#emergency survival hacks

[noviceoutdoors]

Zippo Fire Starting 7 In1 Multi Tool? Oh No!

This was dissapointing, started strong bad ending. This from ZIPPO, I was suitably shocked Moral of this story….keep it simple, stick with what you are good at. Remember knowledge is a survival skill NS

[novicesurvivalist]

Zippo Fire Starting 7 In1 Multi Tool? Oh No!

This was dissapointing, started strong bad ending. This from ZIPPO, I was suitably shocked Moral of this story….keep it simple, stick with what you are good at. Remember knowledge is a survival skill NS

[hennethgalad]

who has terracotta pots anymore?

looks interesting tho, cheap, simple, green

[familythings]

Discover 5 TOP Foods That Never Expire!

A recent study from the National Center for Food Preservation shows that some foods can last a long time if stored properly. What are these foods that never go bad? Honey Honey is one of those foods that never spoils. It’s known for its antibacterial properties, making it popular in traditional medicine worldwide. If you keep it cool and dry, it can last indefinitely, tasting just as good for…

[reiderwriter]

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC. 

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future. 

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field. 

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe). 

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.” 

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn���t sound too bad right now at all. 

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat. 

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab. 

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?” 

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder. 

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes. 

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things. 

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused. 

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen. 

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general. 

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies. 

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day. 

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.  

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way. 

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips.  When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping  his bag a little tighter to him. 

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.” 

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?” 

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away. 

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk. 

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.” 

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent. 

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable. 

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence. 

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading. 

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time. 

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.”  He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him. 

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply. 

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away. 

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.  

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could. 

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond. 

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?” 

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space. 

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen. 

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you. 

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office. 

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt. 

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat. 

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you  grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention. 

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same. 

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer. 

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.” 

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line? 

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you. 

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before. 

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face. 

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again. 

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist,  and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now. 

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat. 

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed. 

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?” 

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove. 

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now 

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.  

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.  

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind. 

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day. 

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?”  You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him. 

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands.  Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands. 

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night. 

-X-

[horsefigureoftheday]

when i was like seven (?) i had this friend at daycamp who really liked horses and liked to bring her horse figures to camp with her so we would play with them when the activity the counselors had on was boring . so one day we were playing with the horse figures and we, somehow, became CONVINCED that one of the horse figures was with child, and she needed an emergency C-section IMMEDIATELY or else the baby wouldn't survive . so for the next hour or so we went around asking the counselors and older kids if they had knives or scissors that we could borrow . eventually one of the counselors gave us a pair of scissors so we went back to our autism corner and started absolutely hacking away at the horse figure's stomach . just fucking stabbing the thing . after a few minutes a different counselor came over and saw us hunched over this horse figure stabbing it with scissors and was like Yeah No, for obvious reasons, and took the scissors away. we decided that because we had been unable to finish the "surgery", the horse figure had died in childbirth, along with the unborn foal . we held a dual funeral for them on the playground complete with Burying The Thang. sometimes i wonder if another kid at that camp ever dug up that horse figure . yes i am autistic and yes she probably was too

Absolutely incredible - I love how kids process things and play pretend!!

I used to play that my horses and dinos were at war with a poacher who systematically picked them off one by one, with the help of this turncoat son of a bitch

He was too gay snobbish to live in the wild with the rest, so he turned to the enemy. He would've voted for the Leopards Eating Faces Party. My problematic fave<3

[pandoraspurgatory]

Ghosts of Hanahaki

Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader. Implied established relationship. HANAHAKI disease AU

Graphic themes ahead, Minors DNI. TW below

TW: Su1c1de in graphic detail, death, vomit, blood, major angst/whump. No happy endings here! You’ve been warned

Tomura wheezed, he couldn’t yet decipher what was sweeter, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth or the hint of magnolias on his tongue.

His lungs burned, what left of his shallow body paced around the leagues home, his footsteps accompanied by the sound of retching and laboured coughs. He grimaced in pain as the petals fluttered out of his mouth with each hack, chrysanthemums weren’t so beautiful when covered in mucus and blood

The league had little to no fight left, not for Tomura, he was long gone. The house was a filthy mess, what was once a home filled with laughter and enticing schemes, was now a cesspit of despair and utter loneliness.

The bath was still stained with blood even months later, what left of you settled in the grout of the bathroom tiles. Scrubbing the remnants of you felt like a final farewell nobody was yet ready to confront.

Mouldy bumpers and half smoked cigarettes lay littered in the dining room, a memoir of Dabis attempt to ignore the situation. Toga had left weeks ago, hopefully to someplace better, you always wanted her to do bigger things anyway.

Hanahaki disease wasn’t near as much of a threat as it used to be, not with the quirks and technology possessed by people in this day and age. It was painful of course, but easily treatable with specialised medication and a hint of shame walking out of the doctors office.

Not Tomura though, the moment this started and a small pink petal escaped his lips, he made his decision to rot in the shame of his fatal mistake. Atoning for his ignorance in a slow form of suicide.

Tomura knew of the cures, with how rotten, heinous and sex obsessed society was, most of the population was bound to develop Hanahaki at least once in their lives. In some cultures it was almost a right of passage, a fucked up version of loosing one’s virginity.

2 months ago the unthinkable, though painstakingly unsurprising finally emerged through the cracks of your well played facade.

Instead of going out in a blaze of glory, surrounded by your comrades as you fought to save society and liberate the slums of the streets… You died convulsing and choking on rancid tasting vomit in a battered porcelain bathtub, wrists slit and eyes dull.

It was hours before you were stumbled upon, taking effort to end yourself while the league were out of the house, it seemed like the most polite thing to do.

It’s what you attempted to convince yourself, in truth you didn’t want your mind to be swayed, or to risk any chance of survival. Truely believing it was better this way, and maybe it was in the long run, it’s not like finding out is an option after the actions you imposed on yourself.

_________________

Tomura walked through the half broken in entryway, Spinner tailing close behind him. After slumping down on the couch, Spinner poured two glasses of whiskey into the fanciest cups they had, handing one to Tomura as he loaded up his league of legends disc.

Solo mode did have its perks of course, though Tomura found it much more stimulating fighting against his best friend. It was often crudely competitive of course, though a quick dose of dopamine before whatever mission was forced on them next.

Through laughter and slowly sipping at their drinks, as well as yelling at painfully long loading screens, the distant sound of dripping slithered its way into Tomuras ears.

He was easily overstimulated in the best of situations, however with the clearly unpaid wifi bill disrupting the game paired with the cheap whiskey dancing on his tongue, he felt himself slowly slip into frustration.

“Fucking Toga, left the tap on again, just another water bill on my ass”

Spinner smirked, taking a quick swig before responding “Relax it Shig, your Master will pay for it, you know that… your girl home?”

He ran his hands through his greasy hair, groaning in frustration, muttering something under his breath about how Toga should know better “yeah, probably having a nap, she’s sleepy”.

Minutes went by quickly as the game finally loaded after Spinner blew the grocery money on the wifi bill. The quickening dripping sound only drilling into Tomuras ears more each second. With a unsatisfied groan Tomura forced his way off the couch, kicking over a Mountain Dew can as he trudged his way into the bathroom. Spinners rapid clicks of the controller didn’t drown out the sound that came from the other end of the house moments later.

