#but at the end of the day they fell down this pipeline because they were searching for community

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Sometimes I see posts on this site and I'm like oh okay, you guys don't actually believe in redemption and don't understand how it works at all. Cool. Okay.

[a-simple-imagine]

Help! My Girlfriend just Fell Down The Alt - Right Supe Supremist Pipeline pt.2

Requested by anonymous: “could you write a cate hurt/comfort where unlike andre's coward ass u actually fix her 🫶 pls and tyy”

Pairing: Cate Dunlap x fem!reader

Words: 1.3k+

A/N - turned this request into part 2 of my other cate story because i'm obsessed with the idea of cate dating an empath. you don’t have to read the first part

WARNINGS - mention of murder, death and blood

PREV //

it's a bright sunny day but the air is polluted with the rich taste of fear; a chaotic blend of fear and anger. you don't know what to do. where to go. you thought you left this behind when you ran. your head aches. heart hammering in your chest. all around you students and faculty scramble in search of safety. Bodies litter the ground. blood drowns the lush green grass. and you are powerless to stop it. useless. this school housed so many heroes but your powers were far from useful. you're almost frozen in time. this very spot on the godu campus, your newfound home. waiting. waiting for the inevitable moment someone notices and you end up just another casualty.

it's so hard to focus with the swirling emotions that invade your head. every inch of your body burned with other people's pain. everyone was feeling so much; too much. it hurt. it felt like your brain might explode. you kinda wish it would. but despite it all your eyes settle on familiar blonde hair. beautiful blue eyes stained deep red. Cate. you had left so abruptly. perhaps you should be more apprehensive right now. but you feel no ill intentions.

"h-hey," it's a pathetic murmur restrained by the pounding in your head. She was your girlfriend and you could hardly say a word. You're not even sure what you could say to rectify this. murdering dean Shetty was one thing. a sad attempt at vengeance. it was hard enough to ignore but this? this came across as insane. this was too much. you had told the others you would deal with Cate not because you actually thought you could help but because you were scared of what they would do. Cate was public enemy one on the campus today.

"I've been looking for you," there's a tenderness to her voice. a softness she reserved for you; especially right now. her emotions are hard to shift through when mixed with so many others. too many others. but a deep anger settles over you. you know it's not directed at you. it's fighting with a desire to have you understand her point of view.

"you have to stop this cate," if only it was that straightforward. if words were enough this wouldn't have happened. you wouldn't have to beg your girlfriend to stop her lethal rampage. even if she physically was not the one killing. it's a weird position to be in. one that fills your stomach with a bottomless darkness pit... or maybe that was just the scene before you. either way, you felt nauseated.

"we're actually getting somewhere," there was an overwhelming weariness to her voice. She was clearly exhausted; struggling to stand straight as she clarified her frustration. you knew well the toll her powers took. that pang of fear every time you've watched her overdo it. you wonder how many people she has pushed into doing her bidding. how much her brain must hurt. how much she needs to rest. even how many people are dying under her authority. "people need to know what was going on here. We aren't just lab rats for Vought- we deserve respect."

"I agree," a flicker of surprise almost sends the blonde tumbling to the ground. "we deserve respect but this isn't how to get it. just stop and we can- we can figure this out." it takes everything in you to risk a step closer. pinpointing her feelings amongst the rest. it was a hazy feeling; tingly almost. you couldn't quite decipher what belonged to who still.

"Why can't you see that this is the only way," she implores. "it's the only way they'll listen."

"it's not worth it Cate," you express. "you're hurting innocent people-"

"they're not innocent." she snarls. Red-hot anger bursts through your veins. your jaw tenses. fist clenched. "you heard what Shetty said. they think we're freaks. they hate us-" You don't want to think about Shetty; you couldn't. it was too much. too taxing. the blood. so much blood. so much bitterness. an unsteady breath pushes its way past your lips.

"you're hurting me, Cate," you bark; fuelled by Cate's fear. her emotions were taking over. driving you forward. "all these emotions- all this fear. my head is on fire. it's too much. I can't- I can't handle it."

"I'm sorry," she sighed, dragging her eyes away. almost like she was unable to bear looking at the suffering she was causing. "I know this is hard for you, I wish it didn't have to be but this is the only way. I'm protecting us. I'm protecting you." you didn't need to be a mind reader to know Cate's intentions. her misguided desire for retribution. more fuelled by revenge for how she has been treated than a will to help people. she's explained it all already.

"Cate..." her name slips tenderly from your lips; biting back her fire that's burning inside. "I don't need protecting. I just- I need you." your desperate now. desperate for the pain to stop. for Cate to give up this crazy crusade. you wanted to go back to how things were. you wanted to hold her hand as you walked across campus to class each morning. wanted to surprise her with a cupcake after a hard day. cuddle up in bed while you watch the cheesiest movie known to man just because she enjoyed it. you wanted normal. you deserved that. you all did. "we can figure this out. I promise we can- just give me a chance." you continue. "I don't wanna lose you." you know she's hesitant by the way her eyes flicker to you and then away again. searching for a reason to deny you. to push you away further. her anger was no longer a raging fire but a muted flame as your words settled over her. "please," expressed softly. "we can get through this together." she could read your mind. She must know you are being genuine.

"Okay," the blonde mumbles, finally meeting your gaze. such pretty eyes even stained with abuse of power. "yeah," she nods a little; holding out her hand. you pause. it would mark a sign of trust. She didn't have her glove which meant that there was a possibility this was just a trick. if you take her hand she could make you do whatever she wanted. she could push you into believing her philosophy. She could kill you if she wanted. surely she wouldn't though? your girlfriend had never used her powers on you. She used to be all about consent. but you also thought she wasn't capable of murder and look at how that turned out. she was probably in your head listening. could hear your doubt. you watch a sadness wash over her face as she retracts her peace offering and in a panic, you roughly grab her hand. it's unexpected even by you. but you couldn't give up on her. you loved Cate, you wanted to trust her. you needed to trust that she was still good.

"I trust you" blurted out loudly. drowning in her anger. in her pain and fear. it's all so much. your legs buckle and it takes significant effort to stay upright. there is a glimpse of something unexplained in her eyes. Cate was the most important person to you. you struggle to watch your paths diverge before you have a chance to tell her your feelings. She probably knew. there was no hiding with Cate. not anymore. but she couldn't hide from you either. you can feel everything. our emotions expose true intentions. and even amongst all the dread, there was a warmth radiating through now like the sun breaking through dark clouds. She held bright feelings for you. you could feel her passion radiating.

"you... trust me?" Cate asks. her voice quiet. unsure.

"I trust you," you give her hand a gentle squeeze. "I just wanna help you- let me help you."

her eyes search yours for a moment before arms are wrapped around your shoulders and Cate falls against you. you stumble back under the weight of her body; the weight of her emotions. but you still hold on tight. chasing that beautifully warm feeling. "just me and you."

"Always," whispered softly.

[darth-memes]

I really mean it. Don't trust any review that you see online about anything Star Wars. Specially the Acolyte and the latest series. You would be surprised how many are made in bad faith, and with the Acolyte they have multiplied. Talk to your friends that have actually watched it and talk about it in a reasonable way. It's ok if you don't like the series or decide is not your thing, as someone who has really liked it, I know that it's far from perfect. Don't engage with reviews online unless you really really trust the person, because many are made with bad faith and/or nostalgia-tinted glasses that honestly make people forget how the original trilogy really is. It's the reason I stopped reading or watching ANYTHING resembling a review related to Star Wars because it is surprising how easy it turns into a toxic rant that many times can be boilt down into racism and misoginy.

