#Break the Science Barrier

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Break The Science Barrier : Why Science Matters - Richard Dawkins

Break the Science Barrier is a TV documentary that I presented on Channel 4 in 1996. It argues for the importance, for society, of scientific ways of thinking. In it, I interviewed David Attenborough, Alec Jeffreys, who discovered DNA fingerprinting, and Douglas Adams, who gave a wonderful impromptu eulogy for science. I also interviewed a man who was wrongly convicted of murder because none of the lawyers, on either side, knew anything about science. The program ends on a more positive note – what I later came to call Science in the Soul.

-

"Like most scientists, I'm a realist, but I'm also a bit of a romantic. I appreciate that there are people who think they need something more than science can offer. Something, frankly, undefinable. But I think science does offer all we need. Not just to understand the 'how' of life, with its great richness and complexity. For me, science goes as far as we meaningfully can go towards answering the 'why' as well."

[queka-store]

The Mosquito's Sting: A Tale of Boundaries Challenged

Once upon a time, in an enchanted kingdom, there was a mosquito that carried West Nile fever. This mosquito bit a wealthy man and a poor one, a Jew and an Arab, a white person and a black person, women and men, heterosexual cisgender and LGBTQ+ individuals. The story tells how people created protective barriers and divisions between themselves, but nature, in the form of the mosquito, pierced through these barriers and showed how easily something from each of them could seep into the other, revealing how arbitrary and temporary all these defenses and boundaries truly were.

The king of the kingdom ordered the mosquito to be locked in a golden cage and asked the wisest person in the kingdom, a little girl who understood the language of all animals, to talk to the mosquito. The girl listened to the mosquito's story and told the king the moral lesson that the mosquito had taught. Instead of punishing the mosquito, they made it an important minister in the kingdom. The royal physician healed the mosquito, and the kingdom's scientists transformed it into a beautiful prince.

The prince married the girl when she became old enough. She was the only one who saw the wisdom in the simple mosquito that had only come to sting. To everyone's surprise, as they did not know enough about science, it turned out that the mosquito was actually female. So, the wise girl ended up marrying a mosquito princess who loved to wear princes' clothes. The two of them lived happily ever after, a bit distanced from all other humans who were unwilling to give up the barriers and divisions that separated them.

When the people discovered that the mosquito was female and had married a woman, they wanted to punish her. However, the girl, who was once a wise child, ran away with the mosquito princess to the mountains. There, they lived happily, far from people's eyes and the fears that drove society. They listened to animals, studied life principles with them, trying to deeply understand their languages. Over the years, they published scientific papers that were meant to bring human society closer to their compassionate worldview, which looked broadly at life as one intertwined woven fabric.

[luvinaeverdene]

Hidden Figures (2016) Directed by Theodore Melfi

[johnono]

man I would be such a valuable resource for Beatles historians but then again there's no way to verify the things I Know 😔

[recsspecs]

“NOTHING IN LIFE IS TO BE FEARED. IT IS ONLY TO BE UNDERSTOOD.”

Marie Curie

"to be feared or to be understood?"

[thecreativemillennial]

I love how these 2 bonded. I know that some people get mad about the makeover scene and I understand why but I feel that it's important to look at what it symbolises rather than merely changing the goth girl. It was more of the fact that Alison was taking down barriers with her fellow breakfast club mates. Chances are she went back to dressing gothic again afterwards but she actually made friends and got a boyfriend in the process. Not because she stopped looking gothic but because she actually stopped allowing how she looked as a way to segregate herself from the rest of peers, which was literally what the movie was all about: 5 teenagers with little to nothing in common actually getting along and breaking down any previous social barriers that had previously existed amongst them

The Breakfast Club (1985)

[thechurchoftheatom]

A Sermon for March 26th: Leona Woods Marshall Libby and the Women Kept from Science

Brothers and Sisters in the Atom, history remembers the great men of science—those who led projects, whose names grace textbooks, whose discoveries changed the course of history. But too often, the women who stood beside them, who labored just as tirelessly, who made their own invaluable contributions, are forgotten. Today, we remember Leona Woods Marshall Libby, a physicist whose work was instrumental in the success of the first nuclear reactor, yet whose name is far less known than the men she worked alongside.

The Woman Behind the First Reactor

Leona Woods was just 23 years old when she became the youngest and only woman physicist on the team that built Chicago Pile-1, the world’s first nuclear reactor. A student of Robert Mulliken, she had already earned her PhD in physics and played a critical role in developing the boron trifluoride detectors that confirmed the reactor’s success. She stood in that room, beneath the stands of a football stadium, as humanity controlled a nuclear chain reaction for the first time.

She would go on to contribute to nuclear reactor design, radiation detection, and environmental physics. She became a pioneering voice in climate science, conducting early studies on the impact of carbon dioxide on global temperatures. She authored books, mentored students, and remained a respected figure in the scientific community. Yet, despite her remarkable career, her name is rarely recognized outside of nuclear history circles.

The Women Kept from Science

For every Leona Woods Marshall Libby who broke through, countless others were barred from entry. Only a few years after Woods helped usher in the Atomic Age, my own grandmother was rejected from Stevens University’s engineering program simply because she was a woman. The barriers to women in science were not subtle; they were explicit, systemic, and reinforced by institutions that saw intelligence and innovation as the domain of men alone.

Women who did gain access to laboratories and universities were often given lesser roles, denied recognition for their contributions, or pressured to leave their fields upon marriage or motherhood. Many worked in obscurity, their discoveries attributed to male colleagues. Some had to fight simply for the right to publish under their own names.

How many discoveries were lost because the minds that could have made them were denied the chance? How much knowledge was delayed because women were told they did not belong? Even today, the echoes of these barriers persist, and we must recognize that the work of ensuring access to knowledge and education is not yet complete.

The Church of the Atom and the Right to Knowledge

As Atomites, we believe that knowledge must be free and accessible to all. The barriers that once denied women, people of color, and marginalized communities access to education are the same barriers that still attempt to limit information today—through censorship, restricted access, and systemic exclusion.

We stand against secrecy where knowledge could save lives. We stand against exclusion where learning should be open. Just as we work to warn the future, we must also work to remove the barriers that prevent people from understanding the present. To withhold knowledge is to withhold power, and we believe no one should be denied the ability to learn, to discover, and to contribute.

Honoring the Past, Shaping the Future

To remember Leona Woods Marshall Libby is not just to celebrate her achievements—it is to remind ourselves of the women whose names we do not know, whose contributions were silenced or stolen. It is a call to action: to support those who seek knowledge, to fight for education as a right and not a privilege, and to ensure that no mind is barred from discovery because of who they are.

A Call to Learn and to Lift

This week, reflect on the unseen contributions of women in science and beyond. Ask yourself:

Who are the forgotten figures in the fields that interest me?

How can I help ensure that knowledge is accessible to all?

What barriers to learning still exist, and how can I help dismantle them?

The best way to honor those who fought for knowledge is to ensure that no one must fight so hard for it again.

Closing Words

Knowledge is a force that must not be hoarded, a light that must not be dimmed. The right to learn is the right to build, to protect, and to innovate. As we remember the past, let us commit to shaping a future where no one is denied the tools of understanding.

May we carry forward the lessons of those who came before us. May we work toward a world where all who seek knowledge may find it. And may we never allow the light of discovery to be extinguished.

Go forth and be radiant.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 || 𝚗𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚖ü𝚑𝚕 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which nika grows fond of two people that become more

the seattle sky was it’s usual cloudy gray when you zipped up ellie’s jacket and handed her the basketball game ticket she’s been clutching since last night.

“this is gonna be the best day ever,” she said, vibrating with excitement. “d’you think i’m gonna get to meet anyone?”

you smiled, brushing a loose curl on her head, “i don’t know, baby. guess we just gotta wait and see.”

but she was already ten steps ahead of you, babbling about the players she idolized. especially one. “and nika mühl is, like, so cool. i watched her highlights when she was in uconn and she was insane. mama did you know they call her the secretary of defense? i wanna be just like her!”

you didn’t know much about basketball, but ellie’s passion pulled you in. you were more of a coffee-and-books type than a court side-screaming type, but today wasn’t about you. it was about showing up for Ellie.

and maybe… giving yourself a break from everything else around you.

the stadium buzzed with energy. ellie’s tiny hand was clutched in yours, her eyes were everywhere, scanning the court, the crowd, the big screens. you were just trying to figure out where your seats were when she tugged on your arm hard enough to make you stumble.