The shrill cry pierced his ears. He didnt need to think twice about who it came from. Spinner had heard Tomura in all his moods, whether it was a raspy laugh at a shitty joke, or a grating shout at the wifi failing. Spinner consistently recognised the voice of his closest companion.

He hadn’t heard Tomura like this before, Spinners legs moved faster than his thoughts as he sprinted towards the bathroom, he didn’t know what to expect. For all he knew it could be the second time Tomura encountered a spider in the toilet, though something was amiss.

The scene was gruesome, scalding bile threatened to force its way out of his throat as he looked at the situation before him. The League of course was no stranger to murder and death, but to those who deserved it, those who single handedly carved their own macabre demises.

You laid in the bathroom, in an old t shirt of Tomuras. Your eyes wide open and face covered in vomit and half digested pills. Spinner had never bothered to notice how strong blood smelt prior to this moment, it was sharp and metallic, enough to make him want to collapse. Your wrists dripped onto the tiled floor, mimicking a tap not screwed tight enough.

Blood pooled on the ground below, slit wrists coagulated with dark sticky clots that melted to the floor. How long had you sat here? 2 hours? 3?

The silence was broken by Tomura, his voice shaky on the brink of a mental break, he hissed through clenched teeth.

“She’s sick Spinner, get a glass of water and I’ll put her into bed”

He was taken aback, he knew Tomura wasn’t the most mentally stable man out there, though this had snapped something in him.

“Hurry up Spinner!” He begged, taking long dragged breaths as he rocked back and forth, holding your face in his hands. “She needs to go rest!”

Spinners heart raced. The empty look in your eyes, the purple marks indicating blood pooling under your skin, the way your joints cracked as Tomura attempted to move you.

People would have to be blind to miss the fact that rigor mortis had embraced you before Tomura did.

Dabi and Compress arrived soon after, it took hours of pleading, convincing and restraint to pry your cold and stiff body from Tomuras desperate grasp.

__________

Dabi knew

Spinner knew

Compress knew

Twice knew

They all knew that Tomura didn’t have long left, it was no use fighting the inevitable. The only good parts of him rotted into the tiles, just like you.

What was the point of curing his disease when he wasn’t rejected, but cruelty abandoned by the one who claimed to love him to most?

Only a matter of days later flowers sprouted from Tomuras body. The final stage pastel petals brought much needed comfort to him, much like the hands of his family he dawned on his body when you first met.

The reminders of the lives he took worn on his body as he took his last breath in the bathtub, a last ditch effort to be closer to you.

As much as the league tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault, it was his antidepressants clasped in your hand when he let go of your body.

[super-ion]

The Voyages of the Padua

Chapter 1

(next chapter)

The first thing she was aware of was the alarm.

She hated it.

The shrill piercing cacophony of it cut straight through the glass wall of the tank into her head.

Then came awareness of the cold.

She hated the cold even more then the alarm.

It was a horrible, terrible cold, a deathly cold. No living thing should ever have to experience this sort of cold.

Her very first impressions of the universe were that it was a harsh, discordant, uncomfortable place and she wished that she could just slip back into the oblivion of non-being.

Then came the injections. Sharp needles from the auto injector bit into her spine and began filling her central nervous system with a cocktail of chemicals that burned like wildfire.

She shifted uncomfortably in tight space as the chemicals seared her nerves, waking up her lizard brain and… oh…

Oh!

The most basic animal instincts inside her came awake.

Survive survive survive!

She was trapped.

She was trapped in a very small enclosed space.

It suddenly became critically important that she not be inside a cryo tank.

She needed to escape. She needed to breathe.

She pounded her fists against the glass and a moment later, some mechanism cracked and hissed. Then she was unceremoniously disgorged, landing painfully on her knees as cryo fluids sluiced through the grated floor.

She scrabbled to remove the breathing mask from her face, nails tearing skin painfully.

She needed to breath! She needed to…

Ah! Finally!

She flung the loosened mask aside and took her first breaths, the cold, sterile air slicing her throat like a knife.

She knelt there, alternately gulping the air and hacking and coughing.

Something… less than a memory, more than an instinct surfaced in her mind.

The most common side effect of extended cryosleep is disorientation. In the event of an emergency, you may find yourself confused in an unfamiliar location. It is vital that you remain calm and follow the direction of posted instructions if attendants are not present.

Remain calm and follow posted instructions. That seemed easy enough.

She rose shakily to her feet, attempted to take a step and tripped over the tangle of tubes and wires that were still attached to various ports on her body.

An image flashed in her mind. A screaming baby, still wet with amniotics, still tethered to its umbilical cord.

Against her will, a laugh bubbled out of her, high and hysterical. That was her, wasn't it? A new baby thrust violently into the universe.

The only difference was that she wasn't the one doing the screaming. The ship seemed perfectly intent on doing plenty of screaming for everyone.

A starship. That was right, she was on a starship en route to… somewhere.

Where…?

Who... who was she??

Did memory loss qualify as disorientation? She couldn't recall amnesia being on the list of statistically probable side effects of cryosleep. How exactly was she able to recall the statistically probable side effects of cryosleep, but not her own name?

The alarm kept on screaming and screaming and screaming.

It was an evacuation alarm.

That meant something, somewhere on the ship, had gone seriously to shit and she needed to move if she wanted to survive. She needed to get to an assembly area and receive further instructions.

Survive now, existential crisis later.

She tugged at the network of umbilicals, and immediately regretted it as several painfully held fast to her.

Shouldn't someone be here to help her? Weren't there supposed to be attendants for this sort of thing? She was alone when she really shouldn't be.

Also, she had ports cybernetically grafted onto her. Was that normal? Maybe, but it seemed like a lot, more cybernetic ports than a person ought to have.

As she struggled with the umbilicals, she looked up the row of cryo pods. A few were dark. A few were open and empty… they probably had been for a long time judging by the state of them, with no apparent condensation or residual moisture from the fluids.

Did they just leave her behind? Why would they do that? Had she done something to deserve being left behind?

She glanced behind her and froze. One pod, maybe half a dozen away from hers had also recently opened. Except the glass of the tank was cracked and the withered corpse on the floor clearly hadn't died recently.

Well, that wasn't good.

A wave of nausea swept through her at the sight of it and she heaved... only there was nothing in her stomach, just a taste of bile in the back of her throat.

Remain calm. Follow posted instructions. Survive.

Survive survive survive survive survive

At some point, the stims would wear off and she would crash. She would crash hard. She needed to get safe before that happened.

One final umbilical, connecting to her forearm, stubbornly refused to disengage.

She was running out of time.

She brought the tube to her mouth and bit down as hard as she could, cutting through the bitter material and releasing a splash of sickly sweet fluids on her tongue. She coughed and spat once more, but she was finally free.

Posted instructions. Where…?

Her eyes fell on the big red stripe along the wall and the placards with the large arrows and the pictograms for “decontamination” and “lockers”.

No time for decontamination.

She was naked. Of course she was, why wouldn't she be naked in a cryo pod.

And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?

“What the fuck?” she croaked hoarsely.

Who the hell was she that her subconscious was quoting scripture at a time like this?

A moment later, her brain processed the sound of her own voice. Something deep inside her stirred, some deep hurt that had scarred over.

