#for not being a functional human being because ive been raised in a family of constant

[all-of-your-mercy]

sounds like an occasion........................... where i need to have a crisis :thinking emoji:

[tinydefector]

Not really a request but more of a ramble. Ive always been torn betweenn Cybertronians not really having any material instincts and just essentially knowing how to function since creation. Kinda like Steven Universe. They can be young and differ in how much knowledge they hold but overall they have the bases of how to function without any caretaker needing to be around. But then I immediately start shaking at the thought of them having even stronger instincts that humans. Maybe closer to animals that have come to accept a human as their own. Just picturing a cybertronain seeing someone who's carrying and immediately is distressed on how little protection our clothes offer. Nows theirs a bot who keeps hissing at those who get to close other humans included. Their plating is ruffled and if they are a seeker their wings are spread in a threatening manner. May you have the patience of a Saint if said seeker has a large trine because now they all share the same feral need to protect. A con that stumbles upon a lost child and immediately claims them as their sparkling.( if you wanted to make it a bit gross I can imagine they do a forced adoption the same ways farmers do sometimes. Where they just kinds cover a stray baby with the fluids of a mother to create that connection. Kinda gross but I can see it being used to further claim a child) They consider the biological parents of the child nothing more than food and shelter for their now sparkling. They try a coo and speak to the child in their natural tongue. A seeker that chirps and clicks its glossa. A grounder that does low hums and songs like a whale. Sorry for the long ramble haha. I just think the ideas of cybertronains either having no idea what instincts are but also the ideas of them drowning in them. Or meeting humans just relights their feral mindsets in any and every way.

I happen to really love both ideas a lot. I enjoy the idea of Cybertronians not understanding family or parental rolls, Forged sparks start off in smaller frames and slowly gain more framing as they get older. Instead, it works more like a mentor and apprentice side of things. They teach you how to do your job, keep your head down like Terminus with Megatron. Their race doesn't have a name for the connection they have so in turn they call each other friend, but intruth it's more than that but they don't know how to explain it or express it, they dont raise the younger one but they are their for special events such as plating ceremonies. To Megatron Terminus is an elder, someone to be respected for his knowledge and teachings. And they both care for each other, when Terminus us gravelly injured Megatron does everything he can to try and help him because he feels like he owes it to terminus for everything the older bot as done for him. It's a mutual benefit of a bond that's isn't family but also is much closer than friendship.

But on the other hand, I look at Optimus and Codexa, and I love the idea that I found this little bitlet and instantly went mother mode. Practically scoops him up out of a hotspot and takes him home with her. She's very attentive and is the one who even names him. In all aspects, he is her son, and she does everything she can to try and raise a good mech, and she does a wonderful job. She teaches him to read, sings to him, and each plating ceremony, she keeps a piece of his old plating similar to humans and baby teeth. She celebrates when he gets his first job as a Liberian because she put so much effort into making sure he had a comfortable job, not wanting him to struggle like so many other mechs less fortunate.

And then there is my headcanon for birthed sparklings, which differs depending on what frame type they are. They experience different behaviours. Grounders are in different sub sections

- Tanks: Megatron, Tarn, Warpath, Blitzwing

- Mine frames: Megatron, Terminus,

- Hauliers : Optimus Prime, Sentinel Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Inferno, Kup,

- Emergency services: Prowl, Ratchet, Pharma, inferno

- Battle Chargers: Ironhide, Hound, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Trailbreaker, wheeljack, Tracks,

- Praxian carters: Prowl, Bluestreak, skids, Smokescreen,

- speeders: Rodimus, Drift, Jazz, mirage, redalert, blurr, Tracks,

- mini vehicle: Bumblebee, Tailgate, grapple,

- Vosian Fliers (later Seeker's): Starscream, skywarp, Thundercracker, sunstorm, Nacelle and so on all of the Jets.

- Helimech: Whirl,

- aerial Shuttle: Cosmos, Omega Supreme, Senator Shockwave.

- Combiners: stuntacons, combaticons, constructicons

- Cassettes/ mini bots: Ravage, Rumble, Frenzy, Rewind, Lazerbeak, buzzsaw

- non Traditional frames: Rung,

- Non shifters:

There's a lot more but these just just who I can think off off the top of my head.

____

Tankers and Mine frames don't get the luxury of families or raising sparklings, most of them are cold constructs, and don't get a chance to see life outside of mines or duties they have been put into. But if given the chance they are actually very protective of a sparkling, they will fight to the death for their bitlet even if it isn't their. Their behaviour is very similar to a bear mother with their protectiveness of a child, human or cybertronian.

Megatron's optics focus on the tiny form in his lovers arms. If it were any other situation, people would think he is glaring at the tiny baby being placed again in his Chassis. "They have no plating or outer frame, no protection." He states while looking to his lover. "They are a baby, Megs, human babies don't have anything like sparklings, they are very fragile," they explain with a smile as they watch their child try and grab Megatron's large digits. His optics soften as he watches their child as the baby babbles and giggles up at him. It makes a switch inside his possessor flick. Nothing would ever hurt this child. He would make sure of it. A deep rumble leaves his chassis as he lets them play with his large servos. A laugh leaves his lover as they watch him. "You look like a grizzly bear with a cub," they chuckle as they lean up to press a kiss to the side of his helm.

Hauliers tend to see a random sparkling and go. "You're mine now, I'm going to warp you up in bubble wrap and keep you in my cab so no one can hurt you" Hauliers tend to be very attentive carriers/ Sires to adopted or sparked bitlets. A lot of Hauliers tend to be very nomadic in the rust sea moving inpacks. They tend to behave more like migrating herds when on cybertron, but those who live in the cities tend to make a very homey and comfortable for sparklings. But also they are the ones who panic the most when their child puts something in their mouth they shouldn't have.

Optimus chuckles as he watches his bitlet roam around. Playing with sticks and mud. He sits not far off watching them as they play his optics soften as they giggle and let out little buzzes of excitement as they find a new rock. "They seem to be enjoying their first proper road trip," His lover calls out as they walk their way over to him. Leaning down to press a kiss to his Helm. "They are very fascinated by a lot of things on Earth," he rumbles his optics, meeting his partners. "Can you really blame them, I remember a certain bot being very fascinated with Terra's fauna when we first arrived here," they tease him. Another squeal of delight comes from their sparkling as they begin trying to chew on a rock. Optimus let's out a slight noise of panic as he quickly moves towards them. "No, no, Bitlets, you can't eat that," he states while trying to pry the rock from the little ones' servos. They squeak and squeal in protest before eventually letting go of the rock. Another laugh leaves his lover as they watch the two.

