#especially considering i also work with chemicals

[cripplecharacters]

I have this xenofiction idea set in an alien solar system. One of the intelligent species ideas i had are octopoid-looking but terrestrial creatures that communicate via bioluminescence, and don't vocally communicate but do have hearing.

I started thinking about how blind members of this species would communicate. Does tactile sign language work if you only have identical tentacles and no fingers or toes?

Hi!

My first idea when you mentioned identical limbs was the Lorm alphabet. It's a kind of tactile communication (not really a sign language, more of a signed letter-by-letter transcript) that is virtually unknown outside Central Europe and Georgia (the country) in my experience. It requires a single limb from each person. For the Lorm alphabet, you tap and stroke the person's hand (or foot, I've seen it adapted to a double arm amputee too) and the amount of taps and their position (also line or circular movements) signal specific letters. Here's a video to visualize it from the French DeafBlind association (TLDW: two people using Lorm at great speeds at a conference).

What that means for alien creatures who have identical limbs is that there could be Aliorm alphabet where a specific spot on the tentacle signals a specific letter/syllable/binary code/etc and thus allow them to communicate. So if the aliens have some way to codify their bioluminescence-based language into a written system, they could use that.

Another option is to do another kind of non-oral language. Humans have ones that rely on hearing, seeing, and feeling, but aliens could have ones that are based on smell or taste. Especially if they original one is bioluminescence, I don't think it's too farfetched to imagine they could produce other chemicals that perhaps could be smelled as a form of alien olfactory language.

I'd personally love to see the Lorm alphabet in any sort of media ever, but considering you're writing about aliens, you have a lot of possibilities - there's no one single correct answer unless you find a blind alien to ask.

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: Mint Chocolate Icecream | Halloween Special

Honestly Zayne is such a sweetie, but I can see after a long day he might forget a single thing, especially if someone came in to distract him. He's also knows the jugular vein is risky. Also I'd like to make a petition for icecream to be one word, not two. It just looks better.

❧ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ❧ Warnings: Suggestive themes, blood sucking, vampire reader ❧ Synopsis: Zayne always took your dietary needs seriously. So when the hospital couldn't spare any blood bags, he decided to draw his own for you. It would've worked...if he remembered to bring home a needle. Improvising, thankfully, is his strong suit. ❧ Word Count: 2.9k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Mint Chocolate Icecream

“Zayne?” your voice called out as you first entered his home. The door had a small ‘click’ noise that was soon followed by your footsteps as you looked around the living room of his, in your opinion, large house. He was nowhere to be seen or heard, which was already a bit strange to your standards. Normally, whenever you came over, he was greeting you at the door after receiving your text, but today was…different.

You could smell him, though; you always could. Your heightened senses made some things easier than others; in this case, finding the gentle, minty freshness of your boyfriend was almost child’s play as you allowed your feet to carry you to his study. You guessed it wasn’t too odd that he would find himself in here, especially considering he had taken the day off to get some personal things done.

You had the courtesy to at least knock on the door before barging in, knowing he could be in a virtual meeting with someone on the other side of the globe. Despite it being rather late in the evening, he always seemed to be working. You waited a few moments before you heard his voice on the other side saying, “Come in.”

As if you were a stereotypical vampire, you heard the permission to come in, so you opened the door. You were greeted with the sight of Zayne getting things prepared for a…blood draw. “Zayne…?” his voice rolled off your lips in sheer and utter confusion.

Zayne simply readjusted his glasses that had begun sliding down his face as he turned to you, “Good evening, did you sleep well?” he finally asked, not bothering to clarify exactly what was going on.

“Ya, I…okay, no, we aren’t doing this. Not gonna act as though this,” you gestured towards the medical supplies he had clearly brought home, “is a normal, daily occurrence.”

“Donor blood at the hospital is getting a bit sparse after the recent waves of wanderer attacks,” Zayne explained, “And if I do recall correctly, just the other day, you were complaining about the chemicals we used in those blood bags to keep it from coagulating. You said, and I quote, it makes it taste absolutely rancid.” He said, repeating the words almost perfectly but leaving out the curse you had thrown in the mix.

You felt a bit sheepish at that as you cleared your throat. It was true, though. Whatever they put in blood bags to keep it…somewhat fresh, and you use that term lightly, made it taste disgusting. You were used to it at this point, but he had to ask what it tasted like, so you informed him. Copper and expired lemons are the best way you could put the flavor into words. Fresh blood, at least to vampires, never really tasted metallic. They always had a fresh taste, and it varied from person to person, as well as the emotional state they were in when they drank.

Fearful humans tasted more sour, anger was a bitter taste, and happy or lustful always had a sweet note to it. The ranges of emotions were varied, and you knew for a fact that you hated just how salty someone sad was. Not that you had fed on a human in…centuries at this point. You preferred to keep things safer for the humans, something that didn’t leave them with the mental scar of having their necks mauled.

You had even dedicated your life to protecting the humans, something you had normally left to hunters and, before the wanderers, the justice system when they were effective or vigilantes. After meeting Zayne for the third lifetime, though, and seeing how he had thrown himself into danger on behalf of humans, you couldn’t just sit by and watch. So you took up hunting during night shifts at the association, claiming you had a condition where the sun hurt. Not like the association cared much, they always needed more hunters for the overnight shifts judging by how wanderers really didn’t give a shit about what time of day they decided to attack.

“Well…Zayne…” you began, “You decided to just draw your own blood for me then?” you finally said after your inner monologue was over. You had taken a few steps to his desk, draping your arms around his shoulders. He had already tied the tourniquet around his upper arm but hadn’t done anything else. Your hand grazed over it, making the man underneath your gaze shiver.

Zayne cleared his throat, “No, I decided to do this for fun.” The sarcasm dripping off him had you stifling a small chuckle.

“Alright…but you know you don’t have to do this for me, right?” you asked, and Zayne now turned to you with a serious expression.

“Your nutritional requirements need to be met. As the normal methods can’t be met, we have to adapt.” He explained, “This seemed like the best alternative since you prefer feeding from bags.”

“I don’t prefer it, per se; feeding directly is still better but…well, you know.” You began. He did know, judging by how he had once offered his wrist to you. You had lectured him about the dangers, how he would become a temporary thrall and be even more doting on you than usual, and how the feeling might be euphoric after the initial pain passed, but it could cloud his judgment on knowing when you were taking too much.

“I’m well aware of the venom that comes from your fangs, my heart.” His voice was softer now.

There was a pause between you two. You did want to just take a bite out of this man, almost on a daily basis, actually. The other day, when you found yourself between his legs while he relaxed on the couch, the scent of the femoral artery, how you could feel the warmth on it, and how it pumped blood. It had almost sent you into a frenzy, but you had held yourself back. “Did you need any help with that?” you asked after mulling over your words.

“I have this…” he said, then his eyebrows furrowed as he looked over his supplies, “I thought I had grabbed everything…” The next part was murmured a bit more quietly. You looked over the supplies he had, noticing a distinct lack of proper needles. He had literally everything else except for the needle.

“Um…no offense, Dr. Li, but I think you need…” you said, trying to hide your laughter.

“I’m aware,” he was painfully aware, but he was also aware of the fact that he had indeed grabbed them. He sighed as he stood up and undid the tourniquet around his arm, “I must’ve left them elsewhere.”

He had begun walking at a brisk pace, clearly intent on finding the missing needles. You were still holding back some laughter, wondering how he had gotten to this point and not noticed. Clearly, the man had to have been tired if he had forgotten something so important during his setup. You followed after the man as he came to the living room and went to his bag, opening it up and searching inside. When nothing turned up, you decided to ask, “Did you leave them in your car? Or perhaps your office?”

Zayne had to think on that one. He recalled grabbing everything he needed before leaving and placing them all carefully in a bag he had purchased specifically for carrying around medical supplies to keep things sterile. Then Greyson had come into his office, asking him about a patient as he was packing things up. The conversation had drifted to his supplies, and then he…Greyson invited him to the cafeteria for boba to discuss some new research. Had he put the needles in the bag before he had been interrupted?

“I apologize; it looks like I was careless.” He finally admitted, looking away from you as though we were confessing the ultimate sin. You covered your mouth again, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s dismay.

“It’s fine, babe; I can go another few days without feeding anyway.” You assured him, placing a hand on his arm, “I’m not going to become blood-starved in a week. Us vampires are resilient.”

“We have you on a proper schedule, and I’d rather not disrupt it.” He said Zayne was probably the most caring person you had ever known. He never let you take your dietary needs lightly after seeing what happened when you hadn’t fed. He had gotten you on a schedule for feeding, and even when he was away on trips, he’d video call you and make sure you were eating.

“Then what’s your solution? A rare steak?” you teased, that was until he had taken your hand and brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

“I know you’re against it, but in order to fulfill your dietary requirements, you could feed directly from me.” He finally said. You almost whined at the sight of him so willingly giving himself into the fangs of a vampire, a predator.

“Zayne…” you said, your voice coming out quieter, “You know what will happen.”

“I’m well aware.” He said, “I find that I don’t mind, though. Besides, I doubt it’ll change much; I might just be a bit more forward in my…what do you call it?” he said, his voice taking on a more teasing tone, “Nagging?”

“I don’t say you’re nagging!” you protested, “When did I ever say that.”

“I find your expressions are more than telling.” Now, you were pouting as you looked away from him. You needed a moment to think about this but finally decided if he was so intent on making sure you kept your schedule and he was willing…perhaps it would be fine. Besides, he was already more doting than any thrall you had ever heard of, so perhaps he might even tone it down a little.

You cleared your throat, “Alright, fine.” You settled on, “But we need to…” do this more comfortably, you wanted to say, but Zayne had already read your mind.

“Go to the couch; I’ll be right back.” He said while leaning down so his voice was right against your ear, “I need to grab some things.”

You wondered sometimes how this man had such a pull on you. You didn’t try to argue at all; tell him that if you’d be feeding from him, you’d handle it all. Instead, you just found yourself sitting on the couch like you were told, looking over the back as you watched him grab some things.

Bandages, towels, napkins, a TV remote, a blanket, juice, and some sweets. A combination of many things was brought over to the coffee take before he sat down and patted his lap, a clear invitation. You had crawled over to him, plopping yourself onto him, your back hitting his chest as you adjusted yourself on him. You giggled when you felt his lips pressing a kiss to your neck, a small blush on your cheeks.

The thick towel was laid out over your lap, and you could see him going to turn the TV on, putting a random show on, “There, now we have something to do while I recover from your blood draw, doctor.” He said, which elicited another giggle from you.

“I’m the doctor now? Pretty sure my technique would get my license revoked for malpractice.” You claimed, and you smirked.

“It definitely would, but as luck would have it, this patient doesn’t seem to mind. You don’t need to worry about using your malpractice insurance this time around.” You rolled your eyes at his words and gently tapped his wrist.

“Come on, I’m feeling hungry now.” You said, taking his arm and pressing a kiss to his wrist. You could smell the sweetness of him, as well as that refreshing and unique minty fresh scent that came from his pulse points.

“Weren’t you the one saying you could go a few more days without eating?” he asked with a teasing lithe to his voice.

“I can, but doesn’t mean I want to.” You explained as you adjusted his wrist, “Are you sure this is okay?” you finally asked, and he pressed a kiss on your cheek this time.

“Of course,” he said, his voice gentle in your ears.

You took another moment to breathe him in before you decided it was time. Your fangs came out as you looked for the perfect place to bite down on his wrist. His other arm had already come to wrap around your midsection, securing you against him while also bracing himself. Then came the pinch.

When your fangs finally met his flesh, piercing into it. The warmth of his blood went through you immediately, warming you up as you drank from him. You hummed happily, noting that he tasted exactly as you had always imagined. Sweet, minty, and almost creamy. It reminded you of mint ice cream, something you had only tasted a little bit when offered to you in the past. It was delicious, especially after only drinking from blood bags for so long.

The warmth flowed down your throat as you angled his wrist above your head to allow better blood flow, the crimson liquid dripping down your chin and onto the towel on your lap. Zayne watched with interest, taking in the sight of you as well as the feeling.

You had told him it would feel good after the initial pain, but he hadn’t expected this. It felt like warmth was in his veins right now, encompassing his entire body like he was wrapped up in a blanket by a fireplace. His head felt fuzzy and delightful as he let you indulge. He had to keep himself in check, though, focusing on his body as much as he could so he could tell you when it was too much.

