy does he love a good game.

the first thing he does when he walks into a room is look for kevin. true no matter what, no matter when in his story.

I think his worst fear isn’t actually losing or not being first, but it’s being a nobody. bc if he’s first, he’s king, and that’s what he’s been training himself to be, but if he’s not, the real tragedy is the identity crisis that comes along w it.

[goneinsecondsxo]

jegulus + 46 <3

46. "go back to sleep" for this ask game

Regulus is pulled from sleep by two things: a soft, steady humming and the rhythmic clicking of a Rubik's Cube. His eyes flutter open, and he shifts to find James sitting up in bed, a small reading light clipped to the headboard casting a warm glow. James is focused, brow furrowed as he twists the cube, lost in his thoughts.

"James, it’s—" Regulus squints at the clock, "3:15 in the morning."

James looks up, a sheepish expression crossing his face. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Regulus isn’t surprised. He knows how James gets. The late hours always bring a restless mind, his anxiety at its worst when there’s nothing to occupy him. The Rubik’s Cube was Regulus' solution, something to distract him when sleep just won’t come.

"It’s fine." Regulus sits up, reaching for the bedside lamp and flicking it on. A soft glow fills the room, casting shadows on the walls.

"You still haven’t solved it?" Regulus teases. "You know you could just look up a cheat code, or I could—"

"No," James interrupts, his voice firm but playful, eyes flashing with determination. "I told you, I want to figure it out myself."

Regulus smirks, leaning back against the pillows. "Alright, alright. How long have you been awake?"

"Maybe an hour," James admits, shrugging slightly.

Regulus tilts his head, studying him. "Anything I can do to help?"

James shakes his head, pressing a gentle kiss into Regulus' curls. "Nah, I’ll get tired eventually. Go back to sleep."

Regulus pauses, considering. "Are you sure? I don’t mind staying up with you. We can talk, if you want."

James looks down at him, his smile softening as he leans in to kiss Regulus properly, lips warm and lingering. "I’m sure," he murmurs. "Now turn off the light. You need your beauty sleep."

With a final kiss to James’ shoulder, Regulus turns off the lamp and settles back into bed, drifting off to the familiar sound of the Rubik's cube.

[sicklysweetshipping]

recent drawings of my wife...i need to draw him more.

[wolfpadx]

Is it normal to feel like you’re wasting away as you randomly burst into heaving sobs, producing enough tears to drown yourself, after reading Twist & Shout? Asking for a friend.

[outofdaylight]

reading the king’s men is going well u see

@microdamage

[arviyya]

i can't remember if i prompted you or not so if i didn't — andreil + 22 pls <3 (and if i did... do it anyway pls?)

Hi nicc!!! <333

So this is a continuation of this one actually hehe :]

for this drabble game

22. “What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”

The silence between them stretches, thick and brittle. Neil presses closer like the proximity might banish the memory, banish the dreams. It doesn’t work.

He swallows hard against tears that threaten. Neil doesn't cry often, but every once in a while, usually late at night, it curls around his boundaries and brings the walls crumbling to dust, one by one. “I don’t know how to make the nightmares stop.”

Andrew doesn't respond right away. He reacts by digging his fingers into Neil's back as if Neil might slip away if he doesn't.

“You don’t,” Andrew says eventually. “You can't.”

Neil closes his eyes against the answer he didn't want.

"Neil."

The heavy weight of fingers leaves his back to appear instead on his chin, and a tiny shake brings his eyes wide open.

Andrew’s hazel gaze searches Neil's with a mix of ferocity and grief. "They will get better eventually. Do you trust me?"

Neil wants to believe that. He wants to believe he can wait out the memories, the fear, the phantom of Lola's hands on his face, her blade pulling open seams across his skin. But tonight, it's lodged sharp behind his ribs, and no amount of rationalizing has been able to dull the edge.

“I trust you—I just—I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if he'd been ten seconds slower. I keep thinking—"

"Stop, Neil—"

"I thought of you, you know? When I said goodbye to Neil, you were the last person I thought of—" His voice breaks around the last word.

"Neil," Andrew's hand leaves his chin and fully covers his mouth. "Digging up 'what if's' isn't like digging for gold, it's only going to weigh you down. It is worth nothing."

Andrew's rigidness is a beacon of light in the storm that is Neil's head. He doesn’t try to offer empty comfort. But Neil doesn't need it. All he needs is the sturdy and unwavering weight of Andrew. Neil doesn't break often, but his pieces are an unmitigated mess on the floor tonight.

"You are not Nathaniel, and that death you keep imagining—that belonged only to Nathaniel."

It shouldn't work as well as it does, that reassurance. But somehow it brings more air into Neil's lungs, more vision to his sight.

Andrew withdraws his hand and presses his forehead to Neil's. His expression is stoney, but somewhere in the pinch of his brows and the set of his jaw is a visceral understanding that Neil will forever be dissecting.

"Spit it out, Junkie. You have one more 'what if'. I can see it in your eyes."

Being known. It's something Neil is still getting used to. So raw and laid bare—it's unerringly beautiful.

“What if I wake up one night,” Neil chokes, “and you don’t?”

The words bleed into the dark. Open wounds soaking every inch of their bodies, their room, leeching beneath their fingernails and coating every ounce of their souls. The blood is theirs and no one elses. Theirs spilled by strangers hands and wielded weapons.

Each of them holds a needle and thread, taking turns stitching each other up.

For a moment, all Neil can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears, the scratch of fabric as Andrew shifts, the whisper of breath.

Then—

“Don’t,” Andrew says. Not soft. Not angry. Just absolute. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Neil almost laughs, except there’s no humor in it. “I already do.”

He waits for Andrew to shut him down, like he has everything else. But Andrew doesn’t. Instead, he tilts Neil’s chin up, and his thumb brushes along the edge of his jaw like he’s tracing the blade of his knife.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Andrew says, and for once, there’s no armor in his voice. Just him. Just truth. “And if I did…” Andrew trails off, considers. “You’d wake up anyway.”

“That’s not enough,” Neil whispers.

“It has to be.”

The finality in his voice is one Neil knows well. It isn't just announcing the end of the conversation, but the end of that spiral. Andrew won't let Neil roll into the depths of a despair he hasn't experienced yet, a grief that hasn't consumed him. Andrew has always said there's no point in planning for the future. Sometimes Neil wishes he would. Right now, Neil is grateful for the remind3r that he shouldn't.

That's a future not worth planning for. An unknown that may never come to pass. Not for a long, long time.

Neil doesn’t reply. He presses his forehead to Andrew’s collarbone instead, breathing him in, settling into that familiarity, that warmth that swallows him whole.

As silence settles over them, Neil can feel his mind wandering further away from those fears. From the memories that hold him hostage. Leaning against Andrew is like a medicine that shouldn't work as well as it does. Neil doesn't know what he would do without him.

But Andrew told him not to worry about that. So he doesn't.

Instead, he focuses on every single hot breath of Andrew's against his neck. Every rise and fall of his chest.

When Neil finally falls asleep, it feels a little less like panic, and a lot more like rest.

[swedishghostvoice28789]

5 with elliott sadler, kasey kahne and clint bowyer x

6 hour road trip: Clint! The two of us would probably find a million and one things to talk about. As for who's driving, I think I'd drive.

6 hour plane flight: I'd glady sit next to Kasey on a plane for six hours 🤭

6 hour train journey: That leaves Elliott for the train. Both of us would spend half the time admiring the scenery and the remaining half chatting.