#ALSO WHEN I MEAN DOCTOR WHO I ALSO LOVE THE SPIN-OFFS OKAY

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

Rules are post gifs from your 10 favorite shows without naming them, then tag 10 people. Thank you @gleedyke and @justgleekout for the tag. I chose the gifs before I copy-pasted the tags and Tumblr is being meanie and won't allow me to put this text ABOVE the gifs.

Alas, I don't know who's already done this, cause I was kinda offline for the week, so uh I'm doing the "anyone who wants to is tagged" cop-out here!

[pastanest]

A/N: unbelievably, this is the first actual piece of Doctor Who writing not counting the dogshit on my wattpad account we’ll all pretend that doesnt exist fr so please be nice x

Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve x gender neutral!reader

The Doctor x Short!Reader

- is cheeky about it but not outright mean, unless he’s in one of his God-humans-are-the-fucking-worst moods

“Honestly, it’s like you idiots are TRYING to wipe your own planet out of existence, and you, well, you can't even reach the top of your own cupboards! What use are any of you?!”

- you’re literally on his side and think the human race sucks but ok go off, way to throw us all under the bus lol

- he’ll apologize afterwards if you’re clearly upset or if he thinks he went too far

- most of the time it’s very lighthearted jabs at your height

- always waits a few seconds before helping you reach something because he thinks it’s funny and also very sweet but he won't dare admit that

- as much as he convinces himself and everyone he encounters that your height is solely something he finds hilarious on occasion, he can't help feeling a little more protective of you, like your smaller form makes you more likely to break

- very much still recovering from the Time War, he’s prone to overthinking disaster scenarios, especially when it comes to you

“Stay behind me. These creatures can't be trusted at the best of times.”

- but you always find a way to spin it into something more lighthearted, to ease his mind

“I’m a smaller target than you, so I like my chances! Perhaps it’s you that should stay behind me?”

- won't make fun unless he knows for a fact you’re comfortable with it

- as soon as he finds out you are, he makes jokes only in a very lighthearted way

- also comes up with cute nicknames to use when you’ve done something that’s impressed him, like saved a civilization or two while he was busy being broody and hot or something

“Oh, you little star!”

- generally speaking, he doesnt really care about your height, but he does find it endearing

- he’ll never see it as a point of weakness

- if he ever finds you struggling to reach something or down in the dumps about clothes not fitting you right because of your smaller proportions, he’s always right there to lift your chin back up and remind you of the wonderful person you are, that your stature holds no sway over how brilliant you are, especially not to him

“Some of the most mighty species in all the galaxies are the smallest ones you’ll find, some don't even have physical bodies big enough to detect with the human eye! Each and every one is perfectly unique in their own way, and you are no different. The stars you’ve seen in the night skies all your life, are they any less magical for appearing so small?”

“No…”

“Exactly! And, you know, the more humans I meet, the more I realize how similar you are to Time Lords.”

“In what way?”

- and then he’s grinning down at you, all giddy about getting to use the line he loves hearing more than any other

“You’re all so much bigger on the inside.”

- will make a joke about your height to test the water

- if your reaction tells him you’re not okay with it, he’ll feel guilty for the rest of eternity and never do it again

- but if you laugh with him or roll your eyes with a smile, he’ll grin like he’s accomplished something great, cracked some impossible code, and he will wear that like a badge of honor

- regardless of the fact you’ve made it clear he is allowed to make fun of your height, if anyone else does it in front of him, he doesn't like it

“Well, surely the smallest one should be sent in first, their loss would be the least noticeable!”

- and the Doctor is straight up, clapping his hands together and pointing in all directions as he lays out the plan of action very clearly to all involved, ending it by pointing at the man who dared make fun of you

“Now, you. From what I gather, jokes are supposed to be funny- supposed to land laughs with the nearest crowd; clearly you missed that memo, but that’s fine. Depending on (Y/N)’s reaction to your poor excuse for a joke, I’ve got a snowglobe with a blackhole suspended within it that I think you’d fit just perfectly in. (Y/N)?”

- the man looks terrified, and you try your best to refrain from laughing at him as you raise an eyebrow in dramatic silence

“Jury’s still out, see if he survives this first.”

the Doctor claps his hands again. “Cool! I’m never saying that again, but it would be very uncool of me to have to trap you inside a snowglobe that would tear you atom from atom in a continuous, brutal cycle, so consider that a warning.”

- takes the ABSOLUTE piss, don't ever think he won't

- will 110% pretend he can't see you and stare right over your head

- will 1000% make up short-based nicknames all the time

“Hello there, Short Round.”

“Really showing your age with that one.”

“Oh, what was that? A tiny and insignificant mouse, or perhaps it was the wind, arguing with me?”

- you’d think in all his whimsical, magical, time-travelling glory with his constant bustling about and his mind going a mile a minute in the most erratic fashion possible, he wouldn't notice your height, let alone find the time to make a joke in literally any setting, but oh boy, does he

“Is everyone clear on their roles in my carefully laid out plan, because I know that the accent can be difficult, but if I have to explain it again I think I’d rather do everything myself and you can all sit here with (Y/N) and applaud me when I get back.”

“Wait, sit here with me? Why aren't I coming with you?!”

“Because you’re-”

- he gestures to you with his hands, up and down, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’re sighing because you already know what he’s referring to

“What does my height have to do with anything?!”

“You’re all compact, like a foldable deckchair or one of those raincoats that turns into a conveniently sized pouch. It’s frankly distracting and my pockets are full so you cant sit in any of them.”

- he never laughs at his own jokes but sometimes he makes you WHEEZE with the inventive short jokes he comes up with

- similarly to Nine, though, he also can't help viewing you as more breakable, not only because you’re a human, but a very short one, too

- despite him completely understanding the biology of humans, he is convinced that a papercut on you is the same as an average-sized person getting stabbed

- so yes, he takes the piss at absolutely every chance he gets, but if he sees someone else trip you up by accident or hand you a piece of paper and it cuts your finger in the most barely noticeable way, he will be a GRUMP

- consider the paper in your hands stolen, read very passive aggressively, then scrunched up into a ball, possibly chewed or ripped apart or even thrown on the floor and stamped on

- consider the person who accidentally hurt you the subject of his rage until they are out of his sight. every time they speak, they’re met with a “Shut it!”

- and you’re like “Doctor, there’s really no need-”

“That IMBECILE tripped you up approximately 3 AND A HALF HOURS AGO, and you think I’m overreacting? You could have DIED!”

- such a drama queen

[fandomtherapy44]

TWD Daryl Dixion x Fem!Reader Chapter 3: Guilty As Sin

Summary: Y/n Grimes is a doctor who has a heart of gold and who wants to take care of everyone. She loves her family, but her whole world gets flipped upside down when her Dad goes into a coma, and a mystery virus is going around killing people. What will she do when she comes face to face with it? Read to find out more!

Paring: Daryl Dixion x Fem!Reader

WC: 3,429k

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cafekitsune

warnings: Gore, sex, language, guns, and spoilers for TWD TV show series

================================================

The whole night my stomach was in knots thinking about them out there. Hell, I even cared about Merle Dixion just a tad, though it was his brother I was really worried about I mean he was out there with no one watching his back and I knew he could take care of himself but still especially with that cut. I guess I just had to do my job to get everything off my mind. I stretched out my back and put on my clothes that I had already worn three times this week. There is no fashion in the world ending. Looking in the dinky dusty mirror Gleen had brought me back from a run I see my face and force a smile on it. People don’t panic by themselves they panic when doctors do. I breathe in deeply and open the flap on my tent. Okay, here I go. And there is already a line of people waiting for me. 

“Okay, who’s first!” It was like the first day of my residency all over again. It had been about two hours and I had finally finished giving the medical care that everyone needed. I wished I still had all my things at the hospital because the best I could do here is a patch job and these people deserve better than that. I had also run out of the herbs I had even made a paste to space it out but that was gone as well, I would have to make another trip to the herb spot. 

This time I make sure to have my knife ready because I’m pretty sure I wouldn't run into another pair of hunting brothers. I went to tell Dale I was leaving but then I noticed my Mom was missing and Carl was by himself. 

“Carl, do you know where Mom went?” He shrugged and went back to doing his math problems. I glanced over and he was doing one wrong.

“You didn’t carry the two.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“No, you didn’t.”

“Y/n I did!” He exclaimed very confident.

“Uh, who’s been living longer… I think that would be me. So who’s right?”

“Just cause you're older doesn't make you right”

“Yes, it does, now I'm going to go find Mom so carry your two.” 

He crosses his arms and huffs. “Fine.”

“That a bud.” I ruffle his hair and he smacks my hand away he hates it when I do it that’s why I love doing it. 

=============

 I ensure I have my knife ready on my belt loop and my eyes and ears open. As I get closer to the spot I hear some moaning and rustling of leaves I pull out my weapon. My eyes peek through the trees and see vibrant clothing not dirted by being dragged around and the dead wearing it. As I step closer I step on something solid. My Mom’s silver locket the one that matches mine. I pick it up seeing no blood so that's a good sign. Knife still raised my feet leading me to the clearing and my eyes landed on something heartbreaking. Not caused by a walker but by people. Shane was on top of my mom making out, clothes thrown all over clearly about to take the next step.

“What.The.Fuck!?” Both of them are startled and get off each other. My mom runs over to me trying to start to explain herself. But I couldn't hear her my head was too busy spinning. Shane then tried.

“How… how could you?” I whispered. My mom reaches forward for my arm but I yank it away.

“HOW FUCKING COULD YOU!?” I yelled I knew the dead would probably be alerted but I did not care at that moment.

“Y/n Swettie…” 

“Sweetie!? Don’t Mom just don’t it hasn't even been three weeks and you're screwing his best friend!” I threw my arm to point to Shane.

“I just I…” she couldn't explain herself. How could she?

“Now Y/n your mother and I-” Now that’s what made me really pissed off. He addressed me like… Dad would.

“And you, he was your best friend! How could it be so easy to have sex with his wife?! So don’t try to defend yourself and don’t ever try to act like my Dad again!” I gripped my knife so tight that my knuckles turned white, both looked ashamed.

“Fuck you both.” I shook my head and went back to camp.

================

As I entered camp my blood just got hotter and hotter everyone doing their camp jobs just became white noise at this point. I go straight to my tent grab it my water and chug it like it was tequila hell I wish it was. I mean how do you even do that? 

“Y/n Y/n?” I heard a voice from the other side of the flap of the tent. I ignored it hoping it would go away squeezing my bottle and thinking of my father’s face and how betrayed he would be. And just got angrier with the fact that he can't even know!

“Y/n?” I throw down the bottle and rip open the zipper. 

“What?!” I screamed in the person’s face, that person being Carol, as I did I saw her eyes trying to hold back tears. 

“I'm sorry I'm sure you're very tired.” She sightly bows her head and turns to walk away.

“Wait Carol I’m sorry I just I… got caught up in my emotions about my Dad I'm sorry I took it out on you please forgive me.” I felt horrible I had never let my feelings take control like that, I had to stop that from happening again.

“Of course, I understand.” She gave me an understanding look, bless this woman.

“Thank you now how can I help you?”

She came into my tent and sat down on my makeshift doctor's bench. She needed me to check on her broken shoulder which had been healed about a month before. 

“Well it’s looking okay I see a little bruising but that’s to be expected with a broken shoulder that has recently healed can I ask how this happened?” I get a little curious seeing the deep purple bruising.

“I fell down the stairs.” She answered quickly almost like it was rehearsed. Her eyes met mine and I searched for anything to tell me what really happened.

“Carol are you ok-” She cuts me off.

“I'm sorry about your Dad.” She quickly changed the subject I get the hint but I would not let this go.

“Thanks, me too.” I smiled with melancholy while putting away my supplies.

“What was he like? If you don’t mind me asking, I think it helps us to process that the ones we love went to heaven.” Carol was very religious so it was nice to think that my Dad would be there.

“He was brave, kind, selfless, and always helped people that’s why he became a police officer. I remember when in my first few weeks of being a Grimes I had a hard time adjusting so I would sneak out and one night he caught me. And I was scared shitless thinking this guy was a cop and an asshole who wanted to control me but no he took me home got two bowls and ice cream and he just listened to me the whole night. No one up until him really listened to me, that was the first time I thought of him being my Dad.” I finished the story with a happy sour tear slipping down my cheek.

“Sounds like an amazing father.” She grabbed my hand.

“He was.” 

===========

After I collected myself I went to help Carl finish those math problems. But as I see him I also see my Mom and Shane and have to grit my teeth.

“Hey Bud did you carry that two?” He smiles and nods that he did. I tried to put all my focus on my brother I had to If I didn’t I might have screamed again.

“Carl since you are doing so great maybe as a reward I can teach you to catch some frog catching,” Shane suggested while sharpening his knife. Carl gets very excited at that.

“Mom can I?” She looks not very sure.

“Okay only if you finish those problems.” The whole interaction made me sick like it was between a Dad, Mom, and Son.

“Y/n did you hear? I’m going frog-catching!” 

“I did You’ll have so much fun!” He goes back to his problems very happy-go-lucky.

“I’m going to get some water I’ll be back.” I had to leave or I would hurl. As I get up my mom follows me. 

“Y/n we have to talk please.” I stop and turn to her seeing her pleading brown eyes. And my heart speaks for me.

“You have five minutes.”

“Thank you, Shane, and I just started, there was nothing before you have to know that, and these past few weeks I don’t know I felt like there was no hope and I looked to you and Carl and all that ran through my head was that you would be dead just like your Dad and I couldn't bear it. So when Shane kissed me I took the comfort I took the safety so I didn’t go insane and so I could be strong for the both of you. I know that’s no excuse but it’s my reasoning.” She waited for my response. 

“I don’t know what to say, Mom but I do understand your reasoning, but I still think you are betraying Dad.” I leave it off with that.  

“Don’t tell Carl.” Thar sentence cracked my already fragile heart.

“Do you think I would actually ruin Carl’s world like that, someone would think you don’t even know your daughter.” I stuff the tears and walk off.

The tent ceiling was the only thing I could see as I was trying to drift to sleep to take a nap to forget the emotional hurt I had already experienced and it was only noon! Just as I closed my eyes a loud horn sounded its way through camp. I shot up and fast-tracked it to the middle of camp. So did everyone else. We all see a cherry red Mustang blaring it’s horn to camp. As it approaches Glenn parks it and steps out. Which uh where is everyone else? 

“Turn that damn thing off!” Dale and Shane were hammering at him. And Amy was hammering him about her sister.

“My sister where is she!? Is she okay!?” 

“Yes she’s fine everyone is!” He shouted out over all the noise.

“Pop the hood!” Shane yelled at him. Glenn does it quickly.

It gets popped and Jim rips out the horn plug. Then Glenn finishes his sentence.

“Well Everyone but Merle.” Wait what? 

“Glenn what does that mean is he dead!? Or what!?” I now was getting in his face I would fell horrible and kind of responsible if anything happened I was the one who brought them here. Merle would have never gone to the city if they hadn't met me and I had asked for this deal.

“Y/n he uh-” He stammered knowing the same thing.

“Glenn!” He doesn’t get to answer me before a food truck pulls up behind the Mustang the rest of our people running to their families. Andrea to Amy and Morles to his kids and wife. Seeing the ruinenes left a bitter yet sweet taste I was happy for them but it just reminded me and Carl that we would never get that. Carl starts to cry to Mom about it. She tries to consoul him.

“Carl it’s okay to miss Dad let’s try to be happy for everyone else okay?” I hugged him tight.

“Okay.” He sniffles. Then we heard a sentence that no one was expecting.

“Hey, officer friendly come meet everyone,” Morles exclaimed and a man I never thought I would see again came out. 

“Dad…” I whisper in almost a way to confirm that it wasn’t a dream. He sees us too and starts to run to us.

“DAD! DADDY!” Carl and I run to him. We meet in a huge crushing hug.

“Oh my God, Y/n Carl…” We wouldn't let go. Then Mom joins the hug.

“Thank God, thank God…” He keeps on repeating to himself as he rocks us. We eventually let go. But then I hug him myself.

“Dad Dad I tried I tried to get to you I’m sorry I’m sorry.” I cried into his shoulder never wanting to let go.

“It’s okay baby girl it’s okay.” He whispered back like he used to when I needed it when I was just a troubled teen.

=============

It was night time and we wouldn't leave his side. The fire glow kept on him reminding me this was real.

“I woke up and I went to find you three it was confusing and distorting but I kept on and I was only saved because this father and son took me in and told me about how the world was now.” If I ever got to meet this man I would owe him a lifetime of free exams.

“I don’t mean to take away from this moment but what are we going to tell Daryl Dixion.” Dale had asked the group. In my happiness, I had forgotten about Merle and what was I going to tell Darly.

“Why is this even a question we tell the truth,” I spoke up. 

“I handcuffed him to the roof he was a danger to everyone but he is still human so I will tell Darly that it had to be done. And that maybe I will help him get him back.” Dad said to all of us shock all on our faces.

“Rick, for Merle Dixion he’s not worth it.” Shane replied and at that, I wanted to slap him.

“Shane I have to he’s stuck there because of me.” No, it’s because of me. 

My pillow was extra hard and my sleeping sack was extra itchy when I laid down for sleep. Or was it the guilt keeping me up? Well, then it’s settled I would go to find Merle. 

=============

“Please please don’t!” Glenn yelled out.

“Glenn it’s just a car.” We were watching the others rip the cherry red Mustang down to the body for parts.

“Y/n it is not just a car it is a dream car that was before I would never get to touch. And now they're ripping it apart like it’s nothing!” 

“I’m sure there will be hundreds of dream cars in the future Glenn.” I smile to try to make him feel better. “Glenn I got to thank you.” 

He looks confused. “For?”

“For saving my Dad.”

“What? Y/n I didn’t even know.” 

“I know but you did and that shows that you Glenn Rhee are one of the best people I have ever known.” 

“You're welcome.” I bring him into a hug putting all that I couldn't say into it. As we pull back we hear the kids scream including Carl.

We all ran to the small clearing that wasn’t far from camp and in it was one of the dead eating a deer with two arrows sticking out of it. The men hit it off and start beating the shit out of it until Dale chops its head off. Then we hear some trees rustling and who comes other than Daryl Dixion.

