#Scott Thorough

[violetfairydust]

What I’m getting from this is Scott was born on August 23, 1991. His license expires in 2015. Stiles’s license places his birthday on January 1st and expired in 1990, which means Stiles would be older than Peter. I could see them having fake IDs, but these are pretty bad. Scott wouldn’t even be 21 with this license and Stiles can’t pass for 38.

[street-corner-felines]

Zero Day Director commentary - With actor Andre Keuck

[malfoys-demigod]

hii! it’s iluvloganhowlett i’m just on my other acc! could you do a logan fluff where logan has a soft spot for u and lit only u? like for a prompt, scott asks a question and logan answers with some “it’s none of your business” or is j flat out mean where as when you ask the same question minutes later he’s nicer and thorough with his answer.

and can u please make it logan x mutant!reader🥰🥰

Logan Howlett, underrated softie

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

A/N: Hi @iluvloganhowlett!! I really appreciate your request and here it is! Enjoy, dear!!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Winters in upstate New York were exceptionally known for their extreme coldness.

Which of course was no shock that a particular mansion at Westchester County was at -3 degrees celcius, almost reaching at 4 in your keen opinion.

Just being inside made you want to wear a thick full body coat today, wrapped with your favorite scarf and gloves. But you felt silly about that idea, seeing how everyone else was just casually surviving the day with good long sleeved tops. How lucky of them.

Though it was only 8pm, you had the senseless idea of wrapping yourself in your blanket, trying to fall asleep in your bedroom, desparately hoping to sleep through the coldest day of the week.

After a few tosses and turns, feeling the icy breeze sneak into your body, you just knew there was no hope in dozing off. Not with this kind of weather!

You groaned in defeat, sitting up to curse to yourself why you had to feel so, so, so frigid of all days today.

Maybe some instant hot chocolate by the kitchen would help you soothe yourself into sleeping soon.

So you got up, wore an oversized sweater over your thick long sleeved top, placed on your fuzzy slippers, and made your way out of your room to the kitchen.

There were still students around the mansion, either reading books with each other, watching the television by the living room, or playing some board games while having hot beverages and snacks. Hmmm, the smell of hot chocolate from some of them just made you realize that hot chocolate is always a good idea.

Meanwhile over at the kitchen, just a few minutes before you had arrived, Storm was in one of the seats in front of the counter, having her decaffinated coffee, mixing some sugar and some milk with it. Yup, she was one of those who enjoyed the taste of cofffe, even at night, so she has it decaffinated so it won't affect her sleep later.

Scott grabbed a bowl and a box of Lucky Charms cereal from the cupboards and made his way to the fridge, which was being leaned on by Logan, who was having a round of beer.

Scott stood in front of Logan with a serious look on his face, expecting Logan to move. But Logan, who wanted to mess with the man, just stared back at him, flashing a mischievous look. "You should take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Move, asshole," Scott sneered, "I need milk."

Logan continued drinking from his beer, still eyeing scott with the same mischievous look on his face, ignoring his command.

"Oh, Scott, I still have some!" Storm interrupted, saving Scott from possibly wanting to strike Logan, based on his tight grip on his bowl, and now slightly wrinked cereal box.

"Dick," Scott muttered under his breath, moving through Logan, who felt like he won another round of Logan v Scott. That small win was now done being celebrated when you finally arrived into the kitchen.

"Hey guys," you greeted your colleagues, getting some 'heys' from Storm and a slightly disgruntled Scott.

"Hey, doll," Logan recited gently, earning a dear smile from you. He watched you look around the cupboards, noticing your mystified expression as you wandered around each cupboard and cabinets.

You then moved to the fridge, "Sorry, could I just check something inside?" you asked Logan softly with your fingers skimming over each other.

Scott looked up from his meal, watching Logan expose a smile on his mouth, gently moving aside as you opened the fridge, watching you hmph in disappointment.

Scott made his own quiet hmph to himself, seeing Logan's patience with you, to which Storm smiled coyly seeing sparks fly around the tough Wolverine.

"Didn't find what you were looking for, darl?"

"Yeah, I think the kids got the last instant hot chocolate powders for themselves," you frowned lightly in disappointment. "It's okay though," admitting in defeat. You were starting to make your way out, looking at the doorframe, "I think I'll just-"

"Hold on there, bub," Logan's instruction brought you to a halt. You turned around to see a now quiet Logan, whose eyes were looking into, what he thought, were puppy eyes. "Instant powders are for kids," he continued, his eyes quickly scanning around the room as if he was about to make use of the information around him.

"How about I make you some real hot chocolate, huh?"

While Scott and Storm turned to each other, exchanging unsure looks, you let out a small laugh in disbelief, which determined Logan to actually pull it off.

"You?"

You didn't want to sound mean about it, I mean, anyone can make hot chocolate. It wasn't rocket science, or some gourmet dish, but never in your wildest dreams did you think that Logan Howlett, the man who only went to the kitchen to bring out his secret stash of beer, would make you hot chocolate?

But the way you asked didn't matter to Logan, as he got whole milk, chocolate, whipped cream, and heavy cream from the fridge, walked to another counter for powdered sugar, and expresso powder, which he directly got a teaspoon of from Storm's side to which she didn't say anything about, since she herself, was inclined to watch Logan act as if he was someone else she didn't know.

Logan was now whisking together his ingredients in a saucepan that you helped get.

"How long should these be over the heat?" you tip-toed, wanting to see over Logan's shoulder's as he was perfectly centered in front of the saucepan.

"Till you see small bubbles appear around the edges," he replied, looking over at you tip-toe, which he wanted to melt at just seeing.

He then stirred in chopped chocolate, waiting for it to melt, and carefully placing the sauce to low heat, stating to you that 'it's needed for the chocolate to melt completely.'

His little moment of domestic fluff with you and him in the kitchen was put to a pause when a voice from somewhere behind him got his unfortunate attention.

"Since when did you have time to learn all this?," Scott teased, receiving a nudge from the elbow from Storm who shook her head.

"Shut the hell up, prick," Logan said, not even facing a smirking Scott.

Logan then served the drinks in two mugs for him and for you, of course topping them with lots of whipped cream. More than excited to try Logan's hot chocolate, you immediately took a careful sip, tasting the intense, rich, and absolute heaven which had to be the most decadent hot chocolate ever.

"Oh my god," you said, closing your eyes with satisfaction, "It feels like I'm in one of those Parisian cafes, drinking the best hot chocolate there."

It was as if every sip made you forget about how cold and freezing you were just earlier, and seeing you look so content with the drink made Logan want to beam, but of course realized Scott and Storm were, annoyingly still around.

"Glad you like it, Y/N," he thanked, seeing you turn to face him with a curious look on your face.

"I do want to ask..." you hung back the question, "When did you have time to learn how to perfect this? I know you didn't just learn this overnight."

It was a genuine question because despite living since the 1800s or so, it was not exactly like Logan had free time to cook around or whip up hot chocolate, right? This man went through a lot in his life, and would he really just use his spare time investing in something like.. hot chocolate?

Logan looked down, with a humble and small smile on his face.

"My mother..," he first started, "When I was young and while my dad was out, she would make hot chocolate on cold days, or even any day for that matter."

There was so much value you had, appreciating the little yet deeply personal story behind your now, favorite drink. You knew Logan was never an open book with anyone. It was more of a shut and locked up book with the key below the bottom of the ocean for no one to pick up.

But the way he had just been with you tonight so far, was like, he was giving you the key for you, and literally you only.

"So you rememberd her exact recipe?" you inquired more, with a sparkle that Logan saw in your eyes.

"Nah, not exactly," he said, slightly timid with a grin, " 'course I adapted to today's ingredients like instant whipped cream, but it's something like what she made before."

"Do you think you could make some for me again tomorrow?" You genuinely requested, which made Logan more or less, want to fold and do as you say in a heartbeat.

But of course, he wanted to slightly play it cool. "Don't see why not," nodding in agreement.

"Good, I'm gonna bring this with me back to my room now," you announced, "Thanks so much, Logan, good night!"

You then smiled at Scott and Storm, waving them goodbye as you walked away from them, leaving them to smirk like children at Logan.

"That was cute." Storm said, bringing Logan back to his usual, serious look.

"I'd love to try some tomorrow too, Logan," Scott tried to fake his genuine statement at the same time trying not to burst a laughter out of him.

Without any words this time, Logan, holding his mug of hot chocolate in hand, passed Scott with one claw out from his other hand, slicing his cereal box in half.

