#Carbon Neutral Watch

[gadgetgeniusinsights]

Apple Watch Series 9 [GPS 45mm] Smartwatch

Discover the Power of the Apple Watch Series 9 [GPS 45mm] Smartwatch!

[apathyfairy]

you know when you’re suicidal like 99 percent of the time but then some random thing comes and hits you and you just struggle so much with mortality and you want to live forever so bad

[spoonguy]

Imaginary Friend

Pairing: Childhood Imaginary Friend x Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: You reconnect with your imaginary friend after moving back to you childhood home. They aren't willing to let you go again.

Work count: 3.0k

Content Warnings: Yandere themes, claustrophobia, death, near-death experiences, sleep paralysis

While you had made the drive back to your old family home more times than you could count, you felt especially exhausted. You barely had enough energy left in you to throw your bags down in your childhood bedroom and collapse onto the old mattress, not even bothering to remove your shoes. You were out cold before you registered the shadowy figure in the back of your closet.

Sometime around 3 am, you awoke to the sound of labored breathing. You panicked when you realized you were unable to move, locked inside your own body. From the corner of your eye, you watched helplessly as an ominous humanoid figure approached your bedside. It drew closer, its very presence dropping the temperature of the air surrounding it. You could only watch helplessly as its face split open to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth drawn upwards into a sinister smile.

“Starlight?”

A familiar voice called out through the darkness. The mention of your childhood nickname opened the floodgates to years of repressed memories. 

“Bazel?” you asked incredulously.

“You—you came back for me! I thought you were gone forever. It was so quiet in the house after the accident, and you left, and I—” Their voice cracked, full of emotion and vulnerability,

“Bazel!” You willed your body into mobility again and wrapped your arms around their waist in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back sooner.”

“No, no, Starlight, I could never be upset with you! I’m sorry I snuck up on you.”

You were still breathing heavily and your heart was racing, but you still managed to laugh. Even after all these years, their personality hadn’t changed one bit. Still the same goofy, overprotective imaginary demon friend from your childhood. 

Their appearance, however, was way different than you remembered. They were much taller and lankier. They had always had at least a couple of inches on you, but now they dwarfed you in height. Their skin was dark gray, almost pitch black, and cool to the touch. A smattering of softly glowing white freckles dotted their cheeks and nose, and their fluffy black hair fell in messy bangs framing their face. Their horns, which used to be blunt nubs hidden under their loose curls, were now as long as your hand and swept back over their head like a goat’s.

“You changed! You look so different,” you exclaimed, finally.

“Me? You’re an adult!” They scooted closer to you on the bed to straddle your lap and pinched your cheek affectionately.

“You say that like you're not!”

“No, silly, I’ve got at least another millennium until I’m fully grown. You humans have such strange ways of thinking. Anyways, tell me everything!” They giggled and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you off the bed with them and sending the both of you into a sprawling heap on the floor.

And all of a sudden, it was like you were back there, you and Bazel curled up in a blanket fort long past the witching hour, swapping your deepest secrets, pinkies interlocked as you crossed your hearts and hoped to die, stuck a needle in your eye that you would never tell. 

You had laid out the blankets, for old time's sake, and gathered every pillow and plush into a pile on your bedroom floor. You lay side by side, staring up at faintly glowing stick-on stars on your popcorn ceiling. Bazel grabbed your hand, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding as their fingers interlaced with yours.

But this time, you found no pleasure in bearing your soul to your childhood friend. Instead of detailing playground drama, you were recounting the accident, the faulty carbon monoxide detector, the day you woke up in the hospital clinging to life by a thread, cheeks flushed cherry red and starved of oxygen, mumbling nonsense about almost making it through the woods. The way your parents had fled the house, so terrified that their only child was so close to death.

By the time you had relayed it all, you felt hollow and had run out of tears to cry. Silent, tearless sobs wracked your body, and you put up no resistance as Bazel wrapped you in their arms and gently nudged your head into the crook of your neck.

“I'm so sorry, Starlight,” they finally spoke, voice barely audible.

“It's not your fault…” you sniffled, hugging them tighter.

“I should have protected you. I promise, Starlight, I'll never let anything take you away from me ever again.”

They rubbed your back as you drifted off into unconsciousness, falling deep into a dreamless sleep.

When you awoke, Bazel was gone. You couldn't be sure they were even there in the first place. While it was the first time you had thought about them since visits with the numerous psychiatrists you had bounced between as an early teenager. The more you woke up, the less and less you could remember Bazel. The memory unraveled like a sweater when you started to pull at it. By the time you had sat down for breakfast, you had convinced yourself that it was all just a dream. And your spine was completely jacked. Last time you slept on the floor, you promised yourself. That kind of thing only flies when you're a kid.

It was true that you had an imaginary friend, though, as a child. Bazel, the monster in your closet turned best friend. But your parents weren’t as big of a fan of Bazel as you were. While parenting magazines and informational guides had prepared them for you wanting to save your imaginary friend a seat at the dinner table, the way you spoke about Bazel was troubling.

It had started off mostly harmless, you telling them about the strange child who lived in the closet and came from the shadow realm. They started to become more skeptical, however, when you began blaming Bazel for knocking things over around the house. They had reassured you that it was okay; you wouldn’t be in trouble; they just wanted you to know that you shouldn’t spend the whole night on the floor or grab things from shelves higher than you. No matter how much they promised they wouldn’t be mad, the excuses continued to escalate. Candles were left burning, broken glass would end up covering the bathroom floor, but the final straw was when they found you seated in the kitchen, unharmed, but surrounded by the contents of the overturned knife block.

“Oh! Sweetheart, are you—No! Don’t move; I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Hang on, I got you.”

“Bazel said it was okay!” You giggled, unfazed by the cutlery surrounding you.

“Oh no, no, sweetie, Bazel’s not real. Let’s, uh, go for a walk to the park! Does that sound okay?” 

You had always had a healthy sense of imagination, but as you grew older, your parents grew concerned with the possibility of maladaptive daydreaming. One consult visit with a child psychologist turned into two, then a weekly occurrence. You hated the oppressive atmosphere of the office, the way the adults talked past you as if you weren’t even there, the pitying, self-righteous way the psychologist asked whether your friend was in the room with you. Of course they weren’t. Bazel lived under your bed.

This was a frequent topic when you vented to Bazel late into the night. They shared their own worries too, but they seemed genuinely upset when you recounted the way your therapists and doctors tried to convince you that they were just a coping mechanism for your lacking social life. 

After months went by, you finally caved. You gave in to the advice provided by your care team. You expanded your social circle, actively sought out more friends, and let your parents enroll you in countless after-school clubs and extracurricular activities. Around this time, your nighttime conversations with Bazel grew less frequent. They appeared on the darkest nights, when rolling thunder shook the house, but most days you were tired enough to sleep through the night.

Your parents were ecstatic with your progress. They hated to admit it, but the way you spoke about Bazel had started to scare them. They rejoiced every time you asked for a ride to see your new friends. They were over the moon when you asked for permission to have a friend or two over to hang out. Of course they accepted, and you raced to school the next day to let them know that your plans for the weekend had been approved.

That night you had curled up in bed and were just on the verge of unconsciousness when you thought you saw a shadowy figure standing in your open doorway. You blinked, and it vanished. Convincing yourself that it was just a trick of the light, you drew your comforter closer around you and settled in again. When you rolled over, you came face to face with Bazel, lying right next to you.

“Bazel! Where were you? I missed you.”

“You've been avoiding me!” Their tone was indignant and extremely jarring after you hadn’t spoken to them in so long.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to visit you every night for the past month. You won’t let me in.

“I’m sorry, I really have no idea what you are talking about.” You were on the verge of tears, unable to understand why your friend was so upset with you.

Seeing you so genuinely confused made their heart melt. You clearly weren’t trying to avoid them, and they missed you so badly, so the only thing they could do was wrap you in a tight hug and sob silently with you until you were both calm.

“Do you not love me anymore?” They finally asked.

“Of course I love you, Bazel. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you too, Starlight. Forever and always.”

“I’m sorry, Bazel. I don’t know what happened. I was waiting for you; I tried. But I was so tired from school, therapy, and appointments; it’s all so much.”

“Therapy?”

“Yeah, I go see counselors and doctors and stuff. We just talked for an hour. It’s kind of exhausting.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Well, life, school, friends. We talked a lot about you at first, but I didn’t like to argue with them. They keep trying to tell me you aren’t real.”

Bazel froze. When they finally spoke, their voice was cold and measured.

“Starlight, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“They keep trying to convince me that you’re just a figment of my imagination. That you aren’t real, and you’re hurting my development.”

“You know I’m real, though, right?” they asked cautiously.

“Of course, you’re sitting right here in front of me.”

“And you know I would do anything to protect you?”

“That’s what best friends do. I would do the same for you.”

“Do you want a break from it?”

“Hmm?”

“Why don't you come to my world? Come with me. You'll never have to worry ever again.” Bazel reached out a hand, which you clasped. “It'll be just the two of us, forever.”

You nodded and followed them as they opened the door to your closet, transfigured into a dark tunnel, lined with jagged branches.

While you had ostensibly returned to your old house to fix it up and sell it, you weren't getting too much actual cleaning done. You had wasted most of an afternoon, and well into the evening, excavating the contents of your closet. Some minor sorting had gotten done, and a few boxes of clothes had been put aside to drop at Goodwill, but for the most part, you were just exploring the myriad of toys and knickknacks squirreled away in the back. You yawned and started to stand up when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Looking for something?”

“Nothing in particular. You, I suppose.”

“Well, you found me. You always do.”

“I can't believe I had so much stuff.”

“You'll get through it; you've got all the time in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“Hey, tell me something.”

“Mhm?”

“The psychologists, did they really make you forget about me?”

Your silence was more than enough of an answer for Bazel. Their face fell.

“I never forgot about you,” they finally whispered.

“I truly am sorry.”

“You came back through; there must have been some part of you that knew I was still here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.”

“Hey, tell you what. I’m not going to make any meaningful progress on this tonight, so let me call it quits, and we can stay up late. I think I remember where the blankets are.”

Bazel beamed from ear to pointed ear. Any trace of anger dissipated from their face, and they pulled you into a warm hug, nuzzling their nose against yours.

The blanket fort you constructed was truly impressive. It spanned most of the dining room and was filled to the brim with all sorts of pillows and stuffed animals. You had lit dozens of candles, the small flames illuminating the fabric walls. You and Bazel were currently curled up inside, their head resting on your lap, and you ran your fingers through their wavy black hair. Absent-mindedly, your fingers drifted to their pointed horns, and you began to wonder exactly what kind of creature they were.

“Bazel, you said you were a demon. Did you mean that figuratively, or…?

“I suppose that is what you humans call us. We live in the shadows and eat souls.”

“You eat people?”

“Of course not, just siphon life force. A little at a time. Humans eat animals. I don’t feel my way is particularly gruesome.”

“Have you eaten my soul?”

“What? No, I don’t feed off you. You’re too full of light and life. You’re far better as a friend than food.”

“But you tried. The first night I came back.”

“To be fair, I didn’t realize it was you at first. You looked so different. I almost couldn’t help myself.”

“What do you do instead?”

“I eat your dreams.”