Honestly, even avoiding all of that, with the Acolyte I almost burnt out of the fandom of how terrible it was. I luckily didn't received any hate myself but I have a friend who posts information and fun facts between other things (doesn't do reviews, or opinions, it's mostly all factual(if you have an instagram follow him in @skynobi_starwars, he is always on top of the latest news and posts frequently but without spaming)) on instagram and he was showing me the amount of comments just spewing hate whenever he posted anything about the series and it was disgusting. He said that there had always been some, but they had basically multiplied.

But that's his situation, mine was in real life. I have a coworker who also loves Star Wars and his mask fell off when on episode 3 the wItches showed up and suddenly all of his critiques were about the amount of black people and lesbians that were there. By the next episode everything was just shit and how they should fire the entire team. Basically screaming and being impossible to talk to. Which honestly made me really sad because he had always been a person with who I could talk to about anything Star Wars related. Worst of all, a younger coworker who was wondering if to watch the series entered into watching "reviews" that were outright lying about what happened in the episodes or of people that straight up didn't watch it. He showed me a few and they were all the same. I had to spend a good while proving to him how the series was review bombed even before starting and just proving almost every lie those people were telling and how most of it. It was exhausting and terrifying, I was also really worried because this coworker is very young and what he showed me bordered some alt-right beliefs that should be near NOBODY. And, holy shit, was this a slide to the far right pipeline.

The only reason I didn't burn out is because I have a trusted group of friends with whom I could comment the episodes and have fun making jokes about it. Curiously, my dad also watched it and enjoyed it. But that's basically that's all I had to reduce my feedback of Star Wars for WEEKS to not burn out with how everything was going both online and real life.

And I know that there's a lot of toxic parts of the Star Wars fandom. My recommendation is not engage with any of the big names in the fandom (you know who I am referring to, specially in Youtube). Again, it's not that you cannot be critical, there is a lot to be critical in Star Wars, there is also much that one may dislike, but there is a line. And a lot of people that called themselves reviewers crossed and are so far away in their delusion of how anything that Disney does becomes an attack against them that they will never be able to enjoy the saga again. But raging like that will just result in another Rise of Skywalker, not another Empire Strikes Back.

Instead, look for friends with who you enjoy talking about Star Wars and have fun watching, playing, reading, etc with the saga. Because at the end of the day that's what we want, to have fun with it and enjoy the journey. Sometimes it may disappoint, but if you are always looking for that like a big part of the fandom that posts online, you are never going to enjoy it again.

And isn't Star Wars better when you focus on what makes you happy about it than on what you didn't like?

(Also, again, watch out for the people who are being racist, mysoginistic, homophobic... I can't emphasize how even I, that I try to curate as much as I can my experience in the fandom, I found them fast this time)

[papirouge]

Yes! I wish more people brought this up! modern day conservative influencers aren’t talented musicians and artists and they are envious of those who are. They have talent agents and all that! Every single one started out normal.

They wanted to be special with mediocre skills but can’t make it. I can understand because my skills aren’t the best but I just keep practicing. They COULD have gone the indie route too, post their music online and keep working at it but I think they are obsessed with money and influence. That’s why grifting for conservatives online is easy cheap money.

....and that's also why there's a significant (Hollywood) celebrity who fell from grace → rightoid grifter pipeline. Have you seen Zachari Levi (Shazam actor) and Amber Rose latest stunt? Funny how conservatives didn't cockblocked them arguing that celebrity support was some silly tactic they left to Democrats. They welcomed them in their podcasts, rally, etc.

I always said conservatives were envious of the chokehold liberals had on the entertainment industry. But the thing is, you can't pretend defending traditional values/conservatism while aiming for a upheaval of the entertainment world. They are called LIBERAL arts for a reason. Conservatism is turned toward the past & self preservation, while arts are about exploring and disturbing the status quo. There will never be a relevant conservative influencial culture. That's why conservatives ALWAYS have to resort to rehash liberal slogan or viral moments.

You are absolutely right about them being too addicted to fame & attention to bow down gracefully and retire from an industry that did them "wrong". For Zachari Levi it's obvious like the nose on the face he's MAD AS HELL that Shazam 2 flopped and thought he was gonna be the next Chris Evans lol so he turned towards the rightoid grift bc after DC fans cancelled him for being an 'anti vaxxer' he knew his 15 minutes were ending and fully leaned towards the rightoid grift to grasp the last straw of relevancy he had. Rightoid are not really demanding: as long as you shit on the government they will hail you as sooo disruptive and non pc 🤩 Amber Rose? Well, it eventually dawned on her that she wasn't Black and she got shunned by the communitah after she assaulted that Black women on some trashy TV shows. She also felt the tide turning and that being a 'slut' wasn't as lucrative as 10 years ago so she's now rebuking her past and endorsing conservative. I wouldn't be surprised she becomes a full on tradwife in the next few years.

Both of them are perfect nutshell of celebrities clinging to the last shred of relevancy left wherever it is bc they felt betrayed by liberals/progressives.

I also think Candace Owens is secretly jealous of female influencer because that's what she wanted to be back when she was an anti racist activist. Same for Brett Cooper. I once sleuthed on their respective pages and analysed their thumbnail/video title, and to the surprise of nobody, most of the time, they were clowning women, and when they featured men, they either were 'neutral' or not as hard as for women (or were LGBT men = easier target)...they definitely know their audience.

Btw I'm genuinely curious about Celestial prophecy of Candace Owens being trans(?)/not what she appears to be LOL that shit would be hilarious. I remember her catfight debate with Blaire White. Those lolcow fighting was hilarious kek

[sardonic-sprite]

(Hi again)

I was lying in bed at 2 am in the morning, doing stuff that you usually do then I got a question:

What inspired you to write your first fic? (whether it be on ao3 or any other platform or not on a platform at all if you feel comfortable to share)

The question was actually the self-deprecating monster, but I twisted its words into something brighter. And I wanted to know the backstory behind yours too (DC mainly, but if u got another one u would like to say, that would be cool too).

Hi!

Gosh... that is an excellent question.

My first true fic started, ended, and did all the in-between stuff within my head. I scribbled down a scene or two, but otherwise, I spent the summer mowing the lawn and mentally rewriting all seven Harry Potter books to include my OC, who I paired with a re-characterized Draco Malfoy. I think I did that because I had recently discovered an author on Quotev who had tons of HP OC stories that I enjoyed. Stuff... happened irl and I didn't touch fanfic again for a good four years.

Crazy pipeline, but I started watching the Miraculous Ladybug show and ended up searching fanfic and discovering ao3. Before too long I fell down the Maribat rabbit hole, and that's how I was introduced* to the batfam. I began looking at fics featuring just them, and discovered envysparkler's work. I was hooked.

I spent close to a year just reading fics, and didn't even make an account, so sadly I do not remember how to find the majority. I saw people referencing writing challenges like Whumptober, BTHB, etc, looked up the prompts, and then thought... I could do that. So I did. That's how Repletion started, and eventually I came up with the idea for my batfam takes quizzes thing. But everything I wrote stayed in an app on my phone until last fall when I made up my mind to join ao3. I got the invite on Halloweed, and started posting the whumptober fics I'd been writing in preparation, and then I was off.

So TLDR, I was inspired by the creativity of others. I saw them create their stories, and how much I and others loved them, and decided I could and would do the same.

I really hope that helps, and helps to shut up that negative voice. I think it's really cool you were able to twist it around and use it to fuel a more productive thought (question). Sorry it took this long to get back to you though! I usually noodle over my asks for a few days before I answer.

sprite

[atlanticcanada]

Farmers continue Fiona recovery two months post-storm

Two months after post-tropical storm Fiona made landfall, traces of its aftermath still lie where they fell.