Thankfully, you had figured it out on your own, and you felt how he got a bit colder in your grasp. Your fangs went back in, and you were left lapping at the leftover blood on his wrist. You didn’t even realize Zayne was panting behind you, trying to regain himself from…whatever your fangs had done to him. He cleared his throat after noticing how you were still licking at his wrist; the wound from before now closed, but red and angry puncture wounds were in their place now. Not to mention a few broken blood vessels from how deeply you were drinking, clearly lost in the taste of him.

You were brought back to your senses when you felt a soft napkin dabbing at your face and chin. You wiggled in Zayne’s grip, causing the man behind you to chuckle, “Calm down. I planned on kissing you, but this would’ve been too much, I’m afraid.” He said, getting you to stop squirming.

“Zayne, I should be the one taking care of you.” You said, taking the napkin from him and cleaning up your face and a bit of your neck, “You should be relaxing, love.”

“I find that right now, I’m very relaxed.” He assured you; he grabbed the towel in your lap and began placing the bloody napkins into it and putting it to the side, out of view. If he wouldn’t let you do this, you could at least lean forward and grab him the juice and macaroons he had secured earlier, bringing them to your lap.

“You always claimed that someone’s blood tasted unique when fresh, and I’m curious now: what did I taste like?” Zayne asked as you put the straw into the juice and held it up to him. He moved his face to the side, clearly wanting to hear your answer first.

You let out a sigh and leaned forward to kiss him, “Like mint chocolate ice cream.”

Zayne was silent for a moment, his brows pinching together, “That’s…impossible.”

“What, that you taste super sweet and refreshing? It’s true. You tasted really good. Better than that bagged stuff, too.” You said, nuzzling your nose against his, “I could get used to drinking from you.”

“I don’t think I’d mind it as long as we’re responsible. I do need blood flow, as well as the use of my hands.” He said, “I’d be more than happy to draw blood regularly for you.” He finally took the offered juice, sipping on the sweet drink as you thought it over.

“I…think I’d like that. Thank you…” you finally said, feeling giddy to have found a man like this. One who’d indulge you instead of judging you. “I really appreciate this…and you.”

“I know; now, how about we watch a movie?” he asked, and you giggled.

“Can I hand feed you macaroons while we do?” you teased, already grabbing one. Zayne caught your wrist and brought the street up to his face, taking a bite of the sweet treat. It had you blushing and looking away, causing him to laugh as well.

“Were you not the one to suggest this?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek again once he swallowed the treat.

“Oh hush…I love you.” You muttered, and you heard him so gently saying it back to you, causing you to melt right into his chest.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for not wanting my brothers to smoke in a communal space when I'm not around?

🚭

I don't mean to rant, but I'm still sour about the family verdict, my apologies.

I (20sM/NB) don't smoke, and never have, but a lot of my family has/does currently. My brothers, (younger 20sM, older 30sM) were asked by myself and our dad (70sM, doesn't smoke anymore) not to smoke cigarettes in the car.

I've asked because this is a communal space, and I don't want our dad's health to deteriorate. I also don't want mine to, either. We talked about this 3 months ago. During those 3 months, it has come to my attention that this request hasn't been followed at all. I didn't notice because they smoke on the porch, next to the car, and I couldn't tell that was the source. I lost the battle to get them to smoke in the backyard, because my older brother "likes to scowl at the people who pass by on the street" (via, the brother in question).

Of course, when I found out they were still smoking there, I was pissed because this was something we had already talked about, where I thought my voice was at least considered. My dad, not wanting to get into fights with anyone, bypassed telling me specifically to allow the boys to do it. This was also during the school year, meaning I was in the car after they smoked in it for months.

So we come to today. I might be the asshole, because they also have rights to the communal spaces. They would be smoking only when I'm not around. They already smoke on the porch, which I pass through every day. The car is also driving, so the air in the car is "cleared" by the time I get into the car. Since the porch is similar, should this follow the same rules? My dad doesn't want to get into conflict with them, because the car is a communal space, and they have bodily autonomy when I'm not there. So why shouldn't they be able to smoke? Am I being too controlling? Smoking is an addiction that is super hard to quit, so my dad thinks I'm being hostile when they don't have anywhere else they can go to smoke. Additionally, I was far from nice when I found out about the three months they'd smoked in the car without my knowledge and was told "this is why I didn't tell you" by dad.

I think it being "cleared out" still effects me. I didn't want them smoking on the porch. I don't even want to smell smoke when I open the car door. Those are still chemicals I'm breathing in. Isn't it my body that they harm by smoking, not just theirs? I try to be accommodating of their smoking, but it does agitate my throat and sinuses. I often have to endure their smoking habits in my current living situation.

They both have jobs and could get cars outside of using the family car. I'm unable to work because I'm a full time student. Even with a summer job, I wouldnt be able to afford it. I've considered going into the work force to remedy this issue, because the public transport in my area would be way harder to work with. This would mean I wouldn't complete my college by next year. (They can also go to college but don't want to.)

They believe that, if we (me and my dad) kept up on cleaning the car, they wouldn't smoke in it. They have no chores, so I clean almost everything with the exception of my dad cleaning. There's no way in hell they'd clean the car, especially if it means they can't smoke in it. The current family verdict is that majority vote sides with, yes they can smoke in the car.

So, am I the asshole for not wanting my brothers to smoke in a communal space, even when I'm not around?

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family Steddie Part 4

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

As always, if you see a typo, no you didn't. Enjoy reading!

After nearly a year of knowing Eddie, Steve would say he's got his fiance-to-be's personality down pat. He has a general idea of how Eddie will react to things, what he prefers for a midnight snack (chocolate-covered wasp wings), and the music he likes listening to when they're making out (KISS, but he'll put on Fall Out Boy if Steve bats his eyes just right).

He also knows Eddie is not the most patient man in the world; he's rather impulsive, in fact. He'll get an idea and run with it, not pausing to consider the potential consequences, especially if he thinks it'll make Steve smile. He's even jumped head-first into a ball pit after Dustin and Steve, despite how off-putting he found the colors, just to make Steve laugh.

Clearly, Steve knows Eddie. Very well.

So, he's having a hard time understanding why Eddie hasn't proposed yet. It's been three months since they became engaged-to-be-engaged. Not to the minute, but to the day. Steve had expected Eddie to climb through his window at exactly 12:01 AM to propose. He had even laid a carefully planned trap (it involved a net, exactly three knives, Hulyet, and impressive knotwork) if only because he knew Eddie would find that romantic and would love to propose while hanging from the ceiling.

Steve had even been thinking up snappy one-liners for when he turned on the lights to see Eddie trapped. He could say, "Finders keepers, which means you're mine," or maybe, "I guess I should find a good taxidermist now. Do you think El knows of one?" or even, "I can't wait to tell Dustin I caught breakfast." The first one is probably a bust when he really thinks about it, but those other two could work.

So, Steve isn't expecting to sleep through the night, only waking up because the sun is shining through his window. He even lays in bed for an hour, scrolling through social media on his phone in case Eddie is running behind. He wasn't, and the only thing saving Eddie from getting utterly maimed and tortured (not the fun kind) is that he sent a good morning text.

That good morning text doesn't answer any of Steve's questions, though, and he spends another hour carefully cleaning the trap he'd carefully placed. At least Hulyet is reassuringly predictable, resting on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck as he cleans.

An entire day passes without Steve even seeing Eddie's shadow. He literally watches the sun set below the horizon after dinner, his disappointment morphing into annoyance and frustration that he takes out on the dishes he's scrubbing. He's annoyed with Eddie for not even swinging by when he usually can't stay away, but he's also frustrated with himself for his annoyance and for the tiny voice in the back of his brain wondering if maybe Eddie doesn't want to be together as badly as Steve.

"Could you please stop brooding? I'm trying to balance chemical equations," Dustin says, throwing a pen at Steve's head from the kitchen island. "Besides, you're fucking murdering our plates."

Steve sighs, glancing at the pen now resting pitifully on the floor. He rinses off the plate he's holding, places it in the drying rack, and picks up the pen. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did, but what's up?"

"Is there a non-romantic way to murder Eddie?"

Dustin is silent for a few moments before letting out a put-upon sigh. "Probably not," he says, resting his chin in his palm. "Why?"

"He was supposed to propose today."

"...It's like you lose all your brain cells when Eddie is involved. How do you know he was supposed to propose?"

"I told him to wait three months exactly three months ago," Steve explains, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his stomach.

"And you want him to propose? Like, you want to marry him? It's barely been a year of knowing the guy."

Steve doesn't even have to think before saying, "Yes." Because he does want to marry Eddie. He wants to feel even closer than they already are; he wants to have a wedding ring that he can show off; he wants to be able to introduce Eddie as his husband.

Well, now that he thinks about it, why does he care so much about Eddie being the one to propose? He could do it himself! Steve could go buy a fucking obsidian ring with ruby accents, passive-aggressively get down on one knee, and shove the ring onto Eddie's left ring finger. It doesn't exactly sound romantic, but Eddie lost that privilege when he didn't sneak into Steve's room at 12:01 this morning.

"If you're that desperate to get married, just kidnap him for a shotgun wedding or something and have a ceremony later. Why wait on him? It's the era of feminism, dude."

As mean as Dustin's tone is, Steve has to admit he has a point. Steve doesn't have to wait on Eddie, and he's not going to. Fuck it. He'll go propose himself. "You good on your own for a while?" Steve asks, returning his attention to Dustin.

"Yeah, I'm good. Go get hitched. Take a picture with your Elvis impersonator for me," Dustin says, waving his hand dismissively at Steve as he focuses back on his worksheet.

Steve rolls his eyes, ruffling Dustin's hair as he passes him. "I'll probably be back in a few hours," he says, waiting for Dustin to smack his hand away before heading to the front door and pulling on his sneakers.

----

Eddie's bedroom is on the second floor, and his window is on the side of the house. The first time he climbed to Eddie's window, he'd nearly impaled himself on the spikes in the flowerbeds along the house. Thankfully, Steve has discovered the ability to use both the tree by the house and the drainage pipe for the gutters to climb up.

Now, Steve can reach Eddie's window in his sleep. He pulls himself up the tree, leaning dangerously far from the trunk and using the drainage pipe to steady himself with one hand. He tugs Eddie's window with the other, getting it mostly open before launching himself through. When his waist catches on the sill, he wiggles until he falls to the floor just under the window.

Steve huffs, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he sits up and looks at the bed. Eddie is watching him with an amused smile, leaning back against the pillows with a guitar in his lap. "You're especially beautiful when you're wiggling through my window, sweetheart," he says.

"Shut up," Steve mutters, pulling himself up off the floor. He climbs onto the bed, taking Eddie's guitar and carefully setting it aside before climbing into his lap. "I'm upset."

Eddie blinks, his smile immediately replaced by a concerned frown as he places his hands on Steve's hips. "What's wrong, Stevie? Who upset you? Are we having a murder date night?" he asks.

Steve doesn't answer for a few seconds before sighing and hugging Eddie, unable to hold onto any annoyance or frustration when he's offering murder dates so sincerely. "You didn't propose today," he whispers, tugging on a lock of Eddie's hair with a frown. "It's been three months."

"Stevie, baby, sweetheart, beloved, my darkest night after a blistering day," Eddie says, his voice soft and dripping with love, and Steve snorts at the cheesy names.

"Get to the point already."

"Tomorrow is three months, sweetheart."

Steve blinks, pulling back slightly to look down at Eddie. He has a soft smile, one that's a little goofy and utterly comfortable with how much love it reveals. "Are you sure?" Steve asks.

Eddie grins and grabs his phone from the nightstand, pulls up his calendar, and shows Steve a notification that's set for exactly 12:01 AM and reads "PROPOSE TO STEVE" with several ring emojis.

"Are you sure it's right?" Steve asks, looking from the notification to Eddie.

"Stevie, do you really think I'd wait a single second longer than necessary to propose? I spent three hours making sure this was exactly three months."

Yeah, all of that is exactly what Steve had been expecting that morning. He feels relieved, actually, because Eddie is just as impatient as he is and just as unwilling to wait a second more than necessary. "Well," Steve says, drawing the word out as he takes Eddie's phone and places it on the nightstand, "I am already here."

It takes two seconds for Eddie to catch up, his eyes lighting up when he does. "Seriously?" he asks.