“What?”

“You ever wake up from a dream and can’t remember anything about it, but know it was there? I ate it. You have very nice dreams, full of creativity and life.”

You were silent for a long while. 

“Is that why you stay?” you finally asked.

“Of course not, I enjoy your company. I get lonely in the dark. You’ve always been the one bright spot in my life. My little Starlight.”

They reached one finger up to your face and playfully booped your nose, giggling. Their glowing white freckles seemed to flicker gently, their pitch-black eyes reflecting the warm candlelight.

You smiled, allowing yourself to relax. You missed the way that you and Bazel used to pass the nights. You longed to forget your responsibilities, your worries, to fall asleep in the arms of your closest friend. So you did.

The woods were exactly the same as you remembered them. A dark forest threatening to swallow up the tiny path. Gnarly branches, black as tar oil and covered with thorns, pulled at your clothes and scratched your face. Bazel pulled you closer to them, shielding you from their grasp.

“It’s alright, Starlight, I won’t let them take you away from me.”

You trudged on, screwing your eyes shut and letting Bazel guide you through the thicket. You were older now, taller, and it was harder to make it through the passage than last time. The air was bitter cold, and the wind shrieked all around you. When you felt their grip on your hand start to loosen, you cried out and grabbed for their wrist, holding on like your life depended on it.

  After what felt like an eternity, Bazel took you by the hand and pulled you away from the last of the wild trees. You opened your eyes to see them checking you all over for signs of injury. Aside from a few light scratches, you had escaped mostly unscathed.

“You made it,” Bazel’s voice was almost incredulous. 

They were right to be worried. The last time you were here, you hadn’t. A sound, a familiar voice, a trick of the woods, had startled you, and you had slipped from their grasp. They had turned, but too late, and could only watch as your face disappeared behind layers of thorns and black bark. 

You hugged them, standing for what could have been minutes or hours in silence, your face nestled against their chest.

“Starlight, you made it. We made it.,” they repeated. “I can’t believe it. Thank you. I’m so proud of you.”

You were a little confused; after all, it was them who had done all the work, guiding you through the claustrophobic woods, but you stayed in their embrace. It felt nice to have them offer such unconditional praise. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy it.

Finally, they released you, only to grasp both of your hands and stare deep into your eyes. An exuberant smile was forming on their face, wider than you had ever seen before, and they looked expectantly at you.

“We finally made it, Starlight.”

“Made it where?” you asked, still confused. 

“We crossed the veil; we made it to my realm. Like I promised you all those years ago. But we did it this time.”

Their enthusiasm was too infectious; you couldn’t help smiling, even if you didn’t understand completely.

“Nothing will ever take you away from me again. I’ll make sure of it. I can’t believe it. I love you, Starlight," they were rambling at this point, too caught up in their emotions to notice.

They let go of only one of your hands and turned to face the open expanse of void on the other side of the woods.

“Now where do we go?” you asked, voice trailing off into silence, tinged with fear.

“Anywhere you desire, Starlight. As long as we’re together.”

[infiniteimaginings]

hello! can i request a max thunderman fic where he falls in love with a girl who seems like a goody two shoes but can be casually manipulative in a way nobody notices? thank you!

Sweet Deception (Max Thuderman x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Max doesn't like the reader because she's similar to Phoebe. A goody two shoes, follows the rules, never breaks curfew. His locker is unfortunately next to hers and he has a few classes with the reader so he hears snippets of her conversations. These conversations peak his interest, not because of the subject, but because of how she responds within them. You intrigue him. Pronouns: She/Her, You/Yours Warnings: Manipulative words, manipulation tactics. Word Count: 2.9k A/N: Sorry that this took a week lol, I literally did everything but write this TvT. I think this is casually manipulative, I had to research subtle manipulation. Also, I focused more on the manipulation aspect so he isn't like, head over heels in love with her. I hope that's okay.

Max Thunderman walked up the stairs of his lair in the basement, making his way to the kitchen. When he looked over he saw Phoebe and you, sitting and watching tv. The two of you heard his footsteps and turned to face him. His face contorted in disgust at how in sync the two girls facing him were, “Ugh.” He grunted, rolling his eyes and walking to the kitchen area.

Phoebe crinkled her brows as she crossed her arms, “What are you grunting about?” She asked him, not moving from her spot, you looking over as well, letting out an inaudible sigh. Max grabbed a drink from the fridge and smiled sarcastically at her, “When I see you and your practical carbon copy,” He spoke, leaning his back on the kitchen island, “I find the need to vomit.” He told her, nodding his head with the scrunch of his nose. Phoebe stuck her tongue out to him childishly, Max doing the same and hopping up the steps and kicking the button to his lair.

You bit the inside of your cheek, adjusting yourself on the couch. “Phoebe,” You said her name, causing her to turn back to you. “I actually have other things to do today, so if we aren’t doing anything I’m just gonna go.” You told her, standing up. The girl stood and awkwardly smiled, nodding, “Yeah! Of course, sorry.” She said apologetically, rubbing the back of her neck. She opened the door for you and you said your goodbyes, giving her a small hug and walking away, typing on your phone.

Phoebe closed the front door and breathed out a puff of air, causing her hair to move out of her face. Max still stood on the platform, his lair door open as he looked at the doorway where Phoebe stood with an expression Phoebe couldn’t understand. When the girl looked to her twin brother she walked a little closer, contemplating even asking the question she wanted to ask. The quirking up of his eyebrow caused her to just shake her head to herself, “Max, do you think I’m boring?” She asked him, brushing her hair out of her face. Max stayed standing on the platform as he thought about it, bottled drink in his hand. He tilted his head a bit, “Yeah.” He shrugged, sliding down to his lair, the door closing and leaving Phoebe with an annoyed expression. She poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue, “Of course.” She mumbled to herself blankly, dropping her hands to her sides as she walked up the stairs to her room.

The very next day at Hiddenville High, Max hoped he had gotten to school early enough to be able to miss you later on going to your locker. Your locker was right next to his and he didn’t enjoy the people he had the displeasure of meeting anywhere near his locker. He reached the locker with a relieved smile, you weren’t there, you must not be at school yet. He put in his combination, shuffling through the small space for a few specific items.

He was enjoying the silence until you walked up with your perky blonde friend Cherry Seinfeld, your expression was fairly neutral but Cherrys had her typical bright smile. When you reached your locker, Max wanted to bang his head into his own, not wanting to hear Cherrys high pitched laugh. This day though, Cherry wasn’t laughing, he slightly tuned into you guys’s conversation.

Cherrys hair bounced with her steps, her hands behind her back, “Did you remember to bring the folder of ideas?” She asked, occasionally looking into your locker, believing you were going to pull it out. You stopped shuffling around in your locker as you turned to her, blinking your eyes. “I didn’t know you needed it.” You told her, tilting your head as your brows knitted together. The blonde's smile dropped a bit as her hands landed to her sides, “I asked you to bring it today, last week.” She reminded you, moving her head with her words. You shook your head, turning back to your locker and grabbing a journal. You hummed to her comment, “You should’ve reminded me yesterday if it was so important for today.” You told her, moving a few magnets on the inside of your locker.

Cherry frowned, playing with her fingernails and looking down, “Well, I didn’t remember until today.” She slightly mumbled. You closed your locker, it closed with a slightly loud bang that caused Cherry to jump a bit. You turned around to her and put a hand on her shoulder, a small sympathetic pout on your face, “Well, you do tend to be a bit forgetful.” You said sweetly, the comment making Cherry nod sadly a little bit, but Max looked at the back of his locker with confusion when hearing the words. You nodded, painting a sweet smile on your face, “It’s okay though!” You reassured, patting her shoulder. “I’ll stop by my house at lunch and grab it.” You told her, causing the girl in front of you to light up with a smile. She clasped her hands together happily, “Thank you, and I’m sorry for not reminding you.” She told you, “It’s no problem, don’t worry.” You responded, walking off to your class.

Cherry had a free period for first period so she hung by her locker, texting a few of her friends to see what to do after school. Max closed his locker and leaned on it, looking intently at Cherry. The blonde felt his stare and looked over, “Hi Max!” She greeted, with a smile, looking back down. Though she greeted him, he still looked at her. She pursed her lips and cleared her throat, eyes flickering up to him as she typed. She finished her message and put her phone into her back pocket. “Well, I should get go-” Cherry began, but she was stopped before she could even pick her foot up to take the first step to her next destination.

Max looked at her seriously, arms crossed, “What she said was kind of mean,” He said, referring to you, standing straighter, “and that’s coming from me.” He finished his sentence, slightly bewildered that he even spoke on it. Cherry was confused about what he was talking about and it showed easily on her face. Max nodded, “When she said you’re forgetful. She forgot to bring something and then said it was because you forgot to remind her. That was rude.” A small breath of a chuckle escaping his lips when apparently Cherry wasn’t getting it.

The girl crossed her own arms, head tilted, her blonde curls pooling over her shoulder, “Were you eavesdropping on us?” She asked him with her lips slightly poked out, eyes gently narrowed.

Max looked at her blankly, one of his hands pointing to the lockers they were right next to. “You guys were talking an inch away from me and my locker, I had no choice.” He stated, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Cherry dropped her arms and shook her head, a gentle smile coming back to her face. “Well, it wasn’t mean.” She claimed, “She was right, I should’ve reminded her, a week is a long time for anyone to remember to bring anything.” Cherry defended you, which confused Max. Before the brunette could get a word in, someone walked past Cherry, gesturing her to follow and she did just that, leaving Max alone to his thoughts.

Max decided to keep a closer eye on you and your interactions, he tends to try to ignore you but your recent conversations catch his attention. He’s taken note that you don’t just do this type of thing with Phoebe and Cherry, you do it with everyone.

One day, Max was sitting at a table with his friends during lunch, talking about nothing important. At the next table over, you sat alone, scribbling in a notebook.

A boy named Tyler had walked up to you, clearly distressed. You were looking through your notebook, eating, your gaze only flickering up to him for a moment. “Hi Tyler.” You greeted, writing a few things in the journal. He sat across from you, adjusting the collar of his shirt nervously which caused you to put your pen down and look at him with soft eyes. “You okay?” You asked, folding your hands over one another, your voice taking him out of his own head.

Max heard your voice and slightly listened to your conversation, still giving responses to his friends.

Tylers eyes widened and he nodded before shaking his head. You looked at him curiously, as if telling him to go on with why he wasn’t. Tyler took a deep breath, “I know we talked about this earlier but, I still feel weird about it.” He spoke slightly, the words making your lips thin into a line before folding back out, Tyler didn’t notice. “How so?” You asked politely, placing your hands into your lap. The boy rubbed the back of his neck, “I just feel we aren’t really friends anymore since you hang out with everyone else more than me. I feel a little neglected.” He spoke, waving his hands around nervously. You nodded in understanding, “Yeah, I understand that.” You told him gently, moving yourself a bit to get more comfortable. “But,” you began, “We had this conversation earlier, yeah?” You asked him to which he nodded, his hands gripping the edge of the table. You nodded, “Yeah, we did. I said I’m sorry and you forgave me.” You told him and he looked down, he knew you said sorry, but he still felt upset about it. “If you didn’t forgive me and were still hurt, why did you say you forgave me?” You asked him and Tyler gently scratched his head. He eventually sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I’m just still worked up.” He suggested to which you looked at him with big eyes, “If you think so, then sure.” You spoke, reaching out and patting his hand that stayed on the table.