On dairy farmer David Bekkers’ property in Lanark, N.S., the roof of a silo that collapsed still sits where it slammed down.

“We’re still waiting for the contractor to demolish it. It has to be torn down,” Bekkers said. “He’s the only guy in Atlantic Canada so he is actually very busy.”

Bekkers is also waiting for a new barn door to shelter his cows.

“We hope it’s going to come soon because it’s going to get cold in the winter,” he said.

At Haveracres Maple Farm in St. Joseph’s, trees are the obstacle. Six thousand maple trees fell at Jason Haverkort’s farm, which he estimates is at least half of his production.

Despite working every week day since Sept. 24 to clear the trees, there are still hundreds he hasn’t reached.

“Struggling away,” Haverkort described his efforts. “At the end of the day, you’re just don’t feel like doing it anymore. When you wake up the next morning, you go at it again.”

He’s retrofitting his pipeline and re-thinking priorities. Each day of work is a race against time before winter takes hold.

“We’re about 75 per cent done what we can get completed for next season,” he said.

Haverkort plans to tap what trees he has and hopes the sap will flow out and more relief money will flow in. He’s only received $2,500 in provincial support thus far.

“I do believe there will be, yes. In what form it will be in or how much, I have yet to see,” Haverkort said on Wednesday.

On Thursday, Nova Scotia’s Minister of Agriculture announced that applications for Fiona-related agricultural disaster assistance are now being accepted.

“We encourage all eligible producers to apply,” said Marla MacInnis, spokesperson with Nova Scotia’s Department of Agriculture.

At his Creekside Farm Maple in Blue Mountain, Darren Noble lost about 500 maple trees.

He’s spent every day since Fiona doing something storm-related.

“We’re making progress now,” he said. “Probably got about two acres cleared here of the underbrush.”

Noble is trying to salvage and sell what wood he can and reroute his pipelines to trees still standing. What’s lost is lost for generations.

“The trees, I’ll never see them in my lifetime, a tap-able tree on this piece of land,” Noble said.

Back at the Bekkers’ farm, crushed corn fields not only lowered output by about 40 per cent but also compromised feed.

Bekkers said nutritionists told him the corn silage that’s left has some toxin levels in it and lacks energy.

“We’re adding products to what they call ‘bind the toxins’ so it doesn’t affect the cows’ appetite,” Bekkers said.

It all means piling on more costs. Fertilizer and fuel were already expensive this year before Fiona hit.

“It’s a lot of pressure on my staff and myself and my whole family,” Bekkers said.

Add stress to lost time -- factors multiplied by the storm farmers are still facing as they trudge ahead to pick up what Fiona knocked down.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/mP3NAak

[redfoxdude07]

Okay, to be honest, my original plan was to be short and sweet in the tags, but it sorta grew out of control as the idea went on.

The killing of fascist is perfectly fine actually, and I fully endorse it. The problem is the way the movie portrays the execution of the execution. He's ripped in half in front of a crowd who just moments ago saw Sentinel as their savior.

The crowd is scared and confused because their entire world just changed permanently, and D-16, who's known about this for a day longer than everyone else, immediately declares himself leader. He declared that there would be no more false prophets and then began shooting haphazardly because his blood started flowing when he killed Sentinel.

The movie criticizes the way D-16 killed Sentinel instead of declaring that killing is bad.

(I'm not sure where I heard this, so take this next part with a grain of salt)

Optimus is literally America. He was supposed to represent America since G1 and meant to parallel the Cold War. The fight over energy and the embracement of freedom is blatant American coding.

Logically, freedom in America includes the right to a fair trial. The police are not SUPPOSED to be the judge, jury, and executioner (even though they are most of the time unfortunately).

Optimus is willing to kill if necessary. He's done it so many times that it's ridiculous, but if death can be avoided, he will avoid it.

Taking that into account, Optimus more than likely meant "wait to kill him until we all agree to kill him."

D-16, in his rage, didn't catch the hint that Orion was giving. "Can't build the future on blood" (or something like that) is what he says to D-16 to convince him not to kill Sentinel.

Why would this convince him? Because he's meant to interpret that as "don't have the first truly free thing we do be killing someone," but he took that as "don't kill ever," instead.

Bee isn't wrong for killing because the movie portrays him as a comic relief, and also, he's crazy from isolation, so any morals he has aren't exactly perfect pillars of superiority. Elita killed people, Orion killed people, and Alpha Trion killed people, but they are allowed to go on because it's self-defense. Bee is different because he's not meant to be serious. He's meant to get you to laugh first, ask questions never because he's fucking Bumblebee Transformers voiced by Toad from Super Mario Bros. (Bad excuse, I know, I just think Bee is just here so the toys sell good).

To put it in one continuous explanation:

Orion thinks about the long-term consequences of killing Sentinel, knowing that more than likely doing so will only lead to more distrust in leaders to the average individual. If D-16 became leader, he wouldn't be peaceful because the truth about Sentinel snapped something in his brain that made him go murder crazy instead of sleeping and planning his next course of action like Orion wanted to do. Killing Sentinel is good when everyone is on the same page, randomly walking up to the leader of a country, and kicking in his teeth is going to cause controversy, and depending on the type of indoctrination the people were given, they'll get violent or something. While that might be the only option in some scenarios, it wasn't here. They had a choice to spare Sentinel and explain everything to the people with him behind bars and prepared to go to the electric chair. Orion jumped in the way because he didn't think D-16 would actually go through with it. He still trusted his friend to do what he viewed as the right thing, and in the end, that only makes D-16 go over the point of no return, seeing Orion as a sympathizer instead of a person worried for the stability of the future government they'll build.

The movie is about how people become so stuck in their hatred of politics that they push everyone that could help them reach their goals away because they don't 100% agree with everything they do. Megatron is someone who fell down the alt-right pipeline because he got so disassociated with the government that he looped around and joined the murder cult that did the same shit as the last guy. They say they're different from the last guy, but in the end, they'll both fucking kill you when they don't like you anymore. Starscream and Sentinel are basically the same person when you boil them down, it's just Sentinel was successful. Orion is someone who stuck to their morals first. He planned his goals out before going into it. He's meant to show how to properly overthrow fascist. You do so by planning and thinking about the publics opinions. If you want to sway the public to your side, you don't just kill someone and then explain yourself, no, you explain, then you kill if everyone thinks that's the best course of action. If they all agree it's the best course, then you know you actually did your job right, because if you failed to properly convince the common person, someone like the old guy will swoop in and take over and set everything back to the way it was before your revolution, the polar opposite of what you want to happen in a formerly fascist society.

This isn't a fascist sympathy movie. It's a tutorial on how to not fuck up your revolution against a fascist and send yourself back to ground zero.

Transformers One said nooo don't fight for your freedom!!! That's only something bad mean people do!!!! Real heroes jump in front of fascists to take a bullet for them!!!

[Image description start. The meme comic of people in a meeting, with the boss sliding his hands onto the table and demanding of three employees, "Quick! We have to update Megatron and Optimus Prime's shared backstory for 2024! But the original conceit is... Problematic, how should we fix it?"

The first employee suggests, " make Megatron rich too! "

The second suggests, "make Optimus Prime a slave too! "

The third employee, leaning on an elbow with a sardonic expression, says, "Don't condemn slave rebellions maybe."

The boss glares at this employee with an exaggerated expression of rage. The employee stares back in silence with the same expression as before.

The last panel shows this employee being thrown out the window of the office building.

Image description end.]

And then the slavery apologism propaganda worked.