“Damn it! I was tracking that deer for miles, you think we can salvage it.” He points at it with his arrow.

I shake my head almost puking thinking about eating something that the dead had eaten. 

“Shit. I got squirrels at least.” He had indeed squirrels at least twelve. I looked at his arm and it was bandaged he had listened to me.

“Merle Merle I got squirrels!” He yelled out to the camp everyone got real quiet.

“Daryl my name is Rick Grimes I have to tell you something.” Daryl looked at me confirming that this was my Dad.

“What do you have to tell me, Rick?”

“Your brother was a danger to the group I had to handcuff him to the roof to stop him.” 

“AHH!” he goes to punch Dad and he dodges it then Daryl pulls his knife.

“Daryl no!” I screamed and in turn, he got distracted enough that Shane had a chance to pull him into a chokehold.

“I would like to have a calm discussion about this” My Dad got in front of his face and told him. Daryl is finally let go.

“So you left him on the roof!?” Daryl exclaimed in anger and who could blame him?

“I dropped the key,” T-Dog added in. T-Dog was the one with Merel watching him when he was handcuffed to the pipe and in the confusion of running to the truck to get out he had tripped and dropped the key in the drain he probably felt as guilty as I did. 

“You couldn't pick it up!?”

“I dropped it down the drain.” T-Dog was ashamed of his words.

“Tell me where he is so I can go get him.” Daryl was ready to go now as soon as he got the location.

“Not without me.” At that, everyone looked at me. Especially Daryl.

“Y/n no it’s too dangerous,” Dad said to me with concern.

“Dad he’s been on that roof with the hot Georgia sun on him he’s going to need medical attention.” He knew he wouldn't budge me.

========

“Okay, water, Advil, gauze.” I was doing my checklist of the things I was bringing with us. 

“Doc?” Daryl said from the other side of my tent.

“Oh, come in.” He clears his throat and enters it, he looks over my small space his eyes landing on my underwear, and adverts them with a flash, I hold back my laugh it’s good to know he is also a gentleman.

“I just wanted to say that you don’t have to come.” 

I stop putting my stuff in my bag and look at him. “Of course I do Daryl, your brother is probably very dehydrated and is sun-baked he needs my help.” 

“Look I know my brother isn’t anyone’s favorite he isn’t mine but he is my kin I have to. You don’t, you are too valuable to the group to risk for my dumbass of a brother.” It’s nice to know that.

“Daryl sit down.” He does on my bed.

“I understand your worry but I don’t know if I could live with myself if your brother got hurt or worse because I wasn’t there. Plus it’s kind of my fault that he’s there.” 

“How? He’s the one that ran his big mouth.”

“If I hadn't met you two, he wouldn't be in the city right now.” I fiddled with my fingers which I did when I didn’t want to look at the person.

“Doc I appreciate it but it’d not yer fault kay.” His hand twitches towards mine but he doesn't take it.

“Thanks, Daryl.” 

“You're welcome.” 

==============

“Y/n do you have to go?” Carl asked me, he was one of the biggest reasons that I wanted to stay.

“I do but I will be back okay I promise.” He nods and hugs me and I hug back tighter. He runs to Mom and she nods at me to say to be careful I still can't talk to her. But I did nod back.

“Y/n come here,” Shane asked me.

“What do you want?” He hands me a gun.

“Your spare?” 

“I don’t want you going but if you are taking a gun. You still remember how to shoot?” Flashbacks run through my head of when he taught me with Dad how to shoot. Back when I didn't have to shoot.

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Good don’t ever forget.” There he goes acting like my Dad again even though he standing right there! I take the gun but all I wanted to do was throw it at his feet.

====================

We had made it to the city parked the truck and made it to the building and to the top. We bolt-cut the chains away and pushed the door open.

“Merel Merel!” Daryl called out and then we saw that no one was there. “NO NO!” He screamed out in anguish.

All that was left was blood, a saw, and a cut-off hand.

Chapter 4 ---- >

[jumpy-buggy-33]

Yall’ve heard of one spicynoodles baby, but…

“Unexpected.”

Last night, MK was rushed to the hospital. He was fine, of course. Or at least, as fine as someone in labor could be. As soon as Red Son was told by MK that his water broke, he immediately went into panic mode. He was going to use his fire, but then he got worried because he didn’t know if that would be good for MK or the baby. So in the end, he drove. He ran a bunch of lights, luckily, not getting pulled over.

Now, Red Son was agonizingly waiting to be okayed to go see MK. He had been kicked out of the delivery room because he was ‘stressing MK out.’ He wasn’t that bad, was he!?

……

Ok, he would admit he was panicking a lot. So..that..yeah..now he understood how that would stress a pregnant person in labor out.

He sighed, ran a hand through the tuft of hair that grew up from his widow’s peak. He bounced his leg repeatedly as he waited. He just wanted to go see MK! He wanted to know if he was okay! Plus, he also wanted to see their baby.

“Uh..Mr, Red Son?” A voice called out. He lifted his head and saw a nurse. “Yes?” He answered. The nurse smiled. “You may see him now.” Redson didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately stood up, rushing to the delivery room where MK was on a bed. Red Son went over to him, a soft smile tugging on his lips. He brushed some hair out of his face. “You look exhausted..” he murmured. MK chuckled softly. “Hey, Red…” he smiled. “I am..” Red Son wiped some sweat off of MK’s forehead with his sleeve, then kissed it. “You’re very brave, y’know that?” Red Son asked him. MK smiled confidently, proudly. Even though he was exhausted, his smile still shone. “I do. You are too, though. I saw how you were panicking. I think you were more freaked out than me.” He laughed. Red Son flushed out of embarrassment. “That-..That doesn’t…shut up…” MK laughed more. There was a short pause before Red Son spoke again. “So..what do they look like..?” He asked hesitantly. MK lit up. “They went to do tests a while ago! I-I actually-Gosh, Red, you won’t believe this, but there’s—“

He was cut off when four nurses came into the room. Wait, why four? Red Son saw they all held babies. It took a moment, but once Red Son processed what he was seeing, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“FOUR!?” He exclaimed in an embarrassingly high voice. MK grabbed his hand and squeezed it, trying to calm him down. “That’s uh-that’s what I was getting at..”

Well. This was certainly unexpected…

Red Son felt like his head was spinning and all the insecurities bubbled up. What if he wasn’t a good parent? What if he let all of them down? WHAT IF—

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt MK squeeze his hand again. He somehow began to calm down.

He blinked, exhaled slowly. “Well…that explains a lot…” He murmured. MK laughed at that.

Alright. He could do this! Right? No! No, don’t even think bad thoughts! He could do this! He was going to do this!

The nurses went over to them and handed each of them two babies. Of the two babies in Red Son’s arms, one had MK’s facial features. His nose, lips, jaw. Overall, very MK. But the baby had Red Son’s bull features. Little nubs where horns would grow, a tail with a little tuft of fur, bull ears. Oh, and now that Red Son saw his eyes, they were purple, just like his.

The other baby was more like MK. He had little monkey features and MK’s eyes. But he definitely had Red Son’s nose.

Oh, and on another note, both of them had some shade of burgundy hair. It was thick for a baby.

The two in MK’s arms were similar. One of them actually had traits of both of them, demon-wise. When he said that, he means like..both monkey and bull traits.

“Congratulations! You have four healthy boys.” The doctor(who apparently had gone in the room at some point) said.

Woah, four boys? Yikes. But that’s okay! Red Son loved them. They were beautiful.

They went home early in the morning. Once they got back, they set all four babies in a crib(somehow, they all fit). Once MK hit the bed, he was out like a light. Red Son didn’t blame him. It was a stressful night for Red Son, and he could only imagine how it felt for MK, who literally gave birth.

He sat down on his side of the bed and sighed. He brushed some hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. Then he changed and went to bed himself.

It took a while, but MK and Red Son finally decided some names! There was Baozhu, Xiaoli, Xinyi, and Xinyu. Baozhu, so far, was a pretty calm kid. He was curious, but also clingy. He was always attached by the hip to MK or Red Son. Xiaoli was more energetic and playful, always roughhousing with one of his brothers. Xinyu didn’t seem to mind. He was just as energetic as Xiaoli. But he was also pretty mischievous. And Xinyi was a calm baby, but he did like playing. He usually played with Baozhu, since he was calmer than his other brothers.

Now, Red Son was up and making breakfast. Pancakes! He gave the babies their food, scolding one of the more playful ones for throwing said food around.

He flipped a pancake over with a spatula, a hand on his hip. He then felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and a kiss on his nape. “Mornin’…” mumbled a tired MK, who most likely just woke up. Red Son hummed softly. “Morning. I made pancakes, if you want any. O-Or I could make something else-“ He replied. Red Son felt MK shake his head against his shoulder. “No, this is good..long as there’s some pomegranate there..” Red Son smiled proudly. “Well, we are always in stock of that.” MK laughed softly. Then he went over to the babies, kissing their foreheads and saying good morning.

Red Son placed a plate of pancakes made just how he knew MK liked it. Maple syrup and butter, with some fruit, specifically pomegranate. MK thanked him and went in for a kiss. Red Son kissed back.

[scoops404]

↻ dream for honestly any part of anagnorosis

↻FLIP FLOP:send me a scene from one of my fics and I’ll describe or write it from another character’s POV!

Under the cut!

He knows before the call comes through that it's not good news. Truthfully, he's had a plane ticket in his cart for the last twenty minutes just ready to push pay while he waits to hear from Sapnap. It's just--there's something wrong. George has been blowing hot and cold, endlessly needy and shameless about it and then closed off and tight lipped, but they've always done well with distance. And this time, the distance has been good for them. They've been talking more in the last two weeks than they have since before they hooked up.

It's been... well, it's been alarming in some ways because Dream sees the parallels to the last time they were like this--the last time in London when George was majorly depressed but wouldn't accept it or talk about it or do anything but the exact directions Dream would give him in order to stay alive: eat, shower, sleep, work.

Maybe he shouldn't have gone to LA. Maybe he should have stayed and forced George to talk to him. But he knows how George gets when he thinks he's cornered. It's one step forward and ten steps back.

"Dream," Sapnap says when he picks up. "Bro, you gotta--it's bad. You gotta come home."

"Nick, what's--what's wrong?" Dream asks, and then a sick feeling comes over him. He can hear a siren in the background and he just knows that it's George. "Did he--did he hurt himself?"

"No," Sapnap says quickly, he sounds a bit distracted. "No, he didn't. He--but he's hurt. I found him in his bathroom unconscious."

"Nick?" Dream says and--oh god, his voice is--he can hear how raw he sounds. He feels like a child again--no control over the situation and on the other side of the country from his--from the love of his life. From George, who needs him.

God, he's been so stupid.

"Come home," Sapnap says with authority in his voice. For once, Dream listens to it. "I'm going with him to the hospital. I'll keep you updated."

"Okay," Dream says and hangs up. He presses purchase and then he pulls up his Uber app. There's no time.

He pays for inflight wifi so that he can get and respond to Sapnap's sporadic texts. Dream also sends his mom over to the hospital, a tearful phone call in the Uber that he hopes no one ever leaks.

Five hours. He has to be on this plane for five hours while George--while George is in pain. Unconscious. What could have caused him to pass out? Dream's brain jumps from undiagnosed brain tumor to cancer to an intruder in their home to low blood sugar from now eating enough. He keeps himself off of reddit, off of webMD because that's--for once he knows that's not helpful. He can't watch any movies, he can't listen to music. He just sits there, rawdogging it, mind spinning over and over and trying to keep the panic at bay.

What would he even do in a world without George?

When the plane lands, Dream's not embarrassed about pushing and shoving to the front of the line to deplane. he has no carryon, no bag to pick up in baggage claim, he's going to sprint to the uber line and then go straight to the hospital.

Panting in the back of the Uber, he finds a text from his mom saying the doctors won't talk to her or Sapnap, but she thinks they'll talk to him. Sapnap told them something that means they'll share info with Dream, and he wants to give Sapnap the biggest hug in the world when he sees him. Fuck, he's a bad liar but his friend comes through when it counts.

"Good luck, man," the Uber driver says when Dream jumps out of the car. Maybe picking someone up at the airport and dropping them at the hospital is a glaring sign that the person in your backseat isn't doing all that well. Dream thanks him perfunctorily.

His mom finds him at the front door and brings him to the nurse station to explain who he is.

"Ah, the father," she says sagely and then starts pulling him into a room.

What?

He turns to ask his mother what the nurse means and her eyes are tearful, a sad smile on her face and he realizes--oh. He's the father.

He's someone's father?

George is here and Dream is a father and that means...

He's never been great at math, not like George, not on tests or theoretical things that don't matter. But this? He can do that math.

"We need to know your son's name," the nurse says in a no nonsense tone and Dream almost blacks out.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Could you do one with 4,31, and 38

Context: Adam, Lucifer and the rest of the gang are having dinner and someone (maybe alastor) puts angelic poison in Adams tea in an attempt to kill him. Lucifer is quick to “accidentally” knock it over before Adam could drink it, leading it to spill on adam.

(Bonus if Lucifer has a stern talk with alastor, all protective style)

-🐊

4. “When did you fall out of love with me?” “That’s the thing: I never fell out of love with you. You’re the one who fell out of love with me.”

31. “You need to stop being such a dramatic bitch.” “It’s the only way I can entertain myself, okay? Now piss off and leave me be.” 

38. “Remember when you said you’d catch me when I fell? Well, you’re a fucking liar. Figuratively and literally. Now I’m hospitalised and also emotionally scarred. I hope you’re fucking happy about that.” 

Oh ho ho!! I love me some protective Lucifer and Alastor being an antagonizing little shit >:)

Charlie had prepared a beautiful meal for everyone at the hotel. She made a roast with all the veggies you could eat.

Adam was waiting on water to boil so he could have tea with his dinner. "Come on and eat Adam, it'll get cold before the kettle is ready." Lucifer said as he walked with his own plate.

Adam looked between him and the food and yeah, he didn't want to eat cold fucking food. He grabbed his dinner and sat down beside Lucifer and Angel. After a while if eating and talking, Adam remembered his tea. "Shit, my tea."

"No worries, I made some for myself as well. Here you go." Alastor handed Adam a mug of green tea, his smile anything but innocent.

Adam looked at him questioningly. "Um, thanks I guess?" Since when did this Bambi freak go out of his way for Adam?

"Oh don't thank me. Just drink up before it's cold." Like your corpse will be, Alastor thought sinisterly. He hoped he used enough angelic poison.

Adam couldn't feel any heat coming from the mug, he stuck his finger in it and frowned. "It's already cold asshole." He sucked the tea off his finger and grimaced. Did he put fucking sugar in it? Cause it was super sweet.

Lucifer got to looking at Adams tea, his eyes shifted to Alastor who was just waiting for the fallen angel to drink it. When he looked back he saw it.

It would be nearly impossible to see, but the way the light hit his tea Lucifer saw the golden shine that sat on top of the liquid. Angelic poison.

Lucifer's eyes widened in horror as Adam lifted the mug to his lips. "Don't!" He slapped the mug out of Adams hand, making the tea spill all over Adam.

"AHH! What the fuck!?" Adam jolted up and glared, the cold liquid soaking into his clothes.

"Dad!"

"Look, I'm sorry but there was posion in your fucking tea!" Lucifer said as he handed Adam a napkin.

Adam snatched the napkin and tried in vain to clean himself up. "Poison, the fuck are you...." He suddenly felt dizzy, the room started to spin. Adam sat back down and held his head in his hands. If there was poison in his tea, he licked his finger which meant....

"Don't feel well?" Alastor mocked, he may have only gotten a drop but it could be enough to make him terminally ill.

"Fuck off." Lucifer hissed as he put his arms around Adam. "I gotta take him to the fucking hospital. Come on ba- buddy." Lucifer corrected himself. When Adam only groaned and didn't move, he cursed and picked the sinner up in his arms and ran through a portal to the hospital.

Adam didn't know how long he was out, but when he came to he was in a hospital bed with all the tubes anyone could possibly have sticking out of him. "For fuck sakes."

"Thank fuck you're awake." Lucifer sighed in relief from his seat beside Adam's bed. "The doctors weren't sure when you'd wake up."

"Don't you mean 'if' I wake up? Angelic poison is no fucking joke. One big gulp and my insides would have fucking melted and poured out of all my holes." Adam ranted, yeah okay maybe not that bad but still!

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “You need to stop being such a dramatic bitch.”

Adam scoffed and folded his arms. “It’s the only way I can entertain myself, okay? Now piss off and leave me be.” Adam shifted to look away from Lucifer, Woah what medicine were they giving him everything felt funny, like he was kinda high.

"I'm not leaving you alone Adam, you could have died."

"I realize that. Thank you for not letting me die a horrible death." Adam still didn't look at him.

"It would have been a permanent death!"

"Like you care!" Adam finally looked at Lucifer, eyes a blaze.

This took Lucifer aback. "If I didn't fucking care I wouldn't have brought you here, asshole! I fucking love you!"

Adam bit his lip to keep it from quivering. "No you don't...."

"Adam-"

“Remember when you said you’d catch me when I fell? Well, you’re a fucking liar. Figuratively and literally. Now I’m hospitalised and also emotionally scarred. I hope you’re fucking happy about that.” Adam spat as he held tears back. "You never fucking loved me, hell you barely even like me." Hate fucking wasn't love.

"Adam." Lucifer took his hand in his. "I've always loved you."

"Yeah right."

“When did you fall out of love with me?” Lucifer asked, fearing the answer.

Adam looked away, eyes wet. “That’s the thing: I never fell out of love with you. You’re the one who fell out of love with me.”

"That's not true! I never stopped loving you. Adam," Lucifer used his other hand to cup Adam's face and make him look at him. "I've always loved you. I'm sorry I made you feel any different." They placed their foreheads together looking into each other's eyes. "Let me prove it."

Adam searched his eyes for any trace of a lie. "Fine, but this is the last time I will ever trust you with feelings like this." He melted when Lucifer kissed him softly.

"I promise to protect you and your heart."

-

"Alastor!" Lucifer stomped over to the deer demon. The hospital wanted to keep Adam overnight just to make sure he was okay.

"Lucifer, what do I owe the-" Alastor was shoved into the wall behind him.