"Asshole!" Scott yelled, now trying to pick up the pieces of cereal as Logan walked out of the kitchen took a sip from his mug, indulding in the fact that,

A. he made another successful hot chocolate in his life

B. he gets to make it again for you tomorrow

C. he hopes to make it for you for as long as winter's still there.

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Third Life, but everyone has their own personalised rule to torture them specifically that the other players do not know.

The boogeyman system exists, but BigB is the boogeyman every session unless he is red. If there is more than 1 boogey, Scott has a 3x likelihood to be picked, but only after session 3. Joel is never a boogey, and cannot purposefully kill even when red.

Grian cannot purposefully kill any red names, not even in self defense, unless there are only 2 players left.

Jimmy is an exception because he thinks he has no rule, but he actually starts with only 2 lives. He is green on 2 and yellow on 1. The other players know this, and are not allowed to tell him.

Pearl cannot be more than 20 blocks away from another player, both vertically and horizontally, or she starts to take damage

Tango takes double damage to non-PvP sources.

Etho takes all the damage he recieved in each session in bulk at the end of the session.

After session 1 Scar takes constant damage if he is not wearing a full set of armour. He is the only player allowed to wear a helmet.

All damage Martyn does or takes is random, because he's bad at maths.

Cleo and Ren are soulmates and if they ever say something that could be interpreted as an innuendo while in the prescense of the other they instantly lose a life.

Skizz fully dies 1 minute after the person who fully died second dies, unless someone else fully dies in that period.

Impulse takes double damage to everything when there are less than 8 players left and 4x damage to everything when there are less than 4

Bdubs must act serious and gritty at all times. There is no punishment for failing this, but he is told there is.

Every session, Mumbo has a 50% chance to be the Boogie Man. He is not allowed to kill for the entire session not even in self-defense or if he is a red name. He must also inform at least 5 people, including Grian, that he is the Boogie Man by 1 hour 30 minutes into the session or an end crystal explosion will trigger on him.

Every 30 minutes, Lizzie has a 33% chance to be instantly teleported to Joel's location.

Anon I want you to know... that I love you.

Okay but this is LITERALLY one of my new favorite asks. It's so thorough and perfect?? For everyone?? Like hello??!?

[pandapetals]

Scary Movie Night

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

You and the X-Men watch a scary movie for Halloween which scared you more than you would like to admit.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

The soft flicker of the TV cast long, eerie shadows across the dimly lit living room. The sound of footsteps on creaking floorboards and muffled breathing echoed through the speakers, the tension building as the killer on screen stalked his next victim. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Your eyes were wide, glued to the screen as the knife came down with a brutal slash, blood splattering in every direction. Jean groaned, throwing her hands up in mock disgust. Scott chuckled beside her, clearly enjoying her reaction, while Kurt flinched, his tail twitching nervously at the gory scene.

You, however, were tucked against Logan’s side, buried as close as you could get without actually crawling into his lap. His arm was wrapped around you, solid and comforting, but even that couldn’t stop the little shiver that ran down your spine when the killer’s distorted laugh echoed through the room. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to see what happened next.

"You alright?" Logan’s low voice rumbled beside you, his breath warm against your ear. He glanced down at you with a raised brow, clearly amused, though his hand rubbed slow, calming circles against your arm.

You hesitated, feeling a little silly but determined not to let it show. "Yeah, totally fine," you mumbled, forcing a smile as you opened your eyes again, though you were still nestled firmly against him.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a smirk, and you could feel the deep, quiet chuckle rumbling in his chest. He wasn’t buying it. "Right," he muttered, his voice dripping with amusement. "Totally fine."

Finally, the movie came to an end, and one by one, everyone started heading off to bed. Jean and Scott disappeared upstairs, still playfully arguing about how Jean had flinched more than Scott did. Kurt yawned, stretching his arms as he teleported out of the room with a quick bamf.

You stood, stretching a little as you and Logan made your way to your room. As you walked down the hallway, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching you. The shadows seemed to move in your peripheral vision, and every creak of the old mansion’s floors made your heart jump just a little faster.

Logan was beside you, quiet as always, but you knew he noticed. He was observant like that—never missing a thing. When you reached your room and started double-checking the locks on the windows, his smirk returned.

"You sure you’re not scared?" Logan asked, his tone light but teasing, as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze followed your every move, amused by the way you were just a little more... thorough than usual.

You shot him a look, trying to play it cool. "I’m not scared," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual confidence as you pulled the curtains closed a little tighter. "It’s just...a habit."

"Mmhmm," Logan hummed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer to you, that smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Seems like you're jumpin’ at shadows, darlin’."

You huffed, crossing your arms defensively. "I’m not."

Logan tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Uh-huh," he said, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. "If you say so."

You felt the warmth of his body against yours, solid and reassuring, but the teasing didn’t stop. "What’s that?" he whispered, suddenly leaning close to your ear, his voice low and playful.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, you thought you did hear something—a creak in the floorboards, a faint rustling outside the window. You tensed in his arms, glancing around the room quickly before realizing... he was messing with you.

"Logan!" you swatted at him, your face heating up as you realized he was enjoying this way too much.

He laughed, the sound deep and rough, his chin resting on your shoulder as he held you close. "You’re cute when you’re scared, you know that?" he murmured, his voice soft but teasing, a hint of affection beneath it.

You let out a breath, finally relaxing a little, though you were still flushed with embarrassment. "I’m not scared," you muttered again, though your voice was quieter now, your hands resting over his.

"Right," Logan drawled, clearly not convinced. He turned you around in his arms, looking down at you with that smug little smirk still playing on his lips. "Just admit it. That movie freaked you out."

You looked up at him, trying to maintain some dignity, but the way his eyes sparkled with amusement—and maybe a touch of fondness—made it impossible not to smile.

"Fine," you grumbled, rolling your eyes. "Maybe it freaked me out a little."

Logan’s smirk softened, and he leaned down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your forehead. "Don’t worry, darlin'," he whispered against your skin. "Ain’t no movie monster gonna get you with me around."

You laughed softly, the tension finally melting away as you leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. "I know," you murmured, closing your eyes. "I just didn’t want to give you the satisfaction."

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. "Too late for that."

With one last teasing glance, Logan guided you toward the bed, pulling you down beside him. You curled up in his arms, feeling the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rise and fall of his breathing calming you more than anything else ever could.

As you began to drift off, feeling safe and warm in his embrace, Logan whispered, "But seriously... what’s that noise?"

You bolted upright, your heart pounding, only to find him grinning, clearly pleased with himself. "Logan!"

He laughed, pulling you back down. "Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got ya."

[lunar-bat]

Beginner Friendly Witchraft Books

With a plethora of information available, it's essential to find the right resources to guide you through your magical path. Here are some books I would recommend to any beginner that offer a solid foundation into various paths and topics.

Witchery by Juliet Diaz

The book is a mix of personal experiences, practical instruction, and spiritual guidance, making it suitable for both beginners and people with more experience in the craft.

The Crooked Path by Kelden

This book has been an invaluable resource in my personal craft. It explores various aspects of traditional witchcraft, which if you're interested in I would definitely recommend.

Psychic Witch by Matt Auryn

This book is for anyone curious about the unseen world and their own untapped potential.

Green Witchcraft by Paige Vanderbeck

This is a guide to practicing green witchery, harnessing the natural world's magic for growth, healing, and living in harmony with nature.

Witchcraft for Beginners by Lisa Chamberlain

A pretty informative guide to witchcraft with brief but thorough descriptions of different paths.

Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham

A classic book on magickal herbs

Sigil Witchery by Laura Tempest Zakroff

A comprehensive guide to sigil magick, focusing on helping you develop your own powerful sigil magick practice.

The Witch's Altar by Jason Mankey and Laura Tempest Zakroff

The witch's altar history, creation, and magical power to elevate rituals and connect with the sacred.

These are just ones I've personally found helpful when I first got into the craft, if you want any recommendations for specific topics feel free to ask :).

[lynxgriffin]

Hey! I'm trying to make a few comics of my own but I'm geting stumped on the page space and boxes. (Idk what the actual term is) Is there any advice you could give me on that please?

If you mean panels, I know I did a really old explanation for them a long while back that I can't find again, so I'll just repost it here:

Also, I'd recommend checking out Scott McCloud's book Understanding Comics for a much more thorough explanation of panel layouts from an actual expert!

[nataliesscatorccio]

Dead cabin guy and his technicolor dreamcoat have haunted me since the wardrobe reveal in season two, and today im going to make it everyone's problem.