Max was listening to the conversation, his jaw slightly dropped as his eyes widened slightly, ‘What?’ He thought to himself, utterly confused. How was it possible that you could get other people to just blame themselves instead of you? That piqued Max’s interest far more than he thought you could.

He watched you more closely, you said these things so easily, so kindly that people just let you. He’s heard so many to the point Max was getting fed up with the people around you, it was absurd how no one noticed. It might’ve drawn him to you, but your friends had to be idiots.

You were talking to Flunky about some sort of idea he presented to the student council and it went badly, he told you that you said the idea would work but you simply frowned, brows pushing together, confusion written over your face. Max heard a phrase he quickly got used to hearing, "I don’t think I said that specifically, are you sure you're remembering correctly?” When Flunky started doubting himself you would side hug him with a soft smile. You would say “It’s okay, you just misunderstood me. Misunderstandings happen all the time.” As if you didn’t contribute to his downfall to the student council.

Max has heard, “I don't think you're seeing the situation clearly. Maybe you should take a step back and think about it.", "I didn't mean to upset you, I was just being honest.”, “You’re so negative, you should be more positive.” All with a bright smile on your face and everyone would just smile back, say you’re right and move along as if you didn’t just completely turn the situation around back on them. He’s never seen someone so, ‘good’, act in such a way, he couldn’t quite explain his feelings on it.

Enough was enough for Max, so one day before the last period bell rang he grabbed you by your arm and gently pulled you behind the staircase. You weren’t exactly shocked by who it was so you didn’t struggle, you walked along with him, asking a small, ‘Where are we going?’ which was ignored until you guys were under the stairs. You looked around a bit, an amused smile on your face, “Hello to you too Max.” You lightly chuckled but Max’s face was stone cold, only a small stem of light reflected in the brown of his eyes.

“You’re confusing.” He stated, arms crossed and you genuinely laughed. You stopped laughing, clearing your throat when you saw his face, “Okay, you’re serious.” You spoke, hiding your mouth with your hand before dropping it back down to your side. Your eyes blinked at him, “How am I confusing?” You asked, a small smile on your face, your brow raised. Max smirked, “I am so glad you asked!” He said with bright eyes before his expression dropped back into blankness, “You’ll say something with your sweet voice, but it’s so hurtful to other people.” Max told you, pointing at you. You nodded gently, arms still at your sides, your head slightly tilted to the side as you spoke, “It’s interesting to me that you perceive my words in that type of light.” You told him, your bottom lip slightly poking out.

Max inhaled sharply before letting out a deep exhale, “It’s been clear that everyone around you is blinded by your displays.” He said, hand waving in the air to gesture to you, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “I’m not.” He spoke bluntly, putting his hand down. He then licked his lips, looking around slightly before locking eyes with your amused expression, “Okay, I’ll say it outright since no one else has.” He spoke, walking closer to you, slightly leaning forward to gently tower you. “You’re mean, and you’re borderline evil.” He stated, his lips in a line, pulling back, “And for the second time within the past two weeks, that’s coming from me. “ He mumbled, surprised he’s saying such things.

You sighed, smiling a bit, “Do you feel better?” You asked him, noticing how his shoulders relaxed after saying it. He didn’t respond which made your smile slip a bit before it was placed right back, “I think it’s,” She paused, trying to find the right words and Max tilted his head. Were you stumped because you’ve been caught? You shook your head, disregarding your last thought, “I don’t think I’m evil.” You said simply, your eyes big and bright, but Max huffed a laugh at the comment. He smirked ever so slightly, breaking his majorly serious facade, “Your words are covered in venom but it’s like you manipulate everyone into only seeing honey dripping from them.” He told you, fingers scratching at his eyebrow as he tried to think about all your words. “You're some sort of wolf in sheep's clothing, you bite when someone gets too close to something you don't like.” He continued on, the phrasing causing your smile to drop completely. You bit your tongue slightly before speaking, “I’m sorry you think that.” You spoke quietly, the tone of your voice made Max create eye contact with you.

He smiled, smiled at you. “I thought you were insufferable,” He spoke about prior moments, “but, you interest me more and more everyday.” He told you, this made your eyes narrow in confusion. “I’m sorry?” You asked him, crinkling your brows, your nose scrunched and your mouth twisted. Max nodded, smiling, crossing his arms, “I just told you about how your words are manipulative and responded with ‘I’m sorry you think that’ as if it’s my fault. You’re doing it to me!” He laughed, he didn’t even seem mad about it. “You’re so interesting, I just can't stop myself from listening when you talk to people.” He told her, leaning on the back wall. Your tongue touched the bottom of the top row of your teeth as you looked away in disbelief, “You’re definitely looking into what I say too much, but you find it…?” You paused, leaning on the opposing wall, foot balancing you on the wall. He continued the sentence for you, “Intriguing. I find you intriguing.” He told you, his smile turned into his typical smirk.

Your expression softened, “So, you like me?” You asked bluntly, causing the boy to glare at you. “I said you interest me, you do things that make it so I can’t focus on other things.” He explained, rolling his neck a bit and you nodded. “Right, you totally like me.” You teased, “Quit it.” He responded, rolling his eyes. You shook your head and began walking into the hallway, Max following. “If I’m so…’interesting’,” You quoted, turning to him, “you can meet me after this next class that we’re late to, and we can talk more then.” You finished your sentence and he looked over to you boredly. You guys were by your lockers so he unlocked his and shrugged, “Okay.” he said, shuffling in his locker as if he were busy. You began to walk away with a grin, waving, “Bye Max.” You told him, walking into your class late.

Max was staring at the back of his locker with a matching grin, soon putting his head down on the bottom of his locker, a small flush on his face. He was definitely going to meet you after this last class.

[adultish-momma]

Lunchtime Disagreements

Yuu and Ace get along for some very specific reasons. Unfortunately for Riddle, he is about to find out one of the things they have in common.

(Yuu on the other hand, has had a rough week. They woke up and chose violence. They will not be apologizing.)

A/N: Hi :)

Rule number 271: One must leave the table within 15 minutes of completing their lunch

"Yeah that's not going to happen."

Every Heartslabyul student around their lunch table seems to freeze, anxiously watching red rise to their housewarden's cheeks. Yuu on the other hand settles deeper into their seat, the picture of indolence. Grimm, always down for mischief, hops onto the tabletop, moving the empty Ramshackle lunch trays to the side so he can comfortably turn into a cat loaf in the smack middle of everybody. He shoots a satisfied shit-eating grin up at Riddle Rosehearts, delighting in the frustrated expression on the young man's face.

"Excuse me?"

The Ramshackle prefect finishes off their burger, and then calmly turns to give Riddle Rosehearts their full attention.

"Thanks for the suggestion, but I'm good. Thanks but no." The prefect shoots the housewarden a polite smile before sipping on their carbonated beverage. The redhead blinked, thrown off by the other student's nonchalance of the subject.

"Suggestion... you can't just... the rules-"

"Are completely asinine, let alone inefficient and inapplicable to our current situation." They take another long sip of their drink while the older boy grows steadily redder.

"ASININE?!!"

"Mm-hmm" they hummed, bobbing their head in casual acknowledgment. Calmly setting down their drink, they raised their hand so they could count off for the Heartslybul Housewarden. "One, I am not a Heartslybul student. Therefore, your word is not my law."

Ace was trying very hard to hide his snickers at Riddle's grinding teeth. (He wasn't trying at all honestly but if anybody asks he's going to stick with his story thank you very much.)

"Two, this is not the Heartslybul dorm. There is no polite societal convention that demands I attempt to follow your dorm rules in the neutral territory that is the cafeteria."

Riddle now resembles a tomato, hair blending in with the color of his face. Deuce and Cater exchange nervous glances.

"Three, my next class is alchemy, and according to the time, the Alchemy Lab won't be open for at least 30 more minutes. So instead of staying here and, oh I don't know, getting ahead on my alchemy readings, you want me to leave. And do what, exactly?"

Trey was sweating in his seat. Tentatively, he reached out to the Ramshackle prefect, hoping to make this conversation just stop. "Hey, okay, I think you made your-"

"I'm not finished" they snapped, whipping around to glare at the Vice Warden's outstretched hand. When it dropped back to Trey's side, they turned back to the dorm leader. Riddle was seething, face so red that steam was quite literally going to rise from his face if someone poured water on him. And honestly, at this point, Yuu was kinda pissed too. So when Riddle opened his mouth to take advantage of the pause in their tirade, they stood up and crowded into his space, not willing to let this go until they said their piece.

"Your precious rules are more often than not completely senseless. Name me one benefit, one productive result, one good reason why rule 271 should be followed in every scenario, regardless of circumstance, and I'll take it all back."

They paused, to give Riddle a chance to rebuke them. They didn't pause longer than a second, but let the record show they did pause.

"You can't, can you? Because there are none. There is no good reason for your out-of-pocket rule. That's because it's an insane rule created by an insane woman."

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"

Students wearing rose-red armbands flinched in the courtyard, frantically searching for where their leader could be. It was a fearful response, fueled by the sheer anger they heard in his voice, but they were also curious about exactly what moron was capable of upsetting their mini tyrant so immensely. The Heartslybul students in the courtyard soon figured that since he wasn't in sight, Riddle must be tearing into someone still in the cafeteria. There was collective relief, but those students also sent up a collective prayer for the poor soul on the other side of their housewarden's unique magic.

Meanwhile, inside there's a flash where the freshman prefect was standing, bright light taking its time to dissipate from their silhouette. When it does, the cafeteria is silent, shock settling heavily in the atmosphere. Riddle, who had still been as red as his namesake, rapidly began to pale at the sight before him.

Yuu stretched their neck, with no collar on them to impede the motion. They slouched back into their seat, reaching over to begin petting Grimm behind his ears. The creature's body is forced to relax under the careful touches, his tense posture melting back into a content cat loaf. The prefect themselves are pretty content with the way this argument turned out, although... one last nail in the coffin couldn't hurt his ego any more than they already have.

"I don't have any magic Housewarden Rosehearts. 'Off With Your Head' is useless against me where there is nothing for your spell to contain. So if you want to effectively throw a tantrum next time I'm verbally kicking your ass..." Their eyes locked onto his stormy grey eyes, a small, conspiratorial smirk tugging at the corner of their lips.

"You're gonna need to turn that collar into a muzzle."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A year in illustration (2024), Part two

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/07/great-kepplers-ghost/art-adjacent

Part one

Algorithmic feeds are a twiddler's playground

I confess that the kind of music that people make with modular synths leaves me totally, absolutely flat. However, the look of modular synths is perfect for conjuring up the idea of "twiddling" – a key part of my theory of enshittification (doubly so after I painstakingly put a HAL 9000 eye on every dial and knob).

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/11/for-you/#the-algorithm-tm

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; djhughman, CC BY 2.0; modified)

CDA 230 bans Facebook from blocking interoperable tools

"Interoperability" is one of those abstractions I really struggle to visually represent, but sticking a giant, scuffed, USB-C port (courtesy of D-Kuru's great CC BY 4.0 macrofocus image) on the Facebook sign worked great.