Heart pounding, she looked down, taking inventory of her body.

The good news was that it was, in fact, her body. On the whole, it was familiar on some deep fundamental level that even her addled brain understood.

The bad news was... that it was her body. It was hers, but parts of it were… wrong. They always had been. The wrong DNA instructions directed creation of the wrong configuration, the wrong hormonal balance. Somebody, presumably whoever she had been before she went to sleep, had taken great effort to fix what they could, but there were aspects of it that would never be quite right.

“Okay,” she said, testing out her voice at a slightly higher register, “okay, looks like… uh… so there's a lot to unpack there… but one problem at a time, okay?”

The most pressing concern at the moment (aside from the incessant wailing of the alarms declaring her imminent demise) was clothing. She was already shivering and trembling in the chill air. Getting to safety would be useless if she succumbed to hypothermia.

She staggered in the direction of the lockers. Another mental image, a nature documentary, a baby gazelle only a few moments old tottering to its feet.

“It would be nice if these random ass memories contained useful information,” she muttered.

She reached out a steadying hand to the wall, letting the red stripe guide her to the locker room.

“Cryostasis Bay 3” the signage read in four languages. She was apparently fluent in two and passingly familiar in a third… interesting.

Twenty-some pods in bay 3. Extrapolating, that meant at least sixty crew and/or passengers. Likely more, it seemed wrong somehow that there would be an odd number of cryo bays. So where was everyone?

The locker room itself was sizeable, several rows with a constellation of red and green lights that she assumed indicated their locked or unlocked status.

A tremor started beneath her feet, subtle at first, but it rose to a dull distant rumble before subsiding once more.

“Oh… that's not good.”

A ship like this, a ship this size, shouldn't vibrate like that.

What sort of ship was this then? And what was it to her? Was it home? Or was it just a place between here and there?

The questions were piling up faster than she cared for them to.

She hoped that a place that was supposed to be a home would feel more familiar.

The errant thought left a painful ache in her chest.

“You didn't know where home was either, did you?”

The ghost of whoever she had been didn't reply.

She shook her head and stepped toward the location where the red lines converged. The office labeled “reception” in those same four languages was dark, no surprise there, but there was some manner of self service kiosk immediately adjacent.

How would she…?

She glanced at her inner wrist, where a barcode was tattooed on her skin. Okay, that was potentially useful.

Right above the barcode was another tattoo. A cluster of snow drops.

Galanthus. First flower to bloom in the spring.

Somewhat less useful than the barcode. Significantly more opaque in its significance.

And… of course the screen on the kiosk was black. She held her wrist vainly up to the scanner port, then came the pleading, then the smacking of the screen and the side of the kiosk. Nothing.

“Shit,” she said, fighting back a frustrated sob. It was just her luck that the one stupid machine that could potentially provide a clue about her identity was out of service.

Might as well start opening lockers at random and hope for the best.

She wrenched open the nearest greenlit locker.

Nothing.

She shoved back mounting panic and tried the next.

Eureka!

This locker contained a shrink wrapped packet of unisex undergarments, two hanging coveralls, and a pair of halfway decent looking boots.

Now she was getting somewhere.

The coveralls were plain, simply adorned, and well made, the exact kind of thing one would expect on a long haul freighter. No rank insignia, so clearly not military. Civilian? Corporate? This ship didn't seem corporate.

She grabbed one of the coveralls and yanked it out for a closer examination. The space above one breast bore a circular parts patch: a downward curving crescent, probably meant to be the horizon of a planet, a single four pointed star, and the text “Eosphorus”.

Eosphorus. Dawn Bringer. Morning Star.

The name didn't evoke anything within her beyond vague notions of etymology and mythology.

The other breast bore a smaller patch: a simple rectangle with “Cassidy” embroidered on it.

A name? There were no accompanying initials, so probably a surname, but it held even less relevance than Eosphorus had.

A bit of color caught her eye, a tiny splash of green against the sterile backdrop of the rest of the locker room. Posted to the inside of the door was a photograph of a man and a woman posed in front of a majestic vista. Yosemite. Half dome.

She didn't recognize either of their faces. There wasn't even any clear indication which one was Cassidy.

Nor did either of them resemble the bedraggled face that peered out of the tiny mirror just above the photograph.

Gods above and below, she was a mess. Her dark red hair was wet and tangled. Her cheeks were sunken and scratched from her fight with the breathing mask. Dark circles bordered eyes that seemed… tired? Sad?

She shook her head once more and tore open one of the packets. The undergarments fit well enough (though the tank top was a bit tight in a way that made her slightly giddy). The coverall was sized generically and she gave silent thanks to Cassidy, whoever he or she or they or whatever were, for being built similarly to her.

The boots, however, were another matter. Two sizes too small was going to get her nowhere fast and she couldn't very well go barefoot.

It was another ten lockers before she found a pair that actually fit. Along the way, she had managed to collect: seventeen photos (none of them her), four necklaces, a wedding ring (too big), three religious icons (all from unrelated denominations), five pocket sized books (two religious texts, two fantasy novels, one introductory text on the history of mathematics) and a teddy bear.

As she hurried to lace the boots, she stared at the bear, slightly baffled. Everything else was shoved away in one pocket or another on her person.

Why exactly had she collected everything? Wouldn't it have been more practical to leave it all behind? None of these things meant anything to her? Should they have? Who were the people that they belonged to? Were they crewmates or fellow passengers? Friends?

What if she took all these things and their owners came back looking for them? Would they hate her for taking them?

But then why had all these things been left behind in the first place?

What if they never came back at all and the ship exploded and she was haunted forever by the knowledge that she abandoned the only physical evidence that any these people had ever lived at all?

She looked up at the rows and rows of green lights that she hadn't checked yet.

The ship rumbled again, louder this time, and the lights flickered ominously.

Right. Imminent death.

She would save what she could.

She grabbed the teddy bear and shoved it into a generic duffle bag emblazoned with the Eosphorus mission patch along with the second Cassidy coverall and two more packets of the undergarments, and ran towards the far end of the locker room.

Her legs were steadier now, her stride stronger and more purposeful. But her left hand was experiencing the beginnings of a tremor, an early warning for the inevitable chemical crash.

How much time did she have?

The stripe was blue this time, with logograms for the assembly area. She hoped to all the gods and spirits that further instructions in some form or another would be waiting for her there.

[cedarxwing]

Hello!!

What do you think made Will bluebeard's last wife? And how did Will understand that Hannibal was in love with him when he had the bluebeard discussion with Bedelia?

Hello! I see that someone already answered this question here, but I'll try to put my own spin on it.

Some context:

In the folktale, Bluebeard is a wealthy man whose wives keep mysteriously disappearing. He gives his seventh wife the key to all the locked doors in their house, but tells her not to open the door to the basement ("Secrets you're not to know, yet sworn to keep"). Of course, the wife goes snooping and discovers the corpses of all his former wives. It's a classic Pandora/Psyche myth with a horrific twist.

Key point: Bluebeard's seventh and final wife survives, inherits his fortune, and lives happily ever after.

The Bluebeard analogy is honestly perfect for Hannibal's character because it highlights the way he destroys everyone he loves. He brings a series of "wives" behind the veil (Miriam, Abigail, Gideon) and all of them end up maimed, mentally broken, or dead. This pattern echoes his childhood behavior, originating with the consumption of Mischa and developing with his mind games with Chiyoh. "Every family loves differently. Every love is unique." Hannibal expresses love through destruction and consumption.