"You've got some fucking nerve trying to posion him like that." He growled, his eyes going wholly red.

"He's fine isn't he? What's the matter, worried your boy toy wouldn't make it?" Alastor winced when a hand wrapped around his neck.

Lucifer let his full demon form come out. "Listen here you Bambi reject, radio fucker. You so much as even LOOK at Adam wrong from now on and I'll make you drink a whole fucking bottle of angelic poison. Nobody, and I fucking mean NOBODY fucks with the people I love."

Alastor winced in pain but his smile widened. "You love him, huh?"

"Yeah I do. He's the love of my life and no one will come between us again. Stay away from him." Lucifer dropped Alastor and walked away.

Alastor held his throat and smirked. Interesting, very interesting.

[infiniteeight8]

Ironstrange: outsider POV, like a gossip blog or fangirls (positive spin preferred).

If the way I describe this fan group seems a little dated, that’s because the last time I was active in a fan group (in the sense of daily discussions and events and such; I’ve never stopped reading and writing) was eight years ago and I was old fashioned even then. So just assume this OC is like me—she stuck with what she knew and liked and there were, happily, people who felt the same.

This may start out feeling a bit iffy on the spin, but I promise it’s going a good way.

It’s also over 700 words and I still feel like I didn’t quite get a solid outsider POV going. I like it, I just don’t know if it got the feeling that I love in Outsider POV fics when I read them. 

-

Daria has been running the Iron Man Forever fan page since the beginning. 15 years of following Iron Man’s adventures, organizing meetups, and squeeing over new developments in Tony Stark’s life. Iron Man Forever survived the schism prompted by Tony getting together with Pepper Potts, and it survived The Snap, and it survived the schism prompted by Tony and Pepper’s divorce. After coming through all of that, if not intact, then at least still active and proud, Daria is determined that it’ll survive Tony’s new relationship with Doctor Strange, too.

Admittedly, this one is starting rougher than the others. There’s a disappointingly substantial group of fans who seem to have forgotten that Tony has always been bisexual, and that getting married didn’t change that. Daria and her moderators have already had to ban a bunch of bigots.

Personally, Daria hasn’t decided where she falls on the Strange Situation yet. She’s always thought that the best relationships were complementary, where the people involved bring different strengths to the table. Doctor Strange seems… Well, as far as Daria can tell from a fan’s distance, he’s a lot like Tony.

She’s in her favorite coffee shop, fortifying herself with a brownie and some hot chocolate before diving into the moderation queue for the site’s discussion board, when Tony Stark and Stephen Strange walk in the door.

Daria’s mouth drops open so far that a bite of brownie actually falls out. Quickly closing her mouth and wiping it with a napkin, she can’t help staring. Everyone else is also staring. This is not Tony Stark’s usual neighborhood. Is it Doctor Strange’s? It doesn’t seem likely, given all the staring. Daria prays fiercely that everyone here will be chill about it. If some idiot runs them off…

There’s no way Tony and Strange have failed to notice the reaction to their entrance, but they pretend they don’t, instead joining the end of the line like they’re any other customers. After one more frozen moment, conversations and activity in the shop start up again, if maybe a bit more muted than before. Daria drops her gaze to her laptop, but the screen doesn’t register; she’s straining her ears for their conversation.

“We are taught, rather stringently, that relics aren’t to be used frivolously,” Strange is saying. 

“Okay, but the Cloak isn’t any old relic, are they?” Tony says. “They think for themselves.”

“Yes,” Strange confirms. “Athough not all mystics would agree.”

Daria swallows an exclamation and makes a note to contact Sean over at Dedicated Doctor Strange. They probably have all kinds of theories about the Cloak, and here she’s getting confirmation directly from the source!

“Wait, really?” The two of them pause briefly to order from the barista working the line. “Isn’t it kind of obvious? I mean, I’ve seen the Cloak arguing with you.”

Strange chuckles. “The Cloak doesn’t suffer fools. They rejected several partners before me. Even the Ancient One called them fickle. I suspect it’s easier to pretend there’s some metaphysical incompatibility than to admit that it just didn’t like them.”

“Fickle,” Tony snorts derisively. Daria risks looking up and catches Tony and Strange exchanging a look that’s… Well, it’s got a lot of layers. Warmth, understanding, amusement, pain. Somehow, despite The Snap, they have history. 

Tony continues after they’ve stepped aside to wait for their order. “All I’m saying is, it’s not frivolous to go flying with a friend. Ask them sometime; maybe they’d have fun.”

Strange makes a thoughtful noise. “You make a good point,” he says. He pauses and Daria looks over again. Tony is watching the barista work, but Strange is looking at Tony, his expression almost soft. “Would you like to come with us?”

Tony looks over at that, obviously surprised. “You’d want me to?”

“Yes,” Strange says. “Assuming you don’t mind slowing down for us.”

Tony smiles. “Never,” he promises. 

The barista calls their names. Tony carries both drinks to the condiment station and doctors both cups. When he’s secured the lids, he hands one to Doctor Strange. It shakes visibly in Strange’s hand, but with the lid on, nothing spills. Daria looks down again, somehow embarrassed at looking even though neither of them had seemed to think twice about the small accommodation.

“Well, then,” Strange says, settling a hand in the small of Tony’s back as they weave their way through tables to the exit, “it’s a date.”

When they’re safely gone, Daria has to cover her mouth with both hands to stifle the squee. She knows exactly where she falls on the Strange Situation now.

[giyrut-girlie]

(queer) jews in my phone i need help/love

this is a long ass post im so sorry lmfao, im putting it in under the cut to save you all but also if people have head space pls read <3

on friday night, i found myself the last of the shabbat guests (who weren't staying the night) at the Rabbi's house. i had asked my housemate to pick me up at 10:30, but everyone else left before 10.

the kids and rabbi's wife had gone to bed, so it was me, the Rabbi, and two older frum guys who stay over shabbat most weeks to be closer to shul.

for some context, earlier in the evening one of these guys had asked another dinner guest (a med student who I'm good friends with, she's a year or two younger than me) whether trans issues came up in her study. the two of us youngins made brief "help me" eye contact and she answered saying that yes, they did cover trans issues given that as a doctor she will, at some point or another, treat trans patients. the subject was changed, but the room was a bit tense.

so: 10pm, i'm sitting at the table, a little tipsy from all the wine, just hanging out until my ride comes.

the rabbi says "hey ella, i have a question for you now that everyone else (by which he means the not-so-frum people) is gone." and i Just Knew what he was about to ask.

i won't go into extreme detail about the actual conversation, but to sum it up: I was asked my opinion on trans folk, i said that i am supportive and do in fact believe trans people about their identities and was Shut All The Way Down. if i cited statistics i was told that actually they'd seen the opposite, if i tried to explain a study i was familiar with, i was told that they didn't think that was true. i actually don't know how i stayed calm, bc my mind and body were telling me that i was Unsafe basically the entire time (thanks anxiety disorder really did me a solid there /s).

eventually 10:30 rolled around and i had a get out of jail free to skip the rest of that fuck awful conversation, and my housemate was very nice to listen to my debriefing. while talking to her i came to the realisation that one of the main factors in the disagreement was that the rabbi didn't actually value the wisdom of any cultures/teachings/histories outside of judaism. if I talked about sistergirls of the torres strait, or māhū of hawai'i, that was dismissed essentially as goyische nonsense.

this whole conversation has been a Fucking Downer for my mental health. i actually broke shabbat (beyond my usual one melacha to be in the clear and sneaky housemate taxi service) that night bc my thoughts were racing too much to sleep without putting on some comfort media.

but beyond the mental health stuff (though probably actually very related) i've found myself really struggling with judaism since friday night. having my rabbi, who has been helping me through conversion, and who i have really valued as a teacher, and the only two other frum people in the community be so overtly transphobic all at once has really taken me for a spin. like, my rabbi is a lubavitcher, i knew that he was going to be fairly conservative about some stuff, but he literally told me that he only uses the correct pronouns for one of our community members as a "personal favour", and essentially told me that she was good evidence against trans acceptance bc nothing she could ever do would ever make her not a man (and you better believe this involved a lot of comments about her appearance)

to put the icing on the cake, when i dropped off his kids today (i nanny for them once a week), he handed me a book that upon research is basically the jk rowling talking point bible. he said to me that it was a really good book for me to read and that it might help fight some of the "mob mentality" (interesting term for scientific consensus but okay)

(also i had actually looked up my own citations from the discussion later and found myself to be very much correct in my recitation of statistics, but you better believe i wasn't petty enough to forward them on)

ANYWAY if anyone is still reading i'm fucking bummed and super anxious about interacting with my community, my conversion, finding the balance between really truly wanting to pursue an orthodox lifestyle and also being queer myself etc etc

i live in a really small jewish community and can't really leave until i finish my degree in 2026, so i can't exactly just find a more accepting rabbi or shul.

anyone have any advice, or just some solidarity for feeling shitty in this space? love u jews in my phone xx

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

A Strange Sort of Family

hi, resident evil fandom, i'd like to throw my hat in the ring

look, i don't even really go here, the fandom mold just got into my brain and would not fucking leave. this is my first time writing any of these characters so if they feel a bit rocky, please forgive me. my media analysis brain has been spinning nonstop since we started the resident evil brain rot and ho boy would I love to sink my teeth into a proper horror fic but! i don't know if i'm there yet so i figured i'd start a bit easier for me :)

also--we all know there's no way ethan's just gone from the franchise now, right? like, sure, he's dead, but he died like 30 minutes into re7 and that didn't fucking stop him

ALSO also big shoutout to @dragonsareaqueerthing and @greenninjagal-blog for the encouragement to actaully make the words go :) hopefully i'll be spending more time in this fandom now that I've got that ball rolling

Read on Ao3

Warnings: talk about events of shadows of rose dlc, nothing explicit, bullying

Pairings: implied ethan/mia/chris, but Ethan & Rose is the focus

Word Count: 10,919

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Sometimes a family is a molded bioweapon, a traumatized agent, a former bioterrorist, and a series of golden, sparkly words. Sometimes family is decorating your room with your mother, sometimes family is hugging a pillow because your dad isn't here anymore. Sometimes family is training too hard and going out for ice cream, sometimes family is a dinner where your parents won't stop teasing you.

Or, five times Ethan Winters was there for his daughter, and one time Rosemary Winters was there for her father.

1.

You'd think after about 16 years of being treated like a child and the most powerful bioweapon the world has ever seen, you might get used to it.

Nope!

Not even slightly.

Okay, well, maybe slightly, but only in the way she's able to shake off some of the lesser things that would've made her really upset before. She's no longer threatening the lives of the agents that call her Eveline, to her face or behind her back when they think she can't hear them. Even when she really, really wants to. Small victories.

But despite her best efforts, she still returns to the cell block of a room—Chris had been so insistent that it wasn't a cell, but it was all concrete walls and a tiny window and a camera that she knows is in the corner—and curls up on her bed, jamming her headphones in and refusing to engage with the outside world until she could summon up the resolve to impersonate a normal person again.

Today had been no exception.

Rose throws her backpack onto her desk chair and slings her hat over the hook, kicking her shoes off and collapsing face-first onto the bed with a groan. More tests today, always more fucking tests. Didn't they have every inch of her shitty, moldy body cataloged by now? She has half a mind to start making shit up when they ask her the same stupid questions. 'How are you feeling today, Rose?' Oh, you know, just getting stuck with more needles than a fucking porcupine, how do you fucking think I'm feeling? Yeah, no, no homicidal instincts yet, just had one murderous thought the other day when I was imagining mold eating the bitch who called me a charity case. Although I did go to the park after I snuck away from that asshole you have tailing me on Tuesdays to see if I could amass a mushroom army, how was your day?

A small laugh leaves her throat at the thought of the doctor's face if she actually did say that, but then she'd probably have two assholes tailing her until they deemed her 'no longer a risk.' God, they were supposed to be these super highly trained agents, then why the fuck do they suck ass at being subtle?

Turns out, even having mold superpowers means she still has to breathe like a normal person, so she drags her face up from the bed and doesn't even bother to fully get up to inchworm up to the pillows. She mashes her face against the slightly cold surface—honestly, the best part about this prison-cell-ass room was that the air conditioning was always on Arctic, so her pillows were always cold—and grabs her phone, squinting at the notifications.

One from school saying her group project deadline was coming up…something from some shopping website she'd logged onto out of pure boredom three weeks ago…and a text from Chris.

Rose sits up a little more and opens the text. "Overseas this week…sorry I'll miss the—you fucking dick!"

Of course Chris is working this weekend, of course he's not gonna be fucking here to take her to the cemetery—great, that means another two hours of bus rides until she can actually go see her dad. She swears he does this on purpose sometimes, how often does he actually need to go overseas for 'work?' And it's not like anyone else here would be able to take her, she's learned her fucking lesson about asking them for anything more than more fucking food. Not bothering to stifle her groan, she flops back onto the bed, only for her phone to clatter out of her hand and onto the floor.

Great. Now she has to move again to pick it up.

She decides that moving is actually not what she's going to do right now, letting one arm hang over the edge of the bed, her cheek scrunched awkwardly against the lip of the mattress. She tucks her face against the collar of her jacket and rubs her thumb against the ring on her finger.

"Sorry it's gonna take me longer," she mumbles, "I really wanted to spend longer with you this time."

Her eyes widen when gold sparkling words appear on the floor next to her phone.

it's okay

"What the—" she whips around to look at the door, closed tightly, and jerks back— "how—"

The words are still there. The words are still etched into the floor, right next to her phone. She should check if they're on the camera—no, they can fucking hack into her phone whenever they want, and she doesn't—she can't—if this really is—

Rose swallows the lump in her throat as the words shift and change.

you ok?

"I—what—how are—" she swallows again, camera in the corner of the room, "uh, M-Michael?"

A pause as the words reform: sure

"I mean, I—I know," she says quickly, "I know what—I know what this is, I…I remember, it's just…"

camera, I know

"How is this possible?" she whispers, not daring to move from her haphazard scramble up the bed, "I thought you were—I mean, at the end, when we, uh, did the thing, it seemed like you were…that you were going again."

The words sparkle again as she grips the sleeve of her jacket—his jacket.

apparently i'm bad at it

"Bad at what?"

staying dead

Another laugh chokes its way out of her throat and she reaches out without thinking about it, just to touch the words. They glow a little bit brighter as she touches them and the tips of her fingers glow. Almost as an afterthought, she grabs her phone and shoves it behind her, hopefully muffling the microphone and at the very least, getting its cameras away from her dad.

Her dad. Those are her dad's words, that's her dad, he's here, he's here.

"Are you—is this…are you really here?"

sort of, as the golden words swirl around, part of you

"What do you mean, 'part of me?'"

not a scientist

"You're the only other m—person like me I know, I'm sure it'll be fine." She can almost hear the little huff of laughter as the golden sparkles swirl again. It seems like it's the same as it was when she was in there, with her dad only able to say a few words at a time.

i'm part of the mold, just like you, we're sharing a part right now

"Are you always sharing a part with me?"

i wish i could, and she feels her chest hurt a little bit, takes energy

"I guess that makes sense." Her arm begins to ache from being so stretched out. "I really miss you."

i miss you too sweetie

Fuck, she's 16, she should not be getting this choked up over her dad calling her 'sweetie,' but fuck it, she's a mold person and her dad's dead, she's allowed to sniffle a little when those words glow warmly under her fingers. Some hysterical part of her wonders if he'd be able to give her a tissue or a hanky the way he gave her guns and chem fluid in there, but she scrubs at her nose with her sleeve and decides that it's enough right now that he's here, in her room, still calling her sweetie.

***

2.

She almost recognizes it the second time, a tug in her gut. Given that she's got her hands over her face and is currently doing a fabulous impression of an angry seal, it'd be harder for her to see it. Still, she can't help the dumb smile on her face when she rolls over.

bad day?

"Oh, you know," she mumbles, "just your average day of being a human guinea pig."

ew

She snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle it. "You know I get a look at their notes sometimes? That's what they call you, just your initials."

surprised they're still talking about me

"What do you mean? Of course they're still talking about you, you're the—" she cuts herself off. The golden sparkles swirl.

i'm the what?

"Never mind."

The floorboards wait expectantly, but she twists the ring around her finger, chewing on her lip. After another moment, new words appear.

can i help?

"With what? With the tests?"

with you

Another tug in her gut, this time at the fact that she can't actually remember the last time someone asked after her, not their biggest liability or their most dangerous weapon. She props herself up on the cold pillows—thank you, government AC—and sighs. "I'm just really tired."

i bet

"Like—are they bored? What do they get out of sticking me with the same needle fifty different times? And it's not like they talk to me about anything, they just look at each other and then fake-smile at me and they tell me 'you're doing great,' like I'm supposed to know what that means. And the other people aren't any better! They keep trying to train me how to do a thing but they're not—it's not like they tell me why we're doing something or what I'm supposed to be doing instead, they just tell me I'm wrong and that's it."

that sucks

She huffs. "You have no idea."

After a moment, though, she realizes that might not actually be true. From what little she's actually managed to get Chris to tell her, and what she can learn from Mom, they were both held in BSAA's quarantine for ages before they moved over to Romania. And if Mom knew about Dad's…not-aliveness way before he did, then they must've done some sort of tests on him too.

"Can I ask you something?"

anything

"Did they, um, did they test you too?"

The floorboards stay empty for a minute, but it feels more like he's thinking than it does him avoiding the question. Sure enough, after another moment, words start appearing again.

they did, they didn't tell me anything either, just that i was lucky

"Lucky how?"

to have made it, even when i didn't

"You did, though," she mumbles, fiddling with the ring again, "you—this part of you made it. Chris told me, Mom told me. You…even after you were…gone the first time, you…you came back. The important parts of you, they came back."

and i'm grateful for it, for you

"You're gonna make me cry," she mutters, scrunching up a little tighter.

i love you Rosie

"Shut up." It's empty and they both know it. A few extra sparkles swirl around and she could swear he's laughing. "I love you too."

Sunlight streams in through her tiny window and she finds herself looking at the way the leaves on the tree dapple the shadow across the floor. Part of her dad's words are still glowing. She looks at the nightstand, bare except for her charger and alarm clock, then over at the desk where her school stuff is, then at the dresser. She reaches out and touches the metal bedframe. It's cold underneath her fingers.

what's wrong?