(Image: D-Kuru, Minette Lontsie, CC BY-SA 4.0, modified)

Cleantech has an enshittification problem

Illustrating "cleantech" being bricked seemed pretty straightforward, but it took a lot of doing to find a good picture of a brick. Eventually, I found a brick and took a picture of it! I think the solar panels on the brick are pretty nicely matted in.

(Image: 臺灣古寫真上色, Grendelkhan CC BY-SA 4.0; modified)

How to design a tech regulation

Cutting out those balance scales took a long-ass time, but I've found a lot of uses for them, illustrating the concept of "making trade-offs." The tradeoff here is between a rigid, planned approach and a more improvisational one, so I used an Air Force guy at rigid attention and a guerrilla fighter on the scales. The "impatient guy" from the maybe-a-radio-ad stands in this time for a government regulator.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/20/scalesplaining/#administratability

(Image: Noah Wulf, CC BY-SA 4.0, modified)

Microsoft pinky swears that THIS TIME they'll make security a priority

Look, I'll stipulate that using "Clippy" as a symbol for Microsoft personified is a bit antiquated, but I like to think that for those who know, they really know. The Uncle Sam is Keppler again. With apologies to Skippy Shulz, natch.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/14/patch-tuesday/

An end to the climate emergency is in our grasp

Virgil Finlay's demon head is sinister, sure, but the unintentional, undeniable sinisterness of the body language of this guy puts him in the shade. He comes from an unsourced image that looks like an ad for a built-in stereo.

https://craphound.com/images/guygestures.jpg

The audience in the front comes from a Victorian daugerrotype of a crowd watching some kind of unknown spectacle. I cropped 'em out by hand and use them as a visual stand-in for "this is a thing that the world is, or should be, watching."

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

Surveillance pricing

I don't make a lot of animations, but this one is super-sweet. The idea of things switching slowly via crossfades is a great way to illustrate how tech lets companies change things when you aren't paying attention. Thanks as ever to ezgif.com for help assembling and optimizing it.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

"Carbon neutral" Bitcoin operation founded by coal plant operator wasn't actually carbon neutral

Thomas Hawk is an amazing photographer who also posts all kinds of amazing found photos (more than 23,000 of them!) to his Flickr stream, at very high rez:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?sort=date-taken-desc&safe_search=1&tags=foundphotograph&user_id=51035555243%40N01&view_all=1

The guys in the foreground appear in one of these, proudly displaying an award for – I kid you not – "canned bacon." The kids in the background come from a gallery of photos of early 20th C. child laborers.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/09/terawulf/#hunterbrook

The Google antitrust remedy should extinguish surveillance, not democratize it

If Keppler's "Capital Controls the Senate" is one of the most important antitrust images of all time, then his "Next!" (depicting Standard Oil as a rapacious, world-strangling octopus) is the most important antitrust illustration.

The Uncle Sam-as-a-cop figure is another Keppler (natch), and he's a regular in my collages – I can make him stand in for any federal agency by putting its logo on his chest, where a badge would go.

It took me a long time to cut up that Next! image for easy modding. Here's a GIMP XCF file for your pleasure:

https://craphound.com/images/standard-oil-kraken.xcf

And a PSD:

https://craphound.com/images/standard-oil-kraken.psd

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/07/revealed-preferences/#extinguish-v-improve

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

The largest campaign finance violation in US history

The giant figure looking at something in his palm through a looking-glass is yet another Keppler Uncle Sam illo (in the original, Sam is peering at a taxpayer who's shouting back up at him). I love the sad little donkey; I spent a bunch of time this election year finding public domain images of mules and elephants and dressing them in the livery of the mascots of the Democratic and Republican parties to have a bunch of visual signifiers with different emotional valences for each.

Note the halftoned background (a Maricopa County ballot); I'm increasingly fond of halftoning as a way to create a nice looking, scale-independent background.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/31/greater-fools/#coinbased

AI's productivity theater

"Technofeudalism" was a theme in my work even before Yanis Varoufakis's excellent book on the subject. Putting a HAL Eye on the reeve in this medieval tapestry depicting him lording it over his groveling serfs really caught the subject, especially after I faded in some Matrix code waterfall for the background.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Return to office and dying on the job

This medieval torture chamber was really brightened up by the LATE AGAIN! workplace poster on the wall and the impatient guy posed before the Manhattan skyline through the window bars. Cutting out all the window-panes took forever.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

Thinking the unthinkable

Bosch's anus-demon (from the Garden of Earthly Delights) returns, this time to illustrate the problems of radium suppositories as a metaphor for commercial surveillance (yes, a visual metaphor for a textual metaphor – whew, it's getting abstract around here). It took some fiddling to get the right green radioactive glow in the anal cavity, and to match it for each of the suppositories in the Museum of the Health Sciences' picture of a box of the

The damask-esque background comes from a gallery of antique marbled endpapers that I often use when I need a texture, tweaking the curves and colors until they look cool.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/19/just-stop-putting-that-up-your-ass/#harm-reduction

There's no such thing as "shareholder supremacy"

Boy I love this one. The background is a late 1800s photo of the Temple of Pluto. The golden calf on the idol comes from an early 20th century illustrated bible. Add Milton Friedman's head, the lettering from the original U Chicago School of Business, and a tiny golden top-hat for the calf, and voila! Idol-worship! Alistair Milne's tip for making gold textures work went down a treat here.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics

America's best-paid CEOs have the worst-paid employees

The heads of the millionaires are more Keppler Punch illos, while the bodies and sofas come from another Thomas Hawk found industrial photo. You'll remember the child coal miners from ""Carbon neutral" Bitcoin operation founded by coal plant operator wasn't actually carbon neutral." I have a vivid memory of carefully cutting out the guillotine and its Jacobins during a boring conference presentation.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/09/low-wage-100/#executive-excess

Conspiratorialism as a material phenomenon

The superstitious belief that Big Tech has built a mind-control ray is a common theme in my work, and I've got a few prized, carefully sliced up "mind control ray" themed images from old pulps in my stock art folder. This one is augmented with Cryteria's HAL 9000 eye, and a Keppler cavorting vaudevallian with Zuck's metaverse head. The midcentury family comes from a midcentury ad for Mason Masterpieces's bronzed baby-shoes.

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

Part three

Part four

[drabbles-mc]

Small Price to Pay

Takeshi Kovacs x F!Reader

Summary: In the wake of another close call, Takeshi finds himself once again fighting the urge to pull away from you for your own sake. Not that you've ever been one to let go that easily.

Warnings: 18+, language, blood/injury, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I've been wanting to write more for Takeshi and when I got hit with this idea I just couldn't turn my back on it. Hope you enjoy!

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge @destinedtobeloved (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Consciousness tore through you, ripping you down the middle with a gasp that faded into coughs that racked your whole body. You were sitting upright without remembering bracing yourself into that position, each ragged and failed breath sending a lash of pain across your abdomen and into your limbs. You were looking around the room before your vision had completely righted itself. Whether it was disorientation or tears that were making things fuzzy, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that nothing looked clear, nothing felt right.

Blinking your way into clearer vision, you hardly even noticed that the tears were on your cheeks now. You were finally able to take a few regular breaths between coughs, not that it helped your pain subside at all. The room you were in faded into the background as you reached up and touched your own face, feeling for something, anything familiar. All you felt was pain, bruises and open cuts—not the right type of familiarity. Holding your hands out in front of you, some of the tension that you’d so suddenly picked up dissipated. Hands and arms that you recognized. A body that was yours, well, as much as anyone’s body was really their own anymore.

When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you jerked yourself away as best you could, sending yourself into another coughing fit in the process, pain radiating all throughout your body. It was all for nothing—the hand didn’t budge. If anything, its grip tightened, fingers digging into the exposed flesh of your shoulder. It was painful but somewhere in the back of your mind you were aware of the fact that it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Hey, hey,” he finally spoke up, voice low and rough wrapping around you to help steady you. “You’re alright.”

Clutching his hand with your own, you turned your head to look at him. Takeshi’s face was almost always neutral, feelings always buried a few layers deep under the skin of whatever sleeve he was wearing at the time. Since that was the case, the only coherent thought you could conjure up was that you must’ve looked like you were in even worse shape than you felt, his lips pulled down into a deep frown, worry swirling around his eyes. The tight pinch of his brows undermined his attempt at reassurance.

“Talk to me,” he tried to make it not sound like an order, but it didn’t really work.

“Tak?” was all you managed to get out, your voice hoarse, throat like sandpaper.

His shoulders sagged in relief at the singular word. He let out a deep breath as his hand slid from your shoulder up the side of your throat until he was cupping the side of your face. His thumb was beneath your chin, pressing into it just slightly to tilt your head to make you look up at him. No matter how light his touch was, you could feel the pressure on each bruise and cut on your face. You wanted to pull away from the pain but you couldn’t make yourself pull away from him.

He was in better shape than you, although that wasn’t saying much. There were fewer bruises on his face, and with the dark cloth of his shirt you couldn’t really see or get a good idea of the damage done on that front. You wanted to ask, but you didn’t have it in you. You leaned into the touch of his palm instead, never mind the blood you were smearing onto it.

He watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, the way that you pressed into his touch despite the way it made you wince in pain. Your breathing still hadn’t steadied, but at least you were breathing. There had been a moment when he thought that he’d lost you. Maybe not forever, because real death was hard to come by. But he thought for a moment that he’d be left to carry your stack on a chain around his neck until further notice, until he could get his hands on a new sleeve. And you always hated that, hated the turnover. He liked to chastise you, call you sentimental in a world that had no infrastructure for that anymore. Deep down though he had a certain type of respect for it—not that he’d ever tell you if e could help it. He had lost track of how long you’d been in your current sleeve. Clearly it’d been long enough for him to forget. He didn’t want to see it change either. Maybe your sentimental nature was finally becoming contagious.

“Hey,” he finally spoke up again, glad that your eyes were closed and you couldn’t see the tidal wave of emotions cascading across his face, “we’ll get you patched up, alright?”

You managed a nod, not bothering to speak as you let your head fall from his hand until your forehead was resting against the planes of muscle that ran up his side. You could feel each breath he took that way, keenly aware of every one as his hand came to rest on the back of your head, fingers splaying.

After a few long, silent minutes passed that way, you tried to clear your throat and speak again. It hurt a little less the second time around. “Split your nose open again,” you told him, eyes still closed, face still pressed against him.

He let out a short chuckle. “Split open more than just your nose.”

You wanted to laugh but you knew that it would hurt more than it was worth. You managed a low hum of amusement instead. “How bad?”

“How bad’s it feel?”

The momentary sting of leaning deeper into him was worth the payoff of being closer. “Pretty fucking bad.”

“Yeah.”

“You have to bring me back?”

He sucked in a deep breath—you could feel the impending sigh before you actually heard it. “Yeah. You can’t fuckin’ do that to me anymore.”

You couldn’t fight the laugh that time, and you paid the price for it. “It’s not like I set out with that goal in mind, you know.”

He pulled away from you, much to your disappointment. His hand was instantly coming to cup your jaw, movements gentle and firm all at once as he made you look up and into his eyes. The traces of humor that had been lingering between you were gone—you could see it in his eyes.