Bedelia understands this. When she says she would've preferred to be Bluebeard's last wife, she means that she would've preferred to be the one who escaped Hannibal and lived happily ever after. She does not want to be on the receiving end of Hannibal's "love."

There's a deleted scene in the Antipasto script where she says the same line to Dimmond:

Basically, "Help me lock this monster up, because I'm not going to be one of his victims. I do want his money, though."

The same line, said accusingly to Will, takes on a different meaning. Hannibal is courting a new partner, and if Bedelia isn't his final wife anymore... well, she's going to end up in the basement with the rest. @genufa wrote an interesting analysis on this concept here.

Now, let's zoom out and view the whole conversation from Will's perspective:

Will can't let go of the fact that Bedelia emerged from Hannibal's influence completely unscathed, whereas Hannibal took--and continues to take--everything from Will. He's operating on his understanding of the Chesapeake Ripper: "Contrapasso. You play, you pay." So why does Hannibal make Will pay again and again and again, while Bedelia got away with mere psychological torment? According to Chesapeake Ripper logic, that would mean Bedelia is preferred, right?

Before this conversation, Will doesn't understand how Hannibal expresses love ( @suchawrathfullamb wrote a lovely post about this). He thinks that everything Hannibal did to him (encephalitis era, prison era, honeytrap codependency era, Mizumono, the Primavera human heart, the attempted brain-eating in Dolce) was out of pure sadism. If Hannibal found him more interesting than Randall, Margot, and his other violent patients, it was only because his empathy and involvement with the FBI made him a rare specimen.

[BOOK TANGENT TIME! Oh boy, my favorite!! :D]

Will's misdiagnosis of Hannibal's ability to love was inspired by this piece of hack psychoanalysis in chapter 51 of Hannibal:

^ This is clearly posed as an incorrect interpretation of Hannibal Lecter:

Yes, Hannibal is excited by distress, but he loves those who bear distress beautifully, with strength, courage, and discipline. This is how he comes to care for people like Abigail, Jack, and Bella. And, of course, Will suffers the most pornographically beautifully of all.

[END BOOK TANGENT]

"It's distress that excites him," Will thinks. So it catches his attention when Bedelia says of his forehead scar, "It excites [Hannibal] to see you marked in this particular way." Why? Why this particular way? Is it a mark of ownership (the metaphorical facial theory)? A symbol of the permanent effect Hannibal had on him? This is Bedelia's first hint that Will's distress means more to Hannibal than punishment or sadistic entertainment.

When Bedelia turns the Bluebeard analogy back on Will, it finally clicks for him that distress/destruction/consumption is the pattern of Hannibal's love, and the fact that Hannibal tortures Will more than anyone else means that Will holds a place of honor in his heart. With this context, Hannibal's attempt to eat his brain becomes an act of adoration. The mark on his forehead becomes a laurel wreath.

To answer your first question, I don't think "Bluebeard's last wife" is a great analogy for Will.

First of all, Bedelia never called him that. She implied that Will was becoming the next wife, emphasizing the threat associated with Hannibal's affection. Bluebeard's last wife would've ended up in the basement too if she hadn't been clever enough to escape, and Will doesn't seem particularly clever to Bedelia at this point. Even Will admits his surrender: "I don't know if I can save myself, and maybe that's just fine."

Second of all, Bluebeard's last wife betrays him to the authorities, and Will does the exact opposite in TWOTL. I guess you could interpret "I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time," as "I'm planning to kill him myself," but passionately embracing Hannibal before gently dragging him off a cliff in a failed murder-suicide doesn't read as "Bluebeard's last wife" behavior to me.

If Will is to be Bluebeard's last wife, it's because Hannibal's love for him breaks the pattern, meaning Hannibal is no longer Bluebeard. A true fairytale ending. <3

[ikkosu]

G1 Wheeljack with human reader who conducts silly little experiments like Nilered does :3

Ex: https://youtu.be/LmAG8-V_WQY?si=1EU4d5B6NLclxKJh

https://youtu.be/NIVkBs7oWDI?si=Oyuj50EpNKTFycfH

WHEELJACK.READER

hi foxy!! how dare you make me learn chemistry/j

"Alright, kid. You can go right ahead and ignore that flask. Don't, worry. It's not gonna pop. So, what we want to do is—"

It did, indeed, pop. Vehemently, too. An explosion rattled the laboratory. More specifically, from the same flask he told you to ignore and now the entire room is cloaked with...dust? Yellow, jaundice dust floating around, opaque and thick.

You blink and hacked, flapping a hand to clear away the smog. You make out Wheeljack's silhouette amidst the daze. He's also trying to clear out the air with his servos, vents chuffing, equivalent of a sneeze.

"That's. That's suppose to happen, right?"

His 'gills', or that's what you call it, at least, flares up as he spoke. He's still clutching the green vial in his hand.

"What's suppose to happen?"

"The explosion? The dust? Half of the base's missing a left wing?"

"Oh, yeah. That." He scratches his helm, humming, swivelling around. As you said, there would be — a good chunk of the room had been blown off. How the two of you managed to survive that was beyond him.

"Could be because I set the burner too high."

You narrowed your eyes. "The manual said minimal, at most, though."

You weren't even sure if he was aware a manual existed, in the first place.

"Hm?" He snaps to you, blue optics widening a little. " It said minimal? Swore, I read it as maximum..."

"How did you even—"

The laboratory was unceremoniously barged through. A dark silhouette of red emerges from the fog. Perceptor skids across the floor, hacking and flapping a servo to clear the air as he scampered towards you.

" What is the meaning of this?" He's on the verge of strangling Wheeljack the moment he sees him. "And, why wasn't the alarm working?!"

"Oh, right. The alarm. Figured I'd used it for spare parts—"

"Spare parts!?"

"We'll put it back, though." Was your assurance and held up what's left of the concocted alarm to his face.

He doesn't seem assured once after skimming across the chunk of wall blown apart and his alarm brutally slaughtered. The sharpshooter stands there, distraught and baffled. His servos twitched and you were sure, if he had his gun, it'd definitely go off.

"What did you do?" His optics dangerously flicker to you and your science buddy..

"An experiment." Wheeljack simply replies. The green vial sloshing as he moves. "Conjuring something the humans would call interesting."

Perceptor is silent but the look on his face clearly says why? But of course, you didn't get the memo and started rambling off. Perceptor is now staring at the blown up wall and simultaneously digesting your words.

"....and, we heated up the white phosphorus, which clearly was set too high on temperature, thanks for that Wheeljack, in order to get Red-P. Then, after — the electroluminescent coating for this stink bomb we are working on—"

"Your what?"

[carolmunson]

love language three

sick fic. eddie cares for you. love language set list

the groan. you don’t make it often. a groan that’s so sweet sounding to him it might as well be a whine. heat on your cheeks -- you shake under the covers like a terrified child, trembling. his caress is cool water on your warm face. his smile, on the other hand, makes you pout.

“i know, but we gotta break that fever somehow,” he murmurs, running a soaked and freezer’d face cloth over your forehead. and there it was — the groan.