A lot of emergency vehicles tend to not be the best for being parents. Mainly due to their work and just not having the time for a bitlet. But they are very attentive to those who do have them, trying to calm them and make sure that they aren't hurt and can make it back to their parents. A lot of the time, they will put up the disgruntled act of the dad who said they didn't want a cat, but then ends up with a child curled up on his chest as he works.

Praxian carters tend to act very similar to seeker, but with children and sparklings its as if they can feel where they are but have a tendency of paranoid when they can't see their little ones. Their door wings will flicker and twitch when they hear their children and will respond back with soothing little clicks. A lot of the time, they will carry their sparklings on their back between their door wings.

Prowl wasn't impressed with Sunstreaker or Sideswipe. The two young mech burst out into fits of laughter watching him with a human baby strapped to his chest. His wings flutter in dispair as they begin taking photos to send to every mech they know. "Oh Primus Prowl, when did you get yourself a bitlet!" They ask while also fauning over the baby who giggles and reaches out with grabby hands. Prowl let's out a slight,all collection of angry clicks as his optics narrow in on the twins. "I am looking after them as their parent had an important meeting today," he snaps as he begins walking, trying to outpace the twins as they continue shooting questions at him. "But you have them strapped to your chassis like they are battle gear!" Sunstreaker laughs, which earns him a smack up the side of the helm from Prowl. "They are too small and too young to be left to their own devices, and the safest place for them is where I know they are," he grumbles before slamming the door to his office shut.

Speedster are one of the cybertronians who tend to forget their child exist sometimes, having no awareness until they are like something is missing. Oh Primus, where is my Bitty!. They are very live fast die hard kinda mechs and it translates over to their child. They are very much the one who will proudly show off their child who is currently eating something they shouldn't be. But they are also one of the most cuddly with their child. Curling up with them to their chassis as they purr loudly.

"RODIMUS PRIME, DRIFT DEADLOCK WHATBARE YOU LETTING MY BITLET EAT!" their voice boomed as their optics narrowed in on the two speedsters and sparkling. Drift turns around in an instant. "I tried to stop them, I swear, but Roddy dared them," he states. Rodimus looks sheepishly at his lover as their sparkling laughs and shouts. "Told you I could!" The little one shouts in excitement, not carrying about the disappointed look from their other parent. "You timeout, you Decontamination spray Now, and You... I'm not angry, but I'm disappointed, " they state, which makes Rodimus face drop. "Nooo. That's worse!" He shouts only to have his bitlet laugh at his whining.

Seekers are the most parent of all cybertronians to the point that some trines work as a family system. Each seeker is a carrier to one seekling, but also being the sire to another or having one seeker who is the sire to two. But then their is the others who aren't spark bonded to others in their Trine, because tries can consist of siblings, cousins, parents or complete strangers so each trine is different. but the family works to train and care for all of them together. They speak in a pigeoned vosian, which is a mix of chirps, thrills, and other little vocial noises. They are also the most social. With large gatherings for sparklings to meet and also bond with others so that they can eventually find their own trine.

For example, I love the idea of Thundercracker and skywarp being brothers, but starscream is trine bonded with them.

Acid storm, Nova storm being a bonded couple who ended up with Sunstorm who is much younger who try care for as their sparkling.

Dirge, Thrust and ramjet who are all random Seeker's who became friends at a young age and are a trine but aren't together at all, they be the boys who go out on the town and wake up in their flat with a hangover and a random mech/ Seeker in their berth.

Nacelle trills lightly as the little seekers curled up in blankets and pillows. Wings fluttering in delight as he watches the little mechs curl up again each other. His two lovers chuckle softly, watching how me preens and chirps and thrills at his two little bitlets. One of his lovers moves closer to him, resting their helm against his backstruts as his wings flutter again. "They are just sleeping sweetspark you can step away. They aren't going anywhere," they call out to him. "I know, they are just..." he starts before his other lover calls back. "Fresh, I know and very you, but they are here finally, you don't have to stand guard all the time," They tease before leading him into the room towards the fluffed up berth. "I think that's enough playing guard for the night"

____________

Link to second part for Megatron

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[docterzerocare]

so! mc!Dandy backstory for you:

she's a changeling, so. her story obviously starts out with her (unfortunately) replacing someone's baby. they were an infant themself, so this wasn't a choice they just made themself. this fact is also something that's just kinda. f**ked them up their whole life.

he never knew he was a changeling until he was about seven years old (two years pre-abandonment). up until that point, all it knew was that people treated it a bit weird, but it didn't think that anything was really...wrong, y'know? and then xe is hit with a rather heart-shattering revelation:

not only are people treating xem differently because xe is a changeling, but people have treating xem differently because they view xem as a freak. like a monster.

people haven't just been acting weird around them, they've been walking on eggshells around them.

you see, different places have different opinions on the Fae, and thus also on changelings. some places have generally positive views on the Fae, and are just careful when interacting with them. others...they pretty much view faeries as beings that can and will gladly wreck your s**t if you're not extremely careful. (which. yeah, some function like that, but not all are like that)

take a wild guess which one was the village Dandy grew up in. guess.

anyway, that news pretty much changed her. she tried showing that she meant no harm. but nothing 100% worked. she wanted to prove that she wasn't a danger, that she was practically a regular child.

it never worked.

when he was nine, he was cast off into the woods by fed-up parents, still upset at the loss of their real child, and told to return to the Fae Realm with the rest of his kind, believing it would cause the return of their real child (and who knows, maybe it did, maybe it didn't).

when they were nine years old, attempting to do just that, they were turned away by their own kind, told that they were too "tainted," and left in that forest, rejected by the human family that raised them and the Fae as well. and no home to return to.

it gets a new outfit, cuts it's hair, and goes to travel the world. to find a home.

anyway, mc!Dandy my beloved <3

Oughhgjhh i love her i want to give xem a hug, i love the thought youve put into their backstory and the reflections of actual folklore - its so cool youre so big brained

An interesting connection ive made is how dandy and doc parallel eachother, doc found himself a family to protect and made a home... only to have it ripped away, fae has since traveled in search of faers family

Voi found a new place voi might like to call home but lost that too in voids search

The fact that dandy wasnt allowed a family or home so xe work to find one mirrors so well with doc getting his home and family taken away and his search for them

Both are stuck in the past thats wronged them but one looks for something theyve never had and the other looks for what they lost, which in turn stops them from seeing what they have

Idk does that make sense? Its just so cool

[bouncyirwin]

So after reading Knock Knock, Let the Devil in again (I can’t praise you enough with how good that story is ♥️) and I’m so invested in the the dynamic between Shikamaru, Sakura, and Kakashi!