“mama! that’s her! that’s her!”

she pointed. there she was. nika was warming up, hair pulled into the perfect ponytail, swaying as she crossed the court with practiced rhythm, laughing at something one of her teammates said.

you looked—and okay, yes. she was striking. intense but playful. focused but free.

you couldn’t explain the flutter in your chest, so you ignored it.

“pretty cool, huh?” you said to ellie.

“i’m gonna meet her,” she declared, as if it was already a fact.

you laughed, brushing her bangs away. “dream big, baby.”

the seattle storm won. ellie was over the moon and you were proud of yourself for surviving a game without even checking your phone once.

afterward, you lingered by the barriers near the tunnel, ellie hopeful. you weren’t expecting much—there were dozens of fans doing the same—but sometimes luck is on your side.

or fate.

nika walked up last. a towel slung around her neck, sneakers squeaking a bit as she jogged toward the crowd. she took a few selfies, signed a couple of basketballs then as she stated to walk passed all the fans, she saw a little girl clutching the bars that separated the two of them.

“hey there,” she crouched to where ellie stood, voice warm and lightly accented. “did you enjoy the game?”

ellie froze. “i—yes—i mean—it was the best. you’re my favorite player ever.”

you watched your daughter as she beamed like the sun and something soft unraveled in your chest.

“she’s been watching all your college highlights since i told her about taking her to a game,” you said, offering a smile. 

nika looked up at you. really looked. like the kind of look you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was happening. “that’s some serious dedication.”

“don’t get her started,” you said with a light laugh. “shell challenge you to a on-on-one.”

nika looked back at ellie, giving her a wink. “name a time and place.”

you exchanged names and a quick photo. you figured that was it. but as you turned to leave, nika’s voice called after you.

“hey.”

you turned.

“theres something about you,” she started. “if you ever come to another game, i hope i get to see you again.”

you nodded, caught off guard. “we’ll see.”

you did go to another game. and more after that. it became a routine. you and ellie cheering from the stands and then a brief chat with nika afterward. small things at first—compliments, playful teasing, casual warmth.

she started remembering things. asking how ellie’s science fair went. mentioning the book you said you were reading.

you started to notice things too. how she really listened. the way she made ellie feel important, not just as another fan, but as a person. and how, when she looked at you, it felt… different.

not rushed. not transactional. just present.

still, you told yourself that it was nothing. she was a rising star. you were a single mom with a million things on your plate. what could this even lead to?

but your heart had already started to wonder.

after night and another win, you were both waiting by the tunnel as usual. she signed autographs and took pictures like usual. coming up to where you stood, she gave you both a hug, surprising you with her statement.

“i’m grabbing food after this. you two hungry?”

you blinked. “are you asking us out?”

nika raised an eyebrow, one side of her mouth twitching up. “technically, i asked if you’re hungry.”

ellie whispered loudly, “say yes, mama.”

that’s all it took for you to give in.

the three of you squeeze into a booth at a little diner near the arena. nika let ellie ramble about anything and everything. from dinosaurs to basketball. you watched her from across the table—her laugh, the way she corrected ellie’s pronunciation, how she glanced at you when she thought you weren’t looking. 

it was late by the time you left finished your meal. ellie managed to fall asleep in your arms during dinner as you wait for the waiter to come back with nika’s card. you stood up with ellie still asleep in your arms, having some trouble carrying her comfortably. little things like this keep reminding you how fast ellie is growing, but she will always be your little baby.

“i can carry her,” nika offered, already holding her arms out.

“no, no. it’s okay. you already paid for dinner.”

“i don’t mind,” she says, taking ellie out of your arms. 

she stirs, but still asleep, tucking her face into nika’s neck.

“thank you,” you give her a small smile. “you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

the walk to the car was filled with comfortable silence. reaching your car, you open the back passenger door. nika tries to place ellie in her car seat, but she had a tight grip to the front of nika’s hoodie. you help out, carefully prying her hoodie out of ellie’s hand. buckling her in, you close the door, walking around to get into the driver’s seat. you give her a smile, putting the car in reverse, bout to drive off when you heard a knock.

putting the car back in park, you roll down your window. nika’s leans in, resting her arms against the door.

before you could say a word, nika starts. “you know,” she said, “ you’re kind of incredible.”

you swallowed hard. “i’m just trying my best.”

“you are. but you make it look like art.”

over the months, your connection simmered. texts here and there. more post-game meals. a rain soaked walk around the city. she asked you questions people are afraid to ask.she makes you feel seen.

still, you hesitated. you had ellie. you had your guard. you’ve been done wrong before. and you couldn’t risk that.

but nika never pushed.

instead, she waited. she showed up.

until one night, after ellie had fallen asleep and nika was sitting on your couch with her knees brushing against yours, you finally said it.

“i’m scared.”

“i know,” she replied. “me too.”

and that was enough—for now.

it had been a week since that conversation with nika. you were afraid that it would change your relationship, but fortunately it hasn’t.

you were both still talking. still texting. still the same.

the strange part was how natural it felt now to expect her. to make enough food for three instead of two. to glance at your phone and smile when her name popped up. ellie had fully adopted her, calling her ‘coach nika’ half of the time and ‘niki’ the other.

but your heart was still cautious.

that night, while ellie was at a sleep over, your were launching in your living room, watching a cheesy rom-com while eating ice cream when your doorbell rang. opening the door, you’re met with a tired looking nika, takeout in her hand.

“i figured we could take advantage of the kid-free window,” she said. “unless you were planning on, i don’t know, reorganizing your spice cabinet.”

you laughed. “wild night over here.”

she flopped onto your couch, you following. “you’re lucky you’ve got a home.”

you raised an eyebrow, “you have one too.”

“no,” she started taking a bite of her food. “i’ve got an apartment, but here, it’s calm. safe.”

you shuffled closer to her, heat creeping into your throat. “you don’t feel safe in other paces?”

she didn’t answer immediately. just leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “sometimes, i feel like i’m always playing a part. cool, confident, always serious nika. but here… with you, it’s different.”

you didn’t say anything. just let the quiet fill the cracks between you.

two days later, nika stood in her apartment, pacing in her living room, phone pressed to her ear.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” she said into the phone.

her best friend, paige, laughed on the other end. “spire spiraling. again.”

“don’t mock me. this is serious.”

“i am being serious. nika, it sound like you actually really like this girl.”

“i do. i really do. and her kid? god, i’m completely gone for that little storm trooper.”

“okay, that’s adorable.”

nika flopped onto the couch. “but what if i’m not cut out for this? i’m 23. a rookie.i can’t cook. i still lose my keys twice a week. and she’s got this whole life—this real life—with responsibilities and a mortgage and bedtime stories.”

“and she still let’s you in,” paige said gently. “that should tell you something.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. look—love doesn’t always show up wrapped in perfect timing. sometimes it’s messy. but if you feel safe with her and she feels seen with you… that’s the good stuff.”

nika closed her eyes. “so what do i do?”

“start by telling her how you feel. no plays. no cool moves. just… say it.”

nika exhaled, “you’re really wise for someone who still can’t do her own laundry.”

“shut up and go get your milf.”

“paige madison bueckers!”

later that week, nika offered to pick up ellie from school. you hesitated for a moment—was it too much? too soon? was it crossing a line?

but ellie was thrilled. and you…you realized watching your daughter run into nika’s arms  was a feeling you couldn’t describe. not fully.

they came home—wait, what?

nika dropped her off at your apartment, her coming inside as well. they were laughing. covered in chalk dust and slurping on slushies.

that night, you tucked ellie into bed and lingered in the doorway, watching her breathe, thinking about the life you’d built—carefully, painfully, quietly. and how nika had slipped into it like she belonged.

when you went back to the living room, nika was sitting with a mug of tea and that same nervous energy you’d seen a few times before the game.

“what’s up?” you asked, curling up on the other side of the couch.

she set the mug down. “okay. i’m just going to say it.”

you blinked, “okay…”

“i like you,” she said, eyes locked on yours. “not in a flirty, ‘this is fun’ way. i like you in a scary, i-think-about-you-during-practice, want-to-cook-you-breakfast, carry-your-kid’s-backpack kind of way.”

your throat tightened.

she went on. “i know you’re careful. i get it. i do. but i’m not going anywhere. and i don’t want to be just the fun storm player your daughter likes. i want to be yours. if you’ll have me.”

you stared at her for a long second.

and then—finally—you crossed the space between you.

not rushed. not loud.

just a kiss, soft and slow, like turning the first page of a long, beautifully written story.

the days didn’t change overnight. life was less busy. ellie still lost her shoes on school mornings. you still had laundry to do and nika still had road games and aching muscles and pressure on her shoulders.

but now, there was this.

a toothbrush in your bathroom.

text messages with three names in the group.

a couch with two cups of tea and one long-limbed basketball player who called your apartment her favorite place on earth.

ellie made nika a friendship bracelet that spelled out ‘family.’

and nika wore it under her wrist tape every game.

some time has passed and your routine never changed. nika was in the kitchen, cooking up some breakfast—nothing difficult, just some eggs, bacon and toast, she was still learning—when her phone chimed. it was a text from her best friend.