He shook his head slightly as he started to speak. “I can do the rest of this on my—”

“Tak,” you cut him off, the smolder of anger blooming in the pit of your stomach no match for the burning pain you were in, but you could still feel the difference.

“I’m serious.”

You wished you had the strength to yell. “So am I.”

“Look at you,” he said, helpless in a way he hardly ever was.

“I’m fine.” He scoffed and you corrected yourself. “I’ll be fine. If I gotta trade in—”

“No,” his tone was harsh, more than he had intended.

You flinched, not expecting it from him. “It’s just a sleeve,” you tried to reason.

“It’s the first thing you look for every time you come back,” he argued.

It was true. Before you cared about your surroundings, or the people with you, you looked to see if you were still the same person you were when the lights went out. Tak had worked overtime to make sure you always woke up recognizing the person in your reflection. You figured it was a professional courtesy, if nothing else something to make his life easier so that he didn’t have to hear you lament about it. This was the first time it ever sounded like he actually cared.

“Like it even matters to you,” you muttered.

“It matters to you,” he said, sincerity dripping from his words in a way you couldn’t ignore or deny.

“Know what else matters to me?” you asked, voice sounding more assured as your mind and body started to get back into sync with each other.

He already knew where it was going. “Don’t.”

There were things that you wanted to say that you wouldn’t. Things that he knew without you having to say them out loud. The look in his eyes said it all, and you were willing to settle for that for now. “We came this far. I’m not,” you lifted your chin from his hand so that you could clasp it with your own, “I’m not leaving you now. And you’re not leaving me.”

He knew even when he started the conversation that it was going to end this way. But he still had to try. Truthfully he didn’t actually want to do the rest of this without you, but that was the selfish part of him talking. That was the part of him that he tried to kill a long time ago but couldn’t ever quite manage it. So onward you two went. But every close call became a heavier and heavier weight resting on his shoulders. Each time it got a little harder to stomach. He never could make himself take off in the dead of night on you, though. You’d probably find him anyway—limp your way to him no matter how many miles or years stood between you.

You could see it in his eyes that even though he was looking at you, his mind busier with much more than just taking in how you looked. You squeezed his hand. “We can lay low here for a beat?”

He nodded. “Until you’re ready.”

It was a relief, to say the least. You sighed, letting your head drop back a little bit and ignoring the pain in your neck. You stared at him for a moment, wishing you could read his mind. Resigning yourself to the fact that you weren’t quite that adept, you kissed his knuckles and asked, “Patch me up?”

He ends of his mouth turned up just slightly, enough to erase the deep frown he’d been sporting for most of the conversation. “Yeah.” He leaned in, leaving a quick, soft kiss on top of your head before pulling away to grab his bag with all his gear. “Gonna have to do it, you know…” he trailed off and held up the thread and needle.

“Old school,” you offered with a weary chuckle.

He was shaking his head at you but you could see the way that his lips pulled up just a little bit more. You watched him as he sat down and started to lay out what precious little he would need to stitch you up and put you back together again.

The two of you had done this dance together so many times neither of you even had to think about it anymore. Your bodies were roadmaps that the other knew every inch of, even the parts that were left uncharted by everyone else. You could recite his scars from memory, find them with your eyes closed, with this sleeve and all the others. If anyone asked him, he could tell them where the two of you were for each stitch and patch job that kept your body together—on the run, in alleyways, in haunts much shadier than that of The Raven, he could recall them all like they were fables from childhood.

He started with the laceration that went across half of your forehead. You closed your eyes, not that it really made all that much of a difference. He cleaned it as best he could before setting about stitching you up. It was too familiar to both of you for him to bother giving you a warning. You winced at the initial puncture, hand darting out and gripping tightly onto his knee.

The pain didn’t lessen as he went along, when he moved from one wound to the next. It was a silent affair, a careful brand of intimacy that required no words and sparing eye contact. It was just his hands on your skin, you trusting that he was doing the right thing no matter how much it hurt. On another day the roles would be reversed and you would be doing the same for him. It would sting and burn him the same way it did you, but the pain was a small price to pay to be alive. It was a small price to pay to wake up each time with someone you trusted.

[monimccoythings]

Miguel O’Hara headcanons

Warning: This contains slight spoilers for Across The Spiderverse

I’m a new person after watching Across the Spiderverse. Words cannot describe how much I loved this movie. But the things I loved the most was how the characters were portrayed, like, you could tell their actions were wrong and that they were taking the worst approach to the situation, but still understand why they behaved like that and empathize with their reasoning behind their actions. Another thing I truly loved was their approach to their supposed love triangle, they mostly took the same route they took in Venom, Miles was a bit jealous at first, but the supposed love rival (Hobie my beloved) was just a cool guy who genuinely wanted to help and there was never any rivalry or hostility between them and that’s very healthy. I also loved Oscar Isaac’s portrayal of Miguel O’hara, absolutely wonderful.

I usually try to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, but this time I decided that this time reader would be fem!reader, but please feel free to use any pronoun you feel more comfortable with.

Imagine Miguel who after the incident with his alternate self’s daughter closed his heart off to everyone else, genuinely believing that to be Spider-Man you need to suffer and vowing to never love anyone ever again.

Imagine Miguel finding a carbon copy of his alternate self’s deceased wife in his real “home” universe and realising that he could have had a family here after all.

Imagine Miguel deciding not to pursue you and start a family, thinking that it would all end in more heartbreak and pain for them.

Imagine Miguel keeping tabs on you despite everything, because he wants to make sure you are safe, happy, well cared and surrounded with good people.

Imagine Miguel’s shock when you start working at the same laboratory as he as a lab assistant and having to self restrain himself from holding you against his chest and never letting go.

Imagine Miguel having to become cold and aloof towards you to save you both the suffering, thinking it will be easier if you hated him even if it’s killing him. Nonetheless, you still see through his façade and realise that behind that cruel and cold mask there is a scared man. Because you always do see him, in every universe.

Imagine Miguel pretending to not care whetever  you are dating someone or not, but still tearing his private lab into pieces in the middle of a jealously induced rage fit.

Imagine Miguel finding and beating the shit out of the date when they inevitably break your heart.

Imagine Miguel’s walls slowly coming down no matter how much he wants to keep them up because that’s the effect you always have on him.

Imagine Miguel’s learning to appreciate and love your version’s differences with the one from his deceased counterpart universe and value you as your own individual.

Imagine Miguel’s sudden understanding as to why Miles was so adamant of protecting his family when he sees some thugs about to shoot you.

Imagine Miguel losing it and becoming a rabid beast ready to murder those thugs.

Imagine that the only way to calm him down his to hug his broad back and whisper soothing and reassuring words to him. Even if you are trembling with fear, you find more important to hush him before he does something he will surely regret.

Imagine Miguel finally deciding to pursue you romantically and open his heart. He is not risking losing you ever again.

Imagine Miguel always fearing something bad might happen to you so he is a bit overbearing and overprotective. He always is expecting the worst of everyone. But you are always there to reassure him you are not going anywhere.

Imagine Miguel almost expecting a canon event to take you away from him again. But as time passes, your romance blossoms, you get engaged, you get married, have beautiful babies, and nothing happens. Not like Miguel isn’t there to make sure something bad happens, as mentioned, he is very overprotective.

Imagine Miguel being kinda worried that his children may inherit his “special traits” and you comforting him, telling her that no matter what you love them all.

Imagine Miguel waking up one day and realising nothing bad is happening because this is the future he was meant to have, a happy one.

Imagine Miguel stepping down from his role as leader of the Spider Society and giving it to more capable hands to spend more time with his family.

Imagine Miguel finally allowing himself to relax and enjoy life and his role as Spider-Man with his family by his side. Healing from trauma once and for all.

[moonshynecybin]

#prince of a small country addressing the nation concerning his recent marriage to italian motogp superstar valentino rossi <- oh. OH !!!!! genuinely i need more….. how did they meet…. is marc giving up his title to marry vale….. much to think abt…..

i love this one it’s about marc like. putting down the pr mask and realizing he can have something for himself…

so! much like our marc, in his youth he was a tiny adrenaline junkie obsessed with motorcycles, valentino rossi, and valentino rossi’s y2k bisexual swag. unlike our marc, he was not allowed to continue racing past a certain age bc he is the crown prince of a nation and it was considered too dangerous for him. he rides too hard, he doesn’t want to put that on alex if anything happens to him, etc

but our brave marc is not a complainer! ever! even when he absolutely should be! so he grits his teeth buckles down and does his duty. for his family. for his country. for his brother. for years. but he still keeps tabs on vale, allows himself that small joy. catches races whenever he can—watching them on his phone in airports and the back of cars all over the world. instagram stalking him like a weirdo. trying to covertly attend races with alex in silly disguises SURROUNDED by security, hat pulled low… a wistful thrill in his stomach as he hears the bikes roar past… eyes on valentino the whole way

and then they meet! marc is in his early twenties and they’re at some party marc hates but he’s keeping the big smile on his face as he greets people and vale (here for sponsorship obligation comma bored) notices him across the room and goes hey. that guys hot and looks equally bored! so he goes up, does a silly bit, and is immediately confronted with a full frontal assault of marc’s big dumb smile and shining eyes <3 also realizes he is a fan IMMEDIATELY even though marc is trying to keep it on the DL which he reallyyyyy enjoys so they spend the whole night snickering in their own little world…

whirlwind romance ensues!! and they have history’s least carbon neutral affair over the next few months with the amount of plane rides they charter anshshsgg… truly marc learning to love life and ignore some of his responsibilities for once… insane sex in expensive hotels bc vale wants to show him a good time… extravagant rich people gifts…. personalized helmet tribute only the two of them get… lots of references to marc in interviews that only marc and him understand. like FULLY inside jokes with themselves excluding the press so the other will smile when they watch the interview later when they’re apart… and the CROWN JEWEL PUN NOT INTENDED: ranch visittttttttt where they have a BLAST. vale gets to excercise his clear love of teaching and praise marc, be impressed with his raw talent on the bike. and marc is. SO happy. looks valentino dead in the eye at the end of the day vale’s big hands on either side of his face and tells him this is the best day of his life… and he looks at vale and loves him SO much but feels so trapped by the monarchy (his advisors know this and have been quietly maneuvering the nation towards democracy… marc does not know this) and something cracks in him and he’s just like. i don’t think i can do this anymore. and vale’s face DROPS and marc’s like. do you want to get married. bc he’s insane <3 and it’s the only way he can think to bind vale to him permanently in a way the monarchy/his duty can’t interfere with… like no one can argue with a royal wedding!