And because I have a question (and I hope I’m not bothering you by asking this 😭) how do you think Kakashi and Shikamaru would react if Sakura either came back from a mission seriously injured or if they found her seriously injured from a mission?

Hiii, thank you so much for this ask, I’m always so ready to gush about these three!

When I read this ask, inspiration quite literally slammed into me and I churned this out in a sprint session. Oops.

Word Count: 2,126 words

I present to you a one-shot in the knock knock-verse.

It was too early in the day to function, yet Shikamaru was in the Hokage’s office bustling about, feeling only half-human as he guzzled on his third coffee. “Fuckin’ paperwork,” he muttered disdainfully at the sight of an ungodly pile marked with his name.

That had to violate some natural law. How this became Shikamaru’s routine was beyond him.

Once upon a time, he professed that his deepest wish was to lead a mediocre life. And here he was.

Tsunade showed up ten minutes late, visibly drunk and doing very little to conceal it. “Morning,” she tossed over her shoulder and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

“Hokage-sama,” Shikamaru said, studying the dark circles under her eyes and her ashen pallor. “You look …”

He clamped his mouth shut. Was it worth getting assigned a D-rank to let her know she looked like shit? Probably not.

“Save it kid, I know,” she waved a casual hand and slumped in her chair. “Couldn’t care less with the night I pulled.”

“Drinking again, Hokage-sama?” he inquired with polite interest.

“Ha,” she said. “I wish.”

When he raised an eyebrow, she elaborated, slumping even further in her chair. “Sakura,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “They brought her back yesterday.”

Shikamaru’s heart sank. “Brought her back?”

“Yes, there was an ambush and she was badly injured—cracked every one of her ribs, that idiot. And the hospital was out of B-positive blood so Shizune had to sit the healing session out to donate blood. Nearly ran myself dry trying to keep her breathing…” Tsunade was scrubbing at her face but Shikamaru wasn’t listening anymore—he could barely hear her over the deafening roar of his heartbeat.

“Is she alive?” he demanded once he found his voice. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, but she’s going to need plenty of rest—” the rest of her sentence remained a mystery for Shikamaru tore out of the room with a single-minded focus.

In the space between heartbeats, rationality was tossed out of the window. It left behind a desperate and half-crazed person—he needed to see her, to hear her heartbeat, to see the lively green of her eyes and he wasn’t going to rest until it happened.

He burst through the hospital doors undoubtedly looking like he’d escaped an asylum. The nurse he cornered shot him a bewildered look. “Sir, are you—” she began to say when he cut her off.

“Haruno Sakura,” he demanded breathlessly. “Her room. Where can I find her?”

“Sir,” she attempted again, sounding a little exasperated. “Haruno-san just underwent extensive surgery, she’s not allowed visitors, only family members can see her.”

Shikamaru pinned her with a no-nonsense look. “Akane-san,” he read off her name tag. “By order of the Hokage, I’m here to see Haruno Sakura.”

Akane shuffled nervously. “Do you have an official slip?”

He arched an eyebrow at her, as if to say ‘really?’.

“I-I might get in trouble,” her eyes shifted unsurely. “I need to put you down as a relative and you’re… what would I mark you down as, sir?”

It occurred to him a second later that he was being a total ass. But rationality had already fled. He was now a mess of frayed nerves.

The toddler bawling in the background wasn’t helping his case, and neither was the frantic husband demanding to see his wife at the reception, babbling about … oh.

Shikamaru turned back to the nurse, and before he realised what he was saying, he blurted. “Her husband. Mark me down as her husband.”

Akane blinked. “Oh.”

Shikamaru stared her down, daring her to argue with him. But she simply nodded and scribbled something on her chart. “Right. Of course. Follow me.”

As they stalked through clinical hallways, Shikamaru’s heart rose in a crescendo, worry and nervousness swirling in his chest in a toxic mix. What would he see upon reaching her room? Was she in pain? Was she even lucid? Gods, what if she was in a coma? What if she’d hurt herself so irreparably that it cost her career?

His mind raced with sickly thoughts until his stomach roiled and his face tinged green.

Akane stopped at room 217 and there she was.

“Oh gods,” Shikamaru whispered.

She was hooked to so many wires. Oxygen tubes and an IV and a heart monitor and tubes he didn’t even recognise. She looked frail and broken, too small amidst white sheets and beeping monitors.

He heard Akane quietly slip out of the room and was glad for it because his knees nearly buckled.

Sakura wasn’t awake. Hell, she didn’t even look alive, her face so pale where it wasn’t bruised blue and purple.

Numbly, his feet carried him to her side, his breath a short and rapid thing that barely saturated his lungs.

There was blood caked beneath her fingernails and in the cracks of her lips. His eyes stung faintly as they slid over to the heart monitor.

It was too slow.

“Oh god,” he said again, every cell in his body congested with fear.

He was afraid to even reach out and touch her, lest she broke apart under his fingertips. Delicately, ever so delicately and with trembling fingers, he ghosted a light stroke across the apple of her cheek.

“Sakura…” he said feebly, wishing her eyes would just open.

Except they didn’t. And her heart monitor droned on sluggishly in the background, crawling heartbeats that served more in adding to his anxiety than diminishing it.

It was beating. But it wasn't beating enough. What if it stopped beating?

Shikamaru wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t allowed to die. Not yet. Not ever. He didn’t care what laws governed this cursed world, this was Sakura, she was spring incarnated, and she wasn’t allowed to die.