Travis wears the coat first. He and Natalie take the blessing and go out to look for Javi. Travis hallucinates (prophesies?) that Javi is dead and buried beneath the snow, but Natalie shows him it's only a fox. Travis finds the strange, mossy tree stump. The next day Travis has strong feelings about which direction is best to search for Javi in, and we don't see more of him until Nat reveals the bloody pants. Not that weird, all things considered. New season, new wardrobe additions. Hiking on a caloric deficit with PTSD, you'll probably hallucinate. Pretty standard stuff.

Then Nat wears the coat. She takes it to lay Jackie's bones to rest at the crash site, and while she wears it she sees (hallucinates? prophesies? I'm not sure!) the white moose that they'll later lose to the lake (ergo the hunt, ergo Javi dies for real but more on that later).

We get to Old Wounds, the hunting competition, and Lottie wears the coat now. You see where I'm going with this but just to be thorough: she enters the realm of death dreams, talks with Laura Lee, almost freezes to death.

Episode five. Melissa wears the coat. Maybe that's not important! Maybe it's just to show that they all share the wardrobe, and that the side characters are as equally All In This Together as the main characters are. Or it could mean something that a peripheral character, wearing important wardrobe, framed in antlers (not unlike Travis in 2.01), has the line "maybe he did die, and that's his ghost." It's a little suspicious, and at this point starts to feel like a pattern.

Who wears it next, who wore it best!? That's right baby, it's Paul! For his dreamworld drifter, hallucination hunk Coach Ben Scott. Nicholas Urfe himself. Ben spends almost all of his time in a dream, until *drumroll please* Paul, very pointedly, takes the coat and walks out the door. "Where do you think you are, Ben?" he puts the coat on. "You had to have known you couldn't stay here forever. [...] What matters now is that you aren't welcome here anymore." Following Paul means committing to death (to dream), and until interruption that's the choice Ben makes. Because letting Paul (and the coat) go would mean committing entirely to reality.

Of course, the pièce de résistance is something I didn't even notice until I went looking for it. The first dozen times I watched, I thought that after Lottie's beating Shauna brought her a blanket. "Lottie's cold." But she doesn't. She brings her the coat. Lottie is laying with it when, in a fever dream, she witnesses/hallucinates/prophesies parts of the hunt.

It's there again (on the back of the chair) when she sits by the fire and speaks for the wilderness, appointing Nat their queen. Ben watches, having woken from the dream himself, as they all bow to Natalie and leave reality behind for good.

Of course, there are a lot of times when characters hallucinate strange things in the cabin while not wearing the coat, because they're all starving to death and traumatized. Mari. Shauna. Akilah. But in addition to that, it seems like a pattern worth noting that in each instance where a character wears the technicolor coat, the line between the real and the imagined seems to blur with more ease. Does dead cabin guy's technicolor dreamcoat help the Yellowjackets connect to the dream realm?

I'll be brief here with the biblical parallel: blah blah Joseph is the favorite son (you were always its favorite), his father gives him a technicolor coat (they're nothing special, they don't change color in the cold or anything). blah blah Joseph starts having prophetic dreams etc etc his jealous brothers throw Joseph down a pit (the wilderness chose) and bring his bloodstained coat back as false proof of his death (hanging on a branch. a couple miles back). You get my drift.

Does it mean anything? Who knows. But in a series where wardrobe is such an integral part of the storytelling, it felt worth paying attention to.

[jesncin]

A Queer and Asian review of Xanthe Zhou + Spirit World

I haven't exactly been thorough about how I specifically feel about Xanthe Zhou as "representation" for people like me and a part of me didn't want to be too harsh since they're a fan favorite and I'm sure the writer did their best and what not- but there is this sense of "I'm not even whelmed I'm underwhelmed" by Xanthe as a character. I don't dislike them, but I can't say I'm a fan if I don't find them particularly interesting.

I'm sure for a lot of people the idea of a Chinese non-binary anime sword wielding, bomber jacket wearing, shaved cut having, envoy between the living and spirit world character is a novel concept. But when you've lived the reality this character attempts to represent (ghosts and spirits are a tuesday where I'm from) and have sought out that representation from within your own communities, Xanthe pales in comparison like a really corporate product. So I want to talk about intersectional storytelling and what a holistic queer Asian superhero could look like.

Again I'm aware Spirit World was written by a queer Chinese author (+ an all Chinese team) and as a fellow author who has to navigate mainstream publishing and deal with attempts at sandpapering authenticity for capitalism I want to stress that I Get The Struggle. But I'm allowed to be critical of how the final product turned out. Some of this is subjective musing even.

Here's the premise of Xanthe Zhou's character: When Xanthe was a very tiny kid, they were run over by a car when they were walking alone at night in the rain. They're resurrected by a powerful spirit called Po Po to be the half-dead, half-living Envoy of the Spirit World.

Everything about Xanthe is exhaustively corporate for me. Like industry planted representation designed to be as safe as possible and attempts at being intersectional are limited. Spirit World features Cassandra Cain Batgirl and John Constantine Hellblazer because that's how we get Asian and queer DC fans to hop onto out new queer Asian character! Xanthe doesn't get to stand out in their own world, or have an established cast system the way Kong Kenan gets to. Spirit World suffers from being a follow up to an Event comic, with all these characters crossing over- but it didn't rise to the challenge of including Batgirl and Johnstantine in meaningful ways. The story would've been better if they were replaced by characters unique to Xanthe's cast system.

I've become pretty cynical about scenes like this one. It's a scene where Xanthe is forcefully invited to have dinner with their family they haven't seen in years. The transphobic dinner pages made rounds on social media because "ooh look at John Constantine gendering a non-binary person correctly even when Xanthe's family keeps misgendering them", and "whoa even the magic system respects a trans person's name". It's free marketing, you can see comments on these posts asking what comic this is from to read more. People will start discourse over "Constantine going woke" and the defenders will pull up receipts that "John has always been a lefitst" and so on and so forth. I saw the promos for Spirit World, but these panels were what piqued my interest early on.

My twin and I were taking turns reading Spirit World- Jes asked Cin (who finished reading first) "so what about that transphobic dinner scene? Was it there? Are there other scenes that talk about it?" and Cin said "nope that's it. The rest is magic fight scenes and spirit world stuff." And honestly that feels calculated. It's like that Jenny Nicholson Star Wars Hotel thing: "whoa if they have this droid and this animatronic alien performer, imagine what else they have!" but nope. That's it. Just enough to fit in a tik tok promo. Just enough to fit in a tweet and make rounds. It's not like Alan Scott's Green Lantern solo, where his queer identity isn't limited to one scene designed to go viral. The whole narrative holistically discussed what it was like to be a gay man in that era. Spirit World on the other hand felt like it had a representation quota to fulfill before moving on to the generic Superhero Stuff- an entirely separate plot.

Then there's Xanthe and John. As a Hellblazer purist I already knew this was going to be a hard read for me since I'm not a fan of DC!Constantine but I've talked before about how Spirit World still has that appeal for me because sometimes og Hellblazer is a pain to read as a person of color. Maybe I can enjoy the fantasy of Constantine being an ally to an Asian person instead of fetishizing them like he did in those old Vertigo comics (people love to leave that out when they're defending Constantine as an ally but whatever). And people kept talking about how this is an elder and younger queer friendship dynamic and I love those.

So where was that? Sure, John genders Xanthe correctly over transphobic dinner and comforts them afterwards. But nothing he says or does is specific to a queer elder. Any ally or character can say these things or do these gestures. He doesn't speak from personal experience about how "it gets better" or "I know what it's like" it's just. "yeah throwing up in Gotham is great I do it all the time". Excuse me if I don't think that's substantial.

Ooh but the ghost of Johnstantine's ex boyfriend Oliver showed up! And then there was a bi joke about how John hooks up with a clone of himself a "dozen times" because he's such a slut amirite, gays. Diversity win. I expected bi jokes from DC!Constantine but marketing this as a queer narrative or generational friendship is a stretch.

Spirit World would've been a more holistic queer narrative if Wan Yujing, the villainous corrupted spirit that wanted to be remembered properly (or reincarnated, depends on the writer's mood)-was revealed to be a queer person. This would've been a fantastic opportunity to recontextualize Xanthe's personal transphobic encounter with their family into a larger systemic theme of queer historical erasure. The original meaning of a "dead name" is the idea that when a trans person dies, their family will put the wrong name on their grave. It's literally their "dead" name, erasing their legacy in writing. So why not include that in your conflict?

Wan Yujing is revealed to be a famous poet, slowly forgotten because "time erodes everything" (vague and bad writing btw). Why not pitch something more motivated and specific? Make it so that she wrote queer literature that was destroyed. Make it so that her lover was rewritten in history books as her "friend". Then when Xanthe makes the promise to remember Wan Yujing as she truly was, it'd be a holistic act of queer recognition and solidarity. But instead the resolution is just Xanthe Zhou promising "hey I'll remember you" and Wan Yujing just takes their word for it.