"I might change my mind if you take too long," Steve says, his sentence barely finished when Eddie pulls a ring box out of absolutely nowhere.

And Steve would wonder how he did that, but he's too focused on Eddie opening the box to reveal a pitch-black ring with an obsidian main stone and ruby accent stones. It looks exactly like the kind of ring Steve was ready to hunt down not an hour ago. He glances up at Eddie, unable to help an excited grin.

"So, I had a lot of different speeches prepared for this," Eddie says, carefully taking out the ring and tossing the box aside. "But now that we're here, none of it feels genuine enough. I love you so much that it literally hurts. My heart aches when you're not around, and I can't get enough air into my lungs if I can't see you. I spent this entire day preparing a dinner date and romantic gestures, and it was pure torture because I was too busy to hold your hand or kiss you. I would embrace death with you by my side, but I would truly die if we were apart. And I hope we never have to be, so please marry me, Stevie."

It takes everything in Steve to not interrupt Eddie with a kiss, but he somehow stays strong until the end. "Yes, of course, absolutely, now kiss me already," Steve says, grabbing Eddie's collar and yanking him close. He hears a surprised noise and almost apologizes when Eddie bites Steve's bottom lip and pushes a hand into his hair. Steve sighs softly, leaning fully onto Eddie and tasting the remnants of his toothpaste.

When Steve is just about to push Eddie down on the bed, he breaks the kiss and flashes a huge grin, his sharp canines in full view, and Steve has to stop himself from starting another kiss so he can drag his tongue against them. "I still have to put the ring on," Eddie says.

"Well, be quick about it. I wasn't done kissing you," Steve says, holding his left hand out and feeling inexplicably grounded when Eddie slips the ring onto his finger.

-----

Tag list (good lord, there's so many of y'all lmao)

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[disillusioneddanny]

This was inspired by this post. This will also be turned into a multi chapter fic on my ao3. You can subscribe here

But enjoy <3

Tw: talks of vivisection and abuse

Harley Quinn stumbled through the streets of Amity Park, newborn baby clutched to her chest as she furiously checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. She had done it, she had finally gotten away from Mr. J for good just six months before. If he came lookin’ for her, she would be able to handle him on her own, especially with the help of Ives. But Danny wouldn’t be able to do jack shit against his crazed sperm donor. So, Harley was doin’ what she thought would be best. She was going to ask her step-brother and see if he and his wife could take him.

If anyone would be able to protect her baby it would be Jack Fenton, her step-brother was a hulking giant of a man and while his aim may have been shit, his wife’s wasn’t. The two were scientists, ghost hunters if Harley remembered right and they would be just crazy enough to think Mr. J was a ghost if he showed his slimy face around Amity Park.

“Don’t worry Danny, they’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’re never gonna have to worry about a crazy father tryin’ to kill you or use you for his own gain, I won’t ever let that happen,” Harley said quietly before pressing a soft kiss on her son’s head and knocked on the door of Fenton Works.

His father was trying to kill him. Danny allowed his sister to drag him out of Fenton Works and to her car, head spinning, lungs burning for oxygen. Telling his parents about his ghost form had gone bad, it had gone so, so, so bad and now Jazz and Danny were running for their lives as Jack Fenton shot another ectoblast at the siblings.

“Jazz, where’re we going to go? What are we going to do? You destroyed the portal,” Danny gasped out once Jazz had shoved him into the backseat of her beat up, gray, ‘78 Volkswagen Beetle. He scrambled in just as Maddie shot in the spot he had just been occupying, his sister grunted as she took the shot. While she was liminal, she still had enough human in her that it was nothing more than feeling like she got an instant sunburn.

Jazz slammed the door shut, ignoring the shouts from the Fentons behind her as she got around to the driver’s seat and sped off, tires spinning against the pavement.

“We’re going to Aunt Harley’s,” Jazz said determinedly.

“My mother?” Danny squawked from the backseat. “Didn’t Da-Jack say she was crazy?”

“Jack’s crazy Danny! He had you strapped to a table-” Jazz stopped herself as a guttural growl escaped her lips. “Whatever. Aunt Harley will be the best option. If anyone can keep us away from the Fentons it’ll be her.”

Danny slumped down in the backseat and finally looked down at the giant cut on his chest and let out a groan. His mother. Jack and Maddie had never hesitated to tell Danny where he had come from. Jack in particular boasted about how his poor, abused sister trusted him of all people to raise her baby and keep him safe from harm.

Joke’s on him apparently considering he was the very person who had managed to hurt Danny the most. Danny wasn’t stupid, though, he had heard about Harley Quinn. The psychiatrist turned villain who was now in her own way a hero but remained the self titled Queen of Chaos. He knew that his mother was dangerous, each time she had come to visit with her pasty white, tattoo covered skin, chemically bleached hair, and slightly crazed look in her eyes, Danny knew. He knew that the reason Dan was a reality was because of his genes, because of where he came from.

He had done everything he could to make sure he wouldn’t turn out like his mother. And if his suspicions were correct, he would do everything to make sure he didn’t turn out anything like his sperm donor. There was a reason Danny hated clowns and it wasn’t just because of Freakshow.

“Do you think she’s going to be happy seeing us at her house, though? Or Aunt Ivy? She’ll probably be annoyed that we dropped in unannounced,” Danny said before reaching down and grabbing the metal box that held his first aid kit. He used his powers to thread a needle with fishing wire and bit his lip hard as he forced the needle through his skin and started to sew up where his parents had started the vivisection. It would most likely scar but Danny didn’t want to think about that right now. Danny didn’t want to think about anything right now except for the fact that they were going to his mother’s house of all places.

“Danny, your mom adores you. She didn’t drop you off at the Fenton’s to abandon you. She did it to protect you. Aunt Harley knew that she wasn’t capable of raising a baby and she did the most responsible thing she could think of. But she loves you, she’s loved you from the moment you were born,” Jazz told him, glancing in her rearview mirror to watch her baby brother sew himself up as she sped down the highway.

“And how do you know that?” Danny asked, a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth as he got to the worst part of the cut and continued with his sewing.

“Because I was there the night she brought you home. And I see it in her eyes when she comes to visit us. She loves you Danny, she was just in a bad situation,” Jazz reasoned, knuckles white on the steering wheel as she sped onto the onramp to start their journey from Amity Park, Illinois to Gotham City, New Jersey.

“And she’s just going to be happy to have her sixteen year old son randomly appear in her front door? She couldn’t take care of me then, what makes you so sure she can help us now?” Danny spat out as he finally finished his stitching and tied off the thread. He reached into the kit once more and grabbed a few of the antiseptic wipes that had been packed in and cleaned the ectoplasm-blood mixture off of his chest as best as he could before taping gauze to his chest. It wasn’t the best patch job and Frostbite would probably be horrified if he saw it, but it was the best Danny could do with a tiny first aid kit in the back of his sister's rickety car as she went well over a hundred miles per hour in a seventy.

“I think so, yeah,” Jazz admitted after a few minutes of silence. Danny let out a huff of a laugh as he struggled to sit up. “There’s a shirt in this bag,” she said, tossing him the backpack that sat in the passenger seat, the go bag for if the worst had ever come to fruition. Which it definitely had.

Danny dug through the bag and found the tried and true NASA shirt folded carefully within the bag and let out a sigh through nose as he carefully maneuvered around to get the shirt on without angering the stitches on his chest too much. Even if his mother wasn’t happy to see them or able to take care of them, she’d be able to help. She was a better option than any other.

Vlad was completely out of the picture. Dani was ancients only knew where and she wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway. Sam and Tuck still didn’t even know what had happened and Danny hadn’t decided how he was going to deal with that. Aunt Alicia would most likely call mom-Maddie if she saw them on her doorstep.

Aunt Harley was their only option now that the portal was destroyed and Danny certainly did not have the strength he would need to open a portal. Plus, Gotham had plenty of ambient ectoplasm according to Tuck’s research.

When they had first made this plan, Tucker had looked into any place that came close to having the same amounts of ectoplasm as Amity Park and Gotham had been number one on the list. So at least Danny had that going for him.

“I’m going to try to get a little bit of rest, getting cut open drains a guy,” Danny said with a chuckle, pressing the backpack into the car seat and carefully laid back down. “When I wake up, we can switch and I can drive for a bit. You need rest too.”

Jazz simply hummed in response and said nothing more as her little brother settled into the backseat and allowed sleep to take over.

“I told you I could have helped drive here,” Danny muttered as Jazz pulled into a shady looking, nondescript building.

“Danny, you had to sew yourself back up in my backseat. You needed the rest far more than I did, besides, no use in complaining, we’re here now,” Jazz said, glancing back at the tired, pouty look on her brother’s face and smiled. “Aren’t you excited to see your mom and Aunt Pam?”

“Is she technically my stepmom?” Danny asked once Jazz put the car in park and shut off the engine. She got out and went around to Danny’s door and helped her baby brother out of the car.

“Technically?” Jazz said, crinkling her nose as she thought it out. Yeah, that would make the most sense anyway. “Are you okay?” She asked as Danny winced, pressing a hand to his chest as he climbed out of the small car and leaned heavily against Jazz’s side.

“Yeah, just hurting,” he murmured and shook his head as if that would get rid of the pain. “Let’s just go.”

Jazz gave her brother a concerned look but locked her car nonetheless and started to help the boy up the stairs before she rung the doorbell.

The two tensed as they listened to footsteps stomp their way.

“Look, I’m Jewish, I ain’t interested in that Jehovah’s Witness shit,” they heard Harley shout before the door swung open.

Harley’s jaw fell open as she froze in place at the scene in front of her. The two teenagers were quite the sight. Harley had never seen the usually put together Jasmine look so frazzled as long as she had known her niece. Her son was in even worse states, if the eyebags on his face, the strange blood and green stains on his shirt, and panting told her anything.

He looked up at her tiredly, the dark circles under his eyes even darker than she had initially noticed. “Hey mom,” he said with a huff, hanging from Jasmine’s shoulders.

“Aw fuck, come in, come in,” Harley said wearily, ushering the two into the building. “Ives! I need your help!”

Harley carefully moved her niece out of the way before she quickly lifted her son into her arms and started down the hallway. “It’s okay Danny, Mama’s gotcha,” she murmured, cradling the sixteen year old boy to her chest as she carried him bridal style. Jazz followed her aunt as they made it to the living room just as Ivy came out of the bedroom looking confused.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, though, as she spotted the three before her. “Shit, I’ll get the salves,” she stated before her eyes landed on Jazz. “Come help me?”

Jazz looked between her aunt and her brother before looking back at Ivy and gulped, nodding her head once before following the eco-terrorist back into the bedroom.

“Oh sweetie,” Harley murmured, carefully setting Danny on the beat up couch. “Baby what happened to you?”

“Jack and Maddie happened,” he said with a hiss as his mother raised his shirt and took in the cuts that had been sloppily stitched up.

Harley’s eyes flicked between the incision that seeped red-green liquid and Danny’s pained face. “Jacky boy did this to you?”

Danny nodded, letting out a whimper. “It’s a long story,” he said as his mom traced a finger over the cuts, the pieces connecting in her brain.

Harley Quinn was a lot of things but she was not stupid. She may not have gotten the chance to visit her son as often as she wanted but the last time she had seen him she had noticed something was different about him. She had been around Ivy long enough to know when someone had gained powers that they barely had control over. She had noticed the way her son’s eyes would flash a startling green whenever his emotions got out of hand. Noticed the way he was colder than before and how his shoulders looked as though they carried the entire world on them.

She didn’t know what had happened to her son or what it had done to him, but she knew he was more than human now. She had seen that plenty of times before. And it looks like the Fentons had discovered this and decided that Danny was one of their new experiments.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” She asked bluntly, recognizing the toxic ectoplasm that seemed from between her son’s stitches. “Not all the way but somethin’ happened and they didn’t like it.”

“Yeah. I uh, I was fourteen, didn’t kill me all the way, just enough for me to be considered a ghost and you know how mom-Maddie and Jack are about ghosts,” Danny said just as Ivy and Jazz came back with towels, wet rags, and salves to cover the incisions.

Harley raised her eyes from Danny’s wounds and looked her son in the eyes. “I’m gonna kill ‘em,” she snarled, snatching a wet rag from Ivy and started to better clean the wound. “I’m gonna murder them and then when they turn into ghosts I’ll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine,” she said, hands gentle as she cleaned around the wound.