“poor baby,” he pouts back at you, hand coming up to feel your neck and chest, “you’ve been burnin’ up all afternoon.” he likes it when you’re sick, all hacking coughs and puke buckets, all monster and mouse in one. always so sweet for him, but always so mean at first. sweet and sour. pouty and tired. just a little needy for a change. that was what he liked the most, that part — the groan.

“what do you need, huh?” he asks, “what's wrong?”

"everything hurts," you say with a scrunch of your face, he sees your figure tense and relax under the blankets he's had you tucked under all morning, "i think i'm gonna go stand in the shower."

when you get up he reaches out to you, supporting your weight while you shuffle out of the bedroom. soft whispers of 'i got you, honey' and 'its okay, i know' when your body shakes from the change in temperature and a soft whimper escapes your mouth. if you weren't so sick he'd kiss you all over. "you want me to get in with you?" he asks, "just hold you a little?" you shake your head no, "you won't like it." "oh, are you taking a hell shower?" he asks unamused, and even in your state you manage a lazy giggle, he melts, "that can't be good for your skin." he turns the water on for you, making a face when you encourage him to twist the knob further towards the faded 'H' on the whethered and stained hardware, "it doesn't have to be good for my skin, it just feels good." he watches you shiver and frowns, helping you undress and keeping you warm while the water heats up to scalding. maybe you can singe all the pain away. eddie wouldn't know, he doesn't understand how you can stand in water that would turn his skin as red as the les paul hanging on the wall in your bedroom. you step in and he sits on the toilet seat, savoring the sound of your relieved sigh as you let the water soothe your aching joints. "hm," he hears come from behind the curtain. sweet like honey. "that feel nice?" he asks softly. your quiet 'mhm' soothes him the way the water soothes you. he gets up as the steam starts to billow out from the shower, frizzing his hair. he peaks in, seeing your resting your head on the plastic tile, eyes closed and peaceful, "don't fall asleep in there, baby," he chuckles. "hm," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips, the first sense of relief you've felt all day. "gonna order you something to eat, okay?" he asks, "want somethin' spicy to clear out your nose?" you nod, eyes still shut, breath steadying. when you finally get out of the shower, you see a set of his clothes on the sink. his big sweatpants and old megadeath t-shirt that you claimed as yours years ago. the water helped some to ease the pain in your joints, but not enough to save you from the temperature change and the left over ache. you groan. "you okay?" he asks, "need some help?" "no thank you," you say -- so quiet and stuffy. you cough hard enough behind the door that he winces. when you emerge, you're still all hot cheeks and grumpy features. "got you some hot and sour soup," he smiles, you smile back weakly. your stomach lurches at the though of food, but you know you have to eat something. you can't survive solely off mucus. you sit back on the bed with your eyes closed while he covers your legs with the blankets again, your soup sitting on a tray close by. "you gotta eat, honey," he says gently. cool water hands on your hot wet skin while he checks your temperature again. your brows furrow, eyes still closed, you groan. you know there's a winning smile of his behind your eyelids, but you can't find the energy to open them and look. you hear him maneuver onto the bed, the clink of the cutlery while he picks up a spoon. "open," he says. you giggle half heartedly. "you gonna spoon feed me?" you ask, scratchy and followed by a painful cough. "i am," he chuckles, "open." you do, the warm broth and spice hiyting your tongue in a way that feels as good as the shower. your head rolls to relieve the tension in your neck before you take the second spoon full. "hm," you hum with heavy lids while you finally look at him. a sleepy thank you. "hm," he replies, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. a caring your welcome. when you're done eating he brings you some cold medicine and some water, watching you settle back down into bed. both of you hoping you'll wake up drenched in sweat the next morning.

[huffelpuff210]

Taken Car of Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Soft Dark Bucky Barnes x Reader

Taken Care of Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Soft Dark Bucky Barnes x  Reader 

Summary: You suffered the loss of a still born baby, You are best friends with the two super soliders, but what happens when they come to comfort you 

Warning: Mentions of a loss of a baby, mentions of depression, mentions of drinking, baby trapping, breeding kink, forced relationship, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, Non Con

You stare out the window of your small town house home, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you watch the snow fall, a small cup of hot chocolate in your hands, you catch a gimps of your refection, your hair a knotted mess, dark circles under your eyes, your eyes puffy from all the crying, 

It had been three months, since it happened, you close your eyes at the memory when you first found out you were pregnant you were so thrilled, you were excited at the thought of being a mom, 

You didn’t really have any parental figures growing up your parents died when you were ten, and you jumped foster homes, running away at just fifteen, learning to survive when you realized you had a talent for hacking and building stuff, 

At age eighteen you were recruited by Tony Stark and shield Now only twenty two you had an amazing job and place to call home, that’s where you met Steve and Bucky, you and the two super soliders were close,

You met your ex boyfriend at the nearby coffee shop on your break, the two of you dated for about a year and a half when you found out about being pregnant he was less than thrilled about the news, when you told the two super soliders Bucky told you he was a dick and needed to be taught a lesson, Steve on the other hand said he didn’t deserve you, But still He was trying sort of, his first reaction was for you to abort the baby, but that was not how you worked, the two of you fought for two weeks about the situation, 

When he realized you were not going to do that he left you, you didn’t care, you were so happy to be having a baby, setting up your spare room as a nursery, 

You wipe a tear away from your cheek, 

You were 39 weeks, when you got your ultrasound finding out that he wasn’t moving, they did an emergency C-Section and he was still born, Meaning he wasn’t alive. It broke your heart, you knew it was from all the stress your Ex had put on you. 

You took a leave of absence from the avengers for the time being, they understood, Steve and Bucky had been away on a mission when everything happened, no one was allowed to call them since they were undercover and you didn’t want to frankly, 

Everyone tried calling you or coming by to at least check on you but you never answered, you just didn’t have the heart to talk about how you were, 

You were a mess, your home was a mess, you no longer ate, or slept, all you could think about was losing him, your child, you never got to witness his first cry, or see him open his eyes, You were never going to see him smile for the first time, or celebrate his first birthday, you could feel the tears falling from your face again, setting the coco down and burying your head in your knees, 

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door, You didn’t bother moving, you just assumed it was Wanda or Nat they both checked on you daily but you never would answer, 

The knock was loud, You look at the clock it was past three in the morning, 

“Y/N, we know you are in there open the door.” You hear Steve’s voice, 

Still you don’t make any attempts to move, 

You keep your head buried in your knees, the knocking gets louder, 

“Y/N open the damn door before I knock it down!” You hear Bucky, 

They must have just gotten back for their mission and heart the news, 

You sigh, standing up walking down the stairs to the living room where it is littered with bottles of beer, water bottles and all sorts of trash, you are a Meticulous cleaner, you keep your place and work space clean as a whistle but you didn’t have the energy to care, 

the blanket still draped over your shoulders, wearing a black spaghetti strapped tank top, and red plaid pajama pants, you unlock the front door, cracking it slightly seeing the two super soliders, 

“What do you want?” Your voice raspy from crying, they looked at each other 

“Let us in.” Bucky says 

“No.” You try to shut the door in their faces but Steve’s hand stops the door, 

“That wasn’t a request.” He says they both walk past you. 

“Tony says you haven’t been in work for three months, or answering anyone’s calls.” Steve says 

You sigh shutting the door. 