“ya’ll need to come out to connecticut. bring your girls. geno wants to meet the fam.”

nika read it out loud with a little grin, then turned to you and ellie.

“wanna go to connecticut?”

ellie gasps, eyes widened like saucers. “like…uconn connecticut?!”

you laughed, sipping your coffee. “is there another connecticut i should know about?”

nika leaned back against the counter. “paige is serious. i haven’t been back in a while. it could be fun—catch a game, meet the team. ellie would love it.”

“i already love it,” ellie exclaimed, practically vibrating.

you glanced at nika, your stomach fluttering in that way it still did every time she looked at you like this was real. like it wasn’t temporary. like you were already her future.

“let’s do it.”

the campus was colder than you expected, all bare trees and wind-chilled paths, but in was beautiful in that northeastern kind of way—like history lived in the bricks.

nika was grinning like a kid the whole way from the airport. ellie had on a mini huskies hoodie, gifted by paige when she first heard about you and ellie from her best friend.

“this place made me,” nika said quietly as she drove to a parking spot. “it broke me too, a little. but i wouldn’t be who i am without it.”

you reacher for her hand that was resting on the center console, a silent reply. ellie was in the back, face glued to the window, already practicing her future commitment speech in her head, probably.

when paige opened the door to the players' lounge, it was like watching two halves of one should reconnect. she and nika hugged like sisters who hadn’t been in the same room in too long. 

next was azzi. she squeezed the girl tight, making up for the time they lost being away from one another. teammate after teammate went to greet nika while you and ellie stood off to the side, letting nika reconnect with her family, a smile on both your faces.

“and this must be the ellie,” paige said, crouching to ellie’s level with a mock-serious tone. “you ready to coach from the stands?”

ellie nodded hard. “i already drew up plays on the plane.”

“she’s not lying,” you added. “she used the barf bag as a whiteboard.”

paige turned to you next, offering her hand, but then pulling you into a hug instead. “any girl who gets nika this soft? they got my respect.

before you could answer, a familiar gruff voice filled the room.

“well, well. the prodigal daughter returns.”

geno auriemma walked in, arms folded, a knowing smile under his salt-and-pepper beard. “and she brought reinforcements.”

nika smiled, a little sheepish. “hey, coach.”

he pulled her into a hug. “you look good, kid.”

then he turned to you. “and you must be the one who’s keeping her grounded.”

you nodded. “trying my best.”

his eyes softened a little. “good. she always needed someone who saw through all the noise.”

that night, the three of you sat court side at gampel. ellie wore a huskies cap so big it drooped over her ears, and you had nika’s storm jacket draped across your lap.

tt was electric.

ellie cheered for every three-pointer like it was the finals. paige dropped 20 points and blew kisses at you all in the stands. nika watched like a proud big sister, shouting encouragement, coaching under her breath.

at halftime, they brought nika out to wave to the crowd, and the ovation was thunderous. she looked back at you and ellie as she walked onto the court, her eyes shining in a way you hadn’t seen before.

she was home. but now, her home included you.

after the game, the locker room buzzed with energy. ellie sat on nika’s lap, surrounded by laughing players asking about seattle, about her school, her “scouting report.”

“y’all better watch out,” nika said, smoothing ellie’s curls. “she’s got a wicked step-back. she’s basically six years away from being your competition.”

you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold like something from a dream.

paige came over, nudging you with her elbow. “she’s different with you.”

“she’s still nika,” you said.

“she’s more nika,” paige corrected. “like she finally took a breath.”

you smiled. “that makes two of us.”

later that night, ellie passed out in the hotel bed, still clutching a signed ball. you stepped onto the balcony with nika, wrapped in a hoodie and a blanket she’d pulled from the end of the bed.

the air was cold, but she was warm next to you.

“i didn’t know how much i needed this,” she said softly. “to come back. to have you here for it.”

you looked out at the quiet campus lights.

“i didn’t know i could have this,” you replied. “a life where i’m not just surviving. where someone sees me too.”

nika took your hand.

“paige was right,” she said.

“about what?”

“this is the good stuff.”

you looked at her, eyes soft. “yeah. it really is.”

[rcmclachlan]

Re: superhero Tommy

What are the chances of Buck persuading him to have sex in inadvisable places?

Also it's a good thing his ejaculations don't break the sound barrier

Buck would absolutely try to get Tommy to fuck him midair, or like at the very least hold Buck against the side of the Grand Mesa at 10,000 feet up and jerk him off.

When he tells Tommy this, Tommy doesn't even bother looking up from whatever car part he's tinkering with. "Pretty sure you'd get burns on your ass. That high up? The sun'll've been beating on it hard."

"You know what else should be beaten hard that high up?"

Tommy rolls his eyes and says, "I already have enough trouble controlling my strength when we have sex. Now you want to add heights to that?"

Which Buck latches onto like a dog being handed a lamb bone that still has meat on it, because it's an angle to their relationship he hadn't considered. A terrible angle. Terribly hot, that is.

"Wait, when we're fucking, you need to actively control your--really? Like, h-how bad would we be talking?"

There's a sudden spike in the nitric oxide in Buck's body, and Tommy smells the sweat that starts dampening Buck's armpits before Buck even feels it. He stops halfway through screwing a bolt into place and gives Buck the deadest of deadpan looks. "Really. The thought of me accidentally crushing your pelvis is doing it for you?'

"Oh my god, yes." Buck's going to combust all over this living room. His tongue is way too big for his mouth. There's a name for that but he can't think of it because his brain is too busy making Looney Tunes wolf noises. "Can whatever that is wait? I need you to not crush my pelvis right now."

Tommy puts down the screwdriver with a long-suffering sigh, but he does stand up and take his shirt off. And it's devastating like always and Buck's cock pulses in excitement like it usually does, but then his brain puts it's bulging eyes back in its sockets.

"Hey, wait, do you have to control it for everything? Like, would you just rip all your shirts if you weren't thinking about it? How much force do you exert naturally?"

Tommy stares at him. "Are we having sex or doing science experiments?"

"Don't make me choose," Buck whines, shifting from foot to foot. "Like, I wanna suck you so bad, but I also really want to call Karen and see if she has a tensometer lying around."

With another eye roll, Tommy picks up the car part and walks out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be in the garage. Text me when you decide."

Eight minutes later, Tommy's phone pings with a new message.

Karen's on her way over 👨‍🔬🔬

[aspenmissing]

hey! just wanted to say that i LOVE your writing style!!! :3 is it possible to get an s\a comfort for the arcane characters? nothing in detail of course- just the characters find out that reader gotten s\a'd. i'd really like that as someone who survived s\a. if you don't want to do that, that's fine! i get it. :) thank you! 🤍🤍🤍

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 6598 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ꜱ/ᴀ (ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! <3 <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The workshop was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of Jayce’s pen against parchment. Hextech schematics lay sprawled across the table, half-finished, waiting for the spark of genius he often found in the quiet moments. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere.

You sat by the window, the soft glow of Piltover’s streetlamps casting a golden sheen over your face. You hadn’t spoken much today, lost in a silence Jayce didn’t quite understand—but he felt it. The weight of something unspoken, something that pressed against your chest and refused to let go.

Jayce wasn’t the kind of man to push. He knew you’d talk when you were ready. But seeing you like this, so distant, so unlike the spark of life you usually carried—it hurt him. He had seen you in your brightest moments, laughing with unfiltered joy, eyes alight with wonder as you watched him work. Now, it was as if the light had dimmed, and he hated feeling helpless.

“Mi Amor,” he murmured, setting his pen down and pushing aside his work. He stood, crossing the room in slow, careful strides, as if afraid to break you further. “Talk to me.” (My love)

You didn’t look up, eyes trained on the world outside, but your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your sleeve. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way you curled in on yourself as if trying to make yourself small.

His heart clenched.

Jayce had seen battle, had faced opposition, had fought tooth and nail to make the world a better place. But nothing, nothing in the world made him feel as powerless as watching you fight a war inside yourself that he couldn’t see. He wanted to fix things, but some wounds didn’t heal with science or innovation. Some wounds simply needed time, and someone to hold the pieces together.