His fingers curled around her hand, and he wished for the first time in his life that he could heal. That he could bleed strength into her the way she did to him.

It was getting difficult to breathe. What if she died?

What then?

Fuck, he hadn’t even told her he loved her.

His vision swam, rendering the room a splash of colours and pink. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t breathe.

In the muddled daze of anxieties and fears, Shikamaru wished he had the foresight to grab Kakashi.

He’d never needed an anchor more than he did in that second.

*

Kakashi was having an incredibly shitty day.

His coffee machine broke down, he spilled tea over his mission report and he mixed a black shirt with his coloured laundry and now half of his clothes were beyond repair.

“Dammit,” he sighed, tossing his book aside. He couldn’t even read, busy as he was dwelling on his ruined laundry.

He took one dispassionate look at his soggy report and groaned. “What a mess,” he’d actually attempted to do this one on time. Served him right for breaking his routine.

Kakashi grabbed his weapons holster and stepped out for some much needed air. Maybe he should just turn in a tea-flavoured report—perhaps if he offered Tsuande a bottle of sake she’d make an exception and accept it.

He made a beeline to her office, remembering he was due for a debrief. But what he found upon his arrival wasn’t what he expected.

Tsunade was shouting to Shizune, clearly exasperated: “—and he just upped and left! I’m his Hokage, and he upped and left!”

“Maah…” Kakashi began unsurely.

Tsunade’s gaze cut to him. “Hatake, there you are,” she huffed. “I’m too fucking hungover for this. We’re one man down, I need someone to look over these reports.”

Kakashi frowned, finally noticing how empty her office looked. “Where’s Shikamaru…?”

“The idiot left,” Tsunade growled, raising goosebumps on his arms. “I told him I spent all night healing her, what did he think, that I’d leave her to die? Fucking hell.”

“Leave who to die?” Kakashi said, confused. “What happened?”

“Sakura happened,” Tsunade ranted tiredly. “They brought her back almost half dead, I’ve been patching her up for the better part of eight hours and this is how I’m rewarded.”

But Kakashi had stopped listening after ‘half dead’. Half dead? “Half … dead?” he echoed, his mouth dry.

No. This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

“Yes,” Tsunade sighed. “But I operated on her and she’s going to be fine.”

Kakashi barely heard the words. His brain was a string of very adamant denial. No, no, no, no.

He didn’t want it to be true—all those years he had been certain, was so sure that it was him, that he was the reason the people he loved always died. That he was a curse to those he cared about.

Every person he loved came back in a body bag.

Fuck.

Kakashi turned tail, a sudden manic urge to see her rising unbearably in his chest. What if Tsunade was lying, what if Sakura wasn’t fine? What if she was fine, but she died anyway?

Fear pumped through his veins, rendering him dizzy. This was his worst nightmare come to life—how could he have forgotten that people, even those that could mend bones and heal what was broken, were so damn breakable?

His legs couldn’t carry him quickly enough.

He didn’t waste time interrogating the nurses for her whereabouts, he knew her scent like she was a part of him. It led him to her now, her unique sweetness tainted with blood and antiseptic.

Gods, he was going to be sick.

He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to get to her.

Shikamaru was already there, looking wrecked, looking worse than Kakashi had ever seen him. “Is she—”

He couldn’t even say it.

“They … they said they don’t know when she’ll wake up,” Shikamaru whispered hollowly.

Kakashi felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. “No,” he whispered, leaning back against the wall when he teetered off balance.

His hip jarred against the doorknob but Kakashi barely registered the sting. Barely anything registered beyond the fear-terror-fear coursing through his veins like poison. “Please, no,” he said.

This couldn’t be happening again.

His father and Obito and Rin and Minato-sensei—hadn’t they been enough? Was Sakura going to be another name on the too long list of losses that haunted him?

He really was going to be sick. He clenched his jaw against the reflex, forcing his brain out of the dizzying tornado of anxieties. His gaze focused on Shikamaru, the only other person that mattered as much.

He didn’t look good at all, pale and shaking and appearing ready to fall apart.

The sight of him was strangely grounding.

Kakashi found his elusive strength, located his knees under him and was at his side in the next second.

“Shikamaru,” he rasped, clutching the other man’s arm.

“She looks dead,” Shikamaru whispered. “I … I …”

Words eluded him.

Kakashi tugged at his arm, drawing Shikamaru against him. He went without a fight, slumping against Kakashi’s chest like a puppet whose strings were cut.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kakashi lied, surprised by how much conviction he could bleed into it when it was for someone else’s benefit. “She’s going to be fine.”

Shikamaru shook in his hold, his shoulders minutely trembling. But just as suddenly, his body calmed down and he gripped tightly onto Kakashi’s middle. “What if she isn’t?”

“She will be,” Kakashi stressed because … anything else was not an option. “It’s Sakura. She punched a goddess in the face.”

Shikamaru let out a short, pained laugh against him. “Gods, don’t remind me; what a reckless idiot.”

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Kakashi confessed in a soft murmur against Shikamaru’s hair. He tightened his hold on him, drawing strength from the warmth of his body. “As beautiful as the two of you together.”

Lean fingers dug in his back. “I’m glad you’re here,” Shikamaru said sincerely. “I’m glad you came. Fuck, I think I’m gonna cry.”

“You can cry,” Kakashi soothed, sinking his fingers in lush, dark hair. “Hell, I might cry.”

Shikamaru let out a wet chuckle. “Yeah.”

Kakashi’s face bowed, nuzzling the side of his head as he took a shuddering breath. He clutched Shikamaru closely, his breath shallow and his heart a warbling mess in his chest.

He couldn’t think about if she died. He would die, then, if not from sorrow then from a broken psyche. It was easier to focus on the beeping machines and Shikamaru’s sure, thudding heart. Kakashi tuned in on every shuddering breath, his palm mapping his expanding ribs.

His focus narrowed down to his senses, to Shikamaru, to Sakura’s fighting, beating heart and prayed like he never had before.

She was going to be alright.

She had to be.