"Nothing." The words remain and she sighs. "I'm just being mopey."

you're allowed to mope

"Someone at school said something today," she says before she can think better of it, and she winces at how young she sounds.

bullies?

"Not really, it wasn't even really about me, I just—it's stupid."

if you're upset it's not stupid

"They were just talking about this thing they got for their room, okay?" Embarrassment makes her curl her fingers into the loose fabric of her jacket. "It's this mirror thing that hooks up to your phone and lets you play music and stuff from there. They were just talking about it and I thought—see, I told you it was stupid."

There's another pause. The breeze rustles the leaves outside. The shadows dance over the walls.

do you want it?

"Not really…I don't like mirrors that much anyway. And it's not like they'd let me just have another thing that connects to the Internet in here." She glances at the alarm clock. "I barely got them to let me get a laptop for school stuff. I don't think they've got a 'Mold Bioweapon Allowance' in their budget."

The silence grows thoughtful. She turns her head to look at the floorboards again, watching the few sparkles there swirl around.

it's your room, they say finally, it should feel like it

Rose scoffs. "What am I supposed to do, walk up and ask them to sponsor a shopping trip?"

why not?

"They're not gonna do that. They're just gonna brush me off again or tell me they're busy."

you've tried?

"I told you, I barely managed to get a laptop, which is something I need to be able to do schoolwork or anything, even have a taste of what being normal is like. And even then I had to argue for like, ages, and I had to get one of my teachers to write an email saying that it's necessary." She swats the white pillowcase, bitterness seeping into her words. "Everything else isn't necessary. They're all about practicality, like I'm just some other expense they have to deal with."

what about Chris? or Mom?

"Chris isn't here. He's always off somewhere doing something or he's here glaring at me like I'm some stupid new recruit that he doesn't want to have to train. And Mom's…I don't want to bother her, you know? She's got her own life now."

she's your mom, come the words almost before she's done speaking, she'd want to know

Rose sighs, sitting up to lean against the headboard. She twists the ring around and around her finger, chewing on her lip. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like she's…like she doesn't want to know."

Another pause. What her dad had said before, about them sharing a part of the mold—she can feel something in her chest. An emotion that isn't quite hers, something like a deep and exasperated sadness. It's faint, not quite enough to put words there, but she can tell when she needs to look back down at the floor.

she does love you, let her

"Okay. I'll try."

thank you

"Would you come shopping with me?" she asks, even when she knows the answer. "If you could?"

The room gets a little happier as the sparkles swirl around.

i'd spend all day with you

"What did you want to have in your room? When you were my age?"

telescope

"A telescope?" She laughs. "Did you want to be an astronaut?"

astronaut ew

She laughs again and the sunlight seems a little brighter.

***

3.

She meets Mom at a coffee shop near the big bookstore downtown. She's not wearing Dad's jacket—it still feels weird to do, even after Mom's said it's fine—but she has his ring on a necklace under her shirt. Mom waves her over to a table in the corner, nodding to the smoothie already waiting.

"Pineapple mango," she says as Rose sits down, "your favorite."

"Thanks, Mom." She takes a big drink, savoring the weird feeling the pineapple leaves on her tongue. "How're you?"

"I'm okay. Work's been getting busy again recently with the month's end rush." Mom swirls her straw around her coffee. "Did I tell you about this new thing our boss is trying to make us do?"

"No, what?"

"Apparently some young CEO in the area made it big on corporate social media about 'team building exercises,'" and Rose is already groaning in sympathy, "so he sent out this survey this past week about what activity we'd rather do."

"What were the options?"

"This group painting class thing, where we all paint the same picture—"

"Like in kindergarten?"

"Like in kindergarten," Mom agrees, "there's a bar-arcade place that's just opened up on the West Side that does private events, and then there's a good old-fashioned work dinner."

Rose makes a face. "That's it? No, like, crazy obstacle courses, or escape rooms, or anything?"

"We barely had the budget for the normal year-end stuff."

"So what did you vote for?"

"I ended up voting for the painting, actually—"

"What? Mom, that's so lame."

"Hey!" She jokingly flicks a napkin at Rose. "Lamer than the most awkward dinner you can imagine or sitting and drinking for a whole evening?"

"Isn't that what adults do? You sit and drink and talk?"

Mom sighs, shaking her head as they both laugh. "Yeah, well, I figured it might be better if we tried to do something that wasn't just sitting and drinking."

"I guess."

"Besides, I'm still missing something for the bathroom upstairs. Maybe I'll hang up whatever I manage to make there," she adds, winking at Rose.

It's supposed to be a joke at how bad at art she is—really, even Chris looked at her stick figures and struggled to find something nice to say, and Mom just laughed it off—but Rose's smile fades and she shuffles a little in the chair. She drinks more of her smoothie. Dad's words turn over and over in her head.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Mm?"

"Would you…" She fights the urge to reach for the ring. "Would you help me decorate my room?"

Mom's brow furrows. "At my house?"

"N-no, my…my room at the compound. It's stupid, never mind."

"It's not stupid, Rose," Mom says, picking up her coffee, "I'm just—I guess I'm just surprised. Most teens don't really want their parents anywhere near their rooms."

"Yeah, well, forget it."

A car drives by. Despite herself, she reaches for the ring anyway. Something warm pulses in her chest.

"It's just," she manages, "I don't really have anything in there. It's just the military stuff."

Mom's coffee cup hits the table with a thud. "What do you mean you don't have anything in there?"

"I mean, there's just a dresser, a desk, and a bed. And my little side table thing. They didn't really give me any—"

"How much time do you have?"

Rose blinks. "Huh?"

"How much time before you have to get back?" Mom's already getting up and putting the lid back on her coffee. "We're not that far from the big stores and I have my car."

"I, uh, I think I have a few hours, so—" she scrambles up too, reaching to grab Mom's arm— "wait, you're really okay with doing this?"

Mom pauses for a moment, then reaches out and covers Rose's hand with hers. "You're my daughter, Rosie, I'd love to help you decorate your room."

A lump appears in her throat and she swallows it down. "Thank you."

"Come on," Mom grins, "what are you thinking you want?"

"Uh, I was thinking maybe like a whiteboard? That way I could write down stuff that I might forget? Or like—a magnetic one so I could stick stuff to it?" She gets into Mom's car and they start driving. "Or a corkboard—I've seen a lot of people pin like, pictures and stuff to a corkboard on their walls."

"What if you get both? A corkboard to put pictures and cute stuff and then a whiteboard to write on?"

"I also want a lamp. The normal lights just make my head hurt. And they buzz, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you're talking about. It's like the world's most annoying crickets, isn't it?"

"And there's no, like, in between! It's either no light at all or—"

"Or my eyes are being scorched out, that's right."

They pull into the parking lot of the store and get out, still bouncing ideas back and forth. Mom grabs a cart and they head straight for the stationary section and they spend about five minutes talking about the different corkboards and whiteboards. Then Rose decides she wants magnets so she can stick stuff to the whiteboard, then Mom spots a cute set of push pins, and then another mom and daughter walk by with one of those fancy photo printers that print out pictures from your phone like Polaroids, and they just have to get Rose one of those.

As they pick out lamps and wall decor and sheets that actually have some color, she's struck by how normal this is. She's with her mom. They're shopping for stuff for her room. They're freaking out over the pillows that have little penguins on them. She's actually smiling and laughing and she's excited. She can't wait to get back and put all this stuff in her room.

She just…wishes Dad could be here too.

"I think I'd prefer the yellow lampshade, but it's up to you." Mom looks up from the shelf to notice she's gone quiet. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says quickly, wiping surreptitiously at her face, "…just…I kinda wish Dad was here too."

Mom's fingers stutter on the box and for a moment, she thinks she's going to see those walls go up again, the ones that always go up when she tries to talk about Dad, but then Mom puts the box down and rubs at her wedding ring. She still wears it sometimes. Rose reaches for Dad's, under her shirt.

"I wish he was here too, Rosie," Mom says quietly, "he'd be so proud of you."

Rose swallows, and her eyes catch on a tiny monkey LED lamp further down the shelf. She picks it up. "I think he'd vote for this one, don't you?"

A hint of fond exasperation comes to Mom's face. "God, did I ever tell you what happened when he found out that you loved that little monkey you got when you were still a baby? He tried to buy everything monkey-themed he could find because he thought you might like it."

"Wait, really?"

"I had to get Chris to help me talk him out of buying an entire monkey crib for you."

Rose puts the monkey lamp in the cart. Mom smiles and they keep walking. They end up spending way more than she thought they'd be and sheepishly tries to put some stuff back, but Mom won't hear a word of it and bags everything up.

"Chris can help cover the cost if he's so worried about it," she declares as they pull back up to the meeting spot where the car is supposed to take Rose back to the compound, "anyway, all of this should have been done years ago."

"Thanks, Mom," Rose says, "I had fun."

"We should definitely do it again. I'll help you decorate your college dorm too."

Rose smiles and gets out of the car. It fades a bit when she sees Paul again, leaning against the side of the van with his arms crossed. She turns her back deliberately on him and goes to help Mom get all the bags out of the trunk.

"You're late," Paul says, like he has any right to sound like a smug, condescending asshole.

"By like five minutes. Open the trunk."

"What's all that?"

"Stuff. For my room."

"Well, I—hey!" Paul finally moves when Mom just opens the trunk and starts putting the bags inside.

"You must be the agent Rose told me about," Mom says, her voice saccharine as she dusts off her hands, "is that right, honey?"

"Yeah," she mumbles, "that's him."

"Paul," he says, "Ms. Winters."

"Mia." Mom holds out her hand and he takes it, Rose peering at them from under the brim of her hat. Her eyes widen when Mom yanks Paul closer to her, her smile fading as she hisses in his ear. "Call my daughter Eveline again and I'll break your nose, are we clear?"

Paul jerks in surprise, before turning his head slightly. "Stand down, it's fine, I can handle it."

"You can't afford to make a scene in such a public place," Mom says, her voice still perfectly even, "and Chris won't risk harming me or Rose. So you can start treating my daughter like a person or I can break your nose right now and Chris can clean up your mess."

Rose can't stop her snort as Paul sheepishly walks back to the front of the car and gets in. Mom watches him go before she turns around and says, loud enough for him to hear, "Make sure you send me pictures when you get it the way you want it, okay?"

"I will."

"And if you decide you want anything else, we'll get it next time."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, Rosie." She glares once more in Paul's direction before she walks back to her car.

Rose doesn't stop smirking as Paul drives them back to the compound. He slinks off with his tail between his legs after helping her get all her stuff into her room. She can't cover up the camera—and let them know she knows about it—but she can play her music out loud as she decorates, hanging up the little plants they found and pinning a few photos to her new corkboard. It still strikes her how normal all of this is, dancing to her music and putting up all of her new things, finally collapsing onto her now-colorful blankets with a laugh.

She texts a few photos to Mom, who responds with gushing reviews and excited emojis, before she rolls onto her side to look at the floor.

"What do you think?"

The words only take a second to appear.

it's beautiful, sweetie

"You were right," she murmurs, "it was really nice to let Mom take care of me a bit."

i'm glad

"Oh! I forgot to show you the best part!" Rose jumps off the bed and goes over to the far wall, switching on the fairy lights she hung from the ceiling amidst a bunch of fake vines. "Now the camera will just think the glowing is from the lights!"

Golden sparkles swirl beneath the soft glow.

you're so smart

"I mean," she blusters, trying not to show how pleased she is, "I was just tired of lying down to talk to you all the time."

i see, still clever

"Thanks." After a moment, she reaches over and picks up the little monkey lamp and her stuffed monkey, safely hidden beneath her pillows. "Mom told me you wanted to buy a monkey crib for me."

it would go with the onesie

"You got me a monkey onesie?"

mom has pictures

"I'll have to ask her next time." She chews on her lip, running her fingers over the seams of the monkey's ear. "I wish you could've been there."

me too

"Mom threatened to break Paul's nose if he was rude to me again." The light swirls as Dad laughs and she laughs too. "I'd kick him in the nuts too."

that's my girl

***

4.

"Stupid fucking dickhead," she spits as she slams the door, throwing her backpack onto the chair so hard it scrapes across the floor. "Fucking asshole! I'll fucking rip his head off, the fucking bastard!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a tiny sparkle from the floorboards, and she stomps over to the lights, turning them on. Almost immediately, golden words swirl up.

what happened?

"Your buddy Chris fucking happened!" Rose throws herself onto the bed and punches the pillow. "He keeps treating me like I'm some—some fucking gun that only he knows how to fire and I'm fucking sick of it!"

It had been especially bad today, too. Chris apparently woke up and decided yeah, today's the day I'm gonna be a total fucking asshole for no goddamn reason. He started them out sparring, which he never does, he always has them warm up first because it's important not to strain yourself, except apparently not today when she was thrown against the fucking ground three times before she could even open her mouth long enough to say hi.

Or maybe ask what the hell crawled up his ass that morning.

And then he kept fucking looking at her like he was disappointed! Like it was her fault she wasn't expecting to be slammed up against the wall or pinned to the ground by a man fucking three times her size and then grunted at when she winced in pain because that fucking hurt, you asshole! And he kept on saying these stupid little comments that just made her angrier and angrier and then he had the gall to be like hey, you need to get a handle on your emotions like he wasn't pushing every single fucking button he knew she had!

You need to be sharper, he'd said like he had any right to try and be reasonable as he almost dislocated her fucking shoulder, emotions make you sloppy.

Yeah, well, he could try being sharper when he was being bullied for no fucking reason.

And when she'd finally screamed at him that she was done, that she didn't want to fucking do this anymore, he had the fucking audacity, the nerve to scoff and cross his arms and tell her that no, she wasn't done, she was only done when he said she was done. And yeah, she hadn't really made the decision to rush at him after that, her body did that on its own, but he literally just tossed her aside like a fucking doll and then said she wasn't leaving until she could do the fucking stupid thing he wanted her to.

She tried. She really fucking did.

But she couldn't do it.

And Chris kept refusing to help, saying he'd been training her for so long already, that he'd wash her out if she were any other recruit—to which she'd screamed that she wasn't, so why the fuck was he being like this? And he didn't fucking answer! He just told her to try it again and he kept making her angrier and angrier and she could tell Chris was getting angry too which just made hers worse because what fucking right did he have to be mad at her? What the fuck did she do to him?

It ended really badly. She'd gotten so mad she'd thrown herself at him again, not caring about proper technique or what was smart or anything, she just went for him. He grappled her, obviously, and that was supposed to be their tap-out, fight's-over thing, but she hadn't stopped. She'd scratched him and punched him and kicked him even when he growled at her to yield, and when that didn't work, she'd bit him.

Chris fucking wrenched her off of him and threw her across the room and she heard three guns click.

They'd glared at each other, Chris holding his arm like it was a fucking biohazard, and then he'd stalked off without a word while agents forcibly shoved her back to her room.

She's panting by the time she finishes, glaring a hole in the wall right below where the words normally appear. Her hands still tingle from where she'd hit the walls and the pillows. She looks up when she sees the familiar swirl.

you shouldn't have bitten him

The anger surges up her arms and she clenches her fists. "That's all you have to say? No 'I'm sorry he was such a dick, Rose?' 'You didn't deserve that?' You're fucking defending him?"

i didn't say that

"I just told you that your friend, the person you told to watch over me and keep me safe was fucking bullying me for no goddamn reason and the only thing you can say is that I shouldn't have defended myself?" Betrayal steeps vehemence into her words. Her nails bite into her palms. "I'm fucking glad I bit him!"

he's trying to help

"How in the fuck is he trying to help," she cries, "by being as bad as the bullies in school? By treating me like a freak that needs to be kept muzzled and on a leash?"

you did bite him

She picks up one of the pillows and hurls it at the wall. It hits with a pathetic thwap and falls limply to the floor. It only makes her angrier when she sees the words calm down when the lights stop shaking.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! You're supposed to be on my side!"

i am

She barks out a humorless laugh and picks up the pillow, throwing it back on the bed. "You're not on my side, you're on his. I don't need you lecturing me too. Just leave me alone."

More golden words swirl as she turns away, throwing herself onto the bed and curling up tightly around her stuffed monkey. She chokes around the lump in her throat and wills herself not to cry. She'd almost cried in front of Chris today already, she won't give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry now. She won't, she won't, she won't! It's not fucking fair that Chris did that. It's not fucking fair that he gets to act however the fuck he wants and then she's the only one punished for it. He gets to go all over the fucking world and only see her when it's convenient to him and he gets to be an asshole about it.

Dad's not even alive.

A sob chokes out before she can stop it, and then it's too late. She's blubbering like she's a stupid fucking baby again and she can hear the echoes of their voices in her ears. All alone, poor freak Rose, crying like a baby who doesn't get her way. She's so weird, she's so stupid, she can't do it. She's useless, she's not strong enough. Just go away. No one wants you here. No one wants you. No matter how hard she presses her hands to her ears, they won't fucking shut up!

Maybe she should've fucking kept the purifying crystal. Maybe she should've left with no powers and had a normal fucking life. Maybe she should've just left her dad to—

As soon as the thought threatens to cross her mind, she recoils from it. Guilt and anger war in her gut as she nearly grows sick. How could she fucking think that? After all he'd done to save her, protect her, how could she think about something like that, even if it was in a fit of rage?

A strangled noise escapes her throat and the bruises and injuries from her humiliating 'sparring session' abruptly make themselves known. Her body screams in pain; her shoulders ache, the bruise on her ribs throbs, and her jaw feels like it's about to explode. She has the hysterical impulse to bite herself and she wonders if it would hurt more than everything else. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses a glow coming from the floorboards now and she curls up tighter, burying her face in the monkey's tummy. Fuck it, she's been called overly emotional and childish enough times already, she may as well throw her tantrum properly.

It's like falling into the Megamycete again; she has no idea how long she lies there, wallowing in her own emotional turmoil. Flashes of the bullies, of Chris's stupid fucking face, of watching herself get tossed around and left behind…even stranger things like massive castles filled with screams and horror, creepy old houses that just feel like tombs, deep water and clanking metal, all filled with whispers of freak, dangerous, stupid child, not good enough. Everything is too loud and too quiet and she just wants it to be over.