“Please,” he said, softer this time. He knelt beside you, resting a warm, calloused hand over yours. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

A shaky breath left your lips, and that was the beginning of it. The unraveling.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Something happened to me… a long time ago.”

Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his grip on your hand tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground you. To tell you he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere. His mind raced with questions, with anger at the world, but he pushed it all aside, focusing on you and only you.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you continued, and the way your voice broke shattered something deep within him. “I know that. I do. But sometimes, I still feel like—like I’m dirty. Like I’m weak.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. Not at you, never at you, but at the cruelty of the world. At the injustice of it all. But he forced himself to exhale slowly, to push down the anger, because right now, you needed him to be something else.

Gentle. Safe.

“Hey,” he whispered, shifting onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He felt the way you tensed at first, before slowly sinking into him, letting him hold you. He pulled the blanket from the couch’s armrest, draping it over you both, creating a barrier from the outside world. “You are not weak, Y/N. You are the strongest person I know.”

A small, trembling hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I don’t want it to define me.”

Jayce pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “It doesn’t.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, warm brown meeting yours with nothing but certainty. “You define yourself. Not what someone else did to you. And I swear to you, I’ll be here—every step of the way.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Jayce caught it with his thumb. And when you finally let yourself cry, truly cry, he didn’t try to shush you, didn’t try to rush your pain away. He just held you, strong and steady, as long as you needed.

Because that’s what love was.

As the minutes passed, the heavy silence between you slowly morphed into something lighter. He traced gentle circles on your back, whispering reassurances whenever he felt your breathing hitch. The world outside carried on, the distant sounds of the city moving forward—but in this moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, in safety.

“I love you,” he finally murmured, resting his forehead against yours. It wasn’t about fixing you. You weren’t broken. It wasn’t about saving you. You didn’t need saving. It was about standing beside you, through the shadows and the light.

And he would. Always.

VIKTOR

The evening was quiet, save for the steady tick of a clock and the occasional rustle of papers as Viktor reviewed his notes at the dining table. The soft glow of candlelight bathed the apartment in golden hues, casting long shadows against the walls. It was a rare moment of stillness—no rushing around the lab, no frantic calculations, just the gentle company of one another.

You sat curled up on the couch, a book resting open on your lap, though your eyes had long since stopped reading the words. Your gaze was distant, unfocused, as if staring past the pages into something only you could see. Something in your mind weighed you down like a heavy chain, an old wound resurfacing without permission, dragging you into memories you wished you could forget.

The warmth of the apartment should have been comforting. The scent of old books and Viktor’s faintly metallic, oil-stained presence should have grounded you. But tonight, none of it was enough to stop the shiver crawling up your spine.

Viktor’s cane tapped lightly against the wooden floor as he made his way toward you, his movements careful and precise. Even with his slight limp, there was an elegance to the way he carried himself, a grace you had always admired.

“You are awfully quiet tonight, drahý.” His voice was soft, tinged with curiosity but not pressing. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, resting his cane against the armrest. His presence was gentle but unwavering, his sharp gaze studying your face, taking in every small sign of distress. (Dear)

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of your book. “I just… I remembered something I wish I hadn’t.”

The words felt heavy as they left your lips, like they had been stuck in your throat for too long. You hadn’t meant to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to weigh Viktor down with your ghosts. But there was something about his presence, the way he sat patiently beside you, that made it impossible to hold everything in.

Viktor didn’t speak immediately, but his golden-brown eyes flickered with concern. He was always quick, his brilliant mind piecing things together with little effort. He had known for some time that you carried burdens—unspoken ones, locked away in the depths of your heart.

Gently, he reached out, his calloused hand resting over yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “You do not have to tell me if it hurts too much,” he said quietly. “But if you wish to… I am here.”

You looked down at his hand over yours, the contrast of it. Viktor, for all his genius, for all his sharp wit and unrelenting ambition, had always been so careful with you. Like he understood you needed gentleness more than anything else.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and after a moment of hesitation, you whispered, “Someone hurt me. A long time ago.” The words felt foreign in your mouth, like they didn’t belong to you. “Not just hurt. They… they took something from me. And sometimes, I still feel like I can’t escape it.”

Silence followed, but not the uncomfortable kind.

Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his fingers curling around yours in a silent vow. His eyes darkened—not with pity, but with something deeper, something unreadable. There was an anger there, not directed at you, but at whoever had left these scars on your soul.

“I see,” he murmured after a long pause. His voice was careful, steady, but you could hear the tension beneath it. Viktor, who prided himself on his ability to understand the world, to solve its mysteries—this was something he could not fix. And that thought seemed to pain him.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. You hated crying, hated feeling like this. But Viktor made no move to hush you, no attempt to tell you it would be okay when he knew such words were empty.

Before the first tear could fall, he shifted closer. He moved slowly, always mindful, as if giving you the space to pull away if you needed.

“May I hold you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

With a tenderness that contradicted the sharp, brilliant mind always whirring with thoughts, Viktor pulled you into his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around you, his warmth seeping into your skin, steady and unshakable. You buried your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of parchment and faint oil.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he simply held you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other threading carefully through your hair.

“I hate that this happened to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “You did not deserve it.”

The weight of his words unraveled something inside you, and the tears finally slipped free. You clung to him, shaking, but he never wavered. He held you like you were something precious, something unbreakable despite everything.

For a long time, you stayed like that. Viktor didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He simply let you cry, let you be however you needed to be.

After some time, when the shudders had eased, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “I do not claim to know what you need to heal,” he admitted. “But whatever it is, I will be here. Always.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, a promise woven into the very foundation of who he was. Viktor had never been a man of empty promises, never one to say things just for the sake of them. He meant every word.

You let out a trembling sigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Just this,” you whispered. “This is enough.”

And Viktor, ever patient, ever kind, simply held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every nightmare, every ghost of the past. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

Because for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

JAYVIK

The apartment was warm, lit by the soft glow of streetlamps filtering through the window. It had been a peaceful night—until it wasn’t.

Jayce’s hands had been on your waist, his lips tracing a path down your neck, and for a moment, it had been fine. You’d wanted this. You loved them—both of them. But then something shifted, something in the way he pressed a little too close, the weight of him trapping you against the couch. It sent a jolt of ice through your veins, a memory clawing its way up from the depths of your mind. Panic gripped you like a vice.

You barely registered the way you shoved him off, stumbling to your feet as your breath came too fast, too shallow. Your chest tightened, your vision blurred at the edges, and you could feel the room spinning.

“Y/N?” Jayce’s voice was distant, concerned, but it only made the nausea worse.

“Don’t—” Your voice cracked, shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember you were safe. But your body wasn’t listening.

Then, a familiar voice, steadier, softer, cut through the haze. “Drahý, breathe.” (Dear)

Viktor. His presence was close, but not too close. He stood carefully, his cane in hand, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of patience that had always made you feel safe. He wasn’t reaching for you, wasn’t crowding you—just waiting, offering you the space to come back to yourself at your own pace.

Jayce looked helpless, torn between wanting to comfort you and fearing he’d only make things worse. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you choked out, barely able to meet his eyes before squeezing yours shut. You hated this. Hated that the past still had this much power over you.

A warm hand, tentative but grounding, touched yours. Viktor. He was sitting now, careful, his golden eyes searching yours. “Come, sit,” he murmured, tapping the space beside him. “Let us be here with you.”

You hesitated, but your legs felt weak, trembling beneath you. Slowly, you sank down beside him, his cane resting against the arm of the couch as he adjusted, staying close but not overbearing. Jayce followed suit, hesitant, careful, his usual confidence replaced with concern.

“Was it… something I did?” Jayce asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, staring at your hands. “No. Not really. It just—reminded me of something.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, as if realizing exactly what that meant. “Shit. Y/N, I—”

Viktor gave him a pointed look, and Jayce stopped, nodding in understanding. This wasn’t about fixing it. This was about being here.

Viktor’s hand, still on yours, gave a gentle squeeze. “You are safe,” he reminded you. “With us, always.”

Your breath hitched, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. It was from the overwhelming sense of love wrapped around you, steady and unwavering.

Jayce exhaled and ran a hand through his hair before resting his palm on your knee, warm and solid. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Ever.”

You nodded, still shaken but feeling less alone. Less like you were drowning. Viktor’s fingers traced slow, rhythmic patterns against the back of your hand, a silent reassurance.

“We can just stay like this,” Viktor murmured. “For as long as you need.”

The warmth of their presence enveloped you, a steady reminder that you weren’t alone. Viktor’s hand remained in yours, his touch light, patient, as if he was anchoring you to the moment. Jayce, still hesitant, moved just a little closer, his knee brushing against yours, testing the boundaries of what you could handle.