[scullydubois]

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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

Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

[maddmuses]

Madonna “Donna” Redgrave

(Art Credit)

Age: -.6 DMC 5 (Born roughly 8 months after events of DMC 5) Occupation: Devil Hunter, Bartender/Bar Owner Aliases: The Legacy of Power, Demon-Slaying Bartender,  Date of Birth: August 13 Species: Cambion (Demon-Human, with Umbran Witch and Priestess descent) Ethnicity: Anglo-Italian-Romani Possible other Asian heritage (Umbran Witch Heritage)(Based on HCs of Lady and Dante ethnicities) Affiliations: Devil May Cry (Main Branch/Lover’s City Location) Theme Song: Takedown by Blue Stahli (XINA cut)

Personality Donna strongly takes after her mother, being both business-minded and serious about her demon hunting activities. Through this, she was compelled to converting the original Devil May Cry shop into a more sustainable bar to fund ongoing day-to-day, as demonic incursions dwindle in numbers. Ultimately, though, she still had a deep love for killing demons like her father. She often uses it as a means to seek an adrenaline high, which will result in her fighting stylishly, in the same way that Dante has.

As a result of her almost nonexistent relationship with her father, Donna prefers to distance herself from Dante’s brand as owner of Devil May Cry, even converting the signage to use a lit silhouette of her mother, and never being seen wearing red. When fighting, she remains calm and cool, preferring to take her foes out in as few moves as possible, only getting more loose and flippant as she loses herself in the rush of an exciting battle.

Though she was largely raised alone by Lady, Donna has a strong familial bond to Nero and Kyrie, and paradoxically looks up to her uncle Vergil as the ultimate peak of “cool”.

Like her father she often takes jobs pro bono, though she often feels vindicated in doing so, due to her otherwise solid profits in the business with high-paying jobs, taking on extra work from Nero’s branch, and the bar component doing fairly well. Though she often pretends to be intent to take payment, Donna will disappear altogether when payment is due, in the case of such jobs.

Biography Madonna Redgrave was born a little over half a year following the events of Devil May Cry 5, with Lady having been pregnant for about two weeks during the events of the game. About 7 months into term Donna was born premature to her mother, though she ultimately was born and grew successfully. Though her early childhood was largely uneventful, by the metric of a child to two devil hunters; being largely taken care of by her mother, who had taken to residing in the Devil May Cry shop, and staying with her cousin Nero when Lady took a job to create a financial windfall.

Never having met her father, Donna is only regaled with stories of his various heroics and endeavors growing up, largely with a more positive energy by Nero than Lady, who retains her somewhat annoyed energy when remembering her child’s father. Though Donna would take somewhat more to her mother’s perspective on many of Dante’s exploits, these stories still would ultimately motivate the cambion to become a demon hunter, though initial training she sought out was without Lady’s knowledge.

As a young adult, she would eventually take over Devil May Cry, after having built a small following in the underground as a capable, and affordable, hunter for hire. Though she preferred to keep the business as one that would maintain operation consistently, rather than simply taking on commissions for various demonic incursions, especially in the post-Dante era where it had grown even more infrequent, with numerous hell gate operations being taken down by her predecessors. Thus, Donna’s field of work is both more diverse, and more steady, in addition to maintaining a bar.

Donna’s ongoing fight against demons and the mysterious “angels” (demonic entities from a counterpart realm that claims itself to be paradise, but is in fact simply the highest positional level of hell) is defined as her unique struggle as the defender of humanity.

Abilities and Skills  -Combat Proficiency: Donna is highly skilled in both armed and unarmed combat. Without relying on her superhuman abilities, Donna is able to take on swarms of demons with little incident. --Swordswomanship: Though capable in a number of styles of sword, Donna prefers curved weapons, especially favoring her nodachi, though she has shown a capacity with more straight-edged swords, she prefers to solely manifest them for her ranged mirage blades, though she has used them as shortswords in a pinch. --Martial Arts: The majority of Donna’s combat is hand-to-hand, fighting in a sort of mixed style, often depending on the Devil Arm she uses, she has been known to manifest copies of them when without one, switching style accordingly. --Gunplay: Prior to the manifesting of her ability to create weapons out of her demonic energy, Donna was fairly capable with firearms of various make, and is even still a user of Kalina Ann Mk IV after this revelation. In the earlier days of her demon hunting she was known to use a broad variety of firearms, before tightening up her arsenal after learning to manifest weapons. --Mirage Blades: Developed after gaining access to Devil Soul, Donna became able to create Mirage Blades, like her uncle though red in color with a somewhat thinner design. Through this power she also works up various weapons on the fly, including recreations of various Devil Arms she has seen or used (though usually not at full power or including their inborn abilities), including a recreation of Rebellion that she called Revolutionary Memory.

-Acrobatics: Though possessed of natural agility, Donna is capable of various technical feats reminiscent of her mother’s. Often she was able to easily move with Kalina Ann, and often still utilizes the weapon’s recoil while in Gunslinger to move with a great speed, and charge towards enemies.

Superhuman Powers and Abilities -Cambion Physiology: In part due to her descendance from Sparda, but also due to her mother’s brief transformation into a demon (Artemis), Donna is a powerful demonic entity who possesses physical abilities that far exceed that which is possible for a mortal human; disregarding any degree of training they may have. Her potential and ability are in a similar realm to that of Nero, Vergil, and Dante, though due to inexperience and a lack of similar caliber opponents she currently trails. This additionally grants the following specific abilities: --Superhuman Strength --Superhuman Speed and Reflexes --Accelerated Healing --Superhuman Endurance --Demonic Power Manipulation: By imbuing her demonic power into objects, and otherwise focusing it in the air, Donna is able to enhance various items and create blades of pure energy from her willpower. --Teleportation: Much like her father, uncle, and cousin, Donna is able to teleport various distances. Biasing more towards Vergil’s side, she is able to teleport much more quickly, with more versatility, and a further range than her father and cousin. --Devil Soul: The counterpart to Nero’s Devil Bringer, Donna is able to channel demonic energy into a projection-like construct. At a lower degree of use she is able to create large arms to enhance attacks and defenses, as well as conjuring a torso around herself to defend from attacks that hit an area, or break through other forms of defense. By further focusing she can actually create a fully-formed doppelganger that appears to be a red semi-transparent recreation of her father’s devil trigger form. Donna’s Devil Soul wasn’t unlocked until she was defeated (and nearly slain) by Azazel through his power of scapegoating. She counteracted this through the use of Devil Soul’s doppelganger. --Devil Trigger (Not Unlocked)