[ayfinchwrites]

RAIN OR SHOWERS // Choi San

Type // Oneshot

Genre // fluff, cozy

Words // 1.2k

Blurb // A cozy night in with San takes a comedic turn when the members arrive home early from practice.

\-.-/

You sat by the window in the high rise apartment watching the rain come down on the city below. Seoul had always been such an interesting place to you, it was so different from your hometown in many ways, some good some bad as with any place. There was, however, one thing about Seoul that could never be beat, and he was showering in the next room.

It was edging on nightfall, the electric lights began to flicker on one by one throughout the city. It was your favorite part of the day, watching Seoul transition for the night. The rain was only elevating the experience.

You heard the water turn off from the bathroom and sat up in a hurry. Your job had been to make the popcorn and prep for the movie but you had been so enamored by the rain that it had slipped your mind. You hurried into the kitchen and began pulling out supplies atop the marble countertops. Popcorn and sandwich cookies. You reached over and turned off the oven. You had been roasting chestnuts for a couple hours now as another movie snack. You did not normally eat roasted chestnuts as a movie snack but since coming to Korea and going to the theaters here, it had become one of your favorites.

You slipped on an oven mitt and pulled the tray from the oven and set it on the counter. You were baited to try one right now, but elected to wait on account of probably burning your tongue. With a sigh you popped open the microwave and started the bag of popcorn.

You shuffled back over to your window seat and resumed watching the heavy rain. A light fog had begun to drape over the lower buildings. You heard a door click and turned around to find San emerging from the bathroom. His dark hair was slick and fell over his eyes in wet pieces. He was wearing his large black hoodie, a favorite of yours to steal. You fought the urge to just run up and hug him and instead slowly stood and made your way to him.

“The chestnuts are done, I pulled out the cookies and-”

You were cut off by the microwave beeping.

You chuckled, “And… evidently the popcorn is done too.”

You reached up and ran a hand through his hair. He had towel dried it. You could always tell because of how soft it felt, even when it was damp.

Not being able to resist any longer you pulled him into a hug, your face becoming engulfed by his hoodie. He squeezed you tighter in reply.

“It smells really good.” His voice echoed with your head on his chest.

You both pulled away and made your ways to the kitchen to retrieve the movie snacks. You slid some of the cooled chestnuts into a bowl while San grabbed the popcorn and cookies. You had previously raided San’s closet and pulled out any blankets he had stored away. As a result, two quilts and a sherpa throw were strewn across the couch. San chuckled at the sight and set the popcorn and cookies down onto the coffee table before flopping onto the couch. You followed suit and cuddled up beside him, pulling a quilt over your shoulders.He adjusted his position to drape an arm over your shoulder and pull you closer.

After a minute you noticed San cursed under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned him looking up to his face.

He began to laugh, “The remote.”

You fell into a quiet fit of laughter and watched as he tried to fish the remote from the far end of the coffee table with his foot. You playfully hit his shoulder and sat up to reach out and grab it.

“There, now we’re actually ready.” You said and switched on the TV.

You had suggested a new movie earlier but San proposed watching an old favorite. You couldn’t help but agree because the movie made the both of you laugh uncontrollably at times.

You selected your streaming channel and pressed play on Pipeline*.

Eating snacks and listening to the rain all while spending a cozy night in with San. It was heavenly.

“Imagine if we could do this all the time.” You whispered to him.

His lips broke into a grin, “Imagine.” He echoed and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

Just then the front door opened and loud chatter spilled into the living room. The boys were back from their schedule already. You and San had both seen this movie so many times neither of you bothered to pause for the interruption.

“Oh hey, I love this movie!” Mingi shouted and trudged past you both to drop down onto the window seat, he tossed his practice bag onto the floor by his feet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you two were busy.” Yeo apologized and heads to his bedroom, red flushed his cheeks. “I’m showering first!” He yelled.

“Ya!” Joong pushed his way through the front door, his hair damp with sweat from practice, “I thought you said you weren’t feeling good.”

He pointed his finger at San, then rested his hand on his waist.

“I was but then I felt fine.” San paused for a moment before continuing, “Now that you mention it, I’m starting to feel a little sick again. Maybe I’m allergic to you captain.”

At that Joong raised his brows and paused for a moment.

“You little shit.” He muttered under his breath.

“No, I think that’d be you.” San replied to his comment.

That was it. Hongjoong stomped over and slugged San in the arm.

“Guys,” Hwa cautions, though a smirk is fixed upon his lips.

San burst into laughter and got up from the couch to wrestle with Joong.

“Why,” Seonghwa began, his words directed towards you, “would you voluntarily choose to deal with this?” He chuckled and shook his head.

You just laughed in reply and turned to find Jongho had joined Mingi on the window seat and they were both watching the movie as if San and Hongjoong weren’t wrestling right in front of them.

Yep, you had to love cozy rainy nights at the dorm. You just had to.

You heard Yunho’s laugh ring out from the kitchen as he leaned on the counter and snacked on some of the leftover chestnuts that hadn’t fit into the bowl. It was hard to tell if he was laughing at San and Joong or the movie, he seemed to be dividing his attention between both of them.

Seonghwa was still standing by the doorway, you pat the couch cushion beside you. An offer you extended, Hwa had never had a problem with you always being around for San but he was sometimes overly polite. You always tried to do what you could to make everyone feel more comfortable about your presence.

He smiled and took a seat next to you as you both watched as their little fight subsided.

Out of breath and laughing, San plopped back down on the couch into his original spot and slung an arm over your shoulder. Joong had just ended up spread out like a starfish on the ground watching the movie. You all settled down and fell into watching the film.

After a couple minutes you noticed Hongjoong snoring quietly and you glanced up at San. He chuckled softly and pulled you closer.

(*Seriously ya’ll, watch the movie Pipeline if you get the chance. It is actually so hilarious and you get to see Seo In-guk and Lee Soo-hyuk muahaha. Not to mention my mans Soo-hyuk plays a real good psycho and let me just say *wow*).

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Hollow

Pairing: monster!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: yandere, horror, stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters.

Words: 2137.

Summary: You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors.

_______

There’s a man inside the wall behind you.

This was what the factory workers told you as soon as the manager left, forcing you to question people’s sanity. At first you thought it was a bad joke or something. A man inside the wall in the assembly shop #4? What the Hell was that?

You thought they wanted to scare you away because they didn’t like you: your colleagues were simple people who lived in this godforsaken place for ages and knew each other as if they all were one big family. You, an outsider from somewhere far away who didn’t even look like them, weren’t the same kind, they probably thought. Of course, they didn’t take a liking to you and tried to make you leave so that you wouldn’t become an eyesore.

However, soon you found out they all were pitying you. You could feel their eyes on you each time you left the shop where you worked alone, and all you saw on their faces was fear and regret. A couple of women tried befriending you, sitting at the same table as you during lunch, and the next day they all told you anyone who had been working in the shop #4 left in less than a month. Naturally, you didn’t believe that crazy talk about the man in the wall - it’s not like the factory was built in those times when people were buried alive inside the walls for good luck. Then the women tried convincing you to work facing the wall - you were now standing behind it because of how the rusted pipeline with a barrel shifter was placed. You almost rolled your eyes in irritation: you wouldn’t risk losing your job because you couldn’t stand where you were told by the manager. You desperately needed money.

The day after you received a letter in your locker: somebody asked you to leave the assembly shop #4 immediately if you valued your life. It was starting getting scary. Were these people schizophrenic's? No, there were far too many of them who believed in this creepy urban legend.