Minutes passed in silence, save for the quiet hum of the city outside. The steady tick of the clock on the wall gave a slow rhythm to your breaths, helping you count, helping you focus on the present instead of the ghosts clawing at the edges of your mind.

Jayce shifted, carefully, his fingers flexing on his knee before he spoke again. “Is there anything you need? Water? A blanket?” His voice was still thick with guilt, but it was softer now, focused on you, on making sure you were okay.

You hesitated, considering, before nodding. “Water… might help.”

Jayce stood immediately, as if grateful for something to do, and disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and the faucet running grounded you further, the normalcy of it cutting through the lingering panic.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Would you like to talk about it?”

You chewed on your lip, unsure. Did you? The thought of saying it out loud made your throat tighten, but at the same time, you wanted them to understand. Needed them to know why your body reacted this way even when your mind told you you were safe.

Jayce returned, pressing a cold glass of water into your hands. You murmured a quiet thanks and took a sip, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat.

Finally, you exhaled. “It was a long time ago,” you began, voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes… sometimes my body remembers before I do.”

Jayce sat back down beside you, his brows furrowed. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, frustration evident—but not at you. Never at you.

Viktor nodded, his expression unreadable, but his fingers gave another soft squeeze. “No, it is not. But you do not have to fight this alone.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from fear. They were from the sheer relief of being understood, of being loved despite the weight of your past. Viktor and Jayce didn’t ask for more than you could give. They didn’t push. They just stayed.

And right now, that was everything.

VANDER

The Last Drop had always been a place where time seemed to slow down. A haven for the weary, the broken, and the ones who had yet to be whole again. The flickering light from the lanterns cast a soft glow over the mismatched tables and worn stools, giving the place a sort of melancholic warmth. It had a life of its own, one that felt like a lullaby to those who found comfort here. But tonight, the usual chatter of laughter and boisterous conversation was missing. The bar was quieter than usual, and you could feel it in the air. Something was different.

Vander moved behind the bar with his usual fluid grace, his large hands skilled at cleaning glassware and wiping down counters. But there was something more to his movements tonight. The way his shoulders were drawn tight, as if he was carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. His eyes occasionally flicked toward you, noting the way you sat at the far end of the bar, your posture rigid, your gaze lost in the grain of the counter beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t even touched your drink, which was unusual for you. Your usual spark, the warmth in your expression that always made you stand out, was missing. Tonight, there was only a quiet storm behind your eyes, and Vander wasn’t one to ignore that.

He watched you for a moment longer before placing the rag down with a soft thud. The sound of it against the wooden bar seemed louder than it really was in the heavy silence. He made his way around the bar, his large frame blocking the faint light from the corner as he settled onto the stool beside you. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He didn’t sit behind the counter, creating a divide between the two of you. He was right there, at your level, making it clear that he was present, not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reach deep into your chest. “You alright, love?”

It was a simple question, but the tone of his voice, the gentle concern in it, made you flinch before you could even stop yourself. It was so small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Vander didn’t miss a thing. His eyes softened, and he studied you for a long moment, looking for something you weren’t ready to show. You tried to force a smile, but it came out more like a thin line, your lips barely moving, and certainly not reaching your eyes.

“Just tired,” you mumbled, hoping the vague answer would be enough to satisfy him, to make him leave it alone. But Vander wasn’t someone who would settle for half-truths. Not when it came to you.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Y/N,” he said again, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but somethin’ is weighin’ on you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy like lead, and for a long time, you didn’t say anything. What could you say? How could you explain it all without sounding weak? Without feeling like a failure? But Vander wasn’t asking you to explain. He wasn’t looking for your pain; he was just offering a place for it, a space where you didn’t have to carry it alone.

The silence between you stretched on, filled only by the quiet murmur of voices in the background. Finally, you sighed, the sound raw and full of weariness. You weren’t ready to tell him everything, but maybe you could start somewhere. Maybe just enough to take the weight off your chest, if only for a moment.

“Something happened,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Your voice trembled despite yourself. “A long time ago. Before I came here. Someone—” You faltered, your throat tightening as memories flooded back, unwanted and sharp. The images came unbidden—faces, voices, moments you tried to bury deep within yourself. But they always resurfaced at the worst times.

Vander’s hand came down over yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way no one else could. The simple touch of his palm against your trembling fingers was enough to silence the storm in your chest, even if just for a moment. He didn’t ask you to continue. He didn’t need you to tell him every detail. He just gave you the space to breathe. To be.

“You don’t have to tell me more than you want to,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand in slow, reassuring circles. “But somethin’ happened to you, and I can see it’s still hauntin’ you.”

You swallowed hard, and for a moment, it felt like the world was spinning too fast. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to let him see you weak. But it was too much to keep inside. So, you let out a shaky breath and whispered, “It’s not easy to talk about.”

His gaze softened, but there was no pity in it. Just a quiet understanding that went deeper than anything words could express. He didn’t push you. He didn’t demand more than you could give. Instead, he waited, patiently, with the calm strength that was always there when you needed it most.

When you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like it still has power over me. Like no matter how far I go, no matter how much time passes, it’s still there. Still lurking in the back of my mind.” You looked down at your hands, trying to steady them, but they were trembling, betraying you.

Vander’s grip tightened just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. “It doesn’t have power over you, love,” he said, his voice firm with conviction. “Not here. Not with me. No one’s ever gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m around.”

The weight of his words settled on your chest, a warmth spreading through you despite the cold ache that lingered in your heart. It was like the first breath of fresh air after a storm, the first ray of light after the dark. For a moment, you almost believed it. You almost believed that it really was over, that the past couldn’t reach you anymore. But then the walls you’d built inside yourself started to crack, and the tears you’d been holding back began to fall.

You didn’t try to hide them. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth surround you like a shield. Vander’s arms encircled you immediately, holding you close, strong but gentle. His scent—a mix of smoke, ale, and something deeper, something more comforting—filled your senses. It was the scent of safety. Of home.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and steady. “Always.”

And for the first time in so long, you believed him. You let yourself believe him, if only for this moment. Because with Vander, you knew that the darkness of the past could never reach you here. You were safe. You were whole. And in his arms, you had the peace you’d been searching for, even if just for tonight.

Vander didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his presence a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone, and that you never would be again.

SILCO

The rain drizzled against the windows of Silco's office, a gentle tapping that seemed to mirror the quiet storm in his mind. His usually sharp focus on the papers before him had waned, his dark eyes drifting, unfocused, to the water running down the glass. The rhythmic sound of the rain should’ve brought him peace, but today it only reminded him of the unease that had taken root inside him. It was an unusual occurrence for Silco, a man whose mind was always a step ahead, never easily distracted.

Y/N had been distant for the past few days, but today… today it was worse. She wasn’t just quiet or distracted. There was a heaviness in her gaze, a sadness that hung around her like a thick cloud. Silco had always been able to read people—had to be, to survive in the underbelly of Zaun. But with Y/N, it was different. Her pain, her struggles, never quite made sense to him. He knew she had a past, one that she rarely spoke of, but he never asked about it. Yet, now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever haunted her had finally caught up to her, and it was something much worse than what he had imagined.

At first, he assumed it was just the stress of their work together—the constant battles with Piltover, the endless scheming, the weight of their shared ambitions. But today, as he watched her interact with the others in the hideout, he noticed small things. The way she flinched when one of the other members brushed past her, her hands trembling just slightly as she reached for a glass, and the hollow look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

It was when he had found her earlier in the hallway, almost jumping out of her skin when he stepped too close, that he finally understood. Something had happened. Something more than stress, more than the chaos of their lives. It was deeper. Darker. And Silco had no intention of letting her face it alone.

He had always been a man who kept his distance, preferring to watch and observe rather than reach out. But with Y/N… He had never wanted to be the type of man who ignored the pain of someone close to him. It didn’t matter how cold the world was, or how much the darkness seemed to consume everything—it mattered to him that she was safe. She mattered to him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He barely registered it, his mind still tangled in worry for her, but the sound was enough to bring him back to the present. He glanced up as Y/N stepped inside, her head down, eyes cast toward the floor. Her posture was small, like she was trying to make herself invisible, and that only made his heart ache more.

She was different now. Gone was the woman who once held herself with a quiet strength, confident and steady. In her place was a shell, fragile and cracked. Her pale face, usually so expressive, was now hollow, her eyes dull with the weight of some unseen burden. Silco could feel his own pulse quicken at the sight of her. He hated this. He hated seeing her like this.