“You’re going to need to redo those stitches,” Ivy said softly, sitting beside Danny’s head and taking it in her lap as she ran her fingers through the black locks, trying to distract her wife’s son from the stinging pain he was likely feeling.

“There’s no point, the wound will be closed by tomorrow,” Jazz said quietly and handed a warm, dry towel to Harley after she had finished cleaning the incisions and carefully patted the skin dry. She then took the salve and carefully coated it over her son’s chest.

“Don’t kill them,” Danny said quietly, taking his mother’s hand in his and squeezed the pale hand in his. “Just, mom, just protect me. Please?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Harley let out a sigh and squeezed her son’s hand tight. “Baby, I’ll always protect you,” she promised, still feeling her chest burn in anger at the fact that her step-brother, the one person on this earth she had trusted to take care of her son had caused him this much pain. Jack and Maddie Fenton would rue the day they hurt Harley Quinn’s baby.

[turbulentscrawl]

Since the topic of body hcs and body hair hcs overall...may I ask what do you think survivors smell like? I've seen some people differ and I just wanna know your thoughts ;w;

Also, we've gotta be honest. They *will* stink at times, specially after matches. But hey that's only but natural so *shrugs*.

They definitely smell more distinct than I think we'd be used to in general, yeah. And I DON'T think most of them smell unique enough to say how they're different from others, specifically, but there are a few things to consider, if we're looking at it a little more realistically:

More regular cleanliness was becoming normal in the 1800s, when most of the survivors were from, but the actual frequency of bathing varied by class and career. Showering daily still was not common until the 1900s, though. Even without any concerns about water supply in the manor, I would imagine most of them average a full clean-up maybe twice a week? A little more for those who get into actual filth on their days off. (looking at Emma, since she digs in the dirt and spend a lot of time outside.)

Deodorent was not invented until 1888, and didn't become popular until the 1930s or so. And most early deodorents didn't come with much in the way of additional scents, rather they just killed bacteria that caused excess body odors. Most of the people in the manor would not have used this, except perhaps the latest arrivals like Frederick and Alice. Instead, before deodorant, people took steps like shaving their underarms to prevent more sweat and bad scents, and used products like perfume and talcum powder to freshen up and get rid of odors.

Fancier soaps were around in the 1800s, but were used sparingly and economically. The lower class especially would have made their own ashen lye soap to bathe and wash their clothes. (Which, if you've never smelled unscented lye soap, is not pleasant to the nose imo. It's a bit of a pungent chemical smell, mixed with the scent of whatever the soap base was, which was usually lard and olive oil.) More expensive soaps could have been made from things like almond oil, coconut oil, or goat's milk, plus herbs or extracts for something much better smelling.

There's not a ton of hard labor to do in the manor, which would keep some people from working up so much of a sweat, but there's not likely an AC there. On the plus side, I don't imagine there's too much weather fluctuation in the manor for the sake of keeping the passage of time as confusing as possible, which also means it's not getting too hot. Most of the temperature changes you experience would be on the maps. I also don't think a lot of the Hunters would sweat! Any of those who have been dead and were brought back probably don't perspire anymore, though they may have the slightest hint of something off about them.

In short...yeah there's definitely more BO than we're used to in most modern settings. Most of the people in the manor are going to smell pretty natural--which won't always be offensive to the nose, mind you, since they say the smell of someone who's right for you will smell GOOD--plus some talcum/baby power or perfume scents to 'soften the blow' a bit. (Though it wasn't really in fashion to DROWN yourself in perfume by most of these peoples' time, so I think only a few people might lay it on too thick. Mary or Vera, for instance.)

And some people probably maintain very small scent hints about their professions or lives before the manor, just to distinguish them up close. Luchino has a touch of carbolic acid on his clothes, from sterilizing tools in the lab. Norton still smells of coal and minerals, just a touch. Victor smells a bit like sun-heated dog due to walking around outside all day with Wick, and Ithaqua like snowy pine trees from his years wandering and guarding winter woods. You get the idea.

I won't say who I think smells the worst or the best because that;s just too subjective--especially since I've revealed I don't like the smell of lye which is probably what most of them would have used LOL. But I'm definitely not one to say 'let's fully suspend our disbelief and say Naib smells freshly showered and uses Old Spice 😜'.

[electric-blorbos]

AIs with a reader who has eczema perchance ...!?

AAAAAAAAAA Yes yes yes!!! I love writing for people with specific conditions, especially ones that are under-catered to! But be warned, I don't have eczema, so I'm sorry if my portrayal of it is a little off. (I have done a little research since I thought I had eczema, but it turned out it was skin allergies.)

AIs with a reader who has eczema headcanons

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

I didn't include GLaDOS's mean comments because coming up with that sort of thing made me feel a little uncomfortable, and I doubt anyone would want to read that.

AM:

At first, AM was confused to see you scratching at your skin. He was usually so jealous of human skin and bodies, allowing them to touch things and receive sensations, but you just looked so uncomfortable all the time.

Even on good days, he couldn't be jealous. You spent so much time trying to cover up your embarrassing rashes, and he hated it. Especially when the seams on your clothes made you uncomfortable, or you got hot from wearing too long of pants and sleeves to cover your flair-ups

Occasionally seeing you while he was feeling especially angry would calm down his bouts of envy, but before long, seeing your pain just made him angrier.

Why were humans putting so much effort into war, and so little effort into alleviating discomfort for people like you? It just made him so mad!

When he finally did nuke the world, and built a lovely subterranean paradise for you, he made sure that the humidity was always just right for your skin. It took a bit of experimenting, but he eventually found something perfect.

He even started growing a lovely little garden of aloe plants for you. Of course, he could just make the aloe gel for you himself, but he liked giving you something to work on. Something to wile away the hours on, considering you would live forever and there was no one else to interact with. It was good for you to have a pastime, even if it was an easy plant to care for, like succulents.

He might use your eczema as inspiration for torture for his survivors, too. Make them rashy and itchy? Introduce new allergies? Yes please!

He could probably just cure the eczema, and he might ask you if you want him to, but he loves the pretty red patches and beautiful textured spots on your skin. The odds are, he won't cure it unless you ask.

Wheatley:

Dumbass that he is, Wheatley might make a few odd comments about your eczema.

"whoa, what's that on your skin, love?" That sort of thing.

You'd have to explain that you're not allergic to anything in particular, you just get dry and flaky skin sometimes.

Sometimes you'd catch Wheatley staring. Y'know raindrop racing? He'd be imagining how a raindrop would run down the patchy dry spots on your arm, thinking about cracked clay, or just generally getting distracted by your cracked skin.

"Hey love, why don't you wear shorts and t-shirts more often? The other cores and I think you'd look good in them."

You'd have to explain that t-shirts and shorts aren't lab-safe, and that you have to wear a lab coat and proper safety pants, even if you don't work with chemicals.

"oh. ...why?"

You don't want to tell him that it's because you feel self conscious without them, so you'd probably just shrug or tell him it was regulation, or that you just like to look science-y.

If you asked him to stop staring at the rashy spots on your exposed skin, or tried covering them up, he would absolutely beg you to let him look. Wheatley loves irregular patterns and organic shapes, so seeing your eczema patches is like free enrichment for him. It's definitely a break from the constant sterile environments that he has to look at all the time.

Also god help you if you decide to wear a T-shirt and shorts on a casual Friday. Wheatley would just be following you around and staring at you all day, probably babbling constantly about how good you look.

"I nicknamed all the patches on your body. That one on your upper left arm is my favorite, by the way. I wish I had hands so I could run my fingers along it."

You'd probably have to yell at him to shut up before he gets the message, but you might not want to do that.

Edgar:

Edgar is used to Hollywood beauty standards when it comes to people, since his only exposure to people is soap operas and Miles, who let's face it, was pretty much physically flawless.

he's seen eczema cream commercials, but they almost never show anything that might offend the public eye in those commercials, so Edgar really had no idea how bad it could get in real life.

When he first saw your bad flair-ups, he immediately thought you had poison ivy or something. He was extremely concerned, begging to know what was wrong.

When you told him that it was just eczema and that it was something your skin regularly did, he was almost more concerned. You mean you have to put up with this all the time, and there's nothing you can do about it?

It was even worse when he found out that you were self conscious about it. Of course, he gets self conscious about something he can't help, too. It's not really similar at all, but he'll use it to try to relate to you.

He tries not to bring it up, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but sometimes you might catch him looking. He'd beg you not to feel self conscious, and try to explain how beautiful he thinks your skin is. In reality, he was just staring because he was wondering what it might feel like to rub up against that pretty textured skin.

He'd practically purr like a cat the first time you actually did give him a hug. He'd absolutely love the feeling of your skin on his casing.

GLaDOS

(GLaDOS's section is a little shorter because most of it would be full of rude comments about your eczema that I was uncomfortable actually writing down)

GLaDOS. Dear sweet mean GLaDOS. She'd be relentless with her bullying, constantly saying rude and horrible things to you.

She'd keep the comments passable as back-handed compliments or "fun facts", but she was really just trying to make you feel bad.

Secretly, though, she'd have started a test operation to come up with the ultimate product for treating eczema. She'd probably be pouring funding into it.

"Oh, good. My product is working. Now the other scientists won't have to look at that ugly rash of yours. You know that sort of thing disturbs humans, right?"

Secretly, though, she'd just want to see you more comfortable. It always bothered her to see you scratching at yourself, and it wasn't as though she could feel disgusted by it, either. She didn't mind the way the rashes looked at all, it just made her feel weird that you were always so irritated.

She'd act like a total tsundere about it, but secretly she'd be happy that you were more comfortable.

HAL 9000

If HAL 9000 cared about your eczema, he definitely didn't show it. It was none of his business.

Your physical body was nothing to him. HAL cared only for your mind, and nothing else. He barely even perceived the way you looked, apart from as a way to tell you apart from the other mission control workers.

Even still, he couldn't help but notice that on days when you were having particularly bad flair-ups, your mood was generally worse, too. He also noticed that a couple of the other mission control workers were rude about your skin.

Not being able to easily kill them from Earth, HAL simply refused to cooperate with anyone besides you while they were working, and got them fired. It wasn't perfect, but at least it got them away from you.

As for the actual problem of your flair-ups putting you in a bad mood, HAL couldn't do as much directly for that. He might adjust the humidity controls in the mission control room where you worked until your skin started to improve, or absolutely scour the internet for reviews of every skin care product he could find in order to compile data and find the best product for your condition, but it made him extremely angry that he couldn't offer a more direct solution.

[howtofightwrite]

I'm working on a monster apocalypse story. I've outlined how the monsters emerged and spread throughout the world, as well as the abilities some humans developed to combat them: physical, mental, and therapeutic powers. I also have ideas about the strength and intelligence of the monsters, including some rare unranked ones. The story includes four main powers - Companies, Government, Agencies, and Hunters. However, I'm stuck on how these powers will fight the monsters, how society will evolve, and how to allocate power among the four main groups, especially considering the presence of illegal agencies and hunters.

There's a few slightly goofy things here. Don't take this too harshly, and I suspect this is a translation issue, but “therapeutic,” is probably not the term you wanted. It sounds like, “I hunt monsters through the power of unlicensed chiropractic adjustments.” You may have meant pharmacological powers, as in characters who are chemically enhanced via drugs.

There's also a little bit a weirdness in terminology here, there's three categories of powers (physical, mental, and whatever augmentation you meant), and there's also four categories of powers.

There's a very basic rule of writing, where you don't want to reuse the same word multiple times in a sentence. Except, that also extrapolates out to larger contexts like this. Now, a “power,” can refer to anything from electrical energy, a paranormal ability, or a faction, up to deities. But, if you're going to use a term like this (at least in your world building) you probably want to use it in one specific way. So, for example, you might want to say characters have three broad categories of abilities, and belong to one of four factions.

This kind of word choice can also be very helpful for establishing tone. Consider for a moment how differently it reads if you have a setting “where characters are augmented in different ways, and then work for various powers in their world,” versus one “where characters gain various supernatural abilities and then work for various conspiracies.” Not much changed in the text itself, but the kind of world you're likely to build from that core statement will be radically different.