Can we talk about the huge missed opportunity of what this dialogue implies? Xanthe proclaims that they are both living and dead, granted the living's power to remember and the dead's immortality. Why was this not thematically paired with their experience as a non-binary person struggling in a cis-heteronormative world. Heck, why not pair this with how they're a queer Asian American, a perpetual foreigner wherever they go? Not Asian enough for traditional spaces, but not white enough for a majority of queer American spaces. Are we worried we'll scare off the white audience if this got too intersectional?

Xanthe gets more fleshed out under a different writer (Jeremy Holt) for one of the DC Pride stories (2023). Here, Xanthe talks about how being in the land of the living feels like going about a routinic obligation; "Reminding me that home isn't necessarily where the heart is". This is so much like the disassociated way trans people go about life before figuring themselves out. It's also like how a perpetual foreigner doesn't fit in anywhere. But it's not paralleled to that experience. The fantasy aspects of Xanthe Zhou the Envoy, are completely separate from the very few personal civilian parts of them. Like they're a Superhero first and a person second. The later half of this story gets overtaken by a team up with Batwoman, because once you have a new character set in Gotham you are at the whims of being absorbed into the greater Batfam conglomerate.

There's interesting concepts at the center of Xanthe's character. But it's hard to give credit to writing that doesn't follow any of that through. Xanthe's a hero motivated by making sure the dead are remembered and respected. That's a decent motivation in general, and a pretty resonant one for a queer hero-but everything surrounding the execution of that idea feels so half-assed to me. Xanthe's origin story has so many plot holes, it feels like it was thought up in 5 minutes.

Why was their death just some random car accident and not something more motivated? Why did the all powerful Po Po decide to resurrect them specifically? Where's the tension in any of the many excessive fight scenes in Spirit World, if Xanthe's apparently immortal? Also they age? What are the stakes for a character like this? This isn't even covering the shoddy writing for their transphobic family drama (Why did they just stalk their family after being resurrected? Why did their mom recognize them even though they've been gone and have aged for 15 years? so many questions ugh).

(why was this toddler walking around alone in the rain with their own umbrella. In Gotham. What is this-)

I casually propose that instead have Xanthe's origin be that they died as a runaway trans teen who went missing and was murdered. Maybe because the way police and society in general don't look into the disappearances of trans poc, Xanthe's death went completely unnoticed. Maybe as Xanthe's dying, Po Po sees their determination to fight for the forgotten and chooses to resurrect this kid specifically. Then we'd have a really motivated origin story that ties their identity to their heroism. Instead we get these over the top fantasy concepts + transphobic dinner with my talisman wielding mom.

Spirit World is a fun enough action fantasy with troubled pacing and generic MCU-quippy dialogue. It's so overwhelmed by it's own spectacle that we don't get a chance to get to know our new hero. What is Xanthe's character development? What flaw do they grow out of or overcome? If I'm honest outside of the attempt at quippy banter, what even is their personality? The ending is rushed; not only is the conflict resolved with Xanthe just promising to remember a dead poet, but they also make a deal to work with the Spirit World authorities. Because it's always so fun to watch queer people assimilate to the powers that oppress.

In one of these action sequences, I guess the writer decided there needed to be a semblance of themes to make it feel like the readers' time isn't being wasted. So while Cassandra Cain Batgirl from Detective Comics and John Constantine from Vertigo Hellblazer are holding the giant anime sword, Xanthe goes on an internal monologue about how change is natural and people's fears make them resistant towards it. Xanthe says that to embrace magic, "you need to look at everything you think you know about the way the world should be...and imagine something new."

It's a nice sentiment that isn't reinforced by anything else in the story, but it does make me think. What is "new" about Xanthe Zhou to someone like me who seeks out representation like this? I've seen queer characters with the shaved hairstyle, I've seen queer coded Asian girlies with the bomber jacket, heck I've even seen the giant anime sword. I kinda cringe at seeing "giant spiritual sword" at this point even. But you know what I don't see as often? In real life I've seen the bravest Asian queer people reclaim cultural hairstyles, clothing, practices and beliefs (that originally excluded them). I've seen them join communities and create entire subcultures and lingo in a way that would be unrecognizable to the typical queer readers who enjoy Hellblazer-but I certainly don't see it reflected in fiction a lot.

(Is it really new if I've seen it in a Disney movie)

The premise of a Chinese American non-binary half-dead-half-living Envoy for the dead is something so metaphysical in its intersectionality, world building, stakes and themes that it would require Sandman-levels of out-the-box creativity to pull off. Which is why getting a generic action adventure (+ one scene about transphobic dinner with the family) feels so disappointing. I wish Spirit World took its own words to heart; I wish it took everything we're used to, everything we've known about how the world is and dare to imagine something actually new.

[cera-writes]

Could I request Scott summers x reader with a similar eye mutation. The reader has a gorgon mutation and can turn people to stone, and they meet/ bond over not being able to see properly, eventually getting into a relationship.

A/N: I love this idea! It's so sweet! Tags: just sweet fluff with a shared understanding

A Shared Burden

The sterile walls of the X-Mansion medbay felt like a cage after the chaotic awakening of your mutation. Professor Xavier had explained the X-Men, a sanctuary for mutants like you. But 'sanctuary' didn't quite describe the prickling anxiety that crawled under your skin after Beast's in-depth examination of your petrifying gaze.

Hank had loaned you a pair of mutant specialty eyewear. It was a revelation that dawned on you now. You'd never be able to take them off with turning someone into a slab of concrete; or at the very least, controlling your deadly eyesight.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall man with a kind smile. "Hey there," he said, his voice gentle. "You must be (Y/N). I'm Scott, Scott Summers. Cyclops is fine too."

You offered a weak smile. "Nice to meet you, Scott. Though I wouldn't exactly call turning people to stone a mutant power you'd advertise in the brochure."

He chuckled, a sound that eased the tense knot in your stomach. "Yeah, well, Hank can be a bit… thorough. But hey, at least you get a cool codename out of it. Any ideas?"

You shrugged, a touch of self-deprecation tinging your voice. "Haven't really thought about it. Maybe something Gorgon-related, considering I turn people to stone with a glance. I mean, Medusa would be way too cliche."

Scott's smile softened. "Your power… it's tough, I imagine. But you're not alone. We all have things to deal with here." He gestured towards his head, the unspoken reference clear.

A silent understanding bloomed between you. Scott knew what it was like to live in a world where you had to be constantly on guard, where your very nature made you an outsider. There was a shared burden in his gaze, a quiet empathy.

"How about we get you settled into your room?" Scott suggested, his voice warm. "Maybe tomorrow we can start figuring out how to control your… uh… petrifying gaze."

The following days were dedicated to navigating your mutation. Scott, ever patient, was your guide. You practiced focusing your gaze, not on turning things to stone, but on dampening the overwhelming sensory input that triggered your power. He understood the struggle to keep your emotions in check, the constant battle to avoid accidentally turning someone into a statue.

Slowly, with Scott's steady support, progress came. You actually did learn to somewhat control the intensity of your gaze, to filter the world through your special glasses that dampened your mutant sight but allowed you to function.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you and Scott found yourselves on the balcony overlooking the X-Mansion grounds. You leaned against the railing, a comfortable silence settling between you. The setting sun cast a warm glow on the world, a world you could only perceive through a muted lens.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Scott said softly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"They say it is," you replied, a tinge of wistfulness in your voice.

Scott turned to you, a sincerity in his voice that resonated with you. "Maybe someday you'll see it all, (Y/N). But for now, you have something just as valuable."

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours. You mirrored the gesture, the space between your fingers tingling with unspoken emotions. "What's that?" you asked, a whisper that carried on the cool evening breeze.

Scott's smile, though unseen, was evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. "Understanding. You're not alone. We both carry burdens, burdens that make us different, but also burdens that connect us."

In that moment, amidst the muted colors and the filtered light, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun. You realized, with a jolt, that the hours spent training with Scott weren't just about mastering your power, they were about finding solace in shared experiences. The man beside you, with his unwavering support, was a beacon in a world that often felt isolating.

Weeks turned into months, and your bond with Scott deepened. You found comfort in his quiet strength, in the way he understood your struggles without needing words. You learned to communicate through subtle gestures, stolen glances, and shared laughter. One crisp autumn evening, as you sat by the window, a comfortable silence settling between you once more, Scott spoke.