"Y/N," his voice was steady but soft, a rare tenderness in the way he spoke. "Come here."

There was hesitation in her movement as she crossed the room, and Silco didn’t miss the way she kept her distance, as though afraid of being too close to him. It wasn’t like her. He could sense the hesitation, the quiet wariness in her actions, and it cut through him like a blade.

She finally stopped in front of him, her eyes refusing to meet his. She stood there, trembling slightly, as though unsure of what to do. Silco rose from his desk, his presence commanding but gentle as he approached her. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew. He had known for a while now, even before she had come to him for comfort.

He didn’t ask her to speak. She didn’t have to say a word. It was enough for him to see the way she struggled, the way she tried to hold herself together in the face of her pain.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," Silco murmured, his voice low and smooth, each word measured and deliberate. "Whatever happened… I’m here. You don’t need to keep it buried, Y/N."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her breath shaky as she forced herself to look up at him. Her eyes flickered with an emotion too raw for her to hide—fear, shame, pain. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill. Silco could see it all: the weight of her grief, the sorrow she tried so desperately to hide. And in that moment, he knew that she needed him. More than ever.

He didn’t wait for her to say anything. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. The warmth of his touch was enough to steady her for a moment, to make her feel grounded again.

"You are not broken," he said, his voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet authority. "Whatever has happened, whatever you’ve been through… it does not define you. You are not weak, Y/N. You are stronger than you think."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and for the first time, she let her guard down. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch as a sob broke free from her chest. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for so long, hadn’t let herself feel the weight of everything she had been carrying. But with Silco, there was no need for restraint. There was no need to pretend to be strong when the pain was too much.

Silco’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away the first of many tears that fell. His heart twisted with every drop, but he didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t leave her to suffer alone. Not now. Not ever.

"You’re not alone," he whispered, his voice breaking the silence. "I’m here. I’ll always be here. No one will hurt you again. Not while I’m around."

Y/N’s breath shuddered as she clung to him, her arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate need for comfort, for solace. Her tears soaked through the fabric of his coat, but he didn’t flinch. He held her close, feeling the tremors in her body as she let herself fall apart in his arms. She was broken, yes, but she was also stronger than she realized. And he would help her rebuild, piece by piece, if that’s what it took.

For a long time, they stood there in the quiet of his office, the only sound the steady rain against the glass and the muffled sobs of the woman who had come to mean more to him than he ever expected. And as she clung to him, Silco realized something he hadn’t before: he didn’t just want to protect her from the world. He wanted to protect her from the parts of herself she felt ashamed of, the parts that told her she wasn’t worth saving.

Silco gently lifted her head, his fingers brushing through her hair as he gazed down at her. His expression softened, his usual cold demeanor replaced by something warmer, something rare. "Rest now," he murmured. "You don’t need to carry the weight anymore. Let me carry it for you."

Y/N didn’t say anything, but the way she pressed her cheek against his chest told him everything he needed to know. She trusted him, in a way that felt sacred, and for once, Silco let himself feel the weight of that trust. He would protect her. He would stand by her side, no matter the cost.

For now, the world outside—the chaos, the schemes, the endless struggles—could wait. All that mattered was this moment. Silco and Y/N, two broken souls finding a quiet reprieve in each other’s arms.

And Silco… for all his ambition, for all his coldness, would be the one to show her that even in the darkest moments, there was still a glimmer of warmth waiting to be found.

MEL

The door to the bedroom creaked open slowly. Mel, fresh from a council meeting, entered, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. But something felt wrong—an unfamiliar stillness hung in the air. The usual warmth of their shared space was now replaced by an overwhelming silence.

As her eyes scanned the room, they found Y/N sitting by the window, her back hunched slightly. Mel’s heart tightened at the sight. Y/N’s hands were clasped tightly together, her shoulders trembling, and the soft sounds of stifled sobs drifted toward her.

“Y/N?” Mel’s voice was low and gentle as she moved toward her. She knelt in front of her, carefully reaching out to touch her lover’s hand, noticing how cold it felt. The contact was gentle, like a lifeline, but it sent a shiver of unease through Mel. Something was terribly wrong.

Y/N’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She immediately wiped at her face, but it was clear she hadn’t been able to hold it together for long, the rawness of her emotion still etched on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of unspoken sorrow. She quickly tried to mask the pain in her eyes, but it was no use. She couldn't hide it from Mel.

Mel’s breath caught in her throat. She leaned closer, her voice soft, but filled with concern. “Y/N, love, no... Don’t apologize. You don’t need to hide anything from me.”

Mel gently cupped Y/N’s face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had fallen, while her other hand rested on Y/N’s trembling arm. The vulnerability in her lover’s eyes tore at Mel’s heart.

“What happened?” Mel asked softly, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, her touch like a balm to the raw, exposed feelings surrounding them. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to, but I need you to know that you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

Y/N sniffed, her chest tightening as she shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to say it—didn’t know how to say it—but the weight of her past was a shadow she couldn’t outrun. She hadn’t told Mel about this part of her life before, and it felt like a secret that would destroy everything if it came out. But the truth was suffocating her, pressing her to confess.

“I…” Y/N began, but the words lodged in her throat. She choked on her breath, her mind racing with the painful memories she had kept buried for so long. “I… I don’t know if I can say it. It’s just… it’s too much. I’m not strong enough.”

Mel sat down beside her, her presence a steady, unwavering comfort. She didn’t pressure Y/N, didn’t force her to speak before she was ready. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling her close. Her touch was firm and safe, offering warmth and strength.

“Y/N, whatever it is, we’ll face it together. I promise,” Mel’s voice was quiet but filled with certainty, a pledge that she would never leave Y/N, not now, not ever. The words wrapped around Y/N like a shield, grounding her in the love they shared.

For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence. Y/N clung to Mel as if she were the only thing anchoring her to the present, the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to drown her. And then, finally, the truth spilled out, her voice shaky and small, as if saying it aloud would make it all the more real.

“I was… I was hurt a long time ago. By someone I thought I could trust.” Y/N’s breath hitched, and she turned her face away from Mel for a moment, ashamed of the tears she couldn’t stop. Her heart raced as she spoke, the memories still sharp and painful. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought I could bury it, but it’s not gone. It’s… it’s still here.”

Mel’s heart shattered for her, but she didn’t say a word. She simply held Y/N tighter, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. She felt the tremble in Y/N’s body, the silent sobs that wracked her form.

“You don’t ever have to face this alone, Y/N,” Mel murmured, the words both a promise and a comfort. She let her lips brush against Y/N’s hair, smoothing her fingers over the back of her head, her hands gently coaxing Y/N to let go. “I’m here. I always will be. And this, what you’re feeling? It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t change who you are. You are so strong, but it’s okay to feel broken, love. It’s okay to feel anything.”

Y/N’s body shook, the weight of everything coming to the surface. It wasn’t just the hurt of the past—it was the shame, the guilt, the sense of having lost something she would never get back. But in Mel’s arms, she felt a safe place to let go, a place where the dark corners of her mind couldn’t reach her.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, full of guilt and fear. “I should’ve told you before. I should’ve been stronger…”

Mel pulled back just enough to look Y/N in the eye, cupping her face gently. “No, love, you don’t have to be strong for me. You just need to be you. And you are enough. More than enough. I love you, and nothing in this world, not even your past, will change that.” Her words were firm, resolute. The sincerity in her gaze was clear, her devotion evident in every syllable.

Y/N finally let herself break. She cried freely, her tears flowing without shame, without restraint. She had carried these burdens for so long, but with Mel there, holding her, whispering comforting words, she felt a sense of relief she hadn’t known she needed.

And in that moment, Mel held her—no words needed—just the warmth of her embrace and the unspoken promise that they would heal together, one step at a time.

Mel kissed Y/N’s forehead again, her hand gently stroking her back. “You are not alone in this, Y/N. I will never leave you. Not for any reason. Not for anything.”

The weight of those words, the depth of Mel’s love, was a balm to Y/N’s soul. Slowly, the tears began to subside, but Y/N didn’t pull away from Mel. Instead, she let the quiet comfort of her presence settle in, the warmth of their connection something she could lean on as they faced the future together.

Mel stayed with her, never rushing her to stop crying, never pressuring her to move forward before she was ready. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the healing begin.

[shanklin]

In a world where the belief of humans can create gods and deities, Stan dies from an infection soon after losing Ford.

It’s just a minor setback! Or so Ghost!Stan tells himself as he tries desperately to figure out how to touch stuff again. It doesn’t help that Ford warded most of his things against ghosts.