-Style Powers: A natural progression from her father’s abilities, Donna is able to harness her mixed umbran-demonic heritage into a force of power commonly referred to as “Styles” which permit her to more effectively and efficiently focusing her demonic powers in a conduit to optimize her combat output. Styles were her original primary method of combat prior to gaining Devil Soul. --Royalguard: Functions identically to Dante’s --Swordmaster: Initially functions identically to Dante’s, though following the unlock of Devil Soul, and thus Mirage Blades, it takes to allowing Donna to manifest and conjure various weapons and devil arms, while swapping between them rapidly because of their energetic nature. --Dark Avenger: A focus and conduit of her power, allowing her to become motivated and fight in a style almost identical of her uncle. This style quickly consumes her Devil Trigger gauge, as well as her Style Meter. --Ranged Fortress: Essentially Gunslinger, though once she has unlocked, and begins to use Mirage Blades, this mode will greatly enhance them, making the blades longer, able to fire many at the same time, and utilize multiple techniques specifically with these, such as firing large, Rebellion-like, blades, as well as pinning targets to a specific position to be unable to escape her.

Weaknesses and Limitations -The forces of Inferno and Paradise: Demons and Angels, as well as pretty much any supernatural force, are more capable of injuring Donna in a more significant way than mundane means. This is shared with her fellow cambions.

-Styles: The use of a style requires not only her demonic power, but also a type of energy that she often refers to as “Style Energy”. By consuming her style energy to swap, or utilize any of her styles’ specific powers, she steadily becomes more fatigued than other abilities of hers.

Arsenal -Akaja (Portmanteau of Red and Monarch/king): A nodachi-style sword that Donna almost always has on her person, worn across the back of her waist, and a devil arm that represents her own demonic power. Like Rebellion, it serves as a physical manifestation of her devil trigger power, though she has yet to unlock its true power. Once a mundane sword, Donna was able to imprint her demonic power into it (unknowingly) when Devil Soul was unlocked. Using her sword much like how Vergil uses Yamato, she often relies on an iai-style, converting into combos after the draw, before resheathing when her sequences are completed. -Mirage Blades (Various): Donna, at one point, used various devil arms in a similar fashion to her father, though upon unlocking Devil Soul she has largely abandoned this methodology, relying on her own power to recreate the various fighting styles of weapons she wishes to use. However, like Vergil, she most often uses them to conjure blades in the air to fly at opponents. When using her Swordmaster style she is able to emulate different weapons, costing Style Gauge when doing so, and in Gunslinger her ranged blades become longer and more wicked-looking, with the ability to perform various abilities by further consuming her Style Gauge. -Kalina Ann Mk IV: The 4th version of the Kalina Ann, and counterpart to the Mk III that her mother owns. A lightweight rocket launcher, the recoil has been intentionally exaggerated to allow combat recoil.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Drugged”

You will all have to forgive me for not posting the last few days. I went on vacation with family then had a couple tests and then ended up in the ER, so busy week, but i cooked something up for you all. Forgive me if it has issues, see above paragraph or my excuse :)

It is not specifically a human phenomenon, the use of chemicals, to help and support the body. It is, however, a much more complicated field of study for humans. Most species react the same exact way to a drug that any other member of their species would. Many of our species have found specific drugs that cause only minor physiological side effects despite their potency. The system of the non-human body has multiple unrelated systems that are unaffected by one specific drug or another

Humanity on the other hand, is a different story.

The cocktail of chemicals in the human brain integrate into a system that provides the body with a perfect storm of reactions. While most aliens only experience the physiological side effects related to the action of the drug upon an injury , say a numbing sensation or the reduced motility of digestion, humans are some of the only known species to experience extreme psychological effects due to drugs.

In many cases humans will present with wildly different reactions to the same drug as presented in this paper. Though, I find that the most interesting drug reaction, in humans to be those that take place in the brain, specifically the ones causing, or related to sedation, weather that sedation b mild or complete.

…. Let's be honest though, I mostly just find it entertaining.

***

The board of surgical experts was getting ready to convene their conference about human anatomy when it happened. The Summit was taking place on the rundi homeworld courtesy of the GA council. Humanity had proven to be the most difficult species to treat, not simply for their staggering ability to stay alive, but for the numerous drug actions and reactions that could take place in the body.. Rill had been planning to do a lecture during the session, but as per usual, he was cut off by the humans.

The council doors thundered open and one of the marines ran into the room causing quite a stir. Those clinicians who had never before seen a human gasped in shock and awe at the creature’s powerful speed and grace. He came skidding to a stop at the center of the room, barely winded head turning, dark eyes frantically searching the room and zeroing in on Krill, who stood at the front of the auditorium.

“Kill, Krill, something happened. We need your help like, right now..”

If krill had had the capability to roll his eyes, he would have. Taking care of humans was a disaster sometimes. The rest of the auditorium took to their feet in curiosity and, fear, in some cases.

“What happened now?” he wondered 

The marine rubbed the back of his head a little sheepishly, “Well uh, we were just messing around.”

“Save me the story and get to the point.”

The marine’s shoulder;s slumped, “The commander dislocated his shoulder.”

The room muttered in some confusion.

Krill sighed, “Of course he did because who else would it be.” He turned back to look at the other assembled medical professionals, “Well come now, class. It seems that today has favored us with a perfect teaching opportunity.”

Hesitantly the rest of the medical professionals followed watching the human prowl along before them with some trepidation.

They found the human sitting outside on the steps of the GA headquarters cradling his arm in one hand as two others attempted to help him support the it, “Shit, shit shit, this hurts.” The man moaned piteously. One of the assistants shifted as he saw the group of doctors coming, but quickly returned to position as the human yelped in pain, “Shit, not like that…... “ Many of the medical professionals had never heard a human distress call before. It was a surprising amalgamation of moaning, hissing and the occasional yip, not to mention the strangely  random words, that later had to be explained as profanities.

Krill took charge immediately moving up around the side of the human and dropping down to examine the injured limb.

“Morning doc.” The human said voice unusually slow.