At some point you got so fed up with this stupid talk that you headed right to Andy, your manager, to ask him why on Earth people were bothering you with this. The man spent half an hour talking about employees who had nothing better to do other than slacking off and telling silly stories when they needed to work. Yes, rumors had it that almost a hundred years ago there was a man, an talented engineer, who entered the assembly shop #4 and never came back, but it had nothing to do with this ridiculous legend. The wall behind you was all solid blocks of stone that were never moved since the day this factory was built. Even if the engineer was killed - although Andy believed the story wasn’t even real - how would somebody hide the body of a grown man there without dismantling the wall? 

The story should have put you at ease, you thought, but instead it only made you more concerned: now as you knew about a disappeared engineer, every time you stood with your back facing that cursed wall you felt the shivers running down your spine. What if there were a ghost or something? You didn’t believe in them, of course, but the dim light in the shop #4, its rusted pipeline, dirty floors and dust balls were hardly making you feel any better. And that disgusted lunch bell... it sounded almost like Silent Hill siren.

You worked in the shop for 8 hours every day, having no time to literally visit the bathroom. Assembling metal parts that always looked ugly over and over again could make anyone go nuts. By the end of the day your body ached as if you carried a giant stone on your shoulders, your back hurting, arms heavy as you barely kept standing. You didn’t even have strength to smile at Dean, an elderly night guard, but he just nodded to you with understanding, knowing well what it meant to be a factory worker here. This shitty job could kill anyone if you stayed long enough here.

Was it the reason why everyone kept talking about that man in the wall? This was the only way to liven up things here, you guessed and decided to talk about it more with the women who you befriended.

They were happy you finally started asking questions. They talked about the legend of the engineer vanished into thin air: you had never heard so much nonsense, sitting quietly in the bus and waiting for it to bring you home. Somebody said the engineer made a pact with the devil himself and merged with the wall, becoming immortal within the stone; the others claimed the engineer went mad because of his loneliness and buried himself in the wall; one woman argued that the engineer, on the contrary, was a ladies man and got sealed up there by a relative of his former lover who committed suicide. There were far too many rumors for you to remember, and soon you abandoned the idea to use the-man-in-the-wall topic to "liven things up" in the factory.

The two weeks had passed since the time you first started working here. You hated this rusty place with all your heart, but this job kept you afloat. It was still better than nothing. Biting down on your dry lower lip, you exhaled tiredly and lifted a particularly heavy detail, trying to fit it in the right place.

The next moment it fell down the dirty floor as you heard an awful sound behind your back as if the heavy stones were moving. It was just for a second, a mere second, but it was enough to have you on edge as you stared at the wall with your eyes wide open. It was some kind of an auditory hallucination, right? There was nothing different in the wall behind you. It looked just like it always did, a nasty grey stone with a tint of orange from the rusty hooks. The wall couldn’t open up just like some Narnia’s wardrobe, could it? It was far too old for any sort of mechanisms like that. Besides, it wouldn’t be able to close so fast, leaving no traces. It was some hallucination from your lack of sleep.

Your coworkers didn’t think so when you told them about it. It was the man in the wall, of course. It always started like this - with an awful, frightening sound. Soon you would be hearing things and feeling the stare of that man all the time, they said. The room #4 was a terrible place, and you should leave it immediately, they said. One woman even offered you to stay at her place if you couldn’t provide for yourself until you found a better job. Of course, you declined her kind offer.

But you did start hearing all kinds of things while you were working. Stones moving, metal clinking, some weird rustling out of nowhere - it was all making you insane, especially since every time you turned around only to see nothing but the wall behind your back. Everything was as it should have been, but you felt something was happening when you didn’t look. 

You were finally going mad. Apparently, it was something in the air, right? Something the management told nothing about that caused hallucinations and all those scary things. Obviously, all those people who worked in the assembly shop #4 before you left because they knew that. That was the reason behind the stupid legend and all those rumors. Obviously, you - and all those people who ran away from here - lacked money to do all the necessary medical tests to prove anything.

Shit, you really needed to find a better job if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your days in an asylum. 

Now at night you were sending your CV and cover letters, but you couldn’t stop working, nonetheless, forced to constantly look behind your shoulder or turn around just to make sure you weren’t totally crazy. You tried ignoring the noise once, but when it grew louder instead of disappearing in one second just like before, you realized it was a big mistake. Every day was turning into a nightmare.

Grey stone, rusted hooks, dust bunnies on the floor. The same picture you saw over and over again when you were turning back. It was simply unbearable. At one point you even wished to see something different there, something that would prove you weren't going insane.

You had to be careful with your wishes. When you came to the shop #4 the next time, you saw a face of a man cut in grey stone.

You didn't know what happened after that, coming to your senses in the resting room with your coworkers giving your water and some pills, your body shaking so badly you barely managed to sit. Was that a hallucination? A face of a man in the wall? All people around you kept saying it wasn't, describing this face to you so vividly as if they saw it themselves.

You needed to get out of here. Even if it meant becoming homeless and begging for money on the street, it was still a better option than staying in one room with that thing.

It was the next day you prepared to give Andy your letter of resignation, turning back to face the wall nearly every minute. No, you weren't going to stay here and watch how your life was becoming a living Hell - damn, it already was, wasn't it? You no longer slept peacefully, barely eating, constantly trying to keep a bottle of cheap wine you kept in the kitchen out of your reach. No, no, no, you weren't stupid enough to work for a minimum salary in a place like this, risking your own life.

It happened when the lunch bell rang, making you cringe - the next moment something had exploded with such a defeaning boom you almost fell down to the floor. Shit, you knew this sound - an omen of a great catastrophe that certainly disfigured somebody, if not killed. Something went horribly wrong in the assembly shop #3.

The blood drained from your face. Oh God. Were Shirley, Agatha and Simon alright? No, they weren't. Judging by the horrible screams coming from the metal door, they weren’t.

You moved as if in slow motion, your legs suddenly giving up on you, the siren wailing so loud your head could burst, forcing you to forget all the emergency instructions you were given. You needed to open the door. You needed to get this people out of there, those who were screaming in pain, cursing, and pleading for help.

"You can't go." A soft voice somewhere behind you said, and you froze. "You will die out there."

Someone's hands wrapped around you like a rope, making it harder to breathe, not letting you take one more step to the rusted metal door and dragging somewhere back instead until you felt the cold grey wall with your back. It was him, wasn't it? It was the man who had been watching you for a month from inside the stone, waiting for his chance.

When the realization hit you, the fear became suffocating. You couldn't move, couldn't even speak or cry out something to make others know you're trapped here, with a man in the wall who was taking you with him. But nobody would hear you anyway: the unstopping cries of people from the assemble shop #3 were earsplitting, and the siren didn't get silent either, making your efforts futile.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured so gently as if he was your lover, making you want to puke, "I won't leave you here."

The wall behind your back moved with a sound you knew well. Although you expected to bump into cold stones and rusted hooks that would tear your skin apart, instead, you felt darkness embracing you, wrapping around you like a cocoon. The picture of the assemble shop #4 looked so far now, so little as if you were staring at the tiny photo in an old album. It felt surreal.

You were behind the stone wall - or inside of it, you couldn't tell - looking at the real world through the looking glass. They were right. All those people who were constantly telling you about the man living in the grey stone wall were right.

"I was waiting for you a long, long time," the voice behind you said, and you felt somebody - or something - lowering their monstrous head to your shoulder, making a quiet sigh, "but you finally came to share my solitude... Thank you."

________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodie-rin @iheartsebandchris

[brianllamawrites]

Mine (Eowells x Reader)

Word Count: 737

Tagging: @ageless-aislynn

Dark clouds loomed in the not-so-distant sky, threatening Central City with a thunderstorm. They had been lurking on the outskirts of the city all day, but as soon as the sun started to set, the clouds started to roll in. The wind had already started to pick up, sweeping a cold chill throughout the streets and pulling the thick rain along with it.