"We may not see the world in the same way, (Y/N), but we see each other. And that's all that truly matters."

His words, laced with a quiet sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine. You met his gaze, a spark of understanding dancing in your own eyes. Perhaps you didn't need to see the world perfectly to find beauty. Perhaps the most vibrant colors existed in the warmth of shared understanding and the quiet promise whispered in the space between. As you leaned closer, the world blurring at the edges, you knew you had found a connection that transcended sight.

[augment-techs]

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG--WORLD OF THE COINLESS BULK X JASON; I’M GONNA DIE!!!

Secondary prompt (because their adult forms are actually quite nice...except for Jason's beard later down the line) for Bulk x Jason; post-Drakkon~

I did a lil sketch page for this one because I love soft affection

[fastboatsmojito]

🕸️𖤐 Promptober Day One - Murder Mystery 𖤐🕸️

| a/n; day one part two because I couldn’t get enough apparently !

Promptober Schedule here

| cw; all fake murders, basically all fluff, someone’s hand covers your mouth for just a second, Scott x reader could be implied if you squint

| wc; 1.1k oops

You could barely see where you were, flashlight in your hand just light enough to see your feet as you stumbled around - as quietly as possible.

Kate set it all up; sending out invitations days ago giving everyone a different role and dress code. You were the florist, a vague, rather boring role you didn’t care much about. You figured you’d just focus on helping find the killer.

Everyone else really made showing up worth it - a seemingly tough detective Tyler paired with a surprisingly enthusiastic detective Javi - a real prize pick. Not to mention everyone fully embodying their roles, with the exception of Scott, who was probably hiding somewhere not-so-discreetly working on his phone.

There were candles few and far between around the house, you were hiding from something - or looking for something? You couldn’t quite remember the thorough rules Kate listed off after everyone arrived, too busy searching for anyone who looked too suspicious for your liking.

You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat until the floorboard under you suddenly creaked, shocking you just enough to jump backwards, almost falling over something below you.

As you slowly shined your light by your feet the thumping in your ears increased, met with a gasp from your own mouth as you shined what little light you had over the body of a seemingly deceased Boone.

“Boone!” Your voice alerted a few others who rushed over in the dark, casting their lights together so you could just make out those around you.

“No! Not Boone!” Tylers flashlight fell from his hand as he kneeled down, tough demeanor faltering for just a second. “Who would do this?” He lifted boones head up and used his jacket as a pillow for him, shaking his head as Javi put a hand on his shoulder from behind him.

“Come on Owens, we’ll figure it out.”

“You’re damn right we will detective. I will not stop until I find who was responsible for this crime.” He stood up with purpose, energy quickly restored as he paced around in the dark. You picked his flashlight back up and handed it over, his hand moving from his hip just to put it in his pocket before moving back.

“Let’s think about this. Who found his body?” Javi asked, disappointed in not seeing any physical clues.

“I did. I didn’t see or hear anyone, it’s pretty dark in here I can barely see where I’m going.” You explained, trying to remain as calm as possible while everyone shined their lights in your direction.

“Alright, maybe we should go around the room then, get an alibi from everyone, see if these stories line up.” Javi replied in question of Tyler, who was still occupied with pacing around the room.

“Detective Owens, get it together. I can’t do this alone. Everyone’s a suspect.”

“Is that right? Even you?” Tyler finally stopped in his place, content with the shocked faces around the room as everyone turned towards Javi.

“What? Why would I..” He started, taking a deep breath before continuing to focus on the facts at hand. “No. I was in the kitchen when his body was found, the only other person I’ve seen is Scott.”

“Scott?” Tyler repeated, arms crossed and stance directed towards his partner. “And where is Scott now, Javi? Is he dead too?” He questioned, lights around the room moving around in search of the man that was nowhere to be seen.

“No! Come on, I don’t know. He’s probably hiding out somewhere, he doesn’t even want to be here.” Javi reasoned, impatience in his tone as he tried to diffuse the situation.

“Hiding? Do you think he could be the killer?” Kate asked, flashlights landing on the girl standing next to Javi.

“I mean, it could be anyone.” He shrugged, focus moving back to his partner across from him. “That’s why we need to focus, Tyler. You have to trust me.” He all but begged, mostly wanting to find the actual killer and get back to interrogating.

“Alright, alright. Maybe you’re right.” Tyler rationed, scratching the back of his head before pointing at Javi. “Let’s find Scott first, see if he really is just off somewhere being a grouch or if he’s hiding something.”

Collective nods fell around the room as Javi and Tyler split everyone into groups - You were with Kate, Tyler, and Lily, looking downstairs, while Javi went with Dani and Dexter upstairs.

Every step was intense, the suspension palpable with every gasp at the creaky floors under your feet. The rest of your group went ahead of you after you signaled that you were checking one of the bathrooms.

—

The door slowly creaked open, your flashlight shining just enough to see a pair of feet before the door was shutting behind you. “Wh-“ The word was halfway out of your mouth before a hand was covering it, your light momentarily blinding Scott as he stood in front of you before you moved it back down and swatted his hand away.

“Why are you hiding in here you freak, did you really kill Boone?” You whisper-screamed at him, squinting to make out his facial features before he moved a candle sitting on the bathtub to the sink beside you. Finally some real light.

“No I didn’t kill Boone. I didn’t kill anyone, I’m not playing this stupid game.”

“Right so you’re just grumpily hanging out in a badly lit bathroom by yourself for fun?” You questioned, rolling your eyes at his ever-present gum-chewing even in this clear life or death scenario.

“I was kinda hoping someone would have killed me by now.” He shrugged, content enough with his barely-there answer to pull his phone out and ignore your presence.

“Great. Well I’m going back out now, I’ve got a mystery to solve and you are no help to-“ You stopped your grumbling quickly when someone yelled from outside the door. Opening it slowly, just enough to peek out and catch a glimpse of the scene in the hallway.

—

There was almost no light coming from anywhere, just making out the silhouettes of the two people outside and - is that Kate on the floor? You looked behind you as you felt Scott come over, peeking over your head as you lowly gasped at the man above Kate dropping her body and standing back up.

“Oh my god is that…” You whispered to the man behind you, panic ensuing as the figure outside looked up and started quickly walking towards you, Scott grabbing the doorknob and quietly closing it as you stood shocked.

—

“Tyler?”

[littlejazzy]

Do you have good recommendations for AgeRe stories? Something really cute and fluffy? (I'm a lonely regressor and I love reading stories about really sweet caregivers.)

I do!! I adore reading agere fics, so here are some recs! I hope you enjoy!!! 💖

Gen:

Decontamination by SailorChibi - Marvel - Baby!Tony and CG!Steve - After a battle, Steve takes care of his baby - (This one is a Classification!AU/Littles are Known!AU... like, one of the very first ones. Very good and fluffy. If you ever read thorough their fics, (tagged NSAP bc agere straight up did not exist as a community yet) you'll start spotting alot of things that other people were/are inspired from.)

Picnic by SailorChibi - Marvel - Baby!Tony, CG!Steve, Middle!Bucky, Toddler!Clint, CG!Coulson, Kiddo!Scott, CG!Sam W., Kiddo!Peter P., CG!Wade, Kid!Wanda, and CG!Vision - All the Avengers have a nice picnic - (classification!au, but a different verse than the previous fic jsyk. this one is suuuuper fluffy and cute and fun <3)

Less than Five by SailorChibi - Daniel Craig's James Bond - Little!Q and CG!Bond - Q regresses smaller than usual; his daddy makes sure he's taken care of - (classification!AU, first of a series. first two fics are pretty fluffy, but the third has some angst, which makes the fluff even sweeter, in my opinion)

coffee makers and bumblebees by orchidsncrake - Daredevil - Little!Matt and CG!Foggy - Matt becomes overstimulated and after an altercation with the office's coffee maker, Foggy is there to make everything better

Small surprises by undergroundrice - Daredevil - Little!Matt and CG!Foggy - Foggy stumbles onto Matt regressing, and together they figure it out

A Second Shot by mylittlestories - MCU - Little!Natasha, Little!Clint, and CG!Coulson - Natasha didn't have much of a childhood. When she sees that having a second one is possible, she wants; Coulson and Clint are happy to make her family :) - (This one is unfinished, but what's there is just so nice I have to include it!!)