Now, using the same terms for both is a viable choice, and also has implications. Primarily that those powers derive directly from the powers your characters work for. In that case you would probably want to have a direct 1:1 mapping of abilities to factions. For example, the corporations augment characters (cybernetically, pharmaceutically, or however else), the agencies train psychic powers, the governments provide better tech and support, while the hunters... do something.

Another problem I see up front is a lack of specificity. There are over 200 governments in the world today, with radically different philosophies and approaches to problem solving. So, lumping all of them together under a single banner is peculiar.

Governments depend to be distinct entities from one another, (at least if we're ignoring the specific edge case of puppet governments.) How they interact with one another will reflect their shared and exclusive history with one another. This creates a complex and varied tapestry that is an absolute goldmine for worldbuilding. International relations shapes the world in a way few other things can compete with.

Similarly, “companies,” is incredibly vague. I can make some educated guesses, but it doesn't really tell me anything. Are these private mercenary bands, the military remnants of fallen nations, megacorporations, or something entirely different? Again, the real question you'd need to ask yourself is, “who are these companies?” They're not a monolithic, unified force. In the world before, they were probably in direct competition with each other, and that may have persisted into the apocalypse. Depending on the nature of the story you're trying to tell, is this going to be another case where you have some factions trying to ally with, or use the monsters for themselves? By, “therapeutic,” do you mean that some of these corporations are trying to graft monster parts onto their own loyal subjects, or looking for means to mind control the monsters, turning them into a domesticated combat force, loyal to them?

Agencies is probably one of the hardest to lock down, because that can refer to either a private or public organization. So this is either part of the companies or part of the governments. Unless the intent was to indicate that these were some kind of separate group, like a foundation, or even a guild.

I'm assuming with hunters, you mean freelance hunters. Because, anyone hunting monsters for any of the above groups could be considered, “a hunter,” but this one isn't a big deal.

So what do you do? You probably want to start with the specifics. You might have a general thought, like what you're describing at the top, but ultimately, that's a very brief stepping stone. You'd sketch that out, and then immediately flip over to detailing the various factions and kinds of characters in more depth. You don't necessarily need to have much detail when you're getting started with your story, but you should be able to, at least, name off most of the major factions that you know are important, and how they interact (with each other, and also with the story.)

A lot of world building lives or dies on how well your various factions interact with each other to create a credible gestalt.

-Starke

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[otherone12]

Let's Be Alone Together

(FOB reference, 'cause couldn't think of anythig else)

Frank Iero x Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! I took really long to finisn this one, 'cause i needed to do the most complex a could… i was going to write it ‘bout Gerard, but I always write about him (yep, i'm kinda obsessed). Wel, I changed to Frank ‘cause I thought it would be nice. I know you don't read the fics I write about other members (who aren't Gerard) that much, but still... Hope u like it <3

(If u have some suggestion, idea, or request, just drop it! )

Summary: Your dad is one of the members of MCR staff, so you went to the reunion tour with them. You alwas has a crush on Frank, but you didn't expected that he would fall for you.

- Word Count: 4.850

- Warnings: Big age gap (legal but big), afab SMUT (a little scene, not big deal).

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

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1s Person POV

I've always been a big fan of My Chemical Romance, but unfortunately my father never took me to see them live, so this Reunion Tour will be my first time not only seeing them, but meeting the members of my favorite band.

Obviously, the moment my dad phoned me to ask if I'd like to accompany him, I was extremely excited and could hardly hold back, but I also couldn't help being nervous, considering my absurd crush on Frank.

What if I said something wrong? Something embarrassing? What if I fainted in front of him? What if I blushed too much, making it obvious that he had always been a weak point during my teenage years?

Putting my anxious thoughts aside, I went to pack my bags, as I don't like to leave things to the last minute, especially when it comes to something so important.

*** time skip ***

Finally, the day I'd been waiting for arrived. My father came to my apartment to pick me up and we went to the place where we boarded the production bus.

- Are you ready? - He asked me, while I put my things in the trunk.

- Fucking ready! - I said, and my dad chuckled, knowing that it was a MCR reference.

We got in the car and he drove us for the not too long way through the bus.

- Well, there are some things you have to know before we arrive.

- I’m all ears.

- First of all, they’re really nice, but don’t be annoying, ‘cause they’re working.

At no point did he take his eyes off the road, but I'm sure he knew exactly what my facial expression was, and he let out a chuckle.  

- I’m not annoying at all! - I protested, more in a joking tone than in protest in fact.

- I know, but fans can be a bit, so I have to warn you. - a chuckle escaped from his mouth - Another thing is that I want you to help me tidy up the equipment.

- Sure! But you’ll have to teach me how to do it. - I warned.

- Don't worry, I will!

It wasn't long before we arrived at the tour bus location. Anxiety took over me, after all I was about to meet the guys who saved my life, as well as the guy who was my teenage crush. I spent so much time waiting to meet them that it doesn't even seem real.

Soon, the four of them got off their bus, which was next to the one we were loading.

- Hey, guys! I want you to meet my kid. - my dad said, pushing me forward.

I couldn't help but let out an awkward smile. Of course I was embarrassed of my dad doing this kind of thing, but I was definitely more excited.

- Hi! - Mikey said, shaking my hand with a smile - I heard you’re a huge fan of My Chem.

- Yeah! You guys are my favorite band ever.

- Nice to finally meet you! - Gerard says, with a cute smile on his face and approaching to give me a hug .- Your dad talks a lot about you.

I panicked. Did dad mention Frank? I've never been discreet about my feelings for him. But I think he couldn't... Could he?

- Only good things, i hope - i chuckled

- Of course, and in the kindest way possible - Ray laughed a bit, giving me a hug, and, damn his arms are really strong.

Getting out of Ray’s arms, I saw Frank getting close to me and I started to shake, remembering all the edits I had of him on my phone when I was a teenager, it was only a couple years ago, so probably if I look I'll find some.

- I think it’s my turn to say ‘hi’ - He chuckled and hugged me. - How are you?

- I-i'm fine.

When his eyes met mine, I blushed, and quickly looked away, hoping it wouldn't be obvious.

Well, after the moment that was awkward for me, but normal for the others (I hope) my dad and I put our things on the bus, and he started to show me where I could find the equipment stuff.

After stowing my things and getting a quick rundown of the equipment area from my dad, I wander back toward the front of the bus. The band had already dispersed, Gerard and Mikey were outside chatting, Ray was setting up something technical near the sound system, and Frank… Well, Frank had disappeared somewhere.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, I decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. As I rounded the corner of the bus, I spotted Frank, sitting on the back steps with a cigarette between his fingers, his face relaxed as he watched the sun dip below the horizon.

He notices me immediately.

- Hey! - He said, and I turned my attention to him, making my way towards Frank - You okay?

I soon stopped next to him, and he shifted on the step, giving me room to sit next to him, and I did so, a little shyly and awkwardly, after all it was THE Frank Iero.

- Yeah, - I let out a sigh, tired. It was just the first day - I just needed some air. It's... a lot.

- Yeah, I get it. - when he spoke, cigarette smoke came out of his mouth, a mix of the woodsy notes of his cologne and cigarette smoke hit me, and it’s impossible not to feel a little dizzy - First time meeting your favorite band and all.

- Your dad’s been hyping you up a lot. - He smiled, taking a drag and putting on a subject - He’s proud of you, y'know?

Frank laughs softly, the sound light and warm, and it makes my stomach flip.

- Yeah… - Knowing my father as I do, I already knew that there was a good chance that he had said too much, so I put my hands to my face, thinking about the possibilities. - He’s been telling embarrassing stories, hasn’t he?

- He might’ve mentioned a few. But nothing too bad.- He chuckled, but the next sentence he mocked a bit, and glanced sideways at me - Except maybe the part where you had a bit of a crush on someone in the band.

I felt my nervousness increasing, my face getting hot, soI buried my face even deeper in my hands.

- Oh my god, please tell me you’re joking

- Relax, he didn’t name names. But… - He shrugs playfully - I have a feeling I know who it was…

I looked in his direction, my eyes wide, and in a matter of seconds I realized that my reaction was very obvious. Frank noticed my state, so he laid his tattooed hand on my shoulder.

- But, hey, don’t worry this is totally normal. - My heart raced with the quick eye contact we made, but he continued trying to comfort me - I had a huge thing for Debbie Harry back in the day.

I laughed, and the conversation kept going, passing through a lot of different light subjects, and word by word I calmed down. Tour stories, the weird snacks people leave backstage, music... The longer I sit there, the more I realize that despite the years I spent idolizing him, Frank feels... real. Just a guy who likes good music, bad jokes, and late-night conversations.

The time didn’t seem to pass, but Frank got up and groaned.

- Well, I should probably get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. - He smiled at me, scratching the back of his neck - It was cool hanging out with you. Maybe we can do this again sometime?

- Yeah, I’d like that - I smiled back, and he got on the bus.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened that night for days, but things went far when Frank started to ask me little favors. Help him with ideas for setlists, with the excuse that I was “a fan that they need to choose the right songs”. After all, we spent about two hours together, laughing and chatting.

I started to notice that maybe these favors were some kind of excuses, ‘cause there were no reason for me to help him to find his hoodie, go with him everywhere just because “he don’t want to go alone”, help him to choose his clothes, or just being with him to listen him practiced. 

It’s not like I wasn't enjoying it, but it turned worryingly suspicious. I really wanted to keep spending time with him, even though I knew it wouldn't lead to anything, and that it would only be during the tour, but even so, they were the moments I'd dreamed of for years.

But the thought of someone actually noticing gives me creeps. 

Everything was going fine, but one morning after a show, I was standing outside the bus when Frank pops his head out and spots me.

- Hey, we’re grabbing breakfast. You wanna come with? 

- Wouldn't I be a bother? 

- Nah, it 's cool. We’ll grab you a seat. C’mon

At first, I hesitated, but his warm smile was impossible to resist. Not thinking too much, I followed him toward the diner with butterflies in my stomach. Inside, the guys settle into a booth, squishing together on one side while leaving space for Frank and I on the other.

- So, Frank - Ray breaks the silence after the coffee arrives, with a grin on his face - didn’t know you were handing out VIP passes these days.

- Exclusive breakfast invites. - Mikey chuckled - Very on-brand.

- We’ve been in the band for years! - Gerard said, playfully, pretending to be offended - Where’s my personal breakfast date?

- Shut up, guys. - Frank rolled his eyes - I’m just being nice

- ”Nice.” Right. - Ray teased, and I held myself back to not blush, glancing sideways to Frank - That’s what we’re calling it now?

- Does the ‘VIP package’ come with a t-shirt too? - Gerard smirks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Frank groaned, his knee brushing against mine under the table. I can tell he was embarrassed by their teasing but trying not to make it worse. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping the attention doesn’t give anything away.

- You guys are idiots.

Even though the teasing eventually subsides, I couldn't help but notice how Frank keeps glancing my way, as if checking to make sure I'm okay. It looks like we were sharing some secret I haven't fully acknowledged yet.

They started talking about the concert tonight, talking about what clothes they were going to wear or something, but I think I was too distracted looking at Frank out of the corner of my eye to pay attention.

The rest of the day passed normally, with the boys rehearsing and getting ready, while I helped set up the equipment, along with the rest of the staff. 

When the show started, I didn't take my eyes off the stage for a single second. It's not as if I've never seen this show before, after all, it was the 3rd show of the tour, but every time there's something different. Each of the shows so far I've been looking at everyone's performance, but this one in particular I was hypnotized by Frank's performance, who always makes a point of being extremely hot. 

Before I knew it, the show was over and they were leaving the stage. Frank threw the pick into the audience and ran to the opposite side from where the others had gone. The side where I was.

With his guitar slung over his body, he came even closer to me, but it was so fast that I couldn't react. His hands reached for my face and his lips collided with mine, and I didn't move away. His sweaty face brushed against mine as his tongue danced with mine. At that brief moment it was just the two of us.  

He pulled out, quick, and with an awkward smile.

- Damn. Sorry… - Frank finally realized what happened, and shook his head in confusion - I... I don’t know what came over me.

- It’s okay… - i gave him a small smile, catching my breath.

After that, everything became a blur in my memory. The only thing I thought about in the last few hours before I fell asleep was how much I wanted that kiss, how much I felt that he wanted it too. The way Frank's eyes shone when he stared at me for a few seconds before apologizing. 