Krill thumped him lightly over the back of the head, “always, always you. Every single time I am busy your body decides to malfunction.” The human mewed pitifully.

A hand raised, “is hitting them in the head part of the treatment.”

Krill sighed, “Only for this one.” He moved over to the side of the human pulling up the strange fibrous covering to reveal the horrible disfigurement below. The medical professionals gasped and muttered in surprise. The skin about the upper limb was bowed upwards unnaturally the arm held awkwardly out before him. What horrible accident could have caused an injury like that…. Well they couldn’t have said. It would be a horrible issue to have for the rest of his life.

Krill prodded around the skin, “Can you feel this.”

The human nodded. Despite what must have been excruciating pain the human had now become very quiet. Its single, wide green eye, the other one was covered by some sort of strange patch, was glassy and distant. When he was asked a question, his answers were clear and concise but very slow.

“alright , the group of you pick him up and bring him inside, try to keep that arm still.” They watched in surprise as a team of humans coordinated themselves to pick up their fellow, grabbing him about the uninjured arm and legs. Awkwardly they shuffled him inside to where Krill ushered them, slowly placing him onto the demonstrative medical equipment that had turned into an impromptu hospital. The other aliens gathered about.

The human refused to lay back hissing in pain when the arm was jostled into the wrong direction. 

Krill turned to look at his audience. “What I will demonstrate next is a simple procedure.” At his words the crowd looked rather skeptical muttering and chatting to themselves, “The bone has been pulled from the socket and needs to be reset as soon as possible. It will be a simple push inwards to correct the damage. However, The muscles about the injury may tighten making it difficult and painful for the patient while awake, so we will induce unconsciousness and give analgesic medications for the pain.” He ordered a few of his people around as the human cradled his arm staring off into space with a blank expression. He continued to be responsive and answer questions though he was even slower than normal.

With some instruction from the doctor, the other professionals brought forward the correct medication.

Krill huffed when he saw the label on the bottle.

“Something wrong doctor?”

“No,” Sigh, “He’s just a handful coming out of this one…. Is this all we have.” 

“I am afraid so.” 

“Well I suppose we are all in for a treat then.” he responded. Adjusting a clear tube about the human’s face running under the protruding sensory organ. Another was being instructed on the placement of an IV into the vein of the hand seeing as the human would not unfurl himself to allow access to the inner arm.

Once that was done, the drug was administered. The human’s eye closed, and he went limp falling backward, lowered slowly by a few other humans, seemingly unaware of the pain that he must have been in, “Now it is important to keep a human speaking after the initial trauma even if you may have to ask the same questions multiple times. Now intense pain and shock can sometimes have similar symptoms, but as long as the human is responsive everything is alright and you don’t have to worry about shock. I wouldn't consider a dislocation something that will cause shock in most cases.” 

He moved forward, “Now we are going to do what is called a closed reduction, and simply pop the tip of the bone back into place. I will position my hands here and here, and-” Those with especially good ears heard he grinding pop as the bone slid back into place, the convex surface of skin that had been displaced before falling back into its original position.

They grimaced. It looked horrific.

Krill demonstrated the administration of pain medication and gave a time estimate of when the human would likely to wake up.

“Be warned, these medications tend to have a very severe effect on the cognitive function of a human, you can expect to see mood changes, confusion, slurred or slowed speech, inattentiveness, difficulty focusing, and in this one’s case the need for hand restraints.”

The room muttered.

“You will see why.”

***

Krill had not been lying. The human woke slowly foggy  green eye out of focus on glassy. His hands pawed at the blankets below him wandering over the bed until he found the tue to the IV. Krill was forced to pul it away.

“Commander… Commander, how are you feeling.”

The human’s head lolled to the side flopping limply to one side, “Where am I” His speech was slurred just as predicted.’ He grabbed at the Iv tube again, and Krill was forced to pull it away, “No, keep still ok.”

“Okayyyyy.” The human responded groggily.

He seemed pretty happy for someone who should have been in tons of pain.

“How are you feeling?” Krill repeated.

The human didn’t answer head turning this way and that eye wide with curiosity. He looked at his arm, “Oh….. my arm is ok…. That’s gooooood.” 

“Commander, try to focus.”

The human did not focus.

Instead he reached a hand out to prod at the little nodes attached to his chest. He began peeling one away. They were forced to take his hand.

“Commander.”

“Yeeee?” 

“Can you answer my questions?”

The human nodded widely grinning,, but then seemed to completely forget what he had been asked reaching a hand out to touch one of the machines before being intercepted, “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Yes commander.”

“Wait…. I i forgot… I’m not making any sense…. Am I making any sense.” He glanced towards his arm, “oh my arm is back in place…. That’s good.”

“Yes .” Krill said reassuringly

In the next moment a Drev stepped into the room. She was small for her species, but with a striking electric blue carapace. She walked over, “Why do you insist on getting hurt when I’m not here.”

The human didn’t answer staring at her with a wide green eye. She paused by the bed, and he continued his scrutiny reaching out a hand to stroke the armor of her forearm, “Pretty…. Blue is my favorite color. My best friend is blue too.”

“Adam, I’m right here.”

The human looked up, “Oh ... hi, I didn’t see you there. I saw someone who was just the same color as you, “Pretty…..” 

“That was me, Adam.”

“Ohhhhh….. Wait…. That was you.”

“Yes, Adam, that was me.” She didn’t seem perturbed by answering his questions instead taking his hands gently in two of her four and immobilizing them as Krill attempted to slip a sling over one arm.

The human whimpered.

“You’re ok.” the Drev said, “I just need you to hold still.

The human mad a few more distressed noises before becoming distracted by something else, “Sunny, Sunny.”

“Yes Adam.”

“My shoulder is back in…. That’s good.”

The Drev seemed amused, “Yes, that’s very good.”

And then the human started to cry. It was very strange, they had neer seen that before. In fact they didn't think it was physically possible to move so quickly between emotional states. Apparently humans leak from the face when they are upset. A few of the physicians postulated that this may have been an evolved  way to gain social attention from other humans. It seemed to work even on nonhumans and the Drev let him hug her arm.

“What’s wrong, Adam.”