Unlike the fickle great outdoors, inside Harrison Wells’ grand mansion was still. The rain may have hammered against the large windows, but the constant patter was a natural sound sedative that filled the rooms.

If you were awake, Harrison knew you’d be spending your time explaining why the sound of rain was so calming to humans - even if he already knew the answer, he loved listening to you talk with such sparks in your eyes. But, after a long day of training Barry, running tests, and fixing a fault in the pipeline prison, everyone was exhausted. Even the scarlet speedster himself went home in need of rest. So it was no surprise that when you sat on your boyfriend's lap to cuddle him, you fell asleep almost instantly.

Your arms loosely embraced his shoulders and cradled your head against his neck. In return, Harrison wrapped his arms around your waist, cautious not to hold you too tight in fear of disturbing your slumber. After all, it would be a shame to disrupt how peaceful you looked.

Harrison was peaceful. Genuinely. It was almost as if your calm nature seeped into him and smothered away all his anger. If he wasn’t half full of speedster energy, he probably would have drifted asleep too. Moments like this was one of the rare things that he didn’t hate about living in the twenty-first century.

Thunder crashed through the quietude. 

You jolted awake, tensing your arms firmly around Harrison’s shoulders. Warm arms tightened around your waist, and a hand soothingly rubbed against your back. Taking a moment to let your heart settle - which, fortunately, wasn’t hard thanks to the embrace you were in - you took in your surroundings. You could have sworn you fell asleep on Harrison in the other room, but it wasn’t as if he could just stand up and carry you into the living room. Right? There was always some kind of underlying mystery going on with him.

Sitting back, you came face to face with the man in question. Despite the post-sleep haze plaguing your vision, you could see his soft smile - something he saved just for you. The sight made you feel safe from whatever loud noises that might strike next. You loosened your grip on his jumper to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, lifting a leg. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

Gently, Harrison pulled your leg back down to his side and asked you to stay, his voice low and hushed. The thunder may have disrupted the mood, but he’d be damned if he let it be a permanent one.

Settling back down, you replied to his smile with a tired one of your own. A smile he could stare at for centuries. He brushed his fingers against your hair, smoothing down the odd flyaways and admiring how sweet you looked. A content sigh left you; any more affection and you’d definitely end up sleeping with your face in Harrison’s hands - the thought of which tempted you with every wearying blink.

The amount of trust you had in him meant everything; how vulnerable you let yourself be, how much you relaxed, how much more yourself you were around him. He got the pleasure of seeing the little quirks and characteristics that you normally hid away from everyone, and he couldn’t adore them more.

“You’re mine,” Harrison murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

He could see a subtle, near mischievous glint in your eyes. “Are you sure? Because from my point of view-” you placed both your hands on his chest “-it kinda looks like your mine.”

Harrison chuckled and pulled you closer to him. “Perhaps,” he wondered aloud, “we are each other’s.”

You went to peck his forehead but sleepily missed and pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose instead. “That sounds nice,” you hummed. He silently agreed, kissing your neck as you sank back into his arms and began to fall asleep on him for the second time of the evening.

[frostytundra01]

Transmedicalism, a Retrospective From Someone Who Used to Be There

Transmedicalism doesn't really make any sense.

Which is funny because this is coming from someone who used to be in these kinds of spaces. It was before I realized I was trans, a whole can of worms in and of itself, and I didn't realize partially due to the spaces I was in.

There are better videos and posts on this with mounds of evidence and papers and whatnot so don't take this post as your only sourse but this was on my mind for a while and I had to get it out.

It's such a sad state of being when you boil down being trans to the suffering people face. Not everyone has dysphoria because for some people their bodies are fine, they just happen to be a guy or a girl. Others aren't anything, both or something else entirely. It doesn't matter how you're trans because there's no right way to be trans. Gender is complicated and acting like it isn't really only hurts people.

This wasn't what I always believed, and this isn't what everyone believes either even if it's true.

Honestly, a lot of people would call me a trender now even though I have some pretty bad dysphoria. Mostly because my gender isn't binary, I support all trans people and I don't pass. I don't even really care about passing too much, I feel good when people call me a guy but I like skirts, I like looking cute and that doesn't change the fact that I am a guy. Cis men can do the same things and we don't berate them like we do trans men, mostly anyways.

Even I probably would have made fun of myself as a kid because I was in all of these spaces. Anyone who was on YouTube in 2018 knows how toxic the community was. I was really young back then and just figuring out I wasn't CitHet though at the time I thought I was Cis. My parents weren't supportive and I didn't have anyone to talk to so I used YouTube for escapism. I loved Kalvin Garrah because at the time he was the only trans youtuber I knew existed. I ate up every single piece of gay media and because of that I fell down the Truscum pipeline.

None of those spaces are really happy, it's hard to be when your entire identity as a trans person is built around hating other trans people. Anyone who didn't have dysphoria, anyone who didn't fit in were the scum of the earth and 'trenders'.

The funny thing (or sad thing really) is that a lot of people they bullied actually fit into the boxes they assigned for 'good' trans people. They had dysphoria, they were binary. The only difference was the fact that they looked trans. If you didn't look cis, if you even touched the color pink, if you didn't praise the cis overlords, the cis gods, you were a trender. Honestly it took saying you supported all trans people to be called one. Then once you were a trender you were the enemy, you didn't deserve to live, you didn't deserve to exist because you were faking something, even if you weren't. Breden, Milo, everyone else deserved so much better than being bullied, for some of them bullied off the internet. They didn't get that though and that breaks my heart that some of these people even died because other trans people hated them so much.

I've even seen someone say that if you were proud of being trans that made you a trender and isn't that just sad? Where are we at when not hating yourself means you're lying about your own expiriences. Sure for a lot of people being trans isn't easy, but that doesn't mean you have to hate yourself at all times. Why should we wallow in sorrow when we could be happy? Why do you want to take away trans joy?

The thing is, even if some of these people are faking, at the end of the day who does it actually hurt? There are a lot of arguments to this but most of them don't really make sense.

One of the main things I see are that fake trans people are hogging up trans health care. And I get this! Surgury isn't cheap, hormones aren't cheap and a lot of times there feels like a limited amount. But the thing is that there isn't, it's just that we aren't visible and Cis people don't want to put any effort into helping us. By deviding the community you're really just making it easier for Cis people to deny us, making it harder for everyone to get healthcare and laying down while our rights are being taken away.

We can see the effects of this aready, florida, texas, everywhere it is getting harder and harder to get healthcare and a lot of this is because we're so busy fighting each other that we're not fighting for our collective rights. If we said fuck it and actually worked together maybe we wouldn't have had to worry about this.

Another argument I see is the classic 'if they transition their going to give themselves dysphoria' which is kind of weird since like, not every trans person wants to transition? Those that do often feel euphoria from having their bodies match their brain. Others just change how they look outwardly and that's enough to feel like themselves. Why does it matter what genatallia people have? You don't actually know if they have dysphoria, you are not them and do not get to decide what is best for them. Even if transitioning isn't what's best for them why would bullying them off the internet help anything?

The last argument pretty much boild down to 'you'll make us look wierd in front of the cis' and like, who cares? Why do you want to be a cis bootlicker? Why do you want to uphold a white patriarchal version of gender like it's the default?