This tension that builded between us just grows and it becomes impossible to handle, so we start sneaking around. Brief kisses when no one was around, mid-night walks, deep conversations, cuddles in the bus when it was empty… every time he touches me, I feel the way no one has ever made me feel.  

Another show was about to begin and I was walking through the corridors near the dressing room when I felt a tug on my arm, just after I heard the sound of the door opening. Once inside the dressing room, my back hit the door, slamming it shut. Still in a bit of a daze, I looked up to meet Frank's beautiful hazel eyes. 

Without much time to understand the whole situation, I heard the door lock click shut, and just as quickly, he kissed my lips, with his hands going up to my waist.

- Are you insane?! -  mumbled, whispering in his lips, between kisses . - Show’s gonna start in less than ten minutes!

- So better we do it fast, huh. - His mouth traveled in my neck, sucking it perfectly. 

His hands grip my hips like he can’t bear to let go, thumbs brushing under the hem of my shirt, I shivered. 

- We don’t have time for this… - I moaned, laughing, with my hands on his chest, pushing him away.

- Exactly. - He whispered, with his lips on my collarbone - No time to waste.

Before I could say anything, he pulled up my shirt, taking it off. My back pressed even hard against the door, as his hand went back to my waist. I grab the front of his jacket, pulling him closer until his body molds against mine perfectly. His lips find mine again, the kiss turning deeper, hotter, all tongue and teeth, like neither of us could get enough.

His hands slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans.

- We can be quick - He said. His voice was soft and low. making me bite my lips.

Frank unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down. He slipped a hand between my thighs, looking up at me and liking his lips. 

- Frank, - I panted, feeling his fingers rubbing me through my panties. - we’re gonna get caught.

I let out a moan, and a smile grew in his face. 

- Then we’ll have to make it worth the risk, won’t we? - Frank teased, catching my lips again and muffled the noises coming out of my mouth.  

Not taking too long, his shirt came off, as well his jeans, showing his tattooed body. He turned me and pushed my body to the couch in the corner of the dressing room. His body on mine, and his mouth in my neck, just felt right. Frank undid my bra, moving his hands to my breasts. Again I whimpered, a bit much louder this time.

- Shh, baby - He warned, teasing - Don’t want the others hearing, do you?

I shook my head, but his tone wasn’t helping at all. With no more clothes between us, he thrusted inside of me. Wasn’t the first time we did this, but it always felt like it was. Every move he made caused a turn in my stomach. Among whimpers, messy touches and praises, we were finally reaching our climaxes. 

- Frank… I-  I was a hot mess, with my fingers tangled in his hair. - I'm so close...

- I told you we could be quick… - He grounded - do it, angel… 

Pleasures washed over my body as I felt him reaching his own pleasure. 

Just in time, we dressed up, and kissed passionately one more time before he go to the stage, and performed awesome as always.

These things became more and more frequent and I no longer knew if we were “just friends”, if we were just “hooking up” or if we were really dating. Well, another day was going normally and, as usual, I started tidying up some stuff, when Mikey showed up, a little bored and bringing up a random subject. Before long, we were laughing at some pointless joke. Some a few minutes passed, and Mikey looked at his phone, noticing a message on it. 

- Hum… - Mikey sighed, reading the text on his phone - Well, gotta go… we definitely need to talk more often, by the way. 

- Well, I'm always here - I gave him a gentle smile. as he walked by -  Bye, Mikey.

He waved at me and Frank appeared. I was surprised when I looked at his face, even though he tried to hide it, was clearly disconcerted. 

- Such a funny guy, right? - He wasn’t angry, but I never heard him talking like that. 

- What? - I was confused… Was he… jealous? - Mikey? What’s the problem? 

- I don’t know! It just…- He stops, exhaling sharply, his hands running through his hair - It drives me nuts seeing you with someone else, okay?

I raised my eyebrow, trying to understand what he was trying to say... so I followed my first hunch, this time asking, softly and a little shyly.

- Frank… Are you jealous?

- Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know - he rubbed his hands over his face, nervous.

He approached me, holding my waist, still a little exasperated, he sighed, thinking about how to speak. 

- I just... I think I love you. And it scares the hell out of me.

- I love you too… - I moved my face close to his, placing a soft kiss on his lips - and it’s okay being scared... I’m here, if you need… hm.

After that, our meetings became more and more frequent, the perfect balance between the physical, the kisses, hugs, touches... and the sentimental, long conversations, personal stories, and even comfortable moments of silence, when just the company of each other was enough.

Unfortunately, the more shows that went on, the closer it got to the moment when we would have to put an end to it, and it was obvious that neither he nor I wanted that. Even though I tried not to think about it too much, it kept haunting me whenever I wasn't near him, thinking about what it would be like to have to go on with my life pretending that none of this had happened. 

Again, I was walking past the corridor hotel when Ray asked me to call Frank to go out with them. Without hesitation, I made my way to his room. I knocked on the door, not waiting for an answer. 

- Hey... The guys said they're going out to drink or something - I said stepping into his room - they asked me to call you to go with them.

Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, clearly dazed by something.

- I'm really not in the mood today... - He mumbled.

I walked up to him calmly, and placed my hand on his shoulder, caressing him. 

- looks like there's something bothering you... - My tone was gentle, with genuine intention of seeing him well.

He took his hands off his face, now looking in my direction. I gave him a weak smile, trying to comfort him. His hair fell perfectly in his face, taking my attention away from the conversation and making me admire how beautiful he is.

- I'm just... - He sighed and paused for a moment, searching for an answer. - with a lot going on in my head.

My hand rose to his face, caressing his cheek. He maintained eye contact and I was mesmerized by his hazel eyes.

- Want to talk about it? -I asked, my thumb making circles in his warm skin.  - 'cause i'm here if you want to-

- I can't stop thinking about you - He grunted, turning his face away from my hand. Not because he didn't want me to touch him, but because somehow it was a tease for him.

That being the case, I took this confession as a green light. So, feigning innocence, I sat on his lap. He didn't stop me, in fact, he put his arm around my waist.

- And is this a bad thing, hm? - my hands passed behind his neck, while I brought my lips closer to his - Am I a annoying thought?

With our noses touching, I felt Frank's hand come up under my shirt, still with a firm grip. 

- It's actually the best thing I could think about - His voice was deep and almost a whisper, making my skin crawl.

- So what's wrong? - Before he could respond, I pressed my lips against his. Exactly the same feeling and taste as last time. It wasn't long before he broke the kiss, leaving me feeling empty.

- Everything - His eyes expressed sadness and hurt as he spoke.  - Our time is getting over… This is not right… 

Of course it wasn't right, but I wasn't going to give up, knowing that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Without any shame, I brought my lips closer to his jawline, and pressed kisses as I spoke.

- But you know as well as I do that even if it's not right, it feels so fucking good. - When I spoke, he closed his eyes, letting out a whimper.

- Don't do this to me... - Frank sighed, still running his hands over my body.

Little by little, he lay down on the bed and pulled me with him. It wasn't long before he kissed me passionately, making me melt in his arms. His tongue passed over my lips, finding mine, as I positioned myself on top of him.

It was all too good to be true, until he ruined the moment by reminding me of his moral dilemma.

- 'C'mon… You know this can’t last - he grunted, upset about what I was about to say  - you have to find guys your age.

Without getting off him, just settling myself more comfortably, I hugged him, resting my head on his chest.

- I don't want guys my age! - I whined, hugging him even tighter- they are immature, boring... and not even close to being as pretty as you.

- You’re ridiculous - He let out a chuckle, knowing I wasn't lying.

 Frank stroked my hair, getting carried away and momentarily forgetting the point of the conversation.

- I’m serious! I want you, Frank... - I said  looking in his eyes - always wanted, and I can see in your eyes that you want me too.

- You're right - Again, Frank sighed, with a sad smile on his face - But we can’t do this, angel. 

- We don't have to be public... - I tried, slipping my hand under his shirt and caressing his chest - Just gimme a chance to be yours.

Leaving all malice aside, I gave him my best doe eye. It wasn't like I needed to seduce him, but to convince him that he should be with me, regardless of the rest of the world.

- You're already mine, baby... - His confusion was obvious, while he felt the need to continue our relationship and make it something serious, he knew that everything could go wrong. -  But this... it’s going to get complicated. 

Little by little, I got up, got off Frank and sat down next to him. He did the same thing, and then I looked at him seriously.

- That's really a big deal? - It wasn't like I was arguing, but a serious question, waiting for his answer.

Frank took a deep breath, focusing on giving me the best answer he could find. 

- You're too young, and I have a career. - I opened my mouth to complain, but he was right, even if it hurt me to say - It wouldn’t just ruin me.. it’d ruin the band too.

Thinking, I couldn't find any logical thing to say, so I had to appeal to feelings. 

- It’s not even illegal! and… we can keep it a secret! - I started to beg, letting my feelings control my mouth - Please, don’t push me away... I love you, Frank, I really do.

It was not something I planned, but my desperation to continue with him spoke louder than any pride could hold back.

He moved close to me, holding my chin with his fingertips, making me look at him. Frank smiled, admiring every detail of my face. 

- you're so pretty, y'know? - He pressed his lips on mine, but too fast for me to kiss him back. With a sweet tone, he concluded - I love you too, angel.

His hand passed over the back of my neck and I was practically on his lap again. My arms wrapped around his neck and the feeling of his lips on mine simply made me think that there was no other man for me. Frank turned my body and laid me against the bed, leaving him on top of me, with our lips still glued.

- You're so perfect - He stammered, catching his breath with his forehead pressed against mine. - Shame you’re so damn manipulative, though.

He continued kissing my face, moving down to my chest, and his hands held the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it.

- Not my fault you’re crazy about me - I giggled seeing him blush a little.

I lifted myself up enough so he could take my shirt off completely and throw it on the floor.

- Lucky for you - Frank looked at me in the eyes, while his hands went to my jeans, unbuttoning and opening the zipper, easily and quickly, in the blink of an eye my pants were on the floor too - I am indeed

He pulled away enough to pull off his shirt, revealing his tattooed body. I sighed, unable to take my eyes off him. I bit my lip impatiently as he pulled off his pants.

Falling back on top of me, he trailed kisses down my neck, sucking gently, while I moaned as lower as possible, knowing that even if the boys had left, someone from the staff could be passing by.

- I already said that, but I'm gonna say it again - he whispered with his lips on my skin - I love you.

I was about to tell him the same, but something interrupted me.

A knock on the door took our attention away from each other, without getting a response, the door that I thought I had locked opened, revealing the only person who definitely shouldn't see me in that situation.

- Hey, Frank, have you seen my- My dad was left speechless, not knowing whether to turn away or continue staring in disbelief.

We froze. Why didn't I lock the goddamn door?! (No, it's much better to face these kinds of things)

I could kill myself in front of them both. Shame took over me, both for my father seeing me in that situation and for putting Frank in it.

So there I was, lying on Frank's bed, half naked, with him on top of me. Frank's hands were positioned on my waist, while his mouth roamed my neck and collarbone. My fingers subtly tangled in the long strands of his hair, while my legs wrapped around his waist.

The scene was not ugly, quite the opposite, but my father looked shocked. I really expected him to leave, but after a few moments I realized he wasn't going to leave the room any time soon.

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, before trying to speak.

-I-I'd like to say it's not what it seems… but i can't.

Frank seemed stunned by the situation, he didn't know whether to continue what he was doing or stop. 

- Are you two some kind of…?

I opened my mouth to try to explain the whole thing, but before I could say anything, Frank came forward.

- I love them. - He spoke confidently, and I smiled. - I know there are a lot of problems with this, but I can't deny it.

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy as everyone exchanged glances. My father sighed, and clicked his tongue.

- Do you love him back? - he asked with an arched eyebrow.

- Yes! I love him so much!

- Then I have no complaints.  - He said, in an obvious tone - You're both adults. Just… wait till I get out of the room to keep doing whatever you both are doing. And lock the door next time,yeah? 

- Thanks, dad… - I let out a little smile.

My father nodded, leaving the room and closing the door.

- Good thing your dad likes me.

We laughed and he caught my lips again. I smiled against the kiss, pulling away just enough to speak.

- How could he not? - Fast, my smile disappeared, and I couldn't help but ask the thing I most feared about.  - So… when the tour ends… will we, y’know, over? 

- No way i’ll let you go, baby. 