One day while practicing to become corporeal Stan comes across a couple of weird creatures [a gorilla wearing underwear? Unicorn made out of corn? A horse riding another horse? What?] ranting about Bigfoot and how stuck up she’s gotten ever since she ascended to godhood just because some crazy fanatics turned the hunt for her into a cult.

Meanwhile smaller szories and folktales like them are trying their hardest to survive. But peoples belief is fading and soon they will be forgotten and cease to exist.

This changes everything! Stan knows a great business opportunity when he sees it!

It’s almost too easy to abuse the system.

Religion has always been a scam in Stan's opinion. So he might as well turn himself into a god.

Good thing Ford did all the hard work for him by becoming the mysterious science man in the woods. All Stan has to do is to make himself visible long to create Mr. Mystery.

The belief of the townsfolk grants Stan enough strength to become corporeal and soon enough Stan opens his temple [tourist trap] for business. 

People pilgrimage to his holy ground, pay tithings [entrance fees] listen to his sermons [tours] and leave offerings [cash] in exchange for blessings [cheap souvenirs Stan tells them will bring them luck]. They even take little statues of him back home and convert others to believe in him as well. [It's a fun tourist trap why wouldn't you believe the owner exists].

Eventually he even gets his own priests [employees] to help him out.

In exchange for favours Stan also promotes the almost forgotten and fading folktales he meets. They quickly become his most loyal followers. Stan may have scammed his way into godhood at record speed but he still cares for the little guys. He’s saving their lives and they could not be more grateful. 

The other gods however HATE him but cant do anything about it because he's not technically breaking any rules.

With every new believer Stan grows stronger and changes.

His lies turn into reality. His souvenirs become actual blessed artifacts protecting the owners and Stan becomes one with Gravity Falls. Its true protective deity. Time has no meaning and throws up a barrier protecting his home. The same one Ford has already studied in the past.

And when the zodiac fails and Stan tells Bill that that doesn’t matter because Bill will die here, Gravity Falls rumbles with excitement.

Stan spins a story about the deity protecting this land and how they will not allow Bill to break the barrier or harm them any further.

All Stan needs for everyone to do is to close their eyes and pray.

“Stan, we don't have time for your ridiculous lies!”

“Just once in your life do as I say and believe in me, Sixer!”

The people of Gravity Falls have surprising faith in their local conman and so do the kids. With no other options left Ford closes his eyes and says a short prayer.

When he opens his eyes again the world is engulfed in blue flames and before him stands the young form of his brother surrounded by the real life versions of fake tourist attractions.

Stan puts on his holy knuckle dusters and grins. 

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

can you please please write season 1-2 Spencer and readers first time and he’s like nervous about not satisfying her but in the end he does 😅😅😊

i don’t write smut (on this account at least) so it’ll just be the aftermath of their evening. i like to keep this page more pg-13 so i know anyone can be here, it’s gonna be a bit suggestive below cut.

fem!reader (1.5K celebration)

the bedroom was quiet, only heavy panting and fabric rustling filled your ears. the soft cotton of spencer’s bedding covered your naked chest as you stared at his smooth ceiling, letting your mind wonder back to reality.

you turned your head to the left, pillow flattening with the motion, a lavender haze bathing spencer’s profile. his pale chest was tinted in a gentle pink as it moved up and down with his breaths, his neck and cheeks a bit darker in flush. strands of his short hair clung to the sweat on his forehead, the curled ends hugging the bottom of his ears.

you noted how one hand rested over his covered stomach, his fingers curling and uncurling. he let his tongue wet his lips. you shifted your body to lay on your side and it caused spencer to look your way, his eyes pin balling about.

“hi,” a small whisper to not break this serine moment. spencer’s lips twitched at the corner, “how you feeling?” he copied your new position, one arm tucked under his pillow with the other sitting in the open middle of your bodies.

you bit into your bottom lip for a moment as you searched for the right word. you settled for, “very loved. blown away those other horrible times, finishing after a minute and not caring about me.” moving a hand to spencer’s you linked your fingers together, your thumb rubbing softly at the side of his palm.

“it was good, right?” spencer questioning after you said the experience was better than past ones. he had that crease in the middle of his brows, you smoothed it away with the pad of your thumb, “of course.”

“you- you didn’t fake… anything?” his voice went up a pitch. it cracked your heart to think spencer wasn’t practiced in bed, well technically he wasn’t, said you were his first girlfriend and first everything.

you pushed off your side and shuffled to spencer so you could throw you legs over his waist, straddling him naked with only his burgundy sheets keeping a barrier. you toyed with his arms so his palms could mold to the shape of your waist, his long fingers spreading a warmth into you.

“spencer reid, i would never fake anything with you. i’d only pull that trick if i wasn’t feeling into it after a few minutes and wanted it to be over.” his thumbs rubbed at the side of your stomach, “but i wanted to enjoy every second with you. i wanted you to feel good just as much while you made me feel good.”

you let your hands slide over his chest, fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone or letting your pointer drag over his sensitive nipples causing him to shudder a breath. you leaned into him, your breast resting on his skin as you let your lips trail a line of kisses over his jawline. “i could enjoy you all day if possible. i just want to be skin to skin with you, feel every inch.”

spencer’s hold tightened and it caused a surprised moan to slip from your lips, his legs shifting and you can feel something else growing. “we- we could test that out. if- if you’re-“

your lips crashed to his causing the sentence to fall off. you’d be happy to test your theory for the day, after all spencer is a man of science.

[little-jana]

"A Calculated Risk"

Part 1 - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing

Words: 750

Summary: Spencer teaches reader some important facts about germs.

The case had been exhausting, stretching long into the night. We were both tired, yet somehow, the fatigue seemed to have pushed us closer rather than further apart. As we sat in the dimly lit conference room, reviewing the final details of the case before wrapping up, there was an unexpected quietness between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather a silence that hung with a sense of anticipation, like the calm before a storm.

Spencer had been unusually still, his focus on the case file in front of him, but his eyes kept flicking to me, as though he was measuring something, searching for the right words—or perhaps the courage. I couldn’t deny that I was feeling the same pull, a growing tension in the air that wasn’t about the case at all.

I noticed how his fingers nervously tapped against the table, a subconscious gesture that I knew too well. He was overthinking, just like always. I wanted to say something to ease the quiet, to break the barrier between us that felt so fragile, yet so significant.

But before I could speak, he did.

“Do you ever think about... the possibility of... transmitting germs while kissing?” he asked, his voice soft and hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure why he’d even brought it up. His eyes were wide, earnest, and his usual shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

I couldn’t help but smile back, despite the absurdity of the question. Spencer had always had a unique way of turning even the most intimate moments into something logical, something quantifiable. “You mean, like the exchange of bacteria?” I asked, playing along, though my heart was racing.

“Exactly,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his face flushed with the slightest hint of embarrassment. “Studies show that the human mouth contains over 700 types of bacteria, many of which can be transferred during... close contact. I mean, statistically speaking, it’s a significant risk.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, but there was something so endearing about his scientific approach to something so inherently emotional. Spencer Reid was a brilliant man, but in this moment, I could see the nervous, vulnerable side of him—the side that didn’t quite know how to navigate emotions, especially when it came to something like kissing.

“Spencer,” I said softly, my voice quiet but warm, “sometimes... it’s okay to let go of the facts. You don’t always need to calculate everything. Some things, like this...,” I reached out, gently touching his hand on the table, “can’t be explained by science.”

His gaze shifted to my hand, and I could see the realization flicker in his eyes. I watched as his breath hitched ever so slightly, his usually composed demeanor faltering for just a moment. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the words seemed to escape him. Instead, he leaned forward, just enough to close the distance between us.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the warmth of his presence enveloping me. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in that shared space, that fragile moment. Without another word, I leaned in, my lips brushing against his in the softest, most tentative kiss.

It was gentle at first—almost shy—like he was still processing the idea, as if he needed to test the waters before fully giving in to the feeling. But then, something shifted. Spencer’s lips responded with a tenderness that took me by surprise, a deep warmth that spoke volumes, even without words.

As we pulled apart, I could see the flush on his cheeks, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and awe, as though he couldn’t believe it had happened. I could feel the smile tugging at my own lips as I gazed at him.

“Well,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically breathless, “I suppose the risk of bacterial transmission just became... a little more bearable.”

I laughed softly, unable to resist his quirky charm. “You’re impossible,” I teased, but my voice was filled with affection.

Spencer, still clearly processing, looked down at the table for a moment, as though his brain was catching up to his heart. Then, he looked up at me with that trademark shy smile, the one I’d come to love more than I could admit.