You aren't getting any points by being a Cis persons lapdog. You do not get extra points for being a token trans. It will not save you from the trans genocide, when all of us are killed, when all of us are dead because we looked different, because we look trans, because we aren't binary, they aren't going to love you. You are not suddenly going to sit at their table because you're one of the 'good ones'. They don't respect you, they respect what you bring them, a talking point, a symbol of not being a bad person because one trans person likes you. When you are done, when your token is spent in the vending machine of cis power you'll be killed just like the rest of us. You aren't their friend, they don't love you. They just want to use you until your use is up.

It took a long time for me to learn all this, it took a long time to accept myself as a trans man and an even longer time to realize I'm a bit more than that but I'm so much happier now. I was miserable as a Transmed because I hated myself and everyone around me. I don't know if this will reach anyone or change any minds but I put it out there so now I can stop thinking about this. If you're a transmed I hope you can at least think about this and maybe stop bullying other trans people.

Anyways, peace out.

-Tundra

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 3 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

The next time Feyre walked into the shop, Rhys smiled despite himself.

One of the things that he liked about his job was that you really only had to deal with one person at a time, and when that person happened to be cool, it made for a very easy day.

Feyre's first session had been a lovely afternoon. She had sat well, he was into the design the were making, and he just thought she was great to be around.

The down side, was that he really was stuck on how beautiful she was. Sure, he sometimes found his clients attractive. But usually he would focus in on the tattoo and forget what they actually looked like within the first five or ten minutes.

Feyre was different. Rhys couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but with her arm on the table palm up, he kept wanting to touch her fingers.

Maybe it was something to do with the relationship that she had hinted at, and how it instantly reminded him of the five years he spent with Aramantha. And how sure he was that no one deserved to be in a relationship like that. Maybe it was because she was so small, and imagining her in his position triggered a strange feeling in his chest, a sort of protectiveness that he didn't know he would feel for a complete stranger.

His therapist might say that he was projecting his past self onto her. His therapist might be very impressed that he had that insight.

Either way, Rhys couldn't help but grin when he came down the stairs after putting some needles in the autoclave, and there Feyre was sitting in the waiting room.

"Okay, it looks pretty good!" Rhys said to her, once he had her sitting on his bench. Feyre smiled. "Yeah, I still like it." "Well that is very lucky, because it's kind of permanent," Rhys told her. "You know I was prepared for the pain but I didn't realise how itchy it was going to get," Feyre said. "Oh yes I wasn't going to tell you because then you might not have got it," Rhys deadpanned. "The itch is worse than the pain."

Feyre laughed then, blushed a little and looked down so that a honey coloured curl fell over her face and suddenly, Rhys thought maybe he should have made her the sun instead of the moon.

"Okay so, what are we doing today?" Feyre asked. "Well," Rhys replied, "I reckon we'll get most of the shading done today. And then we'll do one more session for some finer shading and detailing." "Sounds good to me," Feyre said, and then she lay down on the bench.

Rhys worked for a few minutes in silence, and knew he shouldn't ask the question. Knew it was none of his business. Yet, in his most causal tone, he still asked.

"How's that boyfriend of yours?"

Feyre said nothing for a moment. Then, "Well, he doesn't like the tattoo." She flashed him a grin, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Rhys frowned. "Not a fan of my handiwork, huh?"

Feyre turned her eyes back to the ceiling. "He said I should have asked him first." "Why would you have to ask him when you make decisions about your own body?" Feyre rolled her eyes. "I know right?" she said, but again, a sadness tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Rhys was just wondering if he should voice concern, or change the subject, when Feyre took a deep breath, plastered a smile over her face and said, "Anyway, how's the painting going?"

Okay, so she didn't want to talk about it.

"It's not," Rhys admitted. "I've changed nothing at all since I last saw you." "Why not?" Feyre asked. "I don't know, I'm always so busy drawing for tattoos that I don't really get time to just sit and make things for myself." "I think you have time for what you make time for," Feyre said. "I can't argue with that," Rhys responded.

"What about you," he asked, turning her arm slightly, Feyre winced as he moved into the soft skin near her elbow crease. "Sorry," he said. "Keep talking, it helps to focus your mind on other things."

"I'm always painting," Feyre said. "It's my happy place." "What have you been working on?"" Rhys asked her. "Ummmm," Feyre reached out with her free hand and grabbed her phone. She showed him some pictures of her most recent works in progress, and Rhys paused his machine and stared.

"Wait, this is you?" he asked in astonishment. "I follow you on instragram!" Feyre blinked. "You do? I don't have that many followers, how did I not notice my favourite tattoo artist is following me?" Rhys laughed, and resumed shading. "I have a personal account as well as a professional account. That's so cool, I love your work."

"Wow," Feyre said. "Well that is... that is kind of a trip." Rhys laughed. "I love your colours," he said. "I work mostly in black and grey, so I really love what you do." Feyre shook her head. "People pay you to have your art permanently etched into their skin," she said. "You have thousands of followers and a three month waiting list. I think you win."

Rhys just laughed. "Well, I'll be your biggest fan," he said. "So, what have you got in the pipelines?"

Feyre put her phone away and settled back. "Let's see," she said. "I'm working on something seaside themed at the moment." "I knew it," Rhys said. "I should have drawn you sunshine." "No!" Feyre said quickly. "I love the design you made me. The beach and the sun are great and I'm always thinking about traveling. But the night time is beautiful wherever you are."

Rhys smiled down at the spot he was working on. "It's what I drew when I thought of you, after meeting you that first day," he said. "Okay tell me more about this seaside painting."

"Well, I'm trying a new thing where I really build up the paint and get into the textures and scuptural qualities of it," Feyre said. "Acrylic or oil?" Rhys asked. "I wanted to do oil," Feyre said, "it'd stand up better I think. But if I'm going to be lathering it on, acrylic is just so much cheaper. Plus can you imagine how long the oils would take to dry if I layered them?" "Very true," Rhys conceded. "You can have some of my old paints if you like, I never use them anyway."

But Feyre shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm not giving you an excuse not to paint."

Rhys laughed at this. "Fine, fine," he said. "Well I look forward to seeing what you make. Maybe one day you'll be the one designing me a tattoo."

As it had last time, the session flew by. For Rhys, anyway, who was not on the pointy end of the machines. They got through more than he expected, and then suddenly, he was wrapping her up and she was counting cash onto his bench.

"Alright," he said. "You know the drill. Hot shower. Rewrap before bed. Twice daily shower and salve for the rest of the week." Feyre nodded. "I've still got the flyer," she said. "Good. And I'll see you in a month for one last session."

Feyre shrugged her coat on, gingerly over her arm, and gave Rhys a smile so soft it broke his heart a little.

"I almost don't want it to end," she said. "You want me to keep hurting you!?" Rhys joked. Feyre smiled. "Well no I guess I won't miss that part," she said.

And then she waved at him before walking out the door, and Rhys was left to wonder what, if not the tattooing part, she would miss.

****

Oh yes we are slowly introducing the fluff times!

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper. 

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Another little ficlet for Writer Wednesday with @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F! Reader. First time writing for Jack, though I have a half finished smutty something in the pipeline. Words: 1090 No real warnings, smut mildly implied?

No beta, written on my phone and at 2am so I really hope it makes any kind of sense.

Dear Jack

The letter fell from your grasp. Crumpled sheets of ready lined paper, the black ink of your heartbreak scrawled across them and blurred in places from tears that were not all your own.

He had told you that he wasn't the type to settle down. He had warned you that you shouldn't get so attached.

"You know you're too good for me, darlin'," he had whispered on more than one occasion, his thumb stroking over your cheek as you gazed adoringly into those big, dark eyes, their expression easily mistaken for innocence if you didn't know him.