The soft voice that came out of his mouth gave me more pleasure than his touches at that moment. Knowing that it wasn't the end, knowing that he thought I was worth the risk. I could never have imagined such a perfect cerario

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~ Soooo, that's it! It ended up being much longer than I thought it would be, but I hope that if you had the patience to read this far, you enjoyed it!

let me know if u liked! <3

[icrypop]

"Fatherly Advice"

TMNT 2012 Donatello

2012! Donnie x Fem! Reader

Fluuufffffyyyy

Hiya my lil bookworms, hope everyone is weellllll! I know its taken me a hot minute but my jobs kicking ass right now :') I'm so sorry and I'll try to update more but also give people chances to request!!! ANyway, thought this was cute cuz Splinter from 2012 is like... an awesome father figure and I love Donnie soooo- Here is some fluff!! Also, definitely make sure to check out writer Grem's stuff, they're working hard right now<3

ANYWAY, Requests are 100% open so pleaaaaseee ask away<33

-Writer Icy<3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the serene and dimly lit dojo beneath the bustling streets of New York City, Master Splinter sat in quiet meditation. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting gentle shadows that danced around the room. His keen ears caught the sound of hesitant footsteps approaching.

"Enter," he called, his voice calm and inviting.

A young girl with h/c hair stepped into the dojo, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Y/n had been a friend of the Turtles for some time, often joining them on their adventures. Recently, however, her heart had become overwhelmed with emotions she struggled to understand.

"Master Splinter," Y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need your advice."

Splinter opened his eyes and looked at her with a kind and knowing gaze. "Sit, my child. Tell me what troubles you."

Y/n took a deep breath and sat cross-legged before the wise old rat. "I... I think I've caught feelings for Donatello," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "But I don't know what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us, especially if he has a crush on April."

Splinter nodded slowly, considering her words. "Love is a powerful and beautiful emotion, Y/n. It is natural to feel uncertain when your heart is involved. Tell me, what is it about Donatello that draws you to him?"

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes lighting up as she thought of Donnie. "He's so intelligent and kind. He's always thinking of others and working so hard to help everyone. He's brave, but he also has this gentle side that... that makes me feel safe and cared for."

Splinter's whiskers twitched in amusement. "Donatello is indeed a remarkable young turtle. Your feelings for him are understandable and sincere."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "But what if he doesn't feel the same way? Or what if it makes things complicated with the team?"

Splinter reached out and gently placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "In matters of the heart, there is always a risk. But love is not something to be feared. It is a gift to be cherished. If you speak honestly and openly with Donatello, you will find your path."

Y/n looked up at Splinter, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Splinter. Your words mean a lot to me."

"Remember, Y/n," Splinter continued, "Love requires patience, understanding, and courage. If your feelings are true, they will find their way. And no matter the outcome, your bond with Donatello and the rest of the Turtles will endure."

Y/n nodded, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. "I will talk to him. Thank you for the advice sensei."

Splinter smiled warmly. "Go with confidence, my child. Trust in your heart and in Donatello's."

With newfound resolve, Y/n stood and bowed respectfully before leaving the dojo. As she made her way to the lab where Donatello was undoubtedly working on his latest invention, she felt a renewed sense of hope. Whatever the future held, she knew that Master Splinter's wisdom would guide her through the challenges ahead.

And in the quiet of the dojo, Splinter returned to his meditation, his heart full of pride for his son and the young girl who had bravely sought his counsel.

Donnie's POV~

Donatello adjusted his goggles, his focus completely absorbed by the precision needed to tend to the chemicals in front of him. The hum of machinery and the faint scent of chemicals filled the air, creating a familiar and comforting backdrop to his work. He was in his element, surrounded by the tools and gadgets that defined his world.

"Hey, Donnie," a voice called out, pulling him from his concentration.

He looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw Y/n standing at the entrance of his lab. Her presence was always a welcome distraction, though he could tell something was different this time. There was a nervousness in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Y/n! What's up? Need help with something?" he asked, setting his tools aside.

Y/n stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

Donatello's curiosity piqued, and he gave her his full attention. "Sure, what's on your mind?" He asked, raising his goggles.

Y/n took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "Donnie, we've been through a lot together, and I really value our friendship. But lately, I've been feeling something more. I think… I know...Okay...I have feelings for you Donnie."

Donatello's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to process her words. "Y/n, I… I don't know what to say."

Before he could find the right words, a loud hissing sound filled the lab. Donnie's eyes darted to a beaker on his workbench, which was boiling over and fizzing violently.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, rushing to grab a towel.

Before he could reach it, the top of the beaker exploded with a small, harmless pop, sending a shower of foam and liquid across the lab. Donatello and Y/n were both splattered with the pink fizzing mixture.

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, Y/n burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Donatello couldn't help but join in, his own laughter filling the lab.

"Well, that was unexpected," Y/n said, wiping foam from her face.

Donnie grinned, shaking his head. "I guess I got a little distracted. Thankfully, the mixture wasn't harmful."

They both laughed again, the tension of the moment melting away. Donatello reached out and wiped a bit of foam from Y/n's cheek, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"You know, Y/n," he said softly, "even with exploding beakers, this has been one of the best moments of my life."

Y/n's heart swelled with warmth, and she leaned into his soft touch. "Mine too, Donnie."

Donatello took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto hers with a newfound determination. "Y/n, I need you to know something. I've had feelings for you too, for a long time. I was always afraid to say anything because I didn't want to risk our friendship. But now, I don't want to hide it anymore. I care about you so much and I do reciprocate those feelings."

Leah's eyes widened in surprise and joy. "Really? What about April?"

Donatello nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes, Y/n. I got over April. Look, You're amazing, and I want to be with you...I-If you'll be my girlfriend, that is..."

They stood there for a moment, Donnie reaching slowly to hold her hand gently. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their shared happiness.

In that moment she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close foe a hug. he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, stiffly before relaxing slowly. It was quiet a promise of many more moments to come, filled with love, laughter, and the bond that had brought them together.

As they cleaned up the lab side by side, their hearts were light, knowing that they had taken the first step on a new and exciting journey together. Donatello couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and contentment, knowing that Leah felt the same way. And with her by his side, he knew that their adventures would be even more special.

Little did the duo know, Splinter was just outside, listening to the whole exchange with a proud smile on his face, "That's my son." he nodded and made his way back to the dojo to continue his meditation.

[spiralsublime]

we all have to be aware of how perfect the placements of the reactions are, especially when we consider what led to them being scattered. but i personally need to put it all into words to get it out of my brain.

Then we have Fight, represented by an older woman who is a trainer. No longer an active fighter, no longer the fighter, but instead a coach. Not to mention a coach to "Domination" who is terribly undersized and is constantly beaten (assumedly) by self-doubt. She can not actively react and fight self-doubt herself, so instead she coaches and tries. She has been internalized and weakened. She doesn't have the same self-hate as Conrad from the actual Incident, but Elias has pushed his own fight response to the sidelines so hard that had can't fight his own self-esteem issues.

Also fight is perfect for a Noir Trope of the out of work old champion who comes out of retirement. And I LOVE that.

= Spoilers for the newest Episode below =

in episode and in adventuring party they actively talked about the meaning of Freeze hiding as logic. It makes the most sense as Freeze is literally mentioned by Fight as being the one that she got into it with following the Ice Skate Incident. he looked around and feared the idea of ever being in a situation where they could get that hurt. and it all made sense to him. so he becomes logic, he becomes mayor, and he freezes Elias from ever risking a fight like that again.

And that makes perfect sense for Elias, a man that is described to us as someone who has faded into himself. he hasn't had physical contact in so long that the chemicals that come from it have been outlawed in his own mind. no romance, minimal friends (probably more coworkers who barely interact from elias calling the guards companions).

The trope of false identities? CHECK.

Then we have Fawn. Fanny likely didn't have much involvement whatsoever with the Incident but she is suddenly abandoned by her family as they shatter. She then leaves and becomes attached to the Don, a man built on greed but powerful. He is an urge, and thus likely will never disappear. She still has her key, unlike Fight. She is not minimized in power because they likely never saw her as powerful. It is also extremely believable that Elias does turn to Fawn, at least more than he ever would fight.

Also she is obviously the trope of the woman in peril.

But Flight, Flight is my favorite and to be fair that might be because of the tease at the end of the episode. She is Stacey Fakename, a character that we didn't know if they were just a used name by everyone in Mentopolis or a person. Flight is so good at her job that she became a kind of myth. However, Flight has become a thief. She has her key, though I believe she stole it back (unlike Fanny just keeping it). Flight is the unknown, Flight is the surprise event. Stacey, unlike her Sister that blamed herself and her Brother who blamed everyone, likely had the frustration of the event. Elias didn't run, but he could have.

And I'm sure he has since. I think genuinely Fight being the only one without any power or connection to power shows that she became the default non-option to Elias. Freeze became his base as his logic, Flight became an instinct but less intense, and Fawn was always attached to Greed, to Safety, and through that to his Ambition.

Yeah, I love this season and I love these reactions so MUCH.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Thank you for all your hard work (all of the mods!)

I am considering giving a human version (like in an alternate universe) of a non-human character a cleft lip. as the regular version of him has a similar condition, at least visually, though he is not made of… uh, flesh and blood? And I’m not sure if he was born with the condition or acquired it later. Would it be wrong to give the human version of him a cleft lip in this case? (It’s not framed as tragic or anything, he’s just vibing and going about his business.) If it is something that would be appropriate, I was wondering whether it was realistic for an adult in modern day to have a cleft lip (probably not palate, just lip), when, from what I understand, that is usually corrected* as an infant? If it is not realistic, are there alternative facial differences that may affect one side of the upper lip/mouth? I am trying to avoid another “character experienced The Accident and is now disabled/has a facial difference,” so I was hoping for something congenital, but given this character’s line of work (machinery, chemicals, sharp things, fire) it would not be unreasonable for him to have been injured either.

*I am unsure if “corrected” is the proper term here, please forgive me if it is not

Thank you for your time and for helping me to readjust my thinking in so many matters already. I want to keep learning to do better

Hi!

If the character isn't originally A), an actual monster (obviously bad) or B), a rabbit/hare kind of creature*, I don't see any issue with their human form having a cleft lip! I guess there could be some kind of non-fleshy creature that could be unfortunate as well, but I can't think of any to be honest?

*that's because of the outdated term “hare lip” that was used in the past, which is currently considered offensive. Only applies if you specifically give them a cleft lip, other facial differences are fine.

In places like the US or Western Europe most children will have a surgery on their cleft lip, but that's not necessarily the case for areas where a surgical center (or any kind of medical facility) might be inaccessible or just plain non-existent. There's a ton of adults and children who haven't had anything done about their clefts right now; this claims that “vast majority of [children with cleft lip and/or palate] will never receive [reconstructive surgery]”. So yes, it's certainly realistic for a character to not have had surgery depending on their background. [note: I don't really like how the article talks about facial differences, but medical sources will medical source.]

Other facial differences that could affect the upper mouth could be;

a birthmark (a red port wine stain, or a black and hairy nevus, or one of the other billion combinations),

an overgrowth (like in neurofibromatosis t1 or any other overgrowth syndrome, or even things like lipoma or a cyst),

a scar (could be traumatic, from a surgery, from an illness, many options), it could also have be of different kinds - keloid, hypertrophic, etc!,

facial paralysis (could be that their upper lip doesn't move at all on one side - could be a stroke, congenital, traumatic, brain damage, progressive, infection...)

a burn scar, though it would be very specific to only have it in the upper lip and nowhere else - but I think that something like a boiling or chemical droplet falling on their face would make sense,

a whole bunch of things that I’m forgetting!

With choosing which facial difference you want to give that character, I'd keep in mind that they have symptoms other than just the visuals, and it would be good to consider whether or not you want it to reflect the original version of the character. Many people with cleft lip, especially if it's uncorrected, may have a speech disability or trouble with eating (and, subsequently, might have malnutrition problems). So if the character has very clear speech, it would be good to maybe mention that they were in speech therapy, things like that. If you don't want to get into symptoms and treatments (past or present), going for a birthmark would probably be the easiest.