SO THEY ELOPE!!! scandal of the century!!! and then marc’s advisors (everyone say thank you to his fictional advisors who create democracy in a nation not bc it is a better form of government but for pure love of the yaoi game) pass the resolution to change the government and marc is FREE to follow vale around the world and get really good on the bike again and learn that it is OKAY to love things and not sacrifice your whole self at the alter of duty :)

[officialdaydreamer00]

Nui shenanigans

in which you have a tiny nui version of your fire-headed significant bother

character: idia shroud

content: cw for suggestive things (i spoil you too much gd), an unhealthy amount of tooth rotting materials, the brainworms are worming so please excuse the rotting ^-^, reader is not yuu, gender neutral reader (mainly leaning to afab/fem aligned readers)

pausing the event to whip up a birthday present for @identity-theft-101! happy spawn date you biteable fucking gremlin <3

this feels so much like im working on PR lmao

first of all, the idia nui is sentient, let's get that over with. idia nui is an exact copy of the real idia, just in tiny doll form.

he's only 10cm tall (or about 3.9 inches) so he can fit snuggly in your palm or your shirt pocket.

very, i mean very, affectionate. touch starved too, he craves and will soak up any physical contacts from you like a sponge. just like idia lmao

also very squishy and biteable, since he doesn't take any physical damage. use that information to your likings :)

now that's out of the way, we gonna talk about the interesting stuffs.

when i tell you he's a carbon copy of idia in doll form, i mean rook hunt level accuracy. the resemblance is concerning.

from the mannerisms to the actions, idia nui acts just like our local fire hair ipad kid. except that it looks even cuter, somehow.

idia nui can be carried to places. just place him on your shoulder, in your shirt pocket or hoodie hood. for fem aligned folks, you can even let him vibe in your bra pocket.

idia nui, of course, has quite a case of social anxiety. he doesn't do well with people, so hide his existence when you're in the presense of other human beings, please.

you can always share your love and interests with idia nui. he will listen to your ramblings with rapt attention and encourages you with his adorably shy smiles.

as expected, idia is seething with jealousy, seeing how idia nui can do things that he can't. social anxiety fucks with his brain so badly.

ans now you have two blue fire wet cats fighting for your attention and affections. let the war begin

all he can do is watching over you through his floating ipad and silently seething. he would gritted his teeth whenever idia nui notices the ipad and gives you affections, and will explode in flames if the nui sends him a mocking grin, which is more likely than you think.

one time, idia finally manned up and actually smooched you, he had a blue screen moment and then he dipped.

you've never seen idia ran tf away so fast lmao.

spoilers: in the end you rewarded them both with cuddles and kisses so all was good ^-^

remember to reblog if you enjoy my works! ^-^

[sneakyswag]

Healing

Legends Reborn

Jumpscaring @absolutely-normal-about-x

Beta huffed, looking over the kitchen and noticing clumps of different types of fur, hair, and feathers scattered everywhere.

It was safe to say that the constant cleaning was getting a little annoying, but he wasn’t going to complain. Come on, he lived in the Flutter now. It was already too much for his family, dealing with him and his antics, so he figured he had to do something. Beta straightens up and ties his hair in a little ponytail, before starting to sweep.

It was… a little troubling. Normally, he’d just sweep up little clumps of hair and fur, but now, thanks to Harpuia’s feathers from a game of tag gone extreme, the broom wasn’t picking up the feathers very well. With a small sigh, Beta reached down and grabbed a few feathers, only to immediately let them go with a yelp. His hand had gotten cut in about three places. Crimson spilled out from his hand quickly, alerting the snow-haired Carbon who dashed towards the sink.

With a hiss, Beta washed the cuts out, watching the blood wash away down the drain. He sighed as the cool liquid poured over his wounds, soothing them greatly.

Now that Beta was a Carbon—no longer in his Reploid body—he didn’t have his Bassnium and plasma regulator. Also meaning, he had no way of making the side effects of his powers go away. Because of this, Beta’s arms, shoulders and hands were highly sensitive due to power usage. Any pain or strain inflicted on them hurts three times more than the average person.

Footsteps echoed across the flutter, catching the snow-haired Carbon’s attention. He glanced at the source out of the corner of his eye, tensing up as he saw his Uncle X and Cousin Volnutt approaching.

“Lighting, are you okay? We heard you scream”, Volnutt says, concerned.

Beta chuckles nervously and shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t say I screamed, but…”

Volnutt’s gaze drops to Beta’s hand, where he notices the cuts, and his expression changes to one of worry. X follows his son’s gaze and is the first to speak. “My… how did that happen?” X asks softly as he walks over, gently taking Beta’s hand and turning off the water.

Beta whimpers and pulls away. “It hurts…” he mumbles.

X’s eyes widen slightly. His neutral but kind expression shifted into a concerned frown. Volnutt moves to a nearby cabinet where he pulls out a med kit. X notices and guides Beta to the dining table. They sit across from each other as X carefully begins to patch up his wounds.

Beta averts his gaze, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do this, you know…?” Beta muttered, his cheeks painted a noticeable shade of crimson.

X sighed, a small smile forming on his face. Beta was smart, but in times like these, he was stubborn. It reminded X of himself years ago, back when Dr. Cain was alive. Whenever X suffered small injuries, he refused to let Dr. Cain patch him up even though he knew that all the old man wanted to do was help.

Beta let out a shaky sigh, followed by a quiet whine.

“Does that hurt, Beta?” Volnutt asked gently, sitting next to him.

Beta nodded, clearly embarrassed. X’s expression softened even further. “You’re sensitive? Is that why?”

The snow-haired Carbon shrugs. “I mean… you know about the dilemma with my powers, right? Well, when I woke up in my Carbon body, my regulator was gone, and… well… the pain is back.”

X pursed his lips, he knew this was probably another reason why Beta would just try to avoid using his powers in general. I mean, come on, Volnutt hasn’t even seen Beta’s powers other than that one time, and… well, Volnutt is a child. It makes sense that he’s curious and wants to see them again, but Beta refuses. His powers can be dangerous now that he doesn’t have his power regulator and isn’t a Reploid anymore, deeming him weaker.

“How bad is it?” X asks, his tone firm. “And do *not* downplay it. I don’t like being lied to.”

Beta swallows nervously, averting his eyes. “Not the worst it’s ever been, but… it really hurts.”

X nodded finishing the bandaging. He pulled away slightly, studying Beta’s expression. Everything suddenly made sense—Beta flinching at the slightest touch to his shoulder, the shaky hands, all of it. X tried to understand Beta’s reasoning behind hiding his injuries, but if he hid something as simple as this, what else would he be capable of hiding from them?

X sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Beta murmured.

“Horseshit.”

“Dad!” Volnutt exclaimed, his voice a mix of annoyance and slight shock. His father didn’t swear often, but he had his moments.

Beta shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Volnutt, who was shaking his head at his father’s swear.

X huffed and turned to Beta. His piercing emerald-green eyes met with the snow-haired Carbon’s, sending a chill through him. X’s intense stare had always been intimidating to Beta and now was no exception.

“I’m not mad, kid. I’m worried. Do you not trust us?” X asked softly.

Beta shook his head frantically. “Of course I trust you—”

“So why lie?” Volnutt interrupted.

Both pairs of eyes land on him. Beta purses his lips and averts his eyes. “My powers cause nothing but problems. Meaning I don’t cause anything but problems and—”

Volnutt grabs Beta’s shoulders, making the snow-haired Carbon gasp. “You are NOT a problem! Don’t say things like that! Why can’t you love yourself? You do so much already! Why can’t you see yourself how we see you?!” Volnutt exclaims.

X gently pried Volnutt’s hands off of Beta.

Beta sighs and runs his hands through his hair, before remembering his cuts and pulling away with a wince. “I do love myself I—”

“Then stop being an idiot, okay?” Volnutt said, his voice softening slightly.

Beta nodded, pressing his lips together. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better, okay?”

X sighed and nodded, letting Beta go. Volnutt watched him leave and turned to his father. “Just like that? You’re letting him go?”

X sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’ll take way more than one conversation to get it into his head that he’s worth it. Just… take it slow, okay? He’s still getting used to everything.”

Volnutt pouted. “But—”

“Vol, please. I get how you feel, but rushing things isn’t the way,” X said firmly but gently. “I know that well.”

Volnutt nodded and pressed his lips to form a thin line before retreating to his room. X watched him leave with a frown.

Trying to live semi-domestic lives was hard for most of them, but especially Beta. Beta never knew his purpose. On top of being woken up and getting sick due to a long hibernation, one side effect was memory loss, which unfortunately affected the snow-haired Carbon.

X fidgeted with his braid for a moment before standing up and heading to the kitchen, already expecting a mess. He doesn’t know whether to be worried, or frustrated, or both.

Instead, the kitchen was spotless, as if no one had even gotten injured in the first place. X sighs and inspects the sink. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not to be confused with the fact that he’s glad he doesn’t have to clean something else up, even though he’d do so with no problem, but the simple fact that Beta tried to lie and play off his injuries, even though they’re light, as nothing, is extremely concerning. Even so, Beta cleaned up the kitchen. Sure, his issue may seem minor, but that’s how all major problems start.

X was going to have a talk with this boy. Maybe not at this moment exactly, but soon.

[spoonguy]

Light Underwater

Pairing: Deep-sea Aquatic Alien x Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: Your spaceship crashes on an ocean planet and an alien rescues you.

Work count: 1.6k

Content Warnings: Thalassophobia, claustrophobia, emetophobia, light yandere themes

They couldn't get over how soft you felt, how warm you were to the touch, the fine hairs coating your skin. The feeling of you was completely alien to them, unlike anything on their planet. Reveling in the feeling, they pulled you closer, flush against their gelatinous body, and enveloped you in countless tendrils. You hummed and traced a finger lazily across their membrane, watching the bioluminescent trail that followed. They mirrored your humming, with an almost sing-song cadence, and cascades of warm, orange light rippled throughout their body. The tide pool you were reclining in was warmer than any back on your home planet, and the air was muggy and hot, so you couldn't say you didn't enjoy the feeling of their smooth, cool skin.

When you first crash landed, the air was nearly too thick to breathe, but by now your lungs were mostly accommodating for the lack of oxygen. You inhaled another deep, measured breath and sank further into the embrace of your rescuer. The water was salty, but nowhere near the oceans of the Earth. You could even drink it without becoming dehydrated, and you were even beginning to acclimate to the strange aftertaste. The air above the water level was humid, and thick clouds of fog hung in the sky, obscuring any chance you had of seeing the stars from here.

You felt so relaxed here, with them by your side. You had been afraid at first, but who could blame you. They revealed to you that you had frightened them just as much. They were so foreign, so outside of your concept of what life could look like, that your brain had short-circuited the first time you laid eyes on them. The closest thing you could liken them to was a jellyfish, but the similarities stopped at their gelatinous form and flowing tendrils. No jelly you had ever seen glowed with the same warmth, no animal moved with such grace. You had never heard anything like their call, the layered tones and the way the sound reverberated in your chest when they held you next to them, it was angelic.

Their real name was an incomprehensible blend of burbles, hums, and clicks, but they seemed happy enough when you called them by your best approximation, Qila. They had picked a name for you, also, a wavering, melodic hum layered with the sound of a bubbling stream. Their native language was so beautiful, it almost made you forget about the oppressive, dark world that would surely kill you if you stepped out of Qila’s protective grasp.

Your ship had crash-landed, either weeks or months ago, you couldn’t say, leaving you stranded miles below the water’s surface. For three gut-wrenching hours, you recorded your final goodbyes on your ship’s black box, on the Hail Mary hope that someone found your wreckage, watching the oxygen levels slowly diminish, until a pair of tendrils wormed their way around the seams of the airlock and pulled you to safety. They had arrived shortly thereafter to investigate the noises, only to have their echolocating clicks drowned out by the panicked beating of your heart. It was so strong, so full of life and hope, that they couldn’t help but pull you up to shore just to see what you were.