The missive was full of the right things to say, the tone a perfect balance of sorrow, regret and taking responsibility. You hated every single letter. It was a work of fiction, crafted by the spy Agent Whiskey, not a true accounting by Jack Daniels - the man that you had so recently come to realise that you loved. It was sterile, faceless. Such an antithesis to his larger than life personality. Even his handwriting looked stilted and unnatural. And you didn't believe a word contained within. Picking it up, you brought it to your face to read it again, desperate for a glimmer of hope within its lines.

"My darling girl,

I must beg your forgiveness for doing this in this manner, but I am wholeheartedly a coward and I cannot face those beautiful eyes when I tell you that I am leaving. The Statesmen need someone who can withstand a lengthy period of isolation somewhere North of here. I cannot be more precise for obvious reasons, but I have volunteered my services to them.

I can be neither the man you think I am, nor the one you want me to be. I believe that if we continue on as we have been, there will be nothing but inevitable heartbreak ahead. I must go for the good of us both. And I hope that you find that person that does for you what I cannot.

Take care,

Jack x

It was the kiss at the end that finally pricked your misery through to anger. After you had shared so much more, how dare he end it with an anonymous, meaningless 'X'? How could he ever think that you would believe that he wasn't perfect for you? Like you would simply forget the joy and splendour of your time together if he insisted that it hadn't been so. As if halcyon days of passionate, sweet, intoxicating bliss came along every week.

Just as though the heavens themselves had heard your thoughts, the rain that had threatened to pour all afternoon finally cascaded in giant, fat drops that hissed against the concrete of your patio and slid in rivulets down the window panes. A low rumble of far away thunder could just about be heard over the cacophony of water.

You made up your mind. You were going to write back. And instead of a reserved, hushed tone, you were going to tell him exactly what you thought of him and his distorted nonsense about your time together. You'd deliver it personally to Statesmen HQ and made sure he saw you doing it. Stamping around your living room and muttering vague threats against Jack's person, you began rifling through the shelves of your bookcase. The pad of notepaper you were sure had been there a few days ago was gone. Had he really taken the last of your paper to write his breakup letter to you?! The audacity shouldn't have astounded you - this was Jack after all - but it did. And it only made you angrier.

You stuffed your feet into your shoes and grabbed your bag, determined to go out and buy a new notepad before the heat of your anger trickled away to sadness again. But as you approached the front door you saw it, hastily stuck to the back and scrawled in Jack's true hand.

P.S.

I never told you, but I was falling in love.

Now that was more like Jack. To impart that fragment of devastating knowledge at the last second and go. Either because he couldn't face you not knowing the truth or because he couldn't bear the dishonesty within himself. You stifled a sob and covered your mouth with your hand.

No! Remember your anger! Remain angry and let him have it. But it was too late, if indeed your fury had ever really been anything more or less than misplaced grief. It wasn't paper you needed, you decided. It was a drink. Carefully untaping the postscript from its inconspicuous position, you folded it and put it into your wallet before opening the door.

And there he was, your black eyed cowboy. On your doorstep with his head dipped low, presenting you with the top of his hat instead of his face, rain dripping from its brim, and darkening his suit to a deeper shade of blue.

"Darlin', I...I had to see you-" he began, his voice low and choked. You stepped forward and cupped his face in your hands, gently raising it so he was looking at you. His eyes looked even bigger than usual and they were full of glassy sorrow.

"Are you really going, Jack? If you're really going please have the decency to look me in the eyes and tell me you're going."

"No, I...I don't think I can. I'm so sorry for that letter honey. I just didn't know how else to let you go."

"Why do you have to let me go at all?"

"Because I'm scared that I'll lose you. Like I lost everything else good in my life. You're so good. We're so good. I can't lose you, I just can't." You smiled at him and stroked your thumbs over the corner of his mouth, at the tips of his moustache.

"Jack Daniels, the only way you will lose me is if you push me away. Now come inside out of the rain." He smiled half a smile, as if he couldn't really believe what he was hearing. Taking his hands, you added in a low voice and with the quirk of an eyebrow, "And we'll get you warmed up too, cowboy." With that he smiled at you fully and it was as if the sun had dawned over his face.

"I really don't deserve you," he murmured as he leaned in for a kiss.

"I can think of several ways you can make it up to me," you whispered back as his lips met yours.

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[thevalicemultiverse]

I don't know anything about fallout but.

Victor dad? 🥺

Fallout!Victor: [wiping his eyes as he plays with a chain around his neck, a butterfly pendant charm and a wedding ring strung on it] L-let me explain. . . My intended joke regarding “acting my age” was that I’m actually over two centuries old if you count the time in my vault. I was born before the bombs all fell and destroyed the world as we knew it. Grew up homeschooled most of my life thanks to a terrible plague -- er, not the one you all seem to be dealing with, ours had blue boils growing on people -- ended up drafted into the Army Corps of Engineers pretty much out of high school, spent some of the worst years of my life defending the Alaska Pipeline because it was the last known source of oil in the world and America and China were only too willing to destroy each other to get it. . . Really, the main thing that made living in that hellhole version of America was Victoria and Emily. I’d met them in high school, and after some, uh, shenanigans involving Emily’s horrible ex Barkis, we ended up forming a threesome. Very much on the sly, of course -- back in Sanctuary Hills, it was generally accepted that Victoria and I were married and Emily was just a friend who lived with us -- but it was. . .it was good. [small smile] 

Anyway, when the bombs DID fall October 23rd, 2077, we’d basically just started our family -- Victoria had given birth to our son, Shaun, just a few scant months before. We just barely made it to the local vault, Vault 111, when we heard what was happening -- we even had to leave our family robot, Codsworth, behind. I still feel guilty about that, even if HE somehow managed to survive the centuries too. . . [shakes head] But we descended into the underground vault and were told we could have a whole new life down there -- once we were properly cleaned of any potential radiation, that is. So if we could just suit up and step into these pods here. . .

[scowls at nothing] I didn’t know this at the time, but the vaults built by Vault-Tec? Supposedly our greatest protection against nuclear annihilation? Almost all sick experiments designed to test the “citizens of tomorrow.” I’ve seen a vault that was supposed to continually infect the population with terrible diseases -- fortunately the Overseer actually had a conscience and nipped that one in the bud -- and one that was trying to breed “super-children” via brainwashing and genetic manipulation? But Vault 111′s experiment was cryogenic freezing. They froze all of us, apparently just to study what would happen to us. The problem was, the damn vault wasn’t set up for long-term study -- I found this out from the computer logs after the fact, but there was only enough food for the security and support staff for 180 days or so. And when it ran out, the security staff rioted. As far as I could see, everyone either ended up dying or escaping, leaving us all to just -- stay in our pods indefinitely.

Except, years later -- I’m still fuzzy on the exact timeline, but then again I was frozen for so much of it -- some scientists and a mercenary for the Institute -- a lab under the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, currently terrorizing the surface world -- invaded the vault, unfroze us -- and opened Victoria’s pod and kidnapped Shaun. Shooting her when she tried to fight back. And then. . .

Then they put me back on ice. 

Just me.

My neighbors, my friends -- Emily died in the pods as their life supports failed. And of course, Victoria didn’t survive the bullet to the head. Meaning, when I was finally released by some sort of remote signal sent by those same people. . .I was the only survivor. Except for Shaun, but of course -- 

We have a lead. We have a kid who we think is Shaun, now ten years old, who was living with the mercenary, and who is apparently in the Institute now. Meaning I’ve got to find my way in there. But -- we don’t have proof it’s really Shaun, or some sort of weird trick. Which means my son could still be a baby. . .or he could be. . .

[yeah, Victor’s gonna lose the battle to cry now]