When she finally manages to rouse herself from whatever malaise she'd fallen into, the sun has long set. Her clock shows that it's close to 10—that would explain why her stomach is trying to dig a hole in her intestines. The anger fled unknown hours ago, leaving her weary and wrung out. In its absence, she no longer feels like the bioweapon that she's supposed to be, only the scared and lonely child. It's cold. She's hungry.

There's still a soft golden glow coming from over the side of the bed.

Her lip wobbles. She doesn't want to face the consequences of yelling at her dad and throwing a pillow at him, but she can't stop the blooming warmth that he didn't leave. She crawls to the edge of the bed and peeks over.

i'm sorry Rose

She sniffles and rubs her cheek on the sheets. "'M sorry too."

you were right, i should've been on your side

"You're always on my side," she mumbles, "I know you are."

still

She sniffles again and tucks the monkey under her chin. "Why was Chris so mean today? Did I do something wrong?"

i don't think so, sometimes he's just like that

"Why?" She's ignoring how much she sounds like a baby, thank you. "It's not fair."

no it's not sweetie

Rose closes her eyes, basking in the soft glow of her dad's comfort. "Was he ever mean to you when you were training?"

yeah

"What did you do?"

broke his nose once

It startles a laugh out of her. "You what? Wait, what happened?"

he was being an asshole, so i punched him

She giggles again, both at the image of Chris's surprised face with a broken nose and at the fact that her dad got so angry with Chris that he punched him hard enough. A few more golden sparkles surround the words before they change again.

you shouldn't try it though

"Aw," she complains, mostly for show, "but you did it."

do as i say not as i do

She's quiet. After a moment, she lets her arm hang down to touch the words again. They glow gently. "I don't like fighting with you."

me neither

"I'm sorry. I was being a brat."

The words swirl up quicker than she's ever seen.

you were upset at something unfair, not a being a brat

She sniffles again, reaching over to grab a hanky and blow her nose with a sharp honk. She throws it over to the laundry basket and lies back down. The words have changed.

if you need to hear it, i forgive you

"I forgive you too."

rest

She nestles up against the pillows. "Will you stay until I go to sleep?"

of course sweetie, i love you

***

5.

Mostly Rose doesn't dream. She'll close her eyes and open them again and it will be hours later and it's time to get up. Most of the time when she does dream, it's weird half-memories that aren't hers mixed with something she does actually remember. She has dreams of a house with a red chimney being taken apart by little robotic goats, or of a crocodile swimming through a swamp filled with dead crows, or of bugs crawling over test tubes and dirty flasks. Some of them make sense when she digs into the files she's not really supposed to have access to, some of them don't.

On rare, awful occasions, she has nightmares.

She's been curled up and unmoving for who knows how long, desperately trying to feign sleep. The mold in her keeps prickling like there's something else in the room, watching her, just waiting for a sign that she's awake to pounce. Her white-knuckled grip hasn't wavered either. She dares hardly breathe; even though her rational brain knows there's nothing there, there can't be anything there, her entire body is screaming. She can feel the milky sweat beginning to ooze from her palms.

Something creaks.

She goes stiff as a board.

A creak, a groan, a rumble as the air conditioning turns on and she forces herself to relax, cracking open one eye to see that yes, this is just her room, there's nothing to be afraid of here, she's fine.

Her eyes land on the switch to the fairy lights.

The small and whimpering part of her lunges for them, for the warm glow of the light, her dad's words, in lieu of running to her parents' bed to be comforted. The other part hisses that the second she moves, whatever's lurking in the dark will strike. The monkey wheezes as she tightens her grip, staring at the innocuous plastic box hanging against the wall.

With a sudden burst, she launches herself from the bed, slapping the button, and curling back up beneath the safety of the blankets.

Immediately, the soft warm light chases away the worst of the shadows and she can peek over her shoulder to assure herself that yes, nothing is there, she's safe in her room, everything's okay. Golden sparkles are already swirling, a quiet inquisitiveness filling that one empty part in her chest as she lies back down. He's rotated his words so she can read them easily.

what's the matter, sweetie?

"Nightmare," she whispers, more into her pillow than anything else.

i'm sorry

She curls up tighter, trying to pull the blankets up almost over her head. The sweat's almost ruined her monkey—she's going to have to wash it again—and she wipes her hands on the sheet. The absence of it hits the cold air and she shivers, hunching tighter in the covers and sniffling. A sudden and sharp ache sears through her chest and she shudders, harder this time, only the top of her nose peeking out over the comforter. She's so cold. Not in the way where she can pile more blankets on and it'll go away—she could put the whole world on top of her and she would still be cold. This horrible, achy, exhausting cold that seeps into her bones and makes her want to cry.

what can i do?

"You said in your—in your letter," she hiccups, "that you'd hold me when I had nightmares, and—and sing to me until I went back to sleep."

But the words on her wall are just words and words can't hold anybody.

She wants a fucking hug, goddamnit. No one touches her anymore, not unless they're running some stupid test, or sparring, or escorting her roughly down the hallway like some—some prisoner. The last time someone touched her and it wasn't that it was Mom, telling her she'd help decorate her room and that was so long ago, everyone else just—just—

"I want to go home," she sobs and it lands like a dead weight in the still room.

what do you mean?

"I want to go home, I want to go back to that house you showed—showed me when I was in there, where you—where your memories are and I can actually h-hear you and it's warm an'—an' safe, and you love me," she cries, not caring that it's the middle of the night and she's talking to a wall, "no one here loves me. No one loves me, the doctors think I'm some—some experiment that's run too—too long and the agents all think I'm a l-liability and Mom's not here because she gave me up and Chris h-hates me."

he doesn't hate you sweetie

"He does! He does, he does, I can feel it." She hugs her monkey tightly to her chest. "He h-hates me for being the reason you're not—you're not here anymore and he hates me for reminding him that you're dead and he hates me for—for being like this and—and—and—!"

shh…shh…shh…

But he's not here and she can't hear him shushing her and she's all alone in her cold, dark room and she wants to go home.

don't cry, Rosie, it's gonna be okay sweetie

"It's not. 'S not okay."

The wall doesn't move for a moment, then it swirls again.

scoot back, i'm going to try something

Frowning, she does, shuffling awkwardly back until she's on the far side of the bed. The golden light swirls around for another second, before it writes itself on one of the pillows.

hug me

"D—Michael?"

i'm right here sweetie, i love you so much

With trembling fingers, she reaches for the pillow, touching the words with a soft gasp as they glow warmly against her still-slick palms. A sob of disbelief leaves her throat and she bundles it to her chest, burying her face in it. A soft scratching and buzzing fills her ears as more words write themselves across the pillow, but she doesn't pull her face away to read them. Not when this is the closest thing to hugging her dad she's been since she was in the deepest stratum of the Megamycete, crying over his dying body. Not when she's still so cold and the words are so, so warm. She tucks her face into the crook of the pillow's embrace and she cries.

The words don't stop writing themselves over and over and if she focuses hard enough, it almost sounds like her dad is humming.

She falls into a light sleep, not willing to miss a moment of actually being so close to her dad, soothed by his presence. Soon, light has begun to break through the window, the auto timer on the lights long since activated to switch them off. The pillow is all gross from a mixture of drool, snot, and tears, and she sheepishly tries to wipe it away when a small glow comes from underneath.

it's okay

"It's kinda gross."

my privilege, i'm your dad

"Still."

ew, remember?

A watery smile. "Thanks."

i love you so much, i'm so proud of you

"I love you too," she mumbles back, curling her arms around the pillow. Another set of words writes itself and she leans back.

do you really think Chris hates you?

"I don't know. He…he looks at me like he can't sometimes. Or like he's waiting for me to…I don't know, turn crazy or bad or like he's waiting for me to turn into you, almost." She rubs her fingers over the pillowcase. "He used to be nicer."

have you spoken since?

She doesn't need to ask what he's talking about. "No. He's been out of town again. He's supposed to be back, um…"

She leans over to check her phone, eyes widening when she sees the date.

"Uh, today. Shit, I actually think we're supposed to have a training thing today."

Before more words can write themselves, there's a knock on her door. She freezes, phone still in her hand, pillow clutched close.

"Rose?" Fuck. "It's Chris. Can I come in?"

be brave, says the last flutter of words before her dad vanishes, i love you

"…yeah."

Chris opens the door. Rose tugs on her dad's jacket over her pajamas and clutches the pillow in her lap. She doesn't look at him. He moves around a little in the doorway before he shuts it with a click. After a moment, the bed dips and groans under his weight and she sneaks a glance at his arm. Her bite mark is still there.

"Surprised they let you walk around before that healed."

"You didn't even break the skin."

It's probably meant to come off in a way that means she doesn't have to worry about it, but it stings anyway. She turns away again.

A car drives by outside.

"I owe you an apology," Chris says finally, his voice low and gruff, "I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, but she shifts to face the window instead of the wall.

"There's been talk of getting you moved to another squad," he continues, and her stomach drops—is Chris leaving too?— "and I thought…if I could prove that you were good with us, that we had it all under control, then they'd drop it. Leave you alone."

At the rustle as he shifts, she glances over at him. His jaw works and his hand twitches on his knee.

"I thought…" He trails off, then scoffs at himself, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought."

He turns to meet her gaze and her gut clenches at the obvious guilt and remorse she can see there. She swallows.

"You were mean." Her voice comes out a lot smaller than she'd hoped. She swallows and tries again. "I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Rose," he says in a rush, turning to face her, "please don't think that."

"So you're not trying to get rid of me?"

"Shit, Rose, no, I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're—I think Mia'd kill me if I tried, no, I'm just—" he takes a breath— "I'm just trying to keep you safe, okay?"

"Then you should've said something! I would've trained harder if I knew—we could've—I would've done something else, did I do something wrong?"

"No," he insists, shaking his head, "no, you didn't do anything wrong."

Relief begins to pool warily in her chest. Her grip on the pillow loosens and she scoots a little closer. "I'm sorry I bit you."

He shakes his head again. "It's fine. You, uh, you have good bite strength."

"Good bite strength?"

"Yeah. Your contact's really good." He gestures to the bite mark on his arm. "Got all of them in there too."

"Thanks," she says, laughing a little. Chris smiles and it's a bit easier to breathe. She gives herself a shake. "So, what's today? Weapons, sparring, how to punch boulders?"

"Actually, I, uh, thought we'd go get ice cream."

Rose pauses, looking up at him, blinking as if she'd heard wrong. "Ice cream?"

"Weather's gonna get cold soon, the good place around the corner's gonna close." He shrugs. "Been craving it."

"Yeah…yeah, ice cream sounds good."

"Great."

And before she can think too much of it, she throws herself at him and hugs him for all she's worth. She feels him stutter, not quite sure what to do, and then his arms slowly wrap around her, holding her just as tightly. And oh, she's on fire, Chris is big and warm and solid and he's holding her like she's something special and she's gonna fucking cry her eyes out if she stays here a moment longer and she's gonna die if she lets go. Chris lets out a noise of dismay when she sniffles and scoops her up, like she's a little kid again, holding her in his lap and now she's making a mess of his shoulder too.

She could swear she feels Dad smile.

***

+1.

"I'm telling you," Rose says as she lounges on her bed, "you're wrong about the cover. It's actually pretty good."

i like the classics

"Yeah, well, you're old and boring, so that makes sense."

:(

The sight of the old-fashioned emoticon frowny face makes her burst out laughing. "Oh my god, that's so lame. I don't think I've seen someone use that in years."

it's a classic!

"You gotta get with the times!"

totes dope fam

Rose winces at the immense amount of psychic damage those three words dealt, her neck protesting as she almost cringes it out of alignment. "No, D—Michael, just no."

lol

She tosses the pillow playfully at the wall again, laughing when another frowny face appears on both it and the wall. "Aww, okay, I'm sorry, here."

She picks it up and cuddles it and the frowny face turns to a smiley face. Lying back down, grin still on her face, she toys with his ring. It's gotten shinier from all the rubbing, except where she ties the cord around it so she can wear it as a necklace. She turns it this way and that, watching the sunlight glint off of it. As she does, she catches sight of the engraving on the inside.

Always and forever.

"Do you want me to tell Mom and Chris about you?"

The words swirl for a moment.

up to you

She pushes herself to sit up, propped on one elbow. The ring glistens as she slides it back onto her finger, turning it to and fro. "I don't know. It feels bad keeping something like this from them, but I want to be selfish about it too, you know? I kind of like having you all to myself."

it's not selfish

"And what if Chris thinks it's bad?" She twists the ring harder. "What if he tries to take you away from me?"

i won't let that happen

Her shoulders drop a little and she picks up the pillow again, cuddling into it. A few words write themselves across it just so she can feel their warmth and she rubs her cheek against it. "Don't you miss them?"

all the time

A melancholy that isn't hers hangs in her chest and she squeezes the pillow again. "Then should I? They miss you too, you know. I think they'd be happy to, you know, hear from you again."

The words fade and the wall glows again as he thinks. She lets him have his time, rubbing the ring back and forth, listening to the slight rattle it makes as it spins around her too-small finger. When she hears the familiar soft scratch again, she looks up.

they're happy now, i don't want to ruin that

"They're not happy," she can't help but say, "they still miss you."

content, then

"You wouldn't be ruining anything," she argues, "I thought—I thought I'd never get to see you again after I got out of there. The day I heard you again? That was the happiest moment of my life."

mine too sweetie, or my un-life i guess

The words glow brighter as her fingertips glow too. She gets up and lays her hand against the wall, smiling as their powers dance together. "I really think they'd be happy."

A pulse of warmth runs up her arm to her chest as the words shift once more.

when you think the time is right

"I'll tell you, I promise."

i'm so proud of you, Rose, i love you so much

"I love you too."

That time doesn't come on their terms, though, because that would be easy. No, instead it's when she and Chris are over at Mom's house for dinner and Chris asks a question out of nowhere that almost makes her spit all over the table.

"What?" Mom asks as Rose glares a hole in Chris's stupid forehead.

"I said," Chris says like an unrepentant asshole, "who's Michael?"

"Michael?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rose mutters, staring down at her lap.

"I was coming to get you for training last week and you were talking to someone called Michael." Chris takes a bite of steak and talks with his mouth full, like an asshole. "So who is he?"

Mom elbows her, winking. "Someone you like?"

"What? Ew, gross, no!"

Chris and Mom just laugh and Mom elbows her again. "Don't worry, I was your age once too. That's how I reacted when my mom asked me about my crush."

"Michael isn't my crush!"

"Boyfriend, then?"

"No, he's not my—" she covers her face and sighs. "He's not my boyfriend, he's not my crush, he's not someone from school, happy?"

"So who is he?"

Well, fuck it, no time like the present. She pushes back from the table, muttering about using the bathroom. They wait until she's halfway up the stairs to start talking again, their voices low in that way where she knows they're still talking about her, but she pays them no mind as she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. She braces her hands on either side of the sink and takes a deep breath.

"I'm guessing you heard all that."

The words swirl up right below the mirror.

yeah

"I mean, it's not like we'll get a better opportunity."

probably not

"Are you ready?"

are you?

She rubs at the chip in the linoleum and turns on the cold water, just to make sure there's no milky sweat on her hands. "I'm nervous."

me too

"No matter what happens," she says firmly, "no matter what they do or say, I'm here for you, okay? I've got your back. I love you."

i'm so proud of you, sweetie, i love you too

The words glow cheerfully against the weird tile pattern and she reaches out to touch them. They share a moment before the words fade and she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders in the mirror and nodding to herself. "Right. Let's do this."

She marches back downstairs and Mom and Chris do a horrible job of pretending not to be nosy and expectant. She sits back down and folds her hands in her lap.

"I'll tell you who Michael is," she begins, "but you have to promise not to tell anyone else."

"I promise, honey," Mom says, miming zipping her lips shut.

"Chris, you promise too."

Chris looks at her for a moment like he's going to disagree, then he winces as Mom kicks him under the table. "I promise too."

"Good." She takes another breath and reaches for the ring around her neck. The second she brings it out from under her shirt, Chris's silverware clatters against the plate and Mom inhales sharply.

"Rose," she says shakily, "where did you get that?"

"Before I said yes to joining you," Rose says, "I met K outside the lab. He told me there might be a way to get rid of my powers for good."

Chris frowns. "K never said anything like that to me, what do you—"

"I'm getting there. He took me to the lab where there was a piece of the Megamycete, and said that—"

"He what?"

"Will you both just listen to me?" The two of them quiet down. "Thank you. So, like I was saying, he took me to see the piece of it and said that there was a purifying crystal that Miranda discovered that could take the mold out of someone. All I had to do was look through the Megamycete's index of consciousness to see if I could find it."

"That's incredibly dangerous, Rose," Mom says quietly, and Chris looks like he's trying to strangle his fork. "Please tell me you didn't—"

"I wanted them gone," she interrupts, looking at her Mom, "they were—I was just a freak with no friends. Someone offered me the chance to be normal, are you telling me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you were a teenager?"

Mom looks at her for a long moment, but she doesn't disagree. Rose squeezes the ring and keeps going.

"It wasn't that easy, obviously. It was…really hard. And really scary. I had to fight my way through these, like, twisted versions of the places in Miranda's village, like that big castle and the creepy doll house, and there were all these versions of me that kept getting killed and tortured, I fought a version of Eveline too—"

"Rose," Chris tries to say but she doesn't let him.

"—but I had help," she continues. "There was something helping me. It helped me figure out where to go, what to do, gave me a gun and taught me how to use it. There were these glowing words that would appear when I needed them most and it…it was like having a guardian angel."

"Michael," Chris says, and she nods.

"Yeah, I called him Michael. He—he kept trying to get me to leave, said that it wasn't safe, but I wanted to find the crystal and so he helped me. And then we found out K wasn't actually K and it was all a trap set by Miranda—"

"It was what?"

Chris is already getting up. "Is she still in there? Do we need to—"

"Sit down, Chris, it's fine, we beat her. She's dead now, like, really, actually dead. She crystalized and turned to dust, I saw it."

His face still looks like he ate a lemon, but Chris sits slowly back down. He exchanges a worried look with Mom and she puts her hand on Rose's shoulder. "You said 'we?'"

"Me and Michael." She looks down at the ring and turns it over in her hand. "Until I found out who he really was."