“So.” You say walking past them, 

“Do you two want anything to drink?’ You say walking into the kitchen. 

“We didn’t come here for refreshments kitten.” Bucky says 

“Then why did you come?” You asked looking over your shoulder as you are looking in the fridge bent over

“We are worried.” Steve says 

“Don’t be I’m fine.” You say

“Really? Because by the looks of this place and you, it doesn’t seem that way.” Bucky says 

All you had in the fridge was beer and juice so you grabbed a beer, opening it, They were highly concerned because you were not a big drinker, But you didn’t care, you didn’t care you didn’t care about anything you just wanted this pain to stop, just as you were about to take a sip Bucky took it from your hand, 

You sighed, 

“Why are you to here?” You ask, 

“Because we heard what happened,” Steve says 

You sighed again walking towards your couch sitting down. 

“Look I appreciate it but I’m fin-” You began, 

“No your not, and we are not leaving now that we see the condition you are in.” Bucky says 

You look him in the eyes and for the first time since they arrived you can see a hint of anger but concern in his eyes. 

[kiyomitakada]

The ship lurched again.

Kiyomi Takada gritted her teeth as she thrust her hand out, catching herself against the bridge’s safety rails before she slammed into the walls. She raised her voice. “Mikami, status update!”

“The ship is fine!” Mikami yelled back faintly. She could hear him banging around in the main status panel at the back of the ship.

“Clearly it’s not!”

“I meant physically!”

“Code looks fine too,” Yagami added, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Nobody’s hacked in or anything.”

“Then how is this” — Kiyomi gestured at the instruments they hadn’t bothered to tie down flying around the bridge, the groaning metal walls, the planets in their viewing window tilting this way and that as the ship wobbled — “happening?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Yagami said grimly. Kiyomi peered over his shoulder; he was checking camera logs now. Still nothing. “Unless there’s a giant invisible magnet outside that’s moving really fast.”

Kiyomi had discovered very late into their acquaintanceship that Yagami, despite all appearances, had a bit of a weird imagination. It was endearing most of the time, but not when they were probably about to all get concussions and die.

Kiyomi clenched her jaw. She hated this. Her job as a communications officer was fulfilling, but in emergencies like these she felt as useless as an underwater basket weaver.

“I’m going to check the windows,” she said.

Yagami nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen. Kiyomi dashed off to the hallway into the back of the ship.

“Any updates?” Mikami asked, poking his head out of the panel. His perfectly groomed hair was now greasy with motor oil.

Kiyomi shook her head. “Anything I can help with?”

“No,” Mikami said, with the finality of an expert.

Kiyomi sighed. She’d figured that was the case. “Alright. Good luck, I suppose.”

Mikami nodded at her and ducked back in.

Kiyomi looked around, a little helplessly. The vibrations of the ship were stronger now. She darted into her room across the hall; the glass globe she kept on the windowsill, a gift from her father when she decided to sail, was shaking against its restraints so quickly that it was practically emitting music.

Kiyomi narrowed her eyes. Why did that remind her of something?

She rooted around in the back of her head, but turned up nothing. Kiyomi frowned. Maybe she should brush up on her textbooks again, if they didn’t all die here and now.

She pushed the flapping window blinds open perfunctorily, ready to turn and look for something else to do —

She froze.

That was… a person. There was a person outside, floating in the vacuum of space with no protection, blonde hair tied in two pigtails that swayed in a nonexistent breeze. Their eyes were closed. They were smiling.

Where their legs should have been was a long, shimmering black tail.

Kiyomi froze only briefly. Then she yelled: “Yagami!”

“What?”

“What do the starboard cameras see?”

“Space,” Yagami said. “And Aresthos X13 about 1.5 billion kilometers away.”

“Never mind that.” So they weren’t showing up on the camera feed, but were visible to regular humans?

Kiyomi remembered what the passage in her textbook said about this. Mermaids were almost extinct in the 32nd century; most had been poached for their scales, believed to have healing properties. (The human-level sentience of mermaids was established by the 28th century, but that had never stopped poachers before.) The few who had survived were theorized to have developed light manipulation techniques such that they could avoid detection when necessary.

Which meant that this mermaid was letting Kiyomi see them.

“I know what’s wrong,” Kiyomi said, letting the window blinds drop and pushing the door open.

Mikami pulled his head out of the panel again. “What?”

“There’s someone outside. A mermaid.”

Mikami’s face screwed up — not at the prospect of the mermaid but at the prospect of potential social interaction. “Oh god. What do they want?”

“To kill us all, most likely,” Kiyomi said. Her textbook hadn’t really elaborated on what mermaids tended to want. “I’ll go negotiate.”

“I suppose that means there’s nothing wrong with the ship?”

Kiyomi hesitated. Was it possible that the mermaid was unrelated?

Reports from before mermaids became endangered universally describe a mermaid encounter as a hazard, though it is often unclear why. Their suspected powers include manipulation of the metal around a spacecraft, manipulation of the visible light levels, and possibly manipulation of the mind.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Kiyomi said decisively. “It has to be our visitor.” She took a breath. “Go back to the bridge. I need you and Yagami ready to fire if anything goes wrong.”

Mikami paused. For a second Kiyomi was afraid he would object or pull seniority on her, but he nodded and extracted himself from the panel. “Discreetly, I assume.”

“Mm.” No need to let the mermaid know they had somewhat stronger firepower than an ordinary government-turned-merchant vessel probably should. “And do you know where the memetic shielding suits are?”

“In the closet with the rest.” Mikami pointed. “The blue ones.”

“Thank you,” Kiyomi said, and briskly power-walked over. A few slightly humiliating minutes struggling in the closet ensued before she was in the airlock, tying the extraction tether around her waist just in case.

She pressed the READY signal button on her suit.

“Cleared,” Yagami’s voice crackled in her ear, and the doors opened.

Instantly everything turned pitch-black.

Kiyomi’s breath involuntarily caught in her throat. There was a faint light she could see bobbing at the end of her tunnel of sight, but that was all. She whipped her head around. The ship was gone.

No, she reminded herself, not gone, she just couldn’t see it. Automatically she felt for the extraction tether; it was still there, taut as always. She exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Y’know, it’s not nice to look away when someone’s talking to you.”

Kiyomi blinked, then flinched back. The glow was right in front of her now. It was coming from the mermaid: the shimmer of their scales lit up an aura around them, just bright enough for them to be visible in their entirety without illuminating any of the surrounding area.

Yes, this was the same mermaid. Blonde. Twin pigtails. And they were… pouting at her?

“Takada!” It was Yagami from the internal radio. “The ship’s stopped lurching!”

“What?”

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing, we’ll get on securing everything,” Yagami said.

Had Kiyomi done anything? She turned back to the mermaid.

“Hey, can you even hear me?” The mermaid’s pout had turned into a scowl. “Anything in that suit?”

Kiyomi reached down and flipped the switch that allowed her voice to project outward. This was usually pointless. Sound couldn’t travel in space. But Kiyomi had learned very quickly that in some areas of the universe, the laws of physics were more like suggestions.

“My name is Kiyomi Takada. She/her.”

The mermaid’s eyes lit up. “You can talk! What do you do?”

“I’m a communications officer for the ship Kira-maru,” Kiyomi said. Her voice came out very steady. “So I… communicate.”