Give your Dreams the Wings to Fly by Honey_Dewey - FNAF Movie - Little!Matt and CG!Ness - Mike gets sick at work, but his boyfriend is there to make everything okay

the road to hope and adventures into the unknown (target) by romansprince - Barbie (2023) - Little!Ken, then CG!Barbie and CG!Gloria - Ken has become human... except he's never had a childhood. Sometimes he feels Fuzzy, but that's something he thinks he can keep secret. As he turns out, he can't, but it works out anyway - (Two separate fics that take place in the same universe/series. The first one/set-up is a little angsty, but the second is more fluffy)

Movie Night by mcschnuggles - Heathers - Little!JD and CG!Veronica - JD unexpectedly drops into headspace during a movie night with the rest of the teenagers; Veronica helps him through it - (Modern!AU, Everyone Lives!AU, this one is kinda angsty, but like, it's canon appropriate, lol - also!!! make sure that you check out the author's other works!!!!! lots of agere fics for a large variety of fandoms!!)

Toffee Ticking Time Bomb by GayCheerios - Star Wars - Little!Anakin and CG!Obi-Wan - Obi-Wan has to find his padawan's stuffie before the inevitable temper tantrum ensues - (classification!AU, part of a very nice and good series that, if you enjoy this fic, you should also check out)

Baby's First Bath by CyberToddler - Beetlejuice: The Musical - Toddler!Beetlejuice and CG!Maitlands - The Maitlands give Beetlejuice his very first bath - ( 👉👈 I wrote this one 😖)

Evolution by Cgetbrmj - The Last of Us (TV) - Little!Ellie and CG!Joel - Series that follows each episode of the show, and explores how these characters stumble upon age regression as a coping mechanism and how much they both realize they enjoy it. - (Slowburn agere, as it explores how it develops naturally between both characters. This one DOES contain some angst as it relates to the show, but overall is as fluffy as its setting allows)

Reader-Inserts:

The Doctor's Office by agerefandom (tazia101) - Twilight - Little!Reader and CG!Carlisle - Reader goes to their first check-up in their new town and unexpectedly regresses; thankfully, their doctor is more than understanding - (I can not emphasize enough how much I love this one. Hits all the right buttons, I'm so happy/thankful I found it before I had to establish care w/ a new doctor, it's just- so good)

Sugary Sweet by agerefandom (tazia101) - Twilight - Baby!Reader and CG!Alice and Jasper - A comfy, happy morning with your vampire caregivers - (be sure to check out the writer for more fandoms!! lots of agere fics, including gen and reader!insert!)

little life at the mansion by myworldoffanfiction - X-Men - Little!Reader and CG!X-Men (the main gang lol) - First chapter is a busy yet comfy morning while living at Xavier's Mansion. Second chapter is a fun Summer evening - (this one is sooooo sweet 😭)

Play Pretend by Vinnies_Comfort_Corner - Scream (1996) - Kiddo!Reader, Flip!Stu, and CG!Billy - You and Stu play pretend while waiting for Billy to come home - (if you enjoy this one, make sure you check out their other regression fics!!! there's even one with a petreg puppy!reader!! and other horror media!!)

Red Stained Fingers by CyberToddler - Scream (1996) - Little!Reader, CG!Stu, and CG!Billy - Unorthodox sensory play with diy-ed fake blood, lol - (I also wrote this one 😅 it's sugary sweet, I promise, lol)

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Warning for alcohol use, vomiting, and swearing. Read on AO3.

--

When Scott dreams, he dreams of the sea.

Not a single soul would bat an eye at that. He's a pirate, after all, born and raised on an island. He wouldn't be surprised if one day someone cut him open and seawater poured from his veins instead of blood. The ocean is his home, and he knows that to his core.

What surprises him is that it isn't this sea he dreams of. It isn't this ocean that calls to him, whispering promises of safety and warmth. Instead, he dreams of a different island - if one could even call it that. It's tiny, smaller than any island he's ever seen in his waking life, with nothing more on it than an equally tiny hut. In his dreams, he sits in the shade of his hut with his feet in the water and feels at peace.

Danger is there, somewhere, but on his island he feels safe. His clothes are tattered and coral lines his pockets instead of gold, but he feels content. It's home, and it calls to him, and every time he wakes from that dream he aches with a longing for a place he's never been. 

He hates it. He can't get enough of it.

He wonders, leaning against a wall in the shadows of whatever alleyway he'd stumbled into, if he'll dream of it tonight. His head swims with every movement, and he thinks it's just as likely that he'll simply pass out until Cleo finds him and wakes him with a thorough scolding for leaving the tavern without them. You never know what's lurking in the dark, they had admonished him more than once. Rules only went so far, and it wouldn't take much for a dead-drunk Denholm to become a dead Denholm, if the wrong person found him alone.

Sometimes he dreams of Cleo, too. Like the island, they feel like home and safety. It doesn't surprise him, though the pallor of death that clings to them worries him. He wonders if it's an omen. It's why he normally never does leave the tavern without them, fearing for their safety as much as they fear for his. Sometimes he wakes up and has to reassure himself that there isn't a gaping hole in his best friend's ribs. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why they're always dead in his dreams. He hopes he never does.

He dreams of a lot of people, and he wonders who they are. Scar is there, sometimes, with a grin that matches Cleo's, and he wonders why the swindler he's barely spoken to is in his dreams. He dreamed of Scar before he knew him, and it makes him wonder if he'll meet the rest of the strangers someday too. He wonders if he'll ever meet the red woman with the sharp grin and lonely eyes, or the blond man on the burning building. He wonders if he'll ever find out why his heart breaks every time he looks at either of them.

Most of all, he dreams of Martyn.

That surprises him more than anything else, that the man he disdains and who disdains him in return, is ever-present in his dreams of this home that doesn't exist. In his dreams, Martyn is wild and dangerous and beautiful. He's like that in the real world, too, but in his dreams that wild, dangerous, beautiful man looks at Scott with a softness he's never known and holds him with a gentleness that doesn't exist. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why.

"Well! Look at you, crawling in the gutters in the middle of the night. Guess the golden boy has a human side after all."

"Dream of the devil," Scott mutters, getting a perplexed what? from Martyn as the man crouches in front of him. "Go away. I'm just resting a moment, that's all."

He knows he's not fooling anyone. His words are so slurred it's a wonder Martyn can even make out what he's saying, and he leans over to retch up what little bile has collected in the stomach that emptied earlier, but he'll die before admitting weakness to a Kestrel. Especially to this one. Why did it have to be this one that found him?

"You're an idiot," is Martyn's simple response, and Scott scowls at him. "Up you get."

"What? Wait - " Martyn tucks himself against Scott, one arm around his waist and the other pulling Scott's arm across his shoulders as he hoists him to his feet. "I told you, I'm fine! Just gonna wait here for Cleo."

"I mean, if you want me to leave you passed out in a heap for everyone to see what a mess you are come morning, I can do that," says Martyn, pulling him down the road. "I doubt Cleo's waking up anytime soon. Maybe I should leave you here. A little humble pie might do your prissy ass some good."

"You talk too much," grumbles Scott, and after a moment adds, "Now I want pie. Fuck you."

Martyn laughs. "Maybe when you're sober. Ow! Bite me again and I will leave you in the road, you little shit."

His thoughts are still too murky to come up with a witty retort, so Scott allows himself to be helped home by the man who hates him and feels like home. He can feel himself teetering on the edge of passing out, and knows he won't be dreaming tonight.

Shame. Martyn's gaze is soft and his hands gentle as he lowers Scott into bed, and Scott wonders if the man loves in the same way he does in his dreams.

"Stay."

Martyn looks surprised when Scott catches his wrist. "Geez, how much did you drink? Just because we look the other way when you sneak out of Sausage's room in the morning doesn't mean your mates will do the same for me sneaking out of yours. And you hate me, remember?"

"You hated me first." Scott's hold on Martyn slips away along with his hold on consciousness. "Don't hate you," is the last thing he mumbles, and he wonders if Martyn hears it.

He doesn't dream of the sea, not tonight. He dreams of Martyn saying I don't hate you either. He dreams of a hand in his hair and lips on his forehead, and wonders about the way a whispered I miss you sounds so sad. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why.

}{ Part Two }{

[witheredbonnie]

blog cleaned, about page updated, tag page added! im going to transfer the info to neocities too at some point but dont expect that to be fully finished for a WHILE lmao

by the way, ive updated all the links on my timeline so you can browse as intended.

ive been feeling real nostalgic all the sudden and im considering revisiting fnaf for reclaimation. if i post art ill include a link to my tag on scott cawthon to spread info about him. supporters are blocked. mostly im just kinda interested in finishing the timeline bc making sense of fnaf lore is one of my greatest works lmaoooo

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 3

Taking it back from @scribbles97 for the next chapter.