Mom gasps, a small and shuddery thing. She holds her hand over her mouth and stares at Rose. "Ethan."

Chris makes a noise too as Rose nods. "Yeah. It was him the whole time. He…he protected me. From Miranda, from Eveline, from everything."

"He loved you so much, honey," Mom whispers, her eyes growing wet, "he never stopped loving you."

"He showed me our house in Romania," and to her horror, she can feel her voice growing thick too, "with all his memories. I heard his voice, Mom, he—he wrote me a letter, did you know?"

"Yes," Mom says, trying not to sob, clutching her shoulder, "yeah, honey, I know. He cried so much while he was writing it, he wanted you to get old enough to read it with him, oh, Rose…"

She swipes a hand under her nose and turns to Chris, who's doing that big, tough, I'm-too-manly-for-my-emotions-right-now thing and reaches for him too. After a moment, his hand turns and covers hers. He's trembling. "He taught me how to fight, Chris. We—we fought together. He shot the monsters in the face with a shotgun and gave me his power so I could kill Miranda, once and for all."

Chris swallows heavily. "Your dad was…he was one of the best men I've ever known, Rosie. He would be so proud of you." He sniffs. "You said he shot them in the face with a shotgun?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah, that sounds like Ethan, alright." Mom laughs and it sort of sounds like a sob but she and Chris are smiling now, so it's okay. Chris looks back at her and nods a few times. "So you were talking to him, then?"

"Yeah. When you walked by on Tuesday, I think it was…yeah, we were arguing about whether the original Blade Runner was better than 2049." She wrinkles her nose. "He said the original was better but I like the remake."

Chris frowns. "What do you mean, he said—"

The words scrawl over Mom's dining table, illuminating their faces.

i like the classics, that's all

Rose would laugh at the way Chris almost falls out of his chair if his hand and Mom's weren't trembling. She looks at Mom, who stares at the glowing words, and at Chris, who looks like he's about to be sick.

Mom breaks the silence first. "…Ethan?"

The words move, now right next to her forgotten plate.

hi honey

"You're—you're—"

bad at staying dead?

Mom's breath leaves her like she's been punched in the gut. "Oh, Ethan, I—I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

breathe, it's okay

She squeezes Mom's hand as she takes a few shaky breaths. "What—how is this possible?"

rose

"We're both part of the mold," Rose says when Mom looks to her, "he's…he's using my part right now, we're sort of sharing it."

told her i'm not a scientist, figured you'd get it :)

"No one uses those anymore," Mom mumbles and Rose whispers a quiet told you so! as the smiley turns to a frowny for a moment, before the words change again.

i know it's been hard, i'll always love you

"Oh, Ethan," Mom whispers, reaching out to touch the words. She gasps as a flicker of warmth pulses through them and Rose squeezes her hand again. "I miss you."

i miss you too

Another glow flickers up next to Chris, who startles and stares down at the words in shock.

you too

"E-Ethan, I—" he cuts himself off as the words swirl again.

thank you for taking care of my daughter

Chris swallows heavily. "She's incredible, Ethan. You should be proud of her."

always am

"I'm sorry," Chris whispers, and something in Rose's gut clenches at how close to tears he looks too, "if I'd been faster, we could've gotten you out of there, we could've…"

it's okay, Chris, we're all okay

"You're dead."

i died in 2017, doing pretty well considering

"He is really bad at staying dead," Rose adds, "Miranda said so too. You should've seen her, she was so mad at us."

Chris looks like he's having a hard time deciding whether he wants to laugh or cry. The sparkles swirl again.

she's a fighter, she gets that from you too

His free hand jerks and Rose squeezes the one in hers. "You can touch, Chris, he won't bite. That's my thing."

it won't hurt, promise

Chris takes a deep breath and slowly touches the words. His breath leaves him in a rush as they glow warmly under his fingers. Rose smiles as she feels the mold connect all of them there, in that moment, through her and Ethan. Some part of her clicks into place. As if he can feel it too, which he probably can, another set of words appears in front of her.

we're so proud of you, Rosie

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles as she feels heat rush to her cheeks, "shut up."

no :)

Mom laughs. "We finally have all three of us together again and you want us to not tell you how proud we are of you?"

"They've got a point, Rosie."

"I'll break your nose!"

"No, no," Mom says as Chris squawks, even though she's still smiling, "no breaking Chris's nose."

even if he deserves it

"Hey!"

As they all laugh together, Ethan's words still glowing in the warm, quiet house, Rose sits back in her chair and twists her dad's ring around her finger. Sure, being a mold bioweapon teenager was weird, but if this is the family she gets to have because of it, it can't be all bad.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary450

12/17-18/24

tuesday - wednesday

sleepy now, tried to watch audition today, but could not,

the subtitles were too off, getting it via ... other means... now...

instead i elected to watch this film:

very good!! here's a couple shots:

i know these are very blurry but i love these shots of either the camera spinning very very quickly blurring everything together, the intense mess of experience/excess, everything on fire-feeling. the film is about madness but i think it does a rather good job of expressing how things feel generally, at times, i suppose the film's confines are that of a limit experience, a woman dances until she bleeds, a man struggles to free his wife from prison, the woman remains at the limit of the asylum and he feels the madness penetrate him, it expresses how porous we all are, rather than being strictly defined subjects with an inside/outside, we are all subject to these intensities and to deny them / the structures which seek to deny and suppress, can create a limit that one fears leaving, the woman afraid to leave the asylum, to reenter life outside of the authority of the doctors. a moving bunch of things here, and delivered by a silent film!! the editing, as well, communicates this heat/evaporation, images colliding, on top of one another, fast cuts, a great use of montage... i watched a video of two men discussing the film after seeing it, one mentions the director having seen abel gance's films, as well as some other avant garde works from europe, cabinet of dr. caligari is one other.

here's another couple, it felt so modern, this film, it always felt like something out of the 60s... so insane. i mean even still, it's a shocking work, arresting and unique, not much like it throughout history... at least it seems so. another thing i learned, from that video, i saw, i'll link it after this, apparently during the silent film era in japan they had narrators who would speak on the film as it went on, literary commentators adding to the film, adding description, adding exposition, i wonder about if this film was allowed to be out there on the level it is because of the benshi? that he knew he could go where he pleased, you know, knowing there would be a kind of safety net for the audience, or an interpretation of its images and plot... i don't know... it seems like such an interesting idea though, the narration of the images. one striking thing that they also mention in that interview, is that the benshi always came to the film after its completion, so they'd not influence it beyond the viewing experience... i wonder about making that a part of a film somehow now.

here is that discussion video:

very insightful i found, and this channel seems incredible for weird films... gonna have to pick through it.

i'm excited to see audition tomorrow, though... but because my sleep is so stupid right now, my gf is going to have to go grocery shopping without me. i feel really bad about that, hopefully the list i made is good... i cooked and cleaned and stuff today. i don't know, i feel in debt in ways i can never repay, and so useless and bad sometimes, like a bad person, i guess. i'm like a stupid pet, i feel like, sometimes.

here is an old photo of some flowers i took... to was the self pity away.

and then a seiko oomori song:

what else to say... i'm tired, i don't think i did a lot else, i had an idea for something to write, i should hold onto it for tomorrow, i think i just have the basic thrust, i should let that thrust ferment i suppose, overnight, and tomorrow get it down more solidly. oh, i did a hair mask today, my hair feels very nice, which is nice.

okay, i think that's all, really,

or not really, i was thinking about people who seem worried about the apocalypse, how i used to be like that as a little kid, wondering about when i lost that, it seems like when i was more able to focus on the kind of social hell my family would put me in at times, or they were concurrent for a while until at some point, the more total threat and source of dread seemed to be upsetting a parent for reasons that always felt arcane, and even now, upsetting people feels more immediate and heavy than the apocalypse. even that though, i've roughly gotten over it as a source of terror, or not even just roughly, it used to really bother me through highschool but in college it tapered off, although i guess it really took me trying to kill myself over it and surviving that it washed away, all things returned to a kind of pointlessness, until i felt like hazel motes walking from the river with rocks in his shoes, no apparent reason why, repenting for ghostly things, i guess. really all i'm getting at is a curiosity about if the feelings i'd had were about age, the terror re: apocalypse, if the person i saw expressing these things will grow out of it, if being more socially present is what made me lose those fears, or if it makes that a possibility, and wondering if i'm just lucky to have ever had that as a possibility, or if everyone does. i don't know.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[zippy-reacts]

Sonic the Comic Liveblog: Issue 94

I really like this cover art! I can't put my finger on it, but there's a certain je ne sais quoi about this art that really identifies it as belonging to a British comic.

Oh okay, cover art was by Elson, explains why I liked it then. Anyway, we see once again that the price of StC is being raised. I've said before I feel StC is expensive, especially in comparison to late 2000s era Beano, but I suppose when you compare it to something more comtemporary like IDW Sonic it's a good price? Then again, who knows how it stacks up when you account for inflation. Annnnnd final note about this image - I wonder if that sonic spinner toy works like a fidget spinner?

It might be because this is a whole different planet from Mobius, but it feels really odd that we're seeing like… Disney-esque dog humans as secondary and background characters rather than more traditional anthromorphic animals.

Anyway, professor dude turned into reverse colour scheme Hulk. They're not even hiding it, his name is literally Bulk.

Ah yes, Sonic's "spin really really fast to solve any problem" tactic! Haven't seen that one in a good few issues.

Lol that's some pretty good snark.

Hey, that's pretty close to my main blog's URL!

Hmm. Starting to get Totally Spies vibes.

Nice monochrome colouring! And it's pretty interesting to see Vector characterised as being smart in this way, even if the explaination does sound like it fits right in with Classic era Doctor Who lmao

A review of Fighting Vipers, and look, there's Honey! I bet this reviewer never would've guessed that character with later be connected to the Sonic series

Ooooooh! Did not expect to be introduced to Ebony and Pyjamas today! I am quite aware these two are fan-favourites. Btw, I'm loving that outfit Ebony is wearing, never seen art of her wearing anything modern and casual like that before.

Ok! I guess she can change her outfit instantly! But man, I can already see that people must've fallen in love with this character quickly, just this one panel is great show of personality.

You have my heart, Ms Ebony <3

I haven't really brought it up much, but for a good while by this point, StC has become more or less just a Sonic comic (jeez, who would imagine considering it's name). The only other Sega comics they do anymore is the occassional run of Decap Attack comics. I guess out of all of them this one must've been a favourite among readers.

I about to make a joke sugguesting Johnny's drink is alcoholic, but I wonder how old he actually is? Legal drinking age is 18 so he could potentially be old enough? But even if he wasn't, the UK is not exactly know for having teenagers who always follow drinking laws.

Gonna file this one under "sentences that sound a lot more racist if we weren't talking about animals"

It's kinda funny that Knuckles just like… randomly has a pet dinosaur now. …oh my god this issue is from 1997 so means Underground (released 1999) wasn't the first one to give him a dinosaur for no reason.

You know what mate? I'd be pissed off too.

A third of the back page which is otherwise dedicated to reminding you when the next issue releases? oh god yeah, such a waste of space. Totally unbelivable. 🙄

The word of a kid who probably also enjoys burning ants under a magnifying glass.

[lampmanliveblogs]

The next photograph shows Willow and Gus, and wow, remember when Gus was that short? And we didn't know he had a Tragic Backstory?

Anyways, based on the background, I’d say this memory is from season one, episode 18, Agony of a Witch, That wall looks like the inside of Belos’ castle, meaning we’re going out of chronological order, since the last photo/memory is clearly from Grom.

The penultimate photo shows the Grudgby match from Wing it Like Witches, with Amity, Luz, and Willow challenging Amelia, Boscha, and Cat.

(see what I did there? I wrote their names in alphabetical order!)

The Collector butts in and says they want to try Grudgby, which reminded me that I should be listening to what Luz is talking about instead of pausing every second take screenshots and point out what episode they’re from.

To my surprise, we didn’t get to see the Grom photo, but head straight over to the Grudgby field at Hexside, and Eda gets to have her boomer moment.

Eda: ”When I was your age, I had to walk to and from school in the snow! And it was uphill both ways!”

Also, ah… you okay in the background there, Collector? Are you feeling left out buddy? Sad because you don’t have a loving family?

Luz: ”Now there’s a spin-off I’d watch!”

About Eda and Lilith’s Grudgby careers? I mean… I guess? Make that a spin-off prequel about young version of all the characters, Eda, Lilith, Raine, Alador, Odalia, Darius, the other Coven Heads, Principal Bump, etc. Could be a good way to add some personality to some of these characters that we know literally nothing about. I was actually working on a fanfic kinda like that a while back, but I kinda gave up on it, but I think I had some neat ideas with it. Like a chapter where Darius met the Golden Guard that became his mentor, a chapter where Vitimir, after being bullied in school, poisons the entire school with a garlic potion, a chapter explaining why Adrian Graye Vernworth changed his name to Adrian Grey, and a chapter where Hettie Cutburn turns out to be a Victor Frankenstein-esque mad doctor who helped resurrect the basilisks… and the reason why she wears that stupid hat is because one of them escaped and clawed her face to shreds.

I was kinda skeptical about a prequel spin-off at first, but the more I think about it, the more potential I see in it. Maybe there could even be an episode where young Eda runs into Camila and Manny during a visit to the Human Realm, that’d be neat. Just have Eda be in disguise or something so Camila doesn’t recognize her later and it’ll be fun.

…shoot, now I kinda wanna read a fic with that premise. Hey, you! People on the internet! Make it happen!

Anyway… whatcha lookin’ at there, Collector?

He’s looking at Mattholomule, Jerbo, and, uh… Moon Girl. I was just about to say too that they’re very close to Hexside where a bunch of survivors were hiding.

[lianahayze]

Shadow and the Midnight Misery: Chapter 4

Welcome to chapter 4, my lovelies! If you missed chapter 3 or want to catch up from the beginning, you can find my masterlist here. Chapter 4 is below the cut!

Chapter Four: Garver Institute

The Garver Institute is sunny. When I’d walked in about two hours ago, it had been the first thing I’d noticed. Sure, I’d noticed the doctors and nurses. I’d noticed the excess amount of identification I’d had to provide. I’d noticed everything I’d had to surrender at intake. I’d noticed a lot of things, sure, but there was something about all the large windows that really stuck with me.

It’s like they’re trying to create artificial happiness.

As I walk through the hallway, all I want to go back to my room. That's right: my room.

Not only do I have to talk to fucking doctors, but I must be isolated while I do it. I hate it and contested it when they first looked through my bags looking for "drug paraphernalia" but it hadn't stopped them. They'd practically upturned my bag, digging through my belongings with a fine-tooth comb. Had I brought anything with me? No, I hadn't been stupid enough to waste the money I'd spent, but I also don't see myself here long term. A few days, that's what they'd told me. A few days if I cooperate.

I'm not by myself as I walk down the hall. Beside me is Dr. Norris. She's not forcing me to speak, which I'm grateful for, but she thought a walk would be nice before we formally meet in her office.

Truth be told, I'm glad I'll be working with her instead of Dr. Dorian. He was as bland as a box of chalk, and if I had to spend any extended amount of time alone in a room with him, that "cooperation" they'd so desperately wanted wasn't going to happen. Older men, especially men who are decades older, just make my skin crawl.

Finishing up our walk, Dr. Norris leads me to her office. The flowy green skirt she's wearing swishes around her knees, and I find myself staring at it for a moment. Maybe it's the fact that I didn't smoke or take a bump this morning, but my eyes have been easily distracted all day.

Dr. Norris shuts the door behind us. She invites me to sit down, and she goes behind the desk. The wheels of her chair spin against the floor as she sits down and starts her computer.

"So, Shadow," she says, "what do you think about Garver Institute so far?"

What do I think? Well, from what I can tell, Garver seems to be designed with a specific clientele in mind, and that clientele is me. I don't even want to know the bill for my stay, but, based off the immaculate upkeep, the large trees and bushes, and the fact that there are cameras everywhere, I'm willing to bet I'm not the only famous person here. Everything just looks so... luxurious.

It could almost be mistake for a spa or a resort for anyone who didn’t know better.

"It's nice for people who need it, I guess." Even though I don’t need to, I smooth out my jeans. I pick at the rips in the knees, widening them.

"So you don't think you need it?"

I look up. "Huh?"

"You said it's good for people who need it," she says. "Do you mean it's good for you or other people?"

"Well, it's..." I'm not sure if she's trying to get me to say something specific. I decide on my words carefully. "I think you all know what you're doing here." I smile. Yeah, that will work.

"And what are we doing here?"

That smile falls. "Uh, helping people?" I sound unsure of myself.

"it's okay, Shadow. You can relax." She begins typing on her computer. "There are no wrong answers here."

I listen to the keys for a moment. "But you're here to help people, right?"

"That's what we try to do, yes. But it requires effort from all parties involved."

"So what do you think I need help with?"

She stopped typing and looked at me. Leaning back, she says, "That’s a good question for me to ask you, actually. What do you think you need help with?"

"Honestly, your guess is as good as mine."

"You don't know why you're here?"

"I mean, my band is acting stupid."

"That's right; you're in a band. What's it called?"

" The Midnight Misery." I pause, wondering if she's still just trying to get to know me or if the session has officially started. "We're, uh, like an alternative band."

"It's not my type of music, but I think I've heard of you."

"It's a lot of grunge, mostly," I continue. "But Wyatt, our guitar player, can come up with these sick riffs. His music taste is mostly stuck in the 80s, so stuff like that." The knot in my stomach that I didn't even realize was there begins to loosen. "We have a good time. Well, we used to have a good time."

"Hmm. What about the rest of the band?"

"They're all good. I got lucky with them, I guess."

"Do they smoke and drink, too?"

"Yeah." I pause. “But not all the time. It's part of the lifestyle, but we know when to take it easy."

"What lifestyle?"

"You know."

"No, I don't,” she says, “maybe you could explain it?"

Her face is blank. I'm not sure if she's just pretending to be clueless or if she genuinely doesn't know, but I decide to indulge her.

"There's a lot of partying. It just comes with being in a band. We buckle down when the time comes, though. Can't party without putting in the work first."

"That's a good attitude to have. It'll help you be very successful." I'm glad she thinks so. "And the cocaine?"