“So formal,” the mermaid mused, frowning a little. “You’re definitely government for sure.”

“I’m actually not—” Kiyomi caught herself. Never volunteer too much information. “What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Misa Amane! And I’m a she, I guess.” The mermaid beamed at her, then positioned one hand into the shape of a gun and cocked it at her. A wink. “But you can call me Misa-Misa.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Amane-san.”

“Definitely government,” Misa mumbled to herself. “So what brings you all here to our little corner of the galaxy? We don’t get many visitors.”

“‘We’?”

“Yeah, we,” Misa said, smile sliding a little off somehow.

“We’re only passing through. Distributing the census,” Kiyomi lied. This was a practiced cover story. “Aresthos X13 population scan.”

“Hmm.” Misa’s head tilted. Her pigtails drifted in the nonexistent breeze; her eyes, now that Kiyomi was close enough to observe, were brown, but they flashed with electric blue every so often. A trick of the light, Kiyomi told herself.

“So if you don’t mind, we’d very much like to be getting on.”

“Wait!”

Kiyomi blinked. There was a thread of desperation in Misa’s voice, but it was gone as soon as it came.

“What is it?”

“If you go,” Misa said — and her eyes flashed the most brilliant blue yet — “I’ll start singing again.”

“…Singing?”

Instead of replying Misa closed her eyes. The glow around her began pulsating softly. She smiled that strange little smile that Kiyomi had first seen on the ship…

Yagami yelped in her ear.

Kiyomi flipped the switch back to internal audio. “What is it?”

“It’s shaking again,” Yagami said. “What’s—?”

He was cut off by a metallic crash.

“Just keep talking,” Yagami said hurriedly before the transmission was cut off.

Kiyomi flipped the switch back on and was about to demand answers from Misa, when she froze.

She heard it. The music. Only a few notes, but it was a familiar melody:

La, lalala lala la…

It was the lullaby her mother used to sing to her.

No. No, that was impossible. Kiyomi blinked away the sudden tears forming in her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Misa’s smile widened just a little. Instead of answering she kept humming — Kiyomi was sure that was it now; Misa’s throat was vibrating, and her scales fluttered like feathers.

La, lalala lala la…

The ship audio transmission buzzed to life again. Kiyomi waited for an order, but there was nothing — just another metallic crash. It must have turned on by accident.

“Stop it,” Kiyomi said, her heart hammering in her throat. How dare she remind her of her mother?

“Funny,” Misa said, grinning now. “Usually people are dead by now. Or they’ve gone cuckoo.”

Kiyomi took a breath in the temporary reprieve. “Maybe I’m different.”

This wasn’t true. It was the memetic protection from her helmet and she knew it. But it felt extraordinarily good to believe.

“Maybe you are, Kiyomi,” Misa said.

La, lalala lala la…

“What do you want?” Kiyomi tried. The reverberations of her ship shaking apart echoed in her ears. “We’re carrying food, jewels…” Ammunition…

“Take me with you.”

“What?”

“Take me with you,” Misa repeated, crossing her arms again defiantly. “Or I’ll just keep going.”

Kiyomi swallowed.

She could just yell for Mikami to fire. His marksmanship was inexplicably expert.

Back in the academy her superiors had always told her she was too soft. Communication doesn’t mean everyone just gets along, they’d say while Kiyomi seethed because she knew that already. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions.

So she’d gotten colder. More objective. Refined Takada, some said with awe and others with a sneer. She could look desperate people — alien entities, the handbook insisted — in the eye during simulations and tell them that she would need much higher compensation if they wanted clean water infrastructure sometime in the next decade.

But this was reality. And maybe Kiyomi was weak, maybe they’d been right this whole time.

She looked at Misa Amane and imagined her head blowing off her shoulders right in front of her.

La, lalala lala la…

Her instructor, on the first day of freshman year: A communications officer is one of the most important components of a ship. You represent your crew. You represent the Empire. Your voice could sink spaceships.

Kiyomi flipped the internal audio switch and yelled, “Yagami!”

“What is it?” He was panting from exertion.

“Get into a memetic shielding suit now,” Kiyomi said. “You and Mikami both.”

“What? Why?”

“Trust me!”

Another crash. The sound cut out again.

Kiyomi took a deep breath and considered Misa. She’d finally identified the emotion in that smile she wore when she hummed.

It was wistfulness.

There was someone who Misa Amane missed very, very much.

“I accept your conditions,” she said. “But only if you stop singing right now.”

Misa froze. “What, really?”

“Yes,” Kiyomi said. She held out a hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Misa stared at her for a very long time. She wasn’t humming anymore.

“Well?”

Misa reached out and wrapped her hand around the arm of Kiyomi’s suit. Her fingers, Kiyomi noticed, were ever so slightly longer than a human’s would be.

“Okay,” Misa said.

Her eyes had stopped flashing. They were a dark, solid brown; Kiyomi thought she’d be able to see constellations in there if she looked hard enough.

“Hold on,” Kiyomi warned, then slammed the button for EMERGENCY EXTRACTION.

The tether attached to the waist of her suit started reeling in, and then they were flying, and Misa’s laugh was giddy in her ears, and Kiyomi —

For just a split second, Kiyomi thought she felt joy.

[ @deathnotetober day 17: music ]

[thecoppercompendium]

An overdue reintroduction

I've been here a while and, to be honest, my original pinned post is a touch outdated at this point. I've made a tonne of stuff since then, for a start.

So, hi! I'm Daniel (he/they) an indie TTRPG designer. I've made 7 original games to date, as well as several supplements for D&D 5e and some that are system agnostic.

I'm based in the UK, am interested in pretty much anything TTRPG-related (and adjacent areas, too), and love to hear about the awesome stuff people are designing! Seriously, there are so many talented people on this website.

I'm a member of UK TIN (UK Tabletop Industry Network), and cannot recommend having a bunch of people to talk to about TTRPG design with enough (if you're UK based, go join the TIN discord!). I'd love to discuss design and people's games here, too!

Right, on to my games! I'm only going to put my original games on this post (for the pretence of brevity), but I'll put links to my itch.io and DriveThruRPG above the cut if you want to check out everything I've made. For the rest, delve below the divide!

Let the games begin!

A one page, card-based game about struggling to prepare for and survive the coming revolution, as the advisors of the current ruler. Backstabbing not required by highly suggested. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A little one page solo game about pushing a boulder up a hill. One more try. Maybe this time you'll reach the top. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Who doesn't want to make a monster? Another one page game, in which you and friends dissect hated documents to create glorious life. Mind the angry mob, looks like you've upset the villagers... (Pay-what-you-want.)

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A game based on Caltrop Core in which players delve into the cursed fragments of the old world, within the temples the Old Gods left behind. You might explore a twisted mirror of a city street, a school or even a space station. Use the power of your mutations and curses to overcome the odds and emerge alive. Paid, but with community copies available on itch.io.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Do you have days where the world just doesn't want you to reach your destination? That's what this one page solo game is about. Made after a discussion about getting to UKGE with UK TIN. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A solo, card-based game about climbing a mountain and learning who you are as you climb. Begin with a bare-bones character and learn who you're playing as you overcome obstacles and ascend ever higher. Not everyone will make it to the top. Everyone has a journey worth making. Paid, but with community copies available on itch.io.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A one page minigame for solving complex puzzles, for instance lockpicking, hacking or creating a precise chemical. Uses codebreaker-type mechanics with scaling difficulty. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Thats all for now folks! I'll add new games when I create them! I've always got a bunch in progress, as is the game designer's dilemma...