A few of the more prehensile tendrils wrapped around your waist and pulled you gently towards the underside of their gelatinous body. Qila pulled you into an air-filled pocket they had formed inside themself so you could travel with them. They had learned to line the tiny space with glowing fluorescent algae from above the water’s surface so you could see. While strange, you seemed to panic in the dark, and they preferred you calm and stable. The plant seemed to do an acceptable job converting your expelled carbon dioxide to breathable oxygen, but you couldn't go more than an hour before you got light-headed. Qila seemed to pick up on your lethargy whenever this happened and was sure to surface shortly after.

The ride to their cave was mostly uneventful, albeit slow. Qila seemed even more vulnerable to pressure changes than you were, ascending at a snail’s pace. They liked to maintain their concentration on the ascent, so you spent the long minute in silence. The view was less than spectacular and partially obscured through their translucent skin, inky black darkness stretching out for eternity, broken up only by the occasional plankton or free-floating aquatic plant.

You floated for what felt like ages towards the photic zone, arriving finally at the rocky outcropping that housed their cave. It was always a relief when the opening of their cave came into view, decorated with glowing multicolored algae and various aquatic plants. Glancing around, the only thing you could see besides the rocks, was the open ocean. 

Quickly, you slipped back out through their permeable skin and swam towards what could be considered your room. It was closer to a pantry than anything, housing materials that could not be stored in water. The walls were coated in the same glowing algae that made it possible to breathe inside of Qila’s body, but the greater quantity allowed you to stay here indefinitely. You pulled yourself up onto a ledge, careful not to knock over onto the neatly stacked cubes of salts, sugars, and other soluble minerals, wrapped in hydrophobic coatings.

You turned back to Qila, watching as the vesicle you had traveled in slowly healed itself, closing over until you could no longer see any break in their outer membrane. Only the very top of their bell-shaped body broke the surface of the water; the rest of their form and the thirty or so feet of tentacles below them were submerged, well past the extent of your vision. They bobbed gently in the water and let out a series of clicks undercut by a high-pitched buzzing.

Healthy, question? A single thought resonated in your head, the product of the translation device embedded in your auditory cortex. 

“I’ll be fine, just a little winded. Give me a second,” you said in between labored breaths, falling back into the fluffy moss.

You weren’t sure if they could actually understand the individual words you were saying, but they seemed to be able to pick up the meaning through your tone. “Can I get some food, though? I’m getting pretty hungry.”

Wait, command. Will return. Qila disappeared below the still water, leaving you in partial darkness without their bioluminescence. You sat in unlit silence for only a few minutes, listening to the periodic drips of condensation falling back to break the still surface of the water. They returned soon after with a dozen or so spheres embedded in their skin, each holding a different plant or animal.

The first sphere they offered to you held what looked like a crustacean. You peeled open the sphere and pulled out what might have been an arm or leg, encased in a thick black carapace. The shell was easier to remove than you expected, pulling it off in fragmented chunks, which you set beside you in a pile.

Discard, question?

“The shell—I think that’s what it is, at least—is too sharp for me to swallow. It will hurt my mouth.”

You sniffed the meat and decided that it smelled close enough to crab that it was probably safe enough to eat. A tiny nibble let you know that the taste was at least palatable, but a little sour.

Acceptable, question?

“Yeah, for now. Let’s wait to see if I get sick, though.”

The other spheres held food that Qila and you had already vetted through trial and error. Who would have thought you could get food poisoning from seaweed? But the purple kelp-looking leaves had left you vomiting and feverish for days. After that, Qila had become extra cautious in monitoring you for symptoms of food intolerance.

“Thank you; I appreciate it,” you said between bites of alien fish. 

Qila vocalized happily.

“I appreciate you, also. I would have died without your help.”

Presence enjoyable. Alone before, partner now. Happy, exclamation!

“Partner?” you questioned.

Singing partner. Thoughts sharing.

“Like a friend?”

Qila was quiet for a while before they responded.

Unsure.

“Qila, are there others like you?”

Far away. Inaccessible.

“You can’t see them?”

Correct. Population overexpanded. Exiled.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” You placed a hand along their body.

Request, question?

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Sing, question? Together, question? Qila let out a tentative hum.

“Of course. Um, what do you want me to sing?”

Important song. Meaningful.

“Yeah, no, I've got one.”

You started to hum the melody of your favorite song before you broke out into the first verse. Qila listened for a moment, then began to harmonize, adding percussive clicks and ethereal droning. The muted light inside them grew brighter, more brilliant, until it illuminated the whole cave. Each note their produce lit up different spots on their skin, only to fade as the sound faded. As you came to the end of the last line, you let your voice trail off, and the echoes grew quieter until they were inaudible.

Qila was glowing; mesmerizing swirls of bioluminescence cast warm light throughout the dark cave. They continued to murmur bits and pieces of the melody that had stuck with them.

Request, question?

“Anything.”

Stay. Here.

“You know I can’t exactly leave. My ship was destroyed in the crash.”

Unimportant. Promise, command.

“Absolutely.”

The wave of light that radiated off of Qila was so bright it hurt your eyes. They warbled joyful melodies, only parts of which your translator could pick up.

Happiness. Companion. Here. Together. Always.

[moobloom-mention]

To Obsess With the Future Is to Doom the Present

Summary: Shadow approaches the Professor with one question in mind: What does G.U.N. truly want from him?

Content Warning(s): Mentions of War, Angst

Word Count: 1263

I needed more Gerald and Shadow content pre Maria's death.

Shadow couldn't say he was used to having unanswered questions.

While he may not be the most popular creature within the research facility, the scientists around him had always seemed more than keen to provide him with whatever information he asked of them. Whether the question be as petty as him asking why he couldn't play with Maria at the time, or asking how different his levels of energy were that day, he'd always get a response.

It was...odd to finally have a question he hadn't received an answer to for days. Not for a lack of response from scientists, but from a lack of Shadow asking it in the first place.

He always found his stomach began to twist itself into knots whenever he thought about asking it to one of the scientists. A feeling he always felt embarrassed by.

It was a simple question, why was it so hard to ask?

Uncertain and finally exhausted of his patience of having a portion of his life unknown, Shadow found himself suddenly stood behind the Professor's desk, a pit in his stomach as his lungs performed flips in an attempt to accommodate for just how heavy each breath he took felt.

"I'm just..." Unable to find the proper words, Shadow's ears pinned themselves tightly against his skull. "...confused?"

Despite his clear frustration, the Professor's tone remained patient. "What's there to be confused about?" the man asked, his hands tinkering with whatever new project he'd hoped to distract himself with today.

A quick glance proved the project to be fixing a machine of sorts, though it hardly resembled anything Shadow had seen in the bunker before. It bared two arms coming from the underside of a thick, oval body made of metal.

"Hand me a screwdriver, would ya', Shadow?"

The hedgehog quickly turned toward the Professor's organized mess of a tool box, eyeing the screw of interest before he offered a 3 mm screwdriver. The Professor began to tend to the machine once more, a satisfied twitch of a smile given once the screwdriver fit into its desired location.

It didn't lift the odd ache within Shadow's chest like he'd expected it to.

"G.U.N.'s purpose for me," he clarified. His weight shifted from side to side, gloved hands now folded neatly behind his back. He didn't know what else to do with them. "I- I know they collect my energy."

The Professor's head nodded. "Your chaos energy is a marvel," the man praised, a mix of pride and awe seeping into his voice. "Judging by our rate of collection, we could be powering the Earth for the next century given we play our hand right. No more worries of global warming, or the ozone layer corroding."

Shadow watched as the Professor's hands suddenly stopped moving, his head craned in an odd position.

"Your energy doesn't emit carbon, does it?"

Shadow remained silent. He...didn't really know.

"Ah, don't worry about it," the Professor dismissed easily. "We can conduct tests for that later."

"Professor," Shadow interrupted carefully. He wasn't too concerned about the collection of his energy- he had plenty of it and running certainly helped to clear the feeling of suffocation that would often strangle his thoughts. "I don't see how my...other training helps with energy collection."

"The military side of things?" the Professor asked, finally turning from his desk to look Shadow in the eye.

It took everything within the hedgehog not to avoid his gaze. This was the Professor, not some random commander that'd demand they only be looked in the eye when commanded so.

Shadow could've sworn something sorrowful flashed through the Professor's eyes before his usual state of neutrality returned.

"G.U.N. isn't as invested in the 'science' side of how you could provide for humanity's betterment," the man explained with a soft hum. "While many of our scientists are invested in how you could provide renewable energy, G.U.N. is funded for a different purpose. A purpose that looks toward a 'paranoid hypothetical' for a lack of a better term.

"To our knowledge, you're the only alien to crash land on Earth in-" the Professor paused before his lips twitched into a smile. Almost like he'd thought of something funny. "Well, history."

The man's expression suddenly morphed into something far more grave. With a deep sigh the Professor turned back toward his machine. "It could be the difference between a victory or loss if war broke out."

Shadow's eyes widened. He hadn't been exposed much to the concept of "war", but some of Maria's movies had tended to show a few aftermath scenes of its impact.

Buildings decimated and caked in a horrid black substance. People- "Actors," Maria would always whisper to herself -laid motionless in the streets.

It looked nothing short of horrific.

Shadow forced himself to swallow his panic at the thought of such a thing occurring in real life. Surely crumbled walls would never be the only thing that remained of this bunker. Of his home.

His weight shifted once more to his right side.

"...will war break out?"

"Eventually," the Professor admitted, though he sounded more at peace with the thought. "Humans will always fight over mindless things. It's in our nature."

Shadow's jaw set itself tight. He fought with Maria on occasion, like over who would pick the next movie, or who got the last donut. Maybe this "fighting nature" was found in his own species as well.

"But I don't see that happening anytime soon. The government might cry over their petty arguments with Russia, but until G.U.N. starts preparing you to be sent off to a proper facility, I'll refuse to believe it."

Shadow nodded numbly. God, G.U.N. wouldn't just throw him into a car and drive off, would they? He'd be allowed to say goodbye?

Would he be expected to cause the chaos and destruction within Maria's movies? To cause real people to lie on the streets with no director to yell "cut" so they could return to their lives?

"Shadow."

At an instant the hedgehog forced himself to the present, eyes wide as he found the Professor knelt before him hand-in-hand. "Professor," he stuttered, "Sorry, I-"

"Relax," the man hummed gently. "I'm sorry. I thought you came to me out of curiosity, not concern. I should have taken the time to understand your emotional state."

Shadow remained still, uncertain how to respond.

It was like this that silence conquered the room. It was broken only as the Professor took a long, deep breath.

"I would never let G.U.N. force you into war," the Professor swore. "Hell, Maria wouldn't let them either."

Now that earned him a small smile from Shadow. He couldn't imagine the trouble Maria would put G.U.N. through if they even threatened to take him away.

"But we can't get caught up on life's 'what if's. If we did, we'd be putting G.U.N.'s paranoia in competition.

"We can only focus on the now," the Professor explained, raising from the ground. Shadow's hand remained tightly fixed in his as the man returned to his desk.