I'm tempted to say, "What about it?" but bite my tongue. I'm not going to lie about it, though, so I say, "I've been using for a few years now. They knew about it. actually, they've known about it for a while." And they've never had a problem with it until now.

That's what makes no sense about this entire thing. If they have such an issue with me occasionally doing coke, why haven't they brought it up before? Why not just mention it instead of staging a full-on intervention?

"How often do you use cocaine?"

"Depends."

"On average. It's just a normal week when you're not doing anything out of the ordinary."

"But my life isn't ordinary." She gives me a look. "Most people aren't musicians. They have normal jobs."

"Ah." Dr. Norris nods. "Well, normal for you, then. How often do you think you're on cocaine during a normal week for you?"

I cross my legs as I think about it. Continuing to pick at the holes in my jeans, I'm not sure how to answer her. It's not like I’m high all the time, and my consumption isn’t excessive. Most of the time I do one or two lines in a go. Do I sometimes go back for more? Sure, but it's not like I’m demolishing a full plate in one sitting.

"Not that much."

"How much would you say you're spending a week on your habit?"

My eyes narrow. Theres something about calling it a "habit" that irks me. Some people like to have a cup of coffee first thing in the morning; I like a line of coke. Really, there isn't much difference.

Still, I ballpark a number. "1 to 2 k." She nods, repeating what I’ve said. "But I don’t use all of it myself. I go to a lot of parties and we, um, share." I’d much rather share my stuff than rely on favors from someone else. Unless I know the person, I can’t verify where they get their drugs from, and I'm not trying to inhale something that’s been cut with who knows what.

At least I’m safe in that regard.

"Have you ever done a detox before?" she asks. "Even an informal one on your own?"

Why would I detox something that isn't a problem? "I'm gone a few days without it, if that's what you mean."

"And the weed and alcohol?"

I wonder if I tell her the weed is medical if she'd buy it? "I really only drink a couple of times a week."

"How many servings would you say you have throughout the week?"

I shrug. Honestly, I can't even answer her. Sure, a "shot" is an official size, but it's hard to keep those uniform when your bartenders are your friends. "I'd say I go hard twice a week."

"Do you smoke every day?"

I nod. "Yeah, just about."

"Vaping?" I shake my head. "That's good. There are studies that show vaping THC might be worse on your lungs than rolling weed into a joint. So, what do you think we should do?" I ask her what she means. "Are you comfortable with quitting everything?"

I practically choke on the air as she says it. "The weed's not harming anyone," I insist. "It relaxes me. Good way to start my morning."

"So you only do it in the mornings?"

Well, not only, but... "Sometimes I can't sleep at night and it helps."

"Okay. This is good, Shadow. Honesty really does help."

Glad I'm saying at least some of the right things.

"Let me see." She stares at the computer screen. "I believe you're with us for seventy-two hours. Does that sound correct to you?"

I shrug. Maybe it's right. With Dr. Dorian by my side, I had "willfully" brought myself here. The guys had been here too, and they'd signed some papers. So, I guess I’d agreed to seventy-hour hours, but, without actually having read the paperwork, I didn’t know for sure.

"After that, we'll do a full evaluation to see if a 5250 is warranted."

"Yeah, I'm trying to--" Suddenly the numbers reach my brain. A 5250. Why does that sound so familiar? I try to wrack my brain but come up empty handed. "Remind me what that is again?"

"It's similar to the 5150." Her voice is calm and straight-forward. As if trying to gage my response, she looks me straight in the eyes.

It takes me a moment, but when I finally realize what’s going on, rage fill my body.

"Wait, I thought I was allowed to leave whenever. I came here voluntarily!"

"No, Shadow. You came here with Dr. Dorian."

"Yeah, but I walked myself in!"

"You were deemed a danger by the other individuals that accompanied you in."

A danger? A fucking danger?

I've heard of 5150. It's how they keep people who are a danger to society locked away for a couple of days while they're being evaluated. I'm not a danger to myself, let alone society. What the fuck is going on?

"Your alcoholism is stated as the reasoning on the paperwork. Do you not agree with that?"

But I'm not even an alcoholic! What the hell?

"I thought I was here because of the drugs, not the drinking."

"In my opinion so far, it could be cumulative, but--"

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone! I guess I’ve hurt the band, but not like that. Not physically, I mean. They're just mad that I'm sometimes late for practice. And there were a couple of shows that..." I shake my head. "Never mind. The point is I'm not a danger to anyone."

"No, Shadow, you're not understanding." Really? It seems pretty black and white it me. "You're not here because you're a danger to others. You're here because you're a danger to yourself."

Her words piece through me, causing my breath to leave my chest. A danger to myself? I'm not suicidal, if that's what she's trying to say. There have been times where I'd rather die than let certain things happen to me, but full-on suicidal? No way. Absolutely not.

"I'm not drinking and doing drugs because I'm trying to kill myself." Just saying "kill myself" out loud makes my mouth dry.

"No, that's not what I'm saying." It's not? I exhale sharply. "I think your friends are worried that you might accidentally harm yourself. That's all. You're lucky you have such caring friends."

I purse my lips. "That's all"? She makes it sound so simple, like I'd just missed a meal or something. "Don't forget to eat breakfast. Studies show it's an important part of your day." That's the tone she's said it in, like all of this is just a recommendation.

But if all of this is just a recommendation, then why am I here?

"I think there's been a mix-up. I don't know why they did this, but I don’t need to be here. Not like this."

My chest feels tight. I'm beginning to wish that I would have tried to sneak some drugs in. My body is shaking and I either need a drink or a joint--stat. My skin is crawling and I feel hot. My legs are shaking violently as I tap my heels against the floor.

"It's okay that you feel that way." Her voice is still so calm and nonchalant that it’s eerie. Why is she so calm, acting like this is no big deal? "I'm not telling you that you'll be here indefinitely, just for the next three days."

Isn't that the same thing?

"I can't just sign some paperwork, or something?"

She shakes her head. "No, that's not how that works. You didn't sign yourself in, so you can't sign yourself out."

Well, that's total BS. "What can I do, then?"

"You can work with me over the next couple of days. Once the three days are up, I'll do a re-evaluation to determine if you're safe to go home."

I was afraid she'd say something like that, but it wasn't what I meant. "So what will you be looking for?" I ask.

She takes a moment before answering. "There’s not an official checklist. We'll meet up a couple of times a day, we'll chat, I'll see how you adjust here by talking to the rest of the staff, and, if I think you're well enough, I'll create a plan for your discharge. If, for your own safety, you'll be here longer, we'll come up with an extended in-patient treatment program."

The thought of being here for more than the three days makes me nauseous. "So I just... answer your questions and be nice to everyone?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but to put it in the simplest terms, yes."

I put my face in my hands. I feel sick, like I'm about to throw up. If I ever get out here--no, when I do get out of here--I'm going to kill them. I'm absolutely going to kill them. They put me in here to save the band? Ha, by the time I get out, there's not going to be a band to save.

"Does all of this make sense, Shadow?"

"Huh?" I pull my hands down from my face and look across the desk at Dr. Norris. "Um, yeah. I guess." It's taking everything to my power to not grab the paperweight next to me and hurl it across the table. Throwing a fit isn’t something that I often do, but, right about now, I desperately want to.

I exhale. "Yeah, I get it."

She smiles. "Good. That means for the rest of the day, you're on your own. Did they give you the meal schedule? You know what time meals will be served?”

I nod. Though I doubt I’ll be eating, I remember them saying something about mealtimes during intake.

"Excellent. Feel free to walk around the grounds but remember that you'll have to check in every hour."

"What?"

"It's just so we can keep track of you, make sure you’re adjusting alright. Tomorrow it'll be every two hours." My breathing keeps increasing. This is going to be an absolute nightmare. "One other thing, you're not on any legally prescribed medications, are you?" I shake my head. "Good. We wouldn't accidentally want you detoxing from that." She stands. "Well, unless you have any questions..."

I have several, none of which I can actually get from my brain to my lips. I shake my head slightly, starting to get up. My legs wobble as I stand up, and I have to press my palms against the chair to prevent myself from falling. Dr. Norris notices, and says,

"Be careful. Are you okay to stand; do you need some water?"

The thing I need isn't water. Forcing myself to compose myself, I shake my head. "I'm alright. I just..." I shake my head again. I'm not even able to come up with a good excuse.

As I leave her office, Dr. Norris says something to me, but I'm not able to hear it. There's a buzzing noise in my ears, and my vision keeps switching to black. I keep myself upright just long enough to wave at her. The moment her door closes, I collapse against the wall, my body slowing dragging down against it.

My chest continues tightening, and no gasp of air that I take makes it better. I feel like I'm drowning, unable to calm myself down.

My fingertips start to tingle, and my heart bounces hard enough to just about crack my ribs. I'm alone in the hall, and I don't know what would be worse: being alone and with no one to comfort me, or someone turning the corner and seeing me.

Eventually, I'm able to get myself up. How long I'm on the floor I don't know, but, as I get my feet, all I want to do is take off my clothes. I'm hot and dizzy, and I have to blink several times for my vision to slide back to normal. I cough over and over again. I'm wheezing, but, after several attempts, I'm able to get it over control.

My feet drag as I make my way back to my room. Luckily, I don't run into anyone. My hands shake as I open the door, push myself inside, and slam the door behind me.

For a moment, all I do is stand there. It's quiet, but the screaming in my head is loud. I can't silence it, and, needing to get it out, I walk over to the bed. I stare down at it. The pillows look flat, and the covers are tucked in so tightly that I’ll probably struggle to put them back when it’s time for bed. Not that it even matters, though, because the bed looks ridiculously uncomfortable. I'd probably be better off sleeping on the floor.

Calmly, I walk into the bathroom. There's a toilet and shower and sink. Like everything else in this place, it's cleaned impossibly well. I reach for one of the small bottles on the sink. I turn it over in my hand. My eyes scan the words, but none of it reaches my brain. I look at myself in the mirror; a spilt second later, I'm throwing things at my reflection.

First it's the small bottle in my hand. Then the second one. Then the third one. I find a hair dryer and throw that, too. It doesn't break the mirror, but it makes a loud sound.

I storm back out into the bedroom. I open my bag onto the bed. There isn't much for me to sort through, and I quickly found what I was looking for. I grabbed my makeup bag and unzipped it. I hastily took out anything that I was at least somewhat heavy. Going back into the bathroom, I continue throwing things.

My mascara. My blush. My foundation. Anything that will ricochet off the floor and walls is fair game. I want to scream--I want to punch a hole in the wall--but, with this being the best I can do, I let the destruction consume me, not caring what breaks or who hears.

When it is all over, my foundation is splattered all over the floor, the glass bottle broken. I'd thrown the hairdryer so many times that parts of it have chipped. My heart is still thumping, and I'm still enraged, but I feel better. I feel... like something is actually in my control.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to clean everything up. Leaving it for housekeeping will only arise suspicion. Methodically, I pick up everything. One by one, I place the shards of glass into my hand and then into the trashcan. I don't know if they'll check my trash, but, right now, I'm so focused on just cleaning everything up that I don't really think about it.

After all, hiding things? Cleaning up messes? It's probably the only thing I'm good at.

-

Thoughts? Let me know what you think here. Hope you're having a wonderful day!

[kairiaka]

My Thoughts (Warning: Spoilers)

1. ... Here's a fun little liptus test for people:

Anyone who cheered when Maria died-- cut 'em out. Cut 'em out, you don't need them.

Same goes for anyone rooting for the death of Tom.

Speaking of Tom...

2. I knew there was a chance he was going to die when Shadow was introduced in 2 -- I just didn't know how Shadow was going to do it. But when Tom and Sonic are in the old cave at the beginning of the film, my gut started twisting with anxiety.

Thanks goodness he's fine (though it seems that Shadow might of broken his ribs).

That being said, I'm glad it went down the way it did. Shadow seemed genuinely concerned for a moment before doubling down. But because it Walters ...

Speaking of Mr. Olive Garden:

3. He lied.

Walters lied. About everything.

I was already giving him the side-eye after what he did in 2, but this really...

The first two films really get re-contextualized with this new information. (I really don't think he actually invited Sonic to brunch...) What were they planning to do to Sonic (and Tails) after getting them back to headquarters?

He lied. He lied about G.U.N., he lied about Shadow, and he lied about G.U.N.'s involvement in The Incident. It literally took the brothers (w/ Stone and Eggman) going to the base to get a hint what actually went down.

And that wasn't some senile old man forgetting details-- he purposefully painted Shadow as this monster so the boys would fight/"take care of the problem".

Also-- wouldn't surprise me if he's still alive. Probably lied about that too (and making a poor kid-- who he'd captured at his aunt's wedding -- grieve for no reason).

..Still, he did make me laugh. He will be missed.

4. Related to Walter's death(?)-- if the man truly is dead, his colleagues are heartless bastards. They didn't stop to mourn, check for a pulse-- nothing. Just frisked him for the key and made assumptions.

G.U.N. is cold-blooded.

5. Stone is the best (and deserves better than Ivo)

His entrance? Absolutely badass.

Still in loyal/in love with the Doctor? Yes, though he's not as unhinged as in 2. Perhaps he realized he had an unhealthy obsession and took a few steps back, maybe he's going to therapy---

Well, if he wasn't, he probably is now.

(The Livestream though..)

Stone needs a hug.

Also, I think Stone might actually be able to just roam freely now. He's not technically a criminal (one could argue that he was just following the Doctor's orders), and how can you charge a man for harboring a person who doesn't exist?

Does he go back to the Mean Bean? Is he hellbent on making a certain blue hedgehog pay for taking away his family? Is he patiently waiting for Ivo's return, since that man does have a funny way of not dying in incidents that would otherwise be considered fatal?

I don't know.

5. The Base Scene

That was some peak funny-terror. People were yelping, then laughing in the theater.

Good stuff.

7. The Robotnik Siblings

Perfection. No notes. 10/10, Peak Cinema.

... I was a wreck, but loved every second of it.

If we got a spin-off of just them being rascals at the base, I would go feral.

8. Gerald Robotnik

When I was a little kid, I remember watching friends play SA2 (I'm terrible at Sonic games) and Shadow the Hedgehog and wondering what Gerald would have been like if he hadn't been taken out by G.U.N.

... I think this is it.

I know some people who were actually upset at his portrayal, but I think it's accurate.

The man's been festering with grief for the last 50 years. If Shadow isn't okay-- and he was on ice the entire time-- why would you think Gerald would be alright? Plus, he has that quill that's frying his brains -- it's natural, after shocking yourself that many times-- you're a little crazy.

Also, I think he sincerely cared about Shadow at one point. But ...

9.

"Let's face it... You're no Maria."

This was the only time I've felt bad for Ivo Robotnik in this series. That man's heart shattered. And the way he looked at his hands as Gerald continued his rant about no one caring about him... ouch.

10. ...Knuckles is a better warrior than I.

Knuckles is powerful -- he was boasting about it the whole 1st half of the film. But when he stood down... *exhales*

That's strength.

And the thing is: I know he understood what Sonic was going through. He was literally in that position a few months ago. He also knew that he could put the hedgehog in the ground in a heartbeat.

...But he didn't. He let Sonic take the Master Emerald (because-- let's be real: that emerald was unguarded), because he trusted Sonic to make the right choice.

11. Shadow's Taunt

I have to admit: the punch was satisfying and well-deserved. The entire time, Shadow had been aggressive, but he never mocked anyone-- especially someone who he, as far as he knew, had murdered. It was a new low.

But, guys...I think Shadow wanted Sonic to end him. Maybe he thought of it as some sort of divine retribution or something (or maybe he wanted to see Maria again), but the way he pointed to his chest and kept goading Sonic to finish him off...

I don't know, it just broke my heart. Shadow is hurting, and traumatized, and the only person he had left in his family was telling him the world needed to burn. He was tired and wanted it to stop.

(The conversation on the moon made me choke up too. Quality writing right there.)

12. Handling the Trauma

I'm glad it wasn't a contest between the characters. All the kids are traumatized.

I was also worried, going in, that our heroes were going to say "This isn't what Maria -" to Shadow. It wouldn't have been their place to say that, and the Movie Team knows that.

The only person who poses that question is Shadow, and it's to the only other person who knew and loved Maria the best -- Gerald. (Granted, Gerald's hellbent on destroying the world, but still!)

Also, Shadow is written so well here. I knew he wasn't going to be an edgelord (given the history of Sonic Movie Team), but this is the most well-rounded version of Shadow I've seen in canonical media in a while (aside from Generations -- it really was the Year of Shadow last year)

13. The Livestream

I really thought we were going to get a "I've come to make an announcement" reference.

Also, I really want Ivo to be alive-- just so he can apologize to Stone in person.

14. The Wachowski Brothers

I just love this entire sequence. I love these brothers, and I love this family. May they prosper forever.

And

15. Sonic CD Tease

We got two characters for the price of one (also: Shadow is fine -- too many people didn't watch til the end and think he's dead).

Their designs are flawless, and the way the theater screamed at the appearance of Metal-- and even louder for Amy-- I think 4's gonna be fun.

Amy's intro is perfect and I trust the Movie Team to do her justice. Also, it seems like they've added back some of Amy's quills (on her head now-- 7 tufts, like Sonic and Shadow), but she looks like a hedgehog. Her nose is larger and elongated too (at least compared to her in the games). Her Piko-Piko Hammer (and her bracelets) seem tarnished, and her gloves might be slightly torn in spots -- she's been fighting these things for a while now, hasn't she?

But the big question: Who built the Metal Sonics?

I don't it was Stone. I'd like to think that he's not going to seek revenge (mainly because it's not Sonic's fault Ivo's dead).

It might be a rogue G.U.N. agent (there are quite a few of those running about). They've probably collected the quills (and probably the rings lost in Siberia) and made the robots.

Maybe it was Rockwell? ... Nah, she'd never trust a Robotnik design, and she hates the aliens.

On the off-chance, it's Robotnik -- why? Were they an experiment that's gone rogue, or is the doctor still alive and wanting world domination?

I guess we have to wait for 2027.

Sonic 3 is now available for everyone to go see!

Which means I can talk about it freely...

And I have some thoughts.

[writing-for-marvel]

We Could Have Had It All

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: Promises were made, none were kept.