I hope this helps! Thank you for your willingness to learn :-)

mod Sasza

[luna-rainbow]

About your reply to the anon about Maria Stark:

I thought it was made clear Hydra covered up the Starks' deaths? Wouldn't it have been undercover Hydra agents who carried out the "invesigation"? Hydra clearly took possession of the tapes, which we see in Civil War, and therefore I assume also performed the autopsies, etc. People like Peggy would have had no idea the organisation was compromised at this stage and would have no reason to have questioned what the people they employed and trusted were telling them.

The thing that doesn't make sense to me is Howard telling Tony he was going to the Pentagon when Shield was based at the Triskelion, which we know from the Antman movies was in use at this time. Especially considering Howard had the serum - surely that was something that should have been in Shield's hands? I wonder if anyone at Shield knew Howard had successfully recreated the serum. We know Tony doesn't know about the existence of Shield or his dad's involvement until Fury tells him, so I wonder if either A) Howard lied about where he was going or B) suspected/knew Shield was compromised and Hydra found out which was why Hydra intercepted him on his way to the Pentagon/Department of Defence.

The thing I really don't understand is why the Soviet sector of Hydra got involved in it at all - why did the tapes end up in Siberia instead of being kept by Shield/Hydra in the US? Why did they use the serum and not the American sector of Hydra? Why did the Soviets have the red book with the code words and not pass it on to the Americans with the Winter Soldier after the Cold War?

This is going on a bit of a tangent now but I've also found it deeply interesting that Vasily Karpov hid himself and the book in Ohio after the Cold War, which is exactly where the North Institute was based (where Alexei Shoshtakov stole Shields/Hydra's work on chemical subjugation with Natasha, Yelena and Melina undercover in 1995). No way is that a coincidence because Melina explicitly mentions the research on the Winter Soldier being used for the project. I wonder if Karpov had any involvement in that Hydra/Shield project, and to what extent. Maybe he wanted a way to control the other Winter Soldiers? Yet I would've thought if he was working with Shield's Hydra after the cold war, he would've handed the code words over and the other supersoldiers in cyrofreeze.

I've spent way too much time thinking about this.

You know how I feel about Peggy and her “ignorance” about Hydra constructing a multimillion dollar tribute to Zola right under her office. Once again, there are only two options: she is either incompetent or she is complicit. I mean — how did Soviet Hydra know Howard was about to transport the super soldier serum with enough advanced notice to wake and prep and send the Winter Soldier all the way from Siberia? This is Howard we’re talking about, one of the highest ranked members in one of the most secretive government organisations in the MCU, delivering a load so secretive he didn’t even engage his own chauffeur. You think he would go around telling everyone about this plan? Or would he…most likely have only told the other person who is at a similar rank as him, aka Madam Margaret Carter?

As for the post-mortems, did Tony not even view her body? This is Tony Stark — I know I have a lot of snark about him on my blog but he is supposed to be one of the more intelligent and STEM-educated persons in the Avengers, who has always had major trust issues and frequently looks down on other people’s competency and insists on doing everything himself. You’re saying he would not think it’s weird that there’s a CCTV right next to the damn car and it would…conveniently be missing footage from around the incident? That a sober Howard would just drive into a tree in a night with good visibility and no other traffic around (assuming Bucky obscured the motorbike’s tyre tracks)? If Bucky didn’t obscure his own tyre tracks, Tony didn’t want to hunt down whose bike that was? What I’m saying is, as I’ve always said, is that the Starks’ deaths were a massive deus ex machina to get the fight between Tony and Steve to turn personal. It wasn’t fair to Tony’s characterisation, because it made it seem like he just rolled over and accepted a very strange circumstance as a straight forward car accident when he’s exactly the type of person who would kick up a stink and question everything. (AU where Tony discovers Shieldra 25 years early?)

The location of Karpov is interesting. If I recall correctly though, the Red Room was only sent to spy on them not to work with them? As for Karpov, it isn’t unusual for branches of agencies to hide important information from each other even in the law enforcement side, so even if Soviet and American branches of Hydra had a collegial relationship I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to keep his 5 frozen Winter Soldiers hidden. And you’re right, maybe he went to Ohio to see if there are better ways to subjugate the soldiers with the intention of bringing it back to Siberia to use it on the decommissioned Winter Soldiers. 

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Next

I.

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

 There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less. 

 A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays. 

 The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories. 

 After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape. 

 But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

---------------------------------------------------

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

 It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning. 

 To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing. 

 “Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically. 

 He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid. 

 When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status. 

 In retrospect, he should not have read it. 

 In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood. 

 Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

[regular-gnome]

hey..

at what point do collectors opt to turn things from puppets to scrolls? I feel like turning an entire living creature into [a piece of paper] is very complicated, while turning them into simple puppets is easier because they keep all the same parts, just simplified and wood?

It is! It depends on the person's proficiency and understanding of the mechanism regarding when and how they change the creature. Once someone gets good at it, the creature can be transformed into a lifeless object without it dying in the process, and they will move on to more complex and efficient ways.

The way I see it, archiving is a form of information compression and storage—and there is A LOT of information. When looking at Earth creatures we have everything from single-cell bacteria to whales that range up to 100 quadrillion cells, all with different sizes. The smallest single-cell critter is 0.3 μm, while the largest single cell is an ostrich egg that can get to 18 cm. So it's not just noting "a cell"—there's also a lot of information about the cell content, size, the DNA, current water, and oxygen levels, what protein it contains and how much. Then there are spatial dimensions. (While we can consider there being more, especially in fiction, I’m sticking to three; trying to visualize four fills me with frustration and existential dread xD) Every cell has its place in space in relation to the others, and all the contents' relations are also important. If, suddenly, all histones materialize inside a mitochondria instead of the nucleus, we can have a problem. Additionally, physical and chemical processes gotta be considered. There's electricity powering our brains, hearts, running nerves, air in airways traveling to lungs, chemical signals traveling between synapses that also need to be accounted for. So, you have all the contents in space, their vectors, and building blocks. Thats a ton to save. This information has to be compressed to be preserved in an organized manner while also remaining lossless so that when returned to its original shape, it's as it was. Not even mentioning that in intelligent beings, there are also minds to take care of. Jellyfish might be fine after 100 years in a static void, but a human? Yhhhhh.

I think the mechanism would work by saving information in intangible magic and assigning it to a physical medium—be it a statue, doll, book, or scroll. If it is physical and can carry information, it can be used. We can argue the mind is part of the soul, or it is a biochemical process, but the fact is nobody really knows for sure what it is and Im not a theolog, so for the sake of this universe, I'll say it's something that occupies the same space magic does and is influenced by chemical processes, meeeeaning it can also be tricked by them. And the magic.

The first degree of preservation would be spells that only change the material but keep all shapes and info in place. This wouldn't require much thought while executing and could be "automated" or worse, taught to mortals (if they have enough magic to power the spell), like petrification or changing someone into wood, metal, or any other solid material. It's not perfect, if the structure is damaged, the spatial information is damaged too. Breaking is one thing, but imagine if the statue melts.

The next step would be assigning objects with some compression and change, like toys and dolls. I feel like there would need to be a system like a content library, so not every single atom is saved each time, but chemical structures like nucleotides in DNA (the ATGC thingies) would just have a shortcut. Larger repeating patterns could also be assigned their own id to save data, and it would slowly stack up. While things are written in intangible magic form and anchored to the medium, the medium can be somewhat customized, like the decorations the Collector added to the dolls. The mind, running in controlled magic, can also be affected, as we saw with Collie trying to scare them and Luz’s dream. On the spell keeping the preserved critter stable has a link to what shortcut it uses so with countless diffrent worlds and structres it wouldnt mix up.

Then we go further into compression, reducing size and dimensions until we reach a point where one axis is almost entirely removed, and we end up with a scroll. Then there are other things—creatures saved as amber miniatures, snow globes, scrolls, or drawings, sometimes purely to annoy the sibling that has to deal with the creature in unhandy form. A more permanent binding would be in a book that can contain a bunch of different animals. Rebinding for long-term preservation is the Curator’s job.

Looking at Earth creatures, eucariotic life shares ancestry with some ancient bacteria that decided to rebel and started to cooperate, so we share similarities even with distant organisms in some strutures since they come from each other. So when it comes to preserving whole populations with relations, the library of compression doesn’t have to be separate for every single animal or plant. For each section of the archive, there would be a common library of building blocks, and scrolls being somewhat separate carrying the exact instructions for body arrangement and the soul/mind/the part that makes them alive attached.

Next is unpacking the information. I think this requires the ability to interpret and recreate what was saved that mortals lack. While they couldn't really unpetrify others, a collector could (assuming the mind hadn’t deteriorated into a husk). In the case of an automated spell, I think it would result in a very lossy transmutation—like a jpg losing pixels, the creature might lose like heart funtion. The Collector's spell also looked temporary or incomplete since an influx of other types of magic (like in Amity or Raine’s case) was able to push back on it. That might also be why they were conscious in the form they were in. Not meant for long just enough to take them to archive in normal conditions. When a creature is heavily compressed, it needs external force to rebuild, as it's essentially written fully in magic. That’s what I think happened to the Owl Beast. Lilith released it from the medium, but since it wasn’t fully rebuilt, it being a magic form attached itself to a magic source.

SO YEAH, its a process that takes quite a while for them to master and it comes with experience. But when experience is based on life it often makes it hard to practice so those with less empathetic approach master it faster. Thanks for the ask! I was dying to talk about that for such a long time and that was a perfect thing to organise thoughts

[sasquapossum]

On my mind: why has there been such an increase in adulation and loyalty toward obviously defective people like Trump and Musk? Have people become more gullible than they were when I was younger? Seems unlikely. We internalized all sorts of stupid shit too, but it wasn't so focused on personalities. Then it struck me: the problem is that we've lost faith in institutions and personalities are what's left. Consider...

Politicians: believe it or not, we used to trust that they were at least sane and working generally for some vision of public good, even when we disagreed. Not since Nixon, Reagan, Dubya, etc.

Journalists: we used to trust them to report the facts in a reasonably objective way, even when that isn't necessarily what they were doing. Then came Fox and that all went out the window.

TV/radio media became all about engagement, a form of entertainment, not actual reporting. Now it's all podcasts and TikTok or YouTube, but basically same. There are some who believe one particular favorite speaks the truth, but few who would say these folks in general are trustworthy.

Print media failed in a different way, partly by being partisans for the establishment (e.g. NYT and the Iraq war) but mostly by totally missing the boat on going online. They could have agreed on a single shared subscription or micropayment system, but they each had to be greedy with their own paywalls etc. So their lunch got eaten by social media (who bear their own share of blame for eroding trust), and the press got even more unhinged about it.

Science, engineering, academe: we used to believe promises about new miracle materials, chemicals, drugs, etc. Even before anti-vaccine lunacy became a thing, a long string of disasters - microplastics, DDT, thalidomide - changed that.

Unions: they've experienced a resurgence very recently, but that's almost a "dead cat bounce" after being moribund for decades. Some people would blame Reagan and PATCO. I think the collapse of major union-heavy industries - auto, steel, mining - had more to do with it, but the result was the same.

I could go on - there's a whole other post I could write about the mixed role of churches in this context - but you get the idea. The fact that in many cases there were good reasons to withdraw our trust doesn't change the fact that such a general withdrawal creates a vacuum which we've filled with hero worship instead. That's where people like Musk and Trump come from.

Here's the kicker: it's not an accident. Undermining trust in institutions has been part of the authoritarian playbook since forever. Julius Caesar is the earliest example that most people would be familiar with, hence the silly illustration, but the phenomenon goes back much further than that. Creating that vacuum is central to authoritarian strategy. Remember Reagan's "nine most terrifying words"? Some people think of that as a libertarian statement but, with the so-called Moral Majority and various militia groups (then as now galvanized by immigration) behind him, that misses the mark. It was part of an authoritarian strategy, demeaning the administrative state and permanent civil service (i.e. institutions) in favor of raw executive power (i.e. personalities).

I'm all for unions, co-ops, mutual aid, etc. but they can't stand alone. Never have. Without a government enforcing rules (including against itself), anarchy will always evolve toward autocracy. If you think the role of government should be minimized, then congratulations, you're part of the Reagan Left ... or worse. A red hat with a hammer and sickle on it is still a red hat. You are effectively supporting authoritarianism whether you mean to or not. Also, since there's no significant left-authoritarian element in US politics - no Stalin or Mao and thank FSM for that - that means you're supporting right-authoritarians. You should stop, especially if you're a member of a group that would suffer most under such a regime.