“I’m... glad we did that,” he said, almost shyly, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

I reached for his hand again, giving it a soft squeeze. “Me too,” I whispered, my heart still racing from the kiss, and I had the overwhelming sense that this was just the beginning of something much bigger between us.

Part 3

[theflashjaygarrick]

People have spent so much time fleshing out random background male characters and so for feminism I am going to give one of DC's under appreciated female characters this treatment . I am absolutely fascinated by Joan Garrick as a character. DC is not. But who am I to let that stop me.

So what are some things we know about Joan Garrick (née Williams). One is that she met Jay Garrick when they were both students at college. More potential context was given by Millar and Morrison in the iconic Jay focused Flash (vol 2) #134. Here we learn that at the present time she is teaching microbiology and based on the fact that in my experience a specific microbiology subject is more common in university and she's heading in for specific classes not the school day I can infer she is a lecturer/professor. These few facts paint a picture of an awesome and boundary breaking woman in her own right.

We can assume she was in college in the 1930s. This makes sense. After all the 30s was the first generation where (almost entirely white and middle class) women attended colleges in greater numbers and with more social acceptance then before. They became symbols of newfound female independence and education. But at the same time they faced a lot of obstacles , particularly in co-ed institutions like Midwestern University. She still had to navigate her way through a very male dominated institution that did not take her seriously if they wanted her to be there at all. Along with the change in female education came cultural backlash both within and outside the academy. Misogynistic (and racist) detractors viewed female higher education as frivolous, unsuitable for women's 'fragile physiology' and even saw it as the 'suicide' of the middle-class white American family. Yeah these people were the fucking worst. Anyway, being a female student at a university in that era meant dealing with and overcoming all kinds of bullshit from exclusion to outright harassment (even more than it does now).

And then there is the fact that she apparently studied biology (or microbiology more specially) in a time where most women pursued degrees in teaching or nursing (if they planned to use it vocationally) or liberal arts (if they did not). Women were actively discouraged from taking science courses and Joan would have been trying to enter an even more hostile boys club whilst fighting against even greater social pressure. But despite it all she seemingly did succeed and presumably help break barriers for women in science which is awesome.

And we can see this refusal to back down in her personality. Joan's kindness is matched by her tenacity and her 'do first, ask for permission later' personality, which whether forged through her experiences in academic or before-hand helped her persevere overcome the many obstacles she would have faced. She's an absolute badass.

Now this is not strictly relevant but she also knew Jay was the flash the whole time which is really sweet. I personally like to think she figured it out because he kept asking her really specific questions about human metabolism and the like (biology seemingly is Jay's scientific blindspot) and she put two and two together. Also he just innately trusts her with his secret which is cute considering how much secret identity drama silver age couples went through.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 263

Once More, we return to Tiamat prompts. 

It was a wonderful idea, really! If one of them couldn’t break the barrier, then surely their combined might would do it! And it had! It had worked, even if their remaining humanity was sacrificed. They’d done it, they’d made it where everyone could escape, could leave!

… Except for them. Someone had to close the portal. And it all would have been fine, if not for the remnants of the GIW. One last hail mary from the imbeciles, they all supposed. Trapping them here within the Zone. 

Separated from their families, from the pair of children they had agreed to raise. At least their siblings would watch over Ellie and Jordan. Kyle could hide them, make sure they were safe. Jazz… Jazz was gone, the final straw in this plan. 

They screamed, they raged, they destroyed in grief for those that didn’t make it, and for those who had but had nowhere to go. No portals opened, even as they tore at the green around them. They fought, any that thought they were weak, that they were merely a beast, an abomination trapped in chains of science and gold. 

There was nothing that could be done, Frostbite had said, sympathy in his voice. No way to turn back the clock with how entwined they had become, Clockwork had explained. The only thing they could do was wait, Pandora had tried to sooth, despite it doing nothing. 

They wrenched open the coffin in a hazy fury, tearing apart armies like it was blades of grass. Their maws devoured dead who had lost themselves and become mere husks and thralls, lashing tails ripping through armour like it was nothing. 

And then as titans, they clashed with the one who had once stolen the city here. There was no desperation from them this time, no armor besides scales unbreakable as flames and storms and ice and thorns ripped islands apart. There was no desperation besides that of their opponent’s. 

There was a pleasure in their victory, before it was wrenched away. What use was a crown when their family wasn’t there? When their daughter, their son, their children were not there by their side? 

Paulina laughed, hysterical as ectoplasm dripped from her maw as Kwan howled. Their body was covered in it, their rampage that had no use, no reason leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Is this what they wanted? 

No. 

Danny raised his head from the dissolving corpses to look towards the obliterated roof of the Keep, once so terrifying now turning to dust like the crown. The crown reforming above their heads, heavy and almost choking. 

They would carry this weight together. Would restructure things, would do what they had wanted to do for Amity before the Barriers. They’d work together to rebuild the Realms, make it safer, make it safe for those newly dead. 

No matter how long it took, no matter how hard it would be to fix the destruction they had wrought in this meaningless battle. (“Danny, you’re the spokesperson,” Sam spoke up, thorn-like scales ruffling. “You’re most familiar with the realms thanks to the Infinimap.” Fair. “We’ll need allies, we’re only nine people.”)

(“Let me talk to the egyptian afterlife,” Tucker sounded exhausted, hood folding back. “I’m most familiar with them… Star, Paulina, you’re both Princess Dora’s favorites-”)

(“We can do it. Just give us time.” “Maybe a to-do list.” “Clockwork. We need to talk to Clockwork, he’d be most familiar with this.” “Rest first, nerds. We’re all… exhausted.”)

(Valerie laughed tiredly, blades melting to heal a broken horn. “Time isn’t linear here Dash. You know that. I know that. For once we’re the ones with time to spare.” It would take years to get things up to snuff. Make things Safe for when they could bring their families here.)

Their eyes opened as the now flimsy chains shattered, a smile stretching across the shared face of their humanoid form. Soon. They could return to the mortal realm soon. Just a little more, and they could see their little ones.  They'd waited a thousand years, they could wait a few days more.

(also have sketch)

@fairy-lights-and-blobs @radiance1 You both seem to enjoy my Tiamat prompts/Aus lol

[aealzx]

*gestures vaguely * Driving makes me daydream, and while I was plotting out/daydreaming about my Phantom Rogues fic the opening of Demon Slayer came on and brain decided to derail for 2 days before I ran out of steam. So here's all I managed from that spurt of a distraction X'D ( this must be why I never manage to finish big projects ._. )

all concept ideas under the cut. People are free to spiral off this if they want

Sam and Tucker were supposed to be part of the pic too, but I ran out of steam for this idea |D they were in the rough

I'm just gonna list unsorted bullet point ideas I had for this X'D

The "Fentons" are a mixed nationality family (Maddie is from overseas) so the kids both have 2 names. Why? Because I wanted to try giving them JP names based off their actual names. Daniel means "god is my judge" so that one was really hard and I just went with what I have up there. Jasmine = jasmine, so I went with "jasmine kid" hehee. and the characters for Haruki are "warmth" and "precious" because I'm a sap

backstory ideas:

Maddie is a Hashira, because branching from the idea of "really good demon slayer family" Jack is probably just a good lower member of the corp

Jazz was taught from a young age, but wasn't really into it until Danny was born. Eventually becomes newest Hashira with the drive to protect Danny

Danny has been trained by parents a bit, but way behind Jazz because not the best health. Fluctuates drastically in health, so fairly introverted and overshadowed by older sister

Sam is from one of those .... onmyouji? families. The ones that fight demons with sigils and chants and stuff instead of swords.

Tucker is from a science doctor family, and is just a guy compared to the rest, but also an encyclopedia brain.

Sam and Tucker met Danny because their families were asked to help him out on different occasions, and Sam and Tucker tagged along at some point and befriended Danny

The whole demon thing

Danny was home alone, and supposed to show up to Jazz's hashira ceremony party thing, but never did

Jazz and fam return to find house broken up and bloody, but no sign of Danny. Jazz recognizes a rather odd sigil paper as belonging to Sam, and goes to the three's little hideaway house

Sam and Tucker have newly demonized Danny trapped in a barrier, and he's fluctuating between responding to them and just being rawr

Seeing Jazz is what motivates Danny to fully push into docile demon mode, but only after breaking out of the barrier and tackling her, then crying on her

Jazz, Sam, and Tucker all decide oh hell no we're not taking demon brother to very "murder all demons" parents, so end up going on the run while trying to figure out how to cure Danny

Sam and Tucker are the main ones trying to figure out a cure because they've both been interested in studying more about demons than their parents are happy with since they were kids