Request: Anonymous - original request here

Prompt: “Do you even love me anymore?” - in bold

Warnings: angst, no happy endings here, dysfunctional relationship, end of relationship, swearing, wound to the hand & blood

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: so I’ve combined this request with @strwbrrybucky’s writing challenge thank you Rhi for hosting this

And as per the request, based on the song Rolling in the Deep by Adele - I did a bit of digging before writing this and to ‘roll in the deep’ with someone is a British saying to have someone’s back no matter what - so this is my angsty spin on that

Dividers by @maysdigitalarts

Masterlist | Ask me anything | Library

“Do you even love me anymore?”

When you truly love someone, they shouldn’t have to question the existence of that love, they should be able to feel it radiating off you like warmth from the sun.

But here you were, holding your heart in front of you on a silver platter, painfully unaware if Steve Rogers, the man you had become accustomed to describing as the love of your life, would embrace your heart with tenderness, or shatter it irreparably into a thousand pieces.

You waited for him to speak with bated breath, waited to hear him deny that your worst fears had indeed come true.

But those comforting words didn’t come.

He looked at you with foreign eyes - not the faithful, trustworthy ocean blue ones you fell in love with, but harsh, darkened ones which had you questioning if you even knew him at all anymore.

The Steve Rogers you fell in love with was an honest to a fault, fiercely loyal man, who assured you his love for you would never die.

But how could you continue to believe in the sincerity of those words when he broke so many promises?

Promise one: I promise to make time for you.

Your hair was styled to perfection, make-up immaculately applied, the new dress you bought specifically for this occasion showed just the right amount of skin to elevate Steve’s heart rate but was also suitable for the classy restaurant you made a reservation at.

You looked stunning. You felt sexy.

But he should have been home more than two hours ago.

By now your table reservation would have been passed onto another couple to enjoy, while you nervously paced in your living room, tears burning behind your eyes, frantically calling every person, god and Avenger you could think of that might know where he could be.

The main drawback of dating an Avenger, one who was as noble and self-sacrificing as Steve Rogers, was that at any sign of danger he’d be there, throwing his Super Soldier body in the line of fire to save everyone he could, which meant at any moment, without so much as a goodbye, he could just be gone.

He wasn’t invincible, even though at times you suspected he thought he was.

By the time the front door finally swung open, tears mixed with mascara were running down your face in inky rivers, high heels long discarded, tossed somewhere haphazardly beside the couch and a half empty bottle of red wine stood open on the coffee table that you hadn’t bothered to get a glass for.

“Hey sweetheart.” Relief poured over you as you studied him from across the room. He appeared uninjured, completely healthy, as if he had just returned from a late night stroll.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, it was just a little bank robbery. Tony said he had it covered, but I was in the vicinity.” Steve said offhandedly as he walked up to you and palmed the smooth material of your dress around your hips.

“Wait-” You held your hand up as if you were Doctor Strange and could halt time, stopping Steve from leaning in to kiss you. “Tony didn’t actually need your help? You chose to go with him?” Steve looked sheepish, as if he only just realised he said something he perhaps shouldn't have.

“Well… I mean, technically.” There was a lilt to his voice which made him sound guilty.

Your stomach flipped at the thought that he had knowingly put you under this stress. That he told you this date night was time for just the two of you in your busy schedules, yet he had so willingly bailed on you.

“So you oh so generously volunteered to help, when they didn’t actually need you, knowing I would be here waiting for you? Worrying about you all goddamn night? You didn’t even text me to let me know what was happening! Are you just purposely torturing me now?” The relief which had washed over you like a cold shower before was now turning to steam as hot resentment bubbled in your chest. “Do you even remember what today is?”

You could see the cogs turning in his mind, taking in your expensive dress and the makeup you applied heavier than usual. Your heart sank through the pit of your stomach that he even had to think about it.

The moment where it clicked was evident on his face, as clear as if a lightbulb was turned on.

Your second anniversary.

“Darling, if I-”

“Save it.” You snapped before heading down the hall to your shared bedroom, muttering curse words as you struggled to undo the zipper on the back of your dress by yourself, frustrated tears pouring from the corners of your eyes.

That night, Steve didn’t join you in bed.

Promise two: I promise to never take my anger out on you.

Steve was having a bad day.

It was evident from the way he slammed the front door shut when he got home, from the angry scream he let out in the shower when you asked him to cool off and the incensed glare he gave you as he walked into the kitchen after you patiently waited to discuss what was bothering him.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, lightly massaging the tense muscles, but before you could work your way down his back, he shrugged you off, grumbling at your touch.

Brushing the interaction off as him just purely being frustrated at the day, you decided to make his favourite drink: a Southside. Garnishing with a mint leaf you had grown yourself in your hanging herb garden, you put a smile on your face as you brought it to Steve.

Even though he couldn’t get tipsy from it, you knew he enjoyed the taste. It reminded him of when he would go out with Bucky in the 40’s and his smaller frame could get drunk off one glass. The thought usually relaxed him, tugging a small smile from the corners of his mouth. Well, on most days it would. But today wasn’t most days.

Without warning, Steve took the glass from your offering hand and slammed it onto the coffee table with so much force it completely shattered in his palm. Blood seeped slowly out of the cuts, pooling at his wrist, and dripped to the floor. He didn’t even flinch in pain.

You rushed to the kitchen to get him a towel, or anything you could find to soak up the blood. What on earth had gotten into him? It seemed so out of character for him to be so outwardly fuming - he would usually let it simmer inside his chest and you’d have to coax an explanation out of him.

“Can you please just tell me what the problem is?” You went to wrap a towel around his hand, to put pressure on the gashes to stop the flow of blood, but he harshly grabbed it from you, pushing you away as he did the work himself.

“You, you’re the problem! For the love of god can you just fuck off?” You had never heard him so exasperated before, and not only was he furious, he was directing all his anger at you.

“Look, I’m sorry you had a shitty day, but I’m just trying to help, you don’t have to get mad at me.” You stated, completely baffled by both his behaviour, and his reasoning behind it. You had barely interacted this morning before he went for his sunrise run and he was already vexed by the time he returned home, after spending his day wholly separate from you.

“Well you ain’t helping. You're just making shit worse.” He couldn’t even find it in him to look at you as he stood abruptly and shouldered past you roughly, deliberately, as he made his way to the bathroom.

You knew there must be an overarching reason as to why he was so upset, but it left you feeling empty that he chose to take his rage out on you rather than let you be his confidant.

Steve slept in the guest bedroom that night too.

Promise three: I promise to always be honest with you.

Steve entered your shared apartment, placing his keys on the little hook by the door with a pleased smile on his face and a skip to his step you hadn’t seen from him in a while.

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” Your tone was far more accusatory than you had planned, but perhaps, deep down, you didn’t want to hold back - you wanted him to feel the hurt which was consuming your entire body at that moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said in his best innocent tone, placing a quick, chaste kiss to your hairline which did absolutely nothing to abate the swirling anger in your chest. In fact, his words lit a fire beneath your existing fury, only making you more irate with him.

“Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, and definitely don’t lie to me again. Nat told me you visited the retirement home this afternoon.” Surprise filled his eyes as he quickly turned to look back at you. He clearly hadn’t expected you to know where he had wandered off to after work.

“Okay… yes, I saw Peggy.” He finally conceded. Even though this wasn’t new information, his confirmation was like a plunging knife to the heart.

You dropped your head, closed your eyes and sighed, gathering the strength to continue with this conversation, one that was overly repetitive at this point.

“We've talked about this before, yet you keep doing it - don’t you understand how it upsets me?” Your voice came out much softer this time, vulnerable, exposed, and weary.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand - she’s the only person left from my old life, who knew me in the 40’s, before the serum. Are you really mad that I’m trying to hold onto that?” His voice was in contrast to yours; loud, demanding and pitiless. He had a repulsed look in his eye now, as was becoming more frequent in your recent interactions, that made your stomach churn.

“Steve, you know I want you to keep a connection to that part of your life! What I don’t appreciate is you seeing your ex-love in secret and then lying to me when I ask you.” You personally didn’t think it was too much to ask to know when Steve was spending time with her - when you met him, she had been the love of his life. That was, until you were. At least, that’s what he told you. You weren’t so sure anymore.

“What does it matter? I don’t have to tell you about every interaction I have with my friends.” After all the conversations you had about this very topic, you couldn’t believe he still didn’t recognise why this decidedly troubled you.

“But can’t you see how lying about it, keeping it a secret from me, makes me think it does mean more than just friendship to you?”

He scoffed, actually scoffed, in response to your words.

“Do you still love her?” The question had been bothering you for a while, but you had never brought it up, knowing it would only further agitate him. Now, the doubt weighed on your chest so heavily you could barely breathe, and asking the question was a necessity to be able to suck oxygen into your lungs.

“What?”

“I think you heard me loud and clear.” His eyes narrowed and if you didn’t know any better you would have sworn he despised you.

“Don’t be delirious.” Perhaps you didn’t know any better.

Like the rock of a cliff face battered by harsh wind and rough seas, your trust in him was eroding with every word which fell from his lips.

He hadn’t denied his feelings for her, and as you glared at each other, painstaking silence mixing with deceit in the thick air, he never contradicted your words in spite of having plenty of opportunity to do so.

Promise four: I promise to always love you.

“Do you even love me anymore?”

Suffocating silence continued to fill the air surrounding you, waiting with a heavy heart for the words you desperately wanted to hear, but were convinced wouldn’t fall from his lips. Preparing as best you could for the searing pain in your chest which came with a shattered heart, you searched his face for any sign that he would finally provide you an answer.

“How can you even ask that?” An all too familiar indignant tone consumed his voice, a drop of venom poisoning his gaze.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You quickly followed up, but it again took him a moment of pause to answer, as if gathering the will to say it.

“Yes, I love you.” He said with utterly no conviction behind his words. The phrase sounded like a chore, as if it were something he was obligated to say rather than wanted to. They were the words you wanted to hear, but not the way you wanted him to say it, which was just as heartbreaking as not saying them at all.

“Then how come I don’t believe you?” Actions speak louder than words, and his actions were hoarsely screaming that he didn’t love you, at least, not any more.

Steve apparently didn't have a response to this as he simply stared at you, a semblance of panic in his eyes.

His silence was all the answer you needed, as it seemed was a common occurrence with him recently. At this point you were tired of the lies, exhausted at wanting him to reciprocate the effort and care you put into the relationship, only to be disappointed time and time again.

A sharp pain speared your chest, as if your heart was actually splitting in two.

You knew it was illogical to want someone who didn’t love you, but you couldn’t help but think back to all the memories early in your relationship where you could have sworn he really did love you.

The gentle caresses, affectionate kisses, nights spent in each other’s arms whispering words of devotion against each other’s bare skin - you couldn’t believe it was all a lie. You yearned for the kind and charming Steve Rogers you fell in love with two years ago, not this stranger in your living room staring at you with hostility.

How had it gone so wrong? How did it end up like this?

You sighed heavily, trying your best to ignore the unabating discomfort in your chest and the hot tears escaping the corners of your eyes. Maybe now it didn’t matter how you ended up here, it simply mattered how you moved on from it.

“At the end of the day, I can’t make you love me, as much as I wish you did.” You stated, looking into his azure eyes one last time. They no longer provided the solace you had once felt when searching for and finding them in a crowded room, the feeling now was closer to sorrow, heartache.

You turned around and even though it pained you beyond belief and every muscle in your body was begging you to, pleading you to, you refused to look back at him as you walked out.

Out of the apartment.

Out of his life.

For good.

We could have had it all, if only you kept your promises.

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[crankynewt]

Life Could Be a Dream - Chapter 2

Live in Living Colour Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/N) slowly begins to remember their life with “Pietro” before WestView as they move through the decades, but sometimes knowledge is a curse rather than a blessing.

Pairing: Pietro (Peter) Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: WandaVision Episode 6 spoilers! Read at your own risk!

Author’s Note: Here’s the highly requested second part to Be Okay! You don’t have to read it to understand this story, but it does fill in the gap during the 80s episode and give a little more context into the reader’s mind. Also, the reader’s powers and Halloween costume are highly based off of Starlight from the boys even though I did my best to make it gender neutral, but that’s what I kinda envisioned!

(Not My Gif!)

Your hips swayed as you danced around the kitchen, the sound of The Chords’ “Life Could Be a Dream” filled the room from the record player in the corner your beloved vinyl was spinning on. Chopping pineapple for the jell-o in the bundt mold beside you, you hummed along to the familiar tune as your feet shuffled back and forth on the checkered floor.

A whooshing sound and light breeze behind you tore your attention away from the task at hand. Turning around quickly, you were met with the smiling face of your loving boyfriend, relaxing in a chair with his feet propped up against the kitchen table. His dark jeans were complimented by a letterman jacket adorning his shoulders, his shades of grey complimenting your own and those surrounding the both of you.

“My partner and their impeccable taste in music.” He smirked, arms crossed behind his head.

“My boyfriend and his faster-than-a-bullet superspeed.” You retorted, shuffling over to your man and giving him a playful smack on the leg. “Feet off the table! We’ve gotta eat here in a few hours!”

Pietro whooshed once again, this time with one hand in your waist while the other held yours, finally slowing down enough to gently rock you to the music. Life really could be a dream, and you were experiencing it first-hand.

“What is happening? Where did this come from?!” Agent Woo asked, watching the dancing couple sway as a hexagon framed the image and the words ‘Pietro(Y/N)’ shone across the screen.

“I don’t know! When Wanda recast Pietro an extra broadcast started from inside the hex and this is what the channel’s playing.” Darcy explained, taking a sip of her long awaited coffee as the end credits began to roll. “She must have somehow created another storyline for them.”

“But, wait… Didn’t somebody say that (Y/L/N) went missing before the blip?” Monica commented, pointing at your smiling face on the screen.

“Last I heard was that they got beamed up on that spaceship in New York with Spider-Man and Doctor Strange, but nobody’s seen them since.” Jimmy added, crossing his arms with a furrowed brow.

“Well wherever they were, they’re back in action.”

You woke up with a gasp, shooting straight up as a cold sweat adorned your body. Your nightmare had been something that you couldn’t believe your mind had imagined, it was so real, so dark… 

You had been on a strange planet surrounded by shades or orange and red, weirdly dressed people fighting all around you. At the centre of it all was this purple giant, a metallic glove adorning his hand as he fought the group of you away. 

Before you knew what you were doing you were rushing towards him, hand raised as a tingling feeling ran down your arm while golden light formed around your hand. But your attack was to no avail as with a clench of his fist the giant had opened a red hole in front of you and you began free falling.

“What? What is it?” Pietro grumbled, slowly waking up at your sudden outburst. He sat up as well, rubbing his hand on your lower back soothingly. 

“It was just a dream, babe.” You brushed it off, turning to face Pietro and leaning closer towards him. His eyes still held worry and a bit of disbelief as you played it off, but rather than argue, he just held you close as the two of you laid back down until sleep took it’s hold once more. 

“How much longer ‘till he calls?” Darcy whined, spinning in her chair as the boredom of watching reruns overtook her. You and Peter had just finished your ‘80s episode, meaning that the two of you had just reunited with Wanda and Vision.

“Don’t worry, he’ll call.” Monica replied, and as if on cue the name ‘Jimmy Woo’ was flashing upon her phone screen. She was quick to answer and eagerly pressed the device to her ear. “Woo? What’d your guy say?”

“Scott said that (Y/N) hasn’t been seen since they were on a planet called Titan fighting Thanos. Stark apparently told him that they got tossed in some hole he opened and they couldn’t get them back.” Jimmy explained, the sound of a car moving filling the background as he was already on his way back from talking to Lang.

“You don’t think that he sent her to wherever this new Pietro came from, do you?” Monica responded, Darcy shrugging her shoulders in response.

“I mean, it’s well within the realm of possibilities?” 

“What are you boys doing?” You called from the bottom of the stairs to where Pietro and the twins were playing some video game on the tv, laughing and shouting as they shot at each other. “Piet, why aren’t you in your costume?”

Your boyfriend finally turned to face you and your Halloween costume had his jaw quite literally dropping. You adorned a white costume with a golden star and accents on the front, meanwhile your cape was white with countless smaller stars decorating it’s entirety.

“Wow! Babe, you look… Wow!” He ogled, speeding over to you as his eyes took in your costumed appearance. He ignored your question, Wanda having to bug her brother once more for him to drag Tommy with him to make their matching Quicksilver costumes, their hair slicked up on the sides in an odd way.

Before you knew it the five of you were making your way down the street bustling with costumed kids. Pietro and Wanda were a couple steps ahead of you with the twins, you making the decision to take a minute to appreciate your domestic life while the siblings caught up.

“Unleash hell, demon spawn!” Pietro yelled as the twins went running off to fill their buckets with candy. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, however you weren’t very far behind them and neither twin was making any effort to speak quietly.

“Do you remember when we were at the orphanage when mom and dad died?” She asked, the duo stopping to talk to each other in the middle of the busy road. While you didn’t intend to stop yourself, the sudden confusion that struck your mind left you no other choice.

Orphanage? Why would Peter have ever been in an orphanage when both his parents were still alive?  Wait, Peter? Where was all this coming from?

Suddenly your life was quite literally flashing before your eyes. Getting your powers, joining the Avengers, falling through the portal to another reality, meeting the X-Men… Oh, and Peter. Your relationship with Peter came back in moments, from your first meeting to the day he kissed you after you almost died on a mission. And how could you ever have forgotten your wedding day?! 

“Peter?” You asked out loud. Whether you were calling out to the man who you now remember to be your husband or questioning the memories that you had just regained you weren’t sure.

Your sudden comment caused Peter/Pietro to scoff in disbelief and furrow his brows, meanwhile Wanda’s expression darkened as her eyes glared daggers into your head. 

“Did you just call me Peter?” He asked incredulously, but his face quickly softened as he saw the fear in your eyes. You were utterly dumbfounded, How did you get back here? Last thing you remembered was being at the school, then all of a sudden you were living in some sit-com town.

“Why doesn’t he remember me? Wanda, what have you done?” Your voice wavered, your gaze shifting from Peter to Wanda, who would have already murdered you if looks could kill.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Her eyes flashed red, meanwhile Peter was standing there as if everything around him was completely normal.

“I think you do. Don’t make me do this, Wanda.” Your eyes began glowing as well. There was no way this would be ending well.