Chapter 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Chapter 2 | Jeff's POV 2

TW: TW: POW, TW: torture

Scott knew he’d given his father permission to leave, but he wasn’t truly aware of the man stepping out. His gaze was locked on Jen. She was alive.

His dad had told him the surviving members of his unit had been rescued. But Scott wasn’t sure he’d truly believed him until this moment. Watching her cross the room; feeling her take his hand.

Silence fell over the two of them once they were alone. Then Jen suddenly shifted from the chair.

“Move over,” she said.

Scott understood. He obediently forced his aching body to shift slightly to the right, giving her space to climb onto the bed next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and for a few moments, the two of them just breathed.

How many times in recent months had they slept like this? Trying to find a comfortable position, making sure one couldn’t be taken without the other knowing about it.

“She’s a good one, that General,” Jen murmured. “She listened to me. Let me talk. Didn’t tell me to just rest when I… when I…”

Scott felt her shudder next to him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted an arm, draping it over her shoulder and holding her close. In a way, he was envious. Jenny could find the words. She could say them out loud. She could let her defences down and not be afraid of what was going to come out of her mouth.

Then again, if what his father said was true, she’d had at least a month in this hospital by now. Judging by the look he’d seen in her eyes when she’d walked through the door, it wasn’t enough.

Silence fell again. Jen’s hand was twisting in the blanket, an involuntary movement. Scott moved his own splinted hand, returning her earlier movement and resting his hand on hers, stilling her. He recognised the anxious tick and knew her movements would only get more distressed if she continued. He’d watched her try to twist free of restraints too many times.

“We tried to tell them!” Jenny suddenly blurted out. She sat up, her abrupt movement sending a spasm of pain through Scott’s body but he hid it as she turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “We told them you were still there. That you were alive. They said they’d done a sweep and hadn’t found anyone else. I tried to tell them about… about….”

She couldn’t say it. She didn’t need to. Scott shrunk in on himself, the need to make himself smaller, to have room to breathe… his left foot gave a throb in remembered pain.

She’d tried to tell them about the hidden room. The small room. The dark room. The room where the only thing anyone could hear was their own screams. How many times had the guards mocked they forgot where the door was? A cursory sweep was not going to uncover it. Uncover him.

Nor did Scott blame the rescue party, though. They were deep in enemy territory, evacuating as many as they could. If the choice was between leaving him behind, or conducting a more thorough search and risking the lives of everyone they’d pulled out? Almost since the day they’d been caught, Scott had made it clear he didn’t care what happened to him, as long as his team survived.

“I knew you were alive,” Jen finished, her tone fierce even as tears shone in her eyes. “I knew it.”

Scott forced a small smile. He couldn’t allow her to shoulder this blame. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t even the men and women sent in to get them out. They weren’t the ones who’d agreed to the trade; they weren’t the ones who’d have had a prisoner list and know that not everyone who’d gone it came out again.

He awkwardly took her hand, holding it over his own beating heart, wordless reassurance that he was, indeed, still alive. When their throats had been too raw for verbal reassurance, this had been their way of offering comfort.

Jen smiled. She picked up his other hand and mirrored the movement. Scott closed his eyes as her rapid heartbeat thudded under his hand. She was alive.

He glanced at the door, then back at Jen. She nodded.

“I told the general what you did,” she said quietly. “How many times you forced their attention on you, bartered with them to protect the rest of us. What they did to you in response.”

They’d been determined to get him to go back on the deal. If they could break him, if he begged them to stop…

But it didn’t matter how many times he was waterboarded or beaten. There was something deep in Scott that couldn’t be extinguished. He’d never really been aware of it until faced with that choice, but now he was conscious of it, he realised it had been burning in him since the first time John cried not out of need, but out of pain.

Scott would never let anyone be hurt when he was there to stop it.

“You shouldn’t have done it, Scott. What you went through-,” She trailed off.

They had all been tortured. Questioned for hours for information, then just for fun. Several of their teammates had succumbed to it. As far as Scott was concerned, he hadn’t stopped anything. He shook his head mutely, but Jen’s grip on his hand tightened.

“You took so much on yourself. You never let them… I would’ve broken, if not for you. When I couldn’t stand and you stepped in front of me. When Sienna couldn’t stop sobbing and you tackled the first guard, making them forget about her. All the times they had to get you in chains before they could take one of us… Scott, they’d lost interest by the time they got us out. They went through the motions, but that was all. We weren’t worth the effort when they had you.”

Scott’s gaze fell on his wrist. There was a scar there, in the perfect position for someone to fight against manacles. But it was healed. It had healed months ago.

She was wrong. He hadn’t protected them.

It was her faith in him, blind and undeserved, that made him force a word out.

“No.” It was a whisper, nothing more. His voice worked: he’d spoken to his father enough when he first had woken up. But his mind had caught up with the horrors inflicted on his body and he wasn’t sure how to find words when all he’d wanted to do was scream. He’d seen the look on his dad’s face when he’d cried: he couldn’t force the man to witness how broken his son was.

“No?” Jen looked at him, also glancing at his wrist before looking back at his face.

“They won,” Scott murmured. “I couldn’t save Mike. I couldn’t stop them. They took you all, one by one. They won that day months ago when they realised they didn’t have to chain me up anymore.”

“Scott…” Jen stared at him. “Captain, no. We all adapted. We all found ways to survive. No one had the strength to keep fighting, and you lasted longer than the rest of us.”

Scott looked at her. Did she really not blame him? He was their captain: he was supposed to keep the squad safe, make sure everything fell on him rather than them. But half their squad hadn’t made it home and the other half… Jen might’ve been talking, but there was no way in hell she was alright.

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she continued.

“What?”

“I was the reason we were caught. If I could’ve run, we might have got out.”

Scott knew what she was referring to. The village they’d been helping. The anti-aircraft missiles half a kilometre away had been unpredictable. The area was supposed to be quiet; their enemy having moved on and left destruction behind. It wasn’t the first village they’d helped. But it was the first one where they’d arrived in their own plumes of smoke, all of them falling prey to the bullets that tore through the sky, making their engines scream as they fought to stay in the air. All four of them had been shot down. It was a miracle no one had died on impact.

There had been injuries, though. In the end, it was hard to say if they were helping the village, or the villagers had been helping them. Scott had carried Jenny in, her ankle swollen, not bearing her weight. How they’d got away with only a couple of broken bones between the eight of them had made Scott believe that luck was on their side.

Fate had just had other ideas in mind.

“You know we weren’t running,” he said softly. “Even if we’d been able to.”

His entire team had come to the decision unanimously. If their enemy thought the village had been helping them, they’d torch the entire place. Innocents would suffer if they’d tried to run. Scott would never have made it an order to stay, but his squad had been taking defensive positions and preparing to fight not only for their lives, but for the people who’d had helped them, before the words came from his mouth.

Scott felt a coil of pressure ease from his chest. This was something he knew how to do. Reassure a team mate, a brother, a random stranger he’d only met once. This was his job.

“Jen, look at me?” He waited until she held his gaze. “This isn’t your fault. Never think that.”

She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then looked away. Scott pulled her close as her sobs echoed through the room. How long had she been holding onto that misplaced guilt?

“I told them you were alive,” she murmured. She sagged against him and Scott just held her as her breathing started to even out.

His body struggled to support her weight, but he didn’t care. For the first time in months, he could protect his co-pilot from her surroundings. If he found out anyone had tried to debrief her without her Captain present…

Scott gave a small huff, the burst of air painful against his sore throat. He’d do what? He didn’t know how to talk about what had happened, how to get the stuck-up Colonels who’d never been out from behind a desk to understand.

It wasn’t like the team had been sitting in a cell, just waiting for a ride home. Every day, they’d had their strength, dignity and pride stripped from them until it became the norm for four USAF personnel to huddle into themselves, trying to make themselves invisible, every time they heard a door open.

How was he supposed to make anyone understand that?

Her weight started to get too much. Scott looked at the door. His dad was out there. He could call out, knowing the man would be by his side before Scott could blink. Or Val. Jen was right: she was one of the good ones. She wouldn’t have given up on him, either.

But he didn’t want help. He didn’t want anyone taking Jen away again, not until she was awake. They’d all been moved while out cold too many times. This had to be her choice.

He managed to shift. His breath caught in his throat as every nerve screamed at him. His body was used to movement meaning pain and right now, he was giving it more of that.

He was sweating, tears leaking from his eyes by the time he managed to get into a more comfortable position. The movement utterly exhausted him though. No sooner had he moved when sleep stole upon him, dragging him back.

-x-

Jen was gone.

They were all gone.

Even the light had gone.