[sadiecoocoo]

newest bit of TBB zombie fic that I'm working on. I've made it to 11,000 words already! (but still have a lot more to write)

Echo removed the hand he held to Tech’s mouth. Tech shuffled a bit away, still concealed by the overturned bed. He fought the urge to peek behind it, to see the trooper’s positions. It would risk his own being discovered. He could hear more stumbling footsteps join the group. More troopers were actively entering the room. Tech turned quickly back to Echo, who had a serious and determined look on his face. He didn’t miss the hints of pain and the way his hand shook though. Tech signed quickly how many he suspected being in the room. Echo nodded stiffly. They were vastly outnumbered, and Tech estimated that he had undercounted. He frowned as he tried to come up with some sort of plan that didn’t end terribly. “Hello?” One drawled, accentuating the “o.” Tech tensed as he heard the footsteps move closer. He unholstered his blaster. A few of the troopers cackled again. They sounded manic, and brought chills up Tech’s spine. He held his breath as the footsteps got closer. He lost count of how many were in the room, too many for them to take. Why had he let Wrecker leave them alone? His lip trampled as his heart sped up. Echo placed an equally shaky hand on Tech’s shoulder. He knew he was trying to ground the splicer, but it only seemed to make it worse. Echo could be one of those monsters in a few hours if he didn’t get to work right now. The footsteps were right at the overturned bed. Tech could feel the trooper looming over them, his shadow peeking through gaps. Tech clenched his fists, holding his blaster like a lifeline, which it usually was. Tech saw the trooper place his hand on the top of the bed, as if he were about to look over. They would be spotted. They would be ambushed and terrifyingly outnumbered. They would be killed. He moved to place his back against Echo. He didn’t want to be the reason the ARC died. Echo had been through so much and had bounced back. How can someone possibly bounce back from being torn limb from limb like the corpse Echo had described had been? This was Tech’s fault. He let Wrecker go, he would have stayed if Tech asked him to. He forgot to seal the door after Wrecker left, not thinking about the fact that doors can’t be sealed from the outside. Why couldn’t he think right? Why was he messing up? Why wouldn’t he just jump out and give Echo a chance at finding some way to escape instead of sit here like a toobie? Oh maker, the trooper’s head was peeked over the bed now, he would be able to see them in seconds. No, no, he couldn’t leave his brothers alone. They were somewhere in this facility and they needed him and Echo to survive. They needed them for so many things. Who would fix the Marauder? Who would hack into separatist systems? Who would- A loud clatter made Tech jump. The trooper stopped in his movement, and turned away. He turned away. He didn’t see them. There wasn’t a swarm of zombie troopers attacking them. They didn’t know they were there. Echo grabbed Tech’s hand and pulled him into a tight hug. He gladly accepted it. They had both almost been murdered, he could stand to accept a hug for surviving. He released a shaky, quiet breath. There were tears leaking onto his cheeks, though he couldn’t tell if they were from relief or the quickly dissipating fear. Beep! beep! Beep! Both clones froze. With wide eyes, they turned their head to look at the machine Tech had been running tests on the samples with. It had gone off. It had found something. Tech didn’t even get the chance to be happy that he found something before the bed they hid behind was thrown to the side by two undead troopers. Many more were gathered behind them, their dead eyes shining in the red emergency lighting. Echo grabbed Tech again and shielded him as one lunged, teeth barred in a horrific, bloodied grin.

I put a lot more than usual, but I'm really proud of this part of the fic and wanted to share it ahead of time :)

if anyone would like to be tagged once I finish this, I'd be happy to do it, just let me know! <3

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🤖 Anatomy of a Cyberman

Cybermen are humanoids 'upgraded' through cybernetic conversion, stripping away organic weakness to create efficient, nearly emotionless beings.

🧬 Cyber-Conversion

Lacking any natural means of reproduction, Cybermen rely on "Cyber-conversion" to, uh, recruit volunteers (okay, not always volunteers). Organic bodies are overhauled, trading flesh for metal, inhibiting emotions, and installing pure logic processing for survival, with unquestioning loyalty to the Cyber cause. And there's no going back.

🎩 Varied Cyber-Bodies

There's no one-size-fits-all in Cybermen fashion, but they do keep a few classics in rotation:

The Classic Metallic Look: Shiny and silver. Most Cybermen follow this silver theme, but they've had other styles—black Cyber-Scouts, and even one in wood.

Mondasian Legacy: The early CyberMondans from Mondas had visible circuitry and gauze-covered faces; they were a little more DIY. Later versions from the Mondasian colony ship still retained parts of their human body like hands, and had an eerie, sing-song voice.

🛠️ Features

💔 Emotional Inhibitors: For Cybermen, emotions are nothing more than a liability. So they simply switch them off. Each Cyberman is fitted with an "emotional inhibitor" to keep pesky human feelings—like regret, fear, or the utter horror of their situation—at bay.

🔫 Weapons and Adaptation: Laser-firing helmets, chest-mounted blasters, and adaptive armour make Cybermen formidable. They're also masters at adapting to new threats and sharing it with the hive mind. Speaking of ...

👥 Hive Mentality: Cybermen pride themselves on efficiency, and what's more efficient than a hive mind? Linked by an extensive network, each Cyberman can share information, adapt to threats, and communicate without those bothersome MS Teams meetings.

🔧Self-Healing Powers: The later models could heal almost instantly, and detach body parts entirely. Resistance, honestly, is futile.

⏳Primitive Time Travel: Yes, Cybermen have tried time travel, and while it's more of a space hopper than a sports car, it does mean they'll show up at the most inconvenient times.

⚠️ Weaknesses

Though resilient, Cybermen have notable weaknesses:

Gold Sensitivity: Cybermen have an allergy to bling. Gold clogs their respiratory systems, making it highly effective against them. Mr. T is practically untouchable.

Weak Against EMPs: A strong EMP will disrupt their circuitry, temporarily putting them out of commission.

Explosive Fragility: Although tough, Cybermen are not invulnerable—some well-placed explosives, a bazooka, or a Raston Warrior Robot can bring them down.

Emotional Overload: Either by the Cerebration Mentor, or breaking the emotional inhibitor. If the inhibitor were to break it would be messy, painful, and involve more existential angst than Proust, so it's best not to dwell on it, unlike Proust.

Hive Hacking: Their hive mind is both an asset and a vulnerability. A skilled hacker—or a particularly clever Time Lord—can exploit it to turn their collective mind against them.

Other Lesser Known Methods: Cybermen can also be disabled or weakened by a chemical mixture known as Polly Cocktail, high radiation levels, and the scent of a particular flower from a particular planet (though we have no idea what flower on what planet).

🌌 Eternal Threat

The Cybermen genuinely believe they're doing the universe a favour by spreading the 'gift' of conversion. After all, who wouldn't want to live forever in a buff metal suit? The Cybermen may not have feelings, but they sure have ambition. And with each new upgrade, they're getting closer to making sure that everyone joins the Cyber club.

Gallifreyan Cyberman Biology for Tuesday by GIL

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