Shadow's confusion quickly turned to a sense of understanding upon looking at the machine the Professor had been working on.

"We could start with this mixing bowl. I don't think I've had a machine kick my ass this hard, let alone a kitchen utensil.

"...do you have any ideas on where to start?"

Shadow's eyebrows knit with sudden focus. His gaze lingered over the machine's oval body. "...the wires? Some could be frayed."

The Professor smiled, the skin beneath his eyes creasing with joy. "Perfect. Let's start with its wires."

[hurlingsupport]

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (Gender Neutral Reader Insert)

300 Heart Special

For context, this takes place after Camp Cretaceous and before Chaos Theory.

Red wool stretches between your pointer and your thumb, the constant pinching motion distracting you from the noise pouring out of the house speakers surrounding you. You purse your lips, glancing to your right; once, twice, and then you settle your gaze on Kenji. You can't see much from your place on the couch, and the combination of music thrumming from both the speakers and whatever movie was playing on the TV in front of you brings forth a pulsing headache that fills your mind with fuzz. But despite that, you crack a smile at Kenji's sudden, loud laugh. You're not sure what happened or what was said, but in a second, his head is thrown back, his eyes are squeezed shut, and laughter is spilling from his mouth. Your eye only leaves Kenji's joyful form when someone else plops down onto the couch beside you.

“Hey,” Ben grins, two glass cups held in each of his hands. He nudges one into your hand (the one that had been fiddling with your sweater), and you accept it without question. “What're you watching?”

“I don't know.” You spare a glance at the screen before redirecting your attention towards the drink in your hand. It sizzles and pops, a sassafras-like smell filling your nostrils. You take a sip, the carbonation stinging your throat as it goes down. Still, once the cup leaves your lips, you can't help but smile at Ben's remembrance of your distaste for alcohol.

Ben looks at the TV, then at you, moving closer to lean his shoulder against yours. “You don't know? You've been sitting in here for a while.”

You hum noncommittally, taking another sip of the soda in your hand. Ben only leans closer in response, as if closing the distance between you two would give him the ability to read your mind. A New Years party wasn't your idea, but you wouldn't turn down the chance to hang out with your favorite people. The countdown had ended hours ago, now only a distant memory of giggles and shouts. Gifts were given, as is evident by your new sweater, and drinks were drunk. Overall, you've been having a good time up until now.

“You okay?” He asks softly.

Your brows furrow slightly, but you don't let the unsaid accusation anger you. “Just tired.”

Ben hums, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. In return, you wrap an arm around him, taking yet another sip of the soda from your free hand. His eyes soon fall shut, and with careful consideration, you place both of your drinks on the small table to your left. Then, you're blinking slowly, the overwhelming sound from before fading away as your eye drifts shut as well.

You awaken with a start, but quickly calm down once you recognize the hand on your shoulder. Brooklynn smiles gently, a fairly guilty look on her face that has you sitting up quickly. Your shifting form causes Ben to grumble, and before long, he's pulling away from you and rubbing at his tired eyes.

“What's wrong?” You mutter, sleepiness still trying to drag you back into its comfortable depths.

“Can Kenji sleep over?” She whispers.

“Why?” You blink up at her before your head is turning every which way once you notice his absence. “Wait– where is he?”

Brooklynn points to the right, the dim lighting of your kitchen revealing Kenji slumped over the dining table. You can't help but sigh in disbelief.

“Why can't you take him home?” You stand up, looking around for any dirty dishes but finding none.

“We cleaned up.” You flinch at the sudden voice behind you, spinning around to see Darius. He winces at your visible fright. “Sorry.”

“It's fine.” You let out a breath, turning back towards Brooklynn while Ben and Darius rummage around behind you.

“I came by on my motorcycle, and I don't trust Kenji to hold on.” She explains, walking closer to pull you into a hug.

“Sammy can't take him?”

“Sammy and Yaz left a while ago.” She rubs your back, and you push yourself closer.

“What about Ben or Darius?”

Brooklynn parts from you with a kiss on the cheek, and you ignore the burning in your face to instead focus on the problem at hand. Not that Kenji staying over was a problem. You're just worried you won't be able to watch over him considering how tired you are.

“I have to work first thing in the morning.” Darius says, walking out of your kitchen with Ben following behind him. He envelopes you in a tight hug, kissing your forehead before going on to hug the other two.

You look towards Ben, your last resort, considering how busy he usually is. He gives you a tight-lipped smile and pulls you into a solid embrace. Pressing his lips against yours quickly, he gifts you a quiet apology before all three of them inevitably head out. And then your fate of sober-sitting Kenji is officially sealed.

You let out a long groan, heading towards Kenji's unconscious form. You shake his shoulders, calling his name quietly. But of course, that doesn't work, so you resort to the familiar tactic of flicking his forehead. But that doesn't work either. Now, more worried than annoyed, you turn his head towards you to check that he's breathing.

“Bah!” Kenji’s sudden yell forces a scream from you, instincts driving you to slap him out of pure terror. “Ow!”

“Kenji!” You hiss, hitting his shoulder much softer than you had hit his face.

The boy in question rubs his cheek with a huge frown. “That hurt.”

“Don't scare me like that then.” You grumble with knitted brows, though you swiftly grab his face to inspect it.

Kenji goes silent at your touch, eyeing your every feature even after you let him go.

“You're fine, come on.” You call, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up.

“Yes, captain.” He mutters, a slight purr to his words that burns in your mind.

You click your tongue, pulling him harder towards your bedroom. Although, you become much more gentle when guiding him up the stairs in spite of your vexation. And once you're both inside the safety of your room, you pull him into bed with you.

“If you feel like throwing up, tell me.”

Kenji nods, cuddling close to you. “Yes, captain.”

“And stop that.” You mumble, closing your eye. Usually, you'd change your clothes before going to bed, but your new sweater is so comfortable, and Kenji's so warm that you don't care.

“Yes…” Kenji trails off.

You wait for him to continue, awaiting whatever new title he decides to give you, but it never comes. Puzzled, you open your eye only to squeeze it shut once Kenji starts to kiss every inch of your face. Sputtering, you try pushing him off since you don't quite appreciate his breath nor the stubble on his chin, but the kisses only grow in quantity.

“Kenji!” You snicker, blinking in confusion once the onslaught of kisses stop.

Now, Kenji simply stares at you, holding your face in his hands like you did just minutes earlier. His thumbs rub your cheeks with gentleness that you don't expect from him. And then, he begins pecking the scars on your face. His lips are slightly chapped from the alcohol, and his stubble is rough on your sensitive skin, but you find yourself enjoying the attention.

“Lov, uh, you— captain.” He stutters, his words slurring before his kisses stop once more. “I think I'm gonna puke.”

You're up in a flash, forcing Kenji off your bed and shoving his face into the small trashcan beside your desk. And while Kenji's hair isn't long enough to the point that you'd need to hold it back for him, you still thread your fingers through it anyway. It's all you can manage when every retch results in you shuddering and grimacing behind his back.

Yeah, you're a horrible sober-sitter.

[gatormeister]

Gundam SEED Finished!

So, I came into this show with no idea what to expect. I was uncertain of how I'd think of the series, and even partly expected it would disappoint. Anyways, Gundam SEED deserves every bit of praise it's received. The show is genuinely fantastic.

Yes, the show re-uses a lot of ideas from UC Gundam, I mean if I didn't just watch through SEED, I probably wouldn't be able to tell the Archangel from the White Base. You have the story begin in a neutral colony, with the colony being destroyed, several civilian teenagers recruited to fill out the positions on an experimental battleship, and one kid who's special because he's the only one who can pilot the giant robot. It's not exactly the most subtle throw back, but even in that first half of the show, SEED manages to stop itself from feeling like a carbon copy of 0079 thanks to the show's greatest strength. Its characters and the different dynamics going on between them.

You have Murrue and Natarle and the tension over what decisions Murrue should make as Captain, neither one of them being entirely wrong or right most of the time. You have Kira and Athrun, neither one wants to be fighting the other, but circumstances forcing them to come to blows frequently and violently. You have the whole Heliopolis kids particularly Sai, Kira, and Flay. How all three of them clearly want to be able to just sit down and talk things out with each other at various points, but are too afraid to actually suggest it. Flay is a fantastic character with fantastic character development both positive and negative btw just thought I should mention that.

But then you get to Orb, and everything starts to feel almost entirely original from that point on straight to the finish line. And all throughout the last half its characters are going strong as ever. Especially the ones with less of a chance to shine in the first half.

My one biggest complaint would be in regards to Chairman Zala and Azrael. They're ultimately just monstrous people who do monstrous things in positions of power. The Chairman at least gets something to him being Athrun's father. Azrael and the Earth Alliance as a whole feel kind of empty. We hear about stuff, but the show never really has anyone on the inside to follow and show what they're all about until the very end.

All that aside, the next show I'll be watching is Gundam SEED Destiny. I didn't know what to expect from SEED, and came out loving it. This show however, even when I see people who enjoyed it's basically never all praise. I am both excited to see what happens next for the Cosmic Era and concerned about finding out why so many people came to hate it. I'll be watching through either way, so hopefully it's at least entertaining.

[wartsandwarlocks]

Hero.

@jilymicrofics

He’d never seen her look so amazing. She had her worry face on, her dark eyebrows knitted atop her eyes, which were slim as paper. A peculiar face for a peculiar situation, improvising had never been her strong suit. As she kept looking around and twitching her jaw, her hair grew spikier, making it look like it was on fire. James was stunned.

After some consideration, her face turned back to her usual one, almost completely neutral, only a sly smile escaping her lips.

“Alright, listen up!” She screamed before ordering everyone around, her hair even more fiery than before.

At one point he’d gotten tired of her talking and when he rolled his eyes, he saw a small kid on the verge of tears. He was so cute and pitiful, James wanted to run up to him and hug him. Upon closer inspection, he began getting scared, the kid would absolutely not stop crying, and he was practically a carbon copy of James when he was younger, a small and cute James.

As Lily concluded and they got moving, his mind couldn’t help but wonder back to the kid, but mostly to his own childhood. Running around with Peter, going to India in the winter. Play-fighting, him as Batman and Pete as the Joker, or him as Spiderman and Pete as Doc Ock, or their own invented superhero-villain duo. Now that he thought about it, James had always had an affinity with the hero archetype. It was quite clear why, he was righteous, kind, sacrificial and most of all, loved. It was the sort of character everyone would look up to, no matter how the others manifested it, even hate came from envy, which came from admiration. That’s what he always aspired to be, admired, righteous, and a hero.

All thoughts of heroism faded away the second he placed his eyes back on Lily. Maybe it was the way she was standing with a satisfied smile on her mouth, or the way the gun danced around her finger while she chose a hostage, or the way the splashes of blood enhanced her beautiful green eyes. If it hadn’t been any of that, it had certainly been the way she looked at him when he was the first one to be back from the house they’d been ransacking.

“I knew I could count on you, Potter.” She smiled, watching him put the money in the trunk. If being a hero meant missing that delightful view, he wanted the exact opposite of it. If being a hero meant not having the pleasure of being a part of the reason Lily smiled like that, he had to make sure he was never one.