It wasn’t dark: he could see. But it wasn’t light, either. A perpetual dimness that left him halfway between life and death. Everything the same hazy grey that made him want to scream, even to bleed, just to see colour.

He couldn’t move. No matter which way he twisted and turned, regardless of how much he thrashed, the unrelenting walls did nothing but close in further. They were crushing him. Didn’t anyone know they were crushing him?

Of course they knew. Just, no one cared.

Scott knew he was screaming. Begging. Pleading with them to let him out! He’d take anything they threw at him, suffer the beatings, the drownings; anything if it meant getting out of this room. But although his screams echoed in his own ears long after they’d stopped escaping his throat, he seemed to be the only one who could hear them.

“Wake up. Scott. C’mon. Wake up, son.”

He could hear a voice, a voice offering him a way out. But there was no door. No way free. The guards had meant what they’d said about forgetting where the door was. No one was going to be able to find him. He’d die, trapped in here alone, unable to breathe…

“Scott!”

There was a tone of command this time. An order. Orders he could do. Orders meant he didn’t have to think. They stopped the beatings, kept his teammates safe…

He fought to obey, the grey gradually giving way.

Light.

He was surrounded by light. He wasn’t in that room anymore. His father was looking down at him, concern and fear mingled into a loving gaze that Scott didn’t deserve. He tried to shift away but…

No!

He couldn’t move. He was still trapped.

A fast, urgent beeping came from somewhere far away, footsteps came running. His dad’s hands were on him, one holding his own, the other cupping his cheek.

“Son, I need you to calm down. Listen to me.”

He wanted to obey. God knew he wanted to obey: that meant the pain would stop. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

All he knew was that he was trapped, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on his father’s face, but something suddenly obscured his vision, hands reaching for him, something covering his mouth and nose.

Not again. They’d promised he was safe. They’d let him believe it was over. But here he was, held down, flat on his back, something covering his mouth and nose.

Scott screamed. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be strong anymore. Not when he thought he was safe. But this time, in that scream, was a word. A name: a title.

Half-awake, half-delirious, trapped in his own blankets and fighting the oxygen mask a nurse was attempting to slip on, Scott Tracy screamed for his father.

“I’m here. I’m right here. Scotty, I’m here.”

The hands disappeared. Whatever was over his face disappeared. The pressure holding his limbs down eased as hands made short work of untangling the blankets from where his thrashing had twisted them around his legs.

He could move. He could breathe.

And hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him up, straight into strong arms that had promised to keep him safe, promised to let him just be himself.

Scott fell into the hold. Tentatively, as if fearing it would vanish, he lifted his arms, fingers brushing the material of his dad’s shirt, making sure it was real and not some trick, before latching on as if his life depended on it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that it didn’t.

Time passed. Scott had no idea how long. He was conscious, but not really in the room, refusing to let go. At some point, he’d been laid back down, but a hand had gripped his own, a promise that he wasn’t alone.

Finally, the room fell silent as the medical staff realised any intervention was making things worse.

Finally, his mind fell silent as Scott realised he was safe in the hospital, his dad by his side.

He forced his gaze on the man. His father was watching him, probably hadn’t looked away for this entire time. When he saw Scott focusing on him, he smiled warmly, a thumb brushing away the treacherous tears leaking from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d spoken to Jenny, and had a feeling that if his father hadn’t heard him, it would’ve been reported that he was talking again. But this was the first thing he’d said to him directly.

“For what?” There was shock and – if Scott wasn’t mistaken – repressed anger in his dad’s voice.

Scott shrugged. He gestured feebly at the room around them, encompassing himself in the movement.

“Being weak,” he muttered, looking away. “It was a dream, just a dream, I know that, but…”

He knew he’d begged them in reality as well. He could handle the beatings, the burnings, had only winced when they’d broken his fingers. But after experiencing that room once, he’d cracked. The second time they’d thrown him in, he’d fought, then pleaded with them, then finally fought the room. Not that it got him anything but a broken toe.

How could he admit to his father the man he’d raised was not the son he deserved?

“Never think that.” The fierce note in his dad’s voice made him jump. It was a commanding tone, full of authority and a demand to be heard, obeyed.

“But-,”

“You are not weak, Scott. You’re a survivor. You did what you had to in order to survive that place. I don’t care if you pleaded with them every single day. Hell, if it kept you safe, I hope you did. You have nothing to prove to me, you never have.”

Scott stared at the man, his breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with panic.

“My squad,” he said softly. “I had to…”

He had to keep them safe. And he’d fai-

“You saved them.” His father’s words stopped his thoughts before they’d fully formed.

“Jenny spoke to Val. She’s told her what happened. What you did. You’ve been so strong, Scott. My strong, brave boy. Those that made it back did so because of you. The only people who have failed are the ones who should’ve found you months ago. Who shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Scott shuddered. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. How it felt to know that someone, high up, knew he was still in there, and had decided that was an okay sacrifice to take. He might’ve done the same thing if he knew it meant keeping his team safe. Hell, he might have volunteered to stay behind.

“How’d you know I was alive?” he asked his father quietly. His team might’ve believed, but they hadn’t known. Not for sure. Not given they’d already been separated and Scott had been taken to solitary before the rescue.

His dad couldn’t meet his eye. “They gave me proof of life.”

“I don’t remember,” Scott said. Maybe they’d filmed him while he had been unconscious? Although that was hardly irrefutable proof that he was alive.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters if you’re here. You’re safe. And you’re going to be okay.”

Scott nodded, letting the words sink in. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed them, but he clung to them like a lifeline, not yet ready to let go and see if he could pull through on his own.

He forced himself up straighter, his father’s hands falling away as he did so.

“What’re you-,” his dad trailed off as Scott threw back the covers, twisting until his feet were hovering above the floor.

Slowly, he let them touch, his toes curling at the coldness that greeted them. He touched the floor again, then shifted further forward, readying himself to stand up.

“Scott. Stop. What are you doing?”

“I have to do this,” Scott said. He was talking to himself as much as his father. “I have to move.”

He couldn’t lie there, trapped in bed, with the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He needed to know that he had the power to move if he wanted to. That he wasn’t stuck in another sort of prison.

“I don’t think- Scott! Wait!” The command was back in his dad’s voice this time and Scott immediately stilled. He was braced against the side of the bed, palms pressed flat to the mattress even with the splint on his hand. The nail on his big left toe was still discoloured from where he’d kicked the wall in that room.

Scott looked up as his dad hurried around the bed.

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

Scott shook his head.

“Then let me help.”

Scott wanted to protest. He needed to do this on his own. But his dad spoke before he could.

“You’ve been in that bed for over a month, son. You were unconscious for weeks. Your legs aren’t going to support your weight. It doesn’t mean you’re weak: it means you have to take this slow and let me help.”

It went against his nature to ask for help. But slowly, Scott nodded. His father slipped one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder, his own wrapped around his son’s waist.

It was a gradual movement, but Scott shifted his weight from the bed to his feet. He would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his father’s strong arms, but he was upright. He took a shuffling step, then another, suddenly wanting to pick up speed.

“Easy, soldier.”

Scott slowed, every instinct obeying. There was a low chuckle in his ear.

“Always wanted to run before you could walk,” a fond voice said.

Scott blushed, but focused on putting one foot before the other. In a strange, shuffling movement, he made his way across the room.

By the time he reached the other side, he was panting, sweat beading his forehead. When he lifted an arm to wipe it away, he saw his hand was shaking. Suddenly, the bed felt like a very long way away and Scott wasn’t sure how he was going to make it back, even with help.

“Here.”

He was being lent against a wall. Scott hoped the whimper that built in his throat didn’t escape his mouth as his father’s arms disappeared. But then a chair was being pulled over and he was being helped into it.

Scott half-sat, half-fell, every limb trembling violently. He felt sick.

But he’d done it. He’d moved from the bed. He’d chosen to move, and he’d done it. There were no walls, no locks, no chains, holding him back this time. Sure, he’d needed help, but no one had stopped him.

“Scotty?”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

A trash can was pushed in front of him just in time, a warm hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Just the way it had done when he’d been a little boy, needing his father but not knowing how to admit it when he was trying so hard to be grown up.

The retching passed and his dad helped him take a few sips of water. Exhausted, Scott leant back in the chair, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t ready to return to bed or the nightmares.

“Dad?”

“Yes, kiddo?”

“You found me.” His voice was slurring. It didn’t matter what he wanted; his body had decided that was quite enough excitement for one day.

“Scott, I-,”

“Thank you.” This time, it was just a whisper. His eyes were already shut, his body slumping where he sat. The bed would have to wait for another day.

He was asleep before his father had a chance to respond.