The human shook his head, “I-dont know.” That seemed to upset him even more until something else caught his attention and he was back to being as pleased as he had been originally. The drug was everything and more than Krill had said it would be. The large Drev had to keep the human’s hands immobilized, and even then he still managed to cause trouble. It was  a wonder that humans managed to do anything in their daily lives if the inside of their heads were like this. Their attentional ability normally must have been herculean to focus this dumpster fire.

It was extremely interesting to watch the human slowly recover himself. At some point he finally began to understand that he wasn’t acting normal despite still acting abnormal. After that came the ability to pay attention and converse normally. Even then he was still doing things that only made sense in a roundabout way. 

His voice was no longer slurred, but slow. He seemed almost groggy, but not quite. His previous emotional state had evened out.

“Feel like I got hit by a train.” he groaned. One eye flicked about the audience, “Shit, I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

Krill let of a deep sigh, “sometimes I wonder if it is your mission in life to interrupt everything I do,” He raised a hand to cut off the human’s apology, “And AS USUAL you somehow still managed to be helpful.”

And that is why the new transuniversal internet currency is not videos of cats, but humans waking up from surgery because, let's be honest, humans on drugs are kind of funny 

[uwuowotf2waslife]

The mercs with an s/o who is on the autism spectrum? If you want to

 as a person with diagnosed autism( ASD that later changed to SCD but concidering my countrys lack of proper diagnosis and non-existant support when i was growing up, im not sure,it might was a result of chronic abuse or i was a really weird kid) its my duty to answer this ask,

always know that you are perfect with all your imperfections 

just because maybe your brain is wired different it doest make you less of a person

you are poetry

Scout

-my boy has adhd ( probably undiagnosed until he was examined by Medic) so you two might have a little problem at the begining.

-he might be the closest to a jack russel in human form, but he cares about you and is willing to sit down and do his research so he can understand you and your struggles. He isn’t a hypocrite, he is a hyperenergetic bundle of daddy issues and is sure he will annoy you from time to time, he annoys pretty much everyone except his mom on rare occasion, he is a hanfull and he knows that years now. But he also has come to understand that everyone has struggles and little things that make them more special than others.

-if you have problems with communication , he’ll be your mouth .Problems with sensory overstimulation? he will escort you to the safest place and hug you tighter than he thought hes capable of. People mistreating or bullying/insult you? the bat is in his hands and his ready to hit home runs on their balls. You might not be the perfect couple, you will struggle like every couple and have fights and arguments, but he is ready to phase every difficulty that comes on your way. He loves you and he is here for the ride even if its bumpy.

Soldier

-( I and i think a big part of the community claim he is actually autistic) Probably the most tricky of the mercs, since at one side he might completely relate/understand you and the relationship go smoother than soft butter on bread, or he might have problems communicating the relationship problems with you.

-as all relationships you two must sit down and communicate your problems. Believe me he isn’t mentally retarded ( a horrible misconsumption ive seen being thrown around), yes he is stubborn and can’t read social cues to save his life, but he is a loyal beefcake with a golden heart hardened by a lifitime of war. He knows he isn’t the perfect man, he has nightmares and panic attacks on the regualr after so much trauma in his life. But he also knows that if he S/O needs him, it doesnt matter if its a small or big thing, he is ready to go through hell and back to make them happier or more comfortable 

-you can’t stand loud noises? copy that privet, he will stop yelling/ screaming around you. Certain things make you uncomfortable/ anxious? hes at your side and he is ready to snap necks...you have his heart and his adoration, he ain’t a coward or a pansy, you’ll win over any challenge that comes your way like the absolute unit you are and he is there to assist

Pyro

-fresh from the start they can recognise you have autism, i lowkey think they might be ( actually in young adults asd and mild schizophrenia can be mixed and confused by not good qualified doctors, its been years since i read that study so correct me if im wrong) or have really good gut insticts. Either way, they know you are struggling and trie in subtle ways to help you

-did an important call without stuttering? hug and smooch on the crown of your head, completed all your work/homework? they will cover you in stickers and cuddle you in their pillowfort, stood up for yourself? my girl theyll make a huge cupcake tray and youll two will eat while watching sappy disney films

- you won’t struggle as much, i see them as more easy going than other members of the team. But they also have big issues that may create problems in the relationship that you both need  to work on. They are more than a handfull and they aren’t unaware of it, they spended years locked inside their own head doing god-knows how vile and harming things to their mentality and body, they can’t believe they are alive and they wake up every day next to the most beautifull human being they have come across their lif, ( Y/n). You will bond slow but strong , you are their sunshine and theyll make sure their sunshine shines no matter what they have to do

Engie

( lowkey i think is canon he has some form of high-functioning autism, just hide its behind the southern warm and soft hospitality)

- when you confess, he hugs you ( a big thing coming from him since i dont consider him a touchy fella)  and returns the confession that he is too. He knows each person experiences different so he won’t press you for explanations or description of what you have is excactly. He just assures whatever happens, he is there to help you with

- doesn’t really change how he views you, but he takes the initiative for things like talking to strangers, calling to order or things that you struggle with, but he doesnt baby you. You are an adult person and will be treated as that, even if sometimes he feels he needs to “help” or “protect” you

-one of the most  easy going of the mercs, but his work is his priority so there will be long arguments about it. He understands your frustation, but he is a workaholic years now before you came in his life and can’t bring himself to change that. His work is his routine, the only comfort he knows and the only place that accepted him for who he is. But, he will be more elastic and have more breaks/ days off even if it means the project will be finished an hour or two later, unless it has an urgent deadline. He knows he can be very cold and emotionless, he is an engineer, not a spy for that reason. Furthermore he has his own times when he is stubborns or has an anger explosion because something broke/didnt meet his expectations or got way too invested into something that turned to be worthless/ uselless so he isn’t the one to judge if you are in a sour mood or you have your own “ explosion”. After all said and done, late at night when you are both alonein his workshop he will just cradle you in his arms and make a silence promise to always be there for you through thin and thick ( as we say to go through 40 waves and 40 more ) because you are something that no machine or creation can emulate or recreate, you are ( Y/N) and you are the love of his life.

Demo

-arguably one of the three more knowledgable of the mercs in the topic of mental health department. Being raised in an orphanage i doubt he didnt had at least a dozen other kids who had from high to moderate to severe autism ( during the 20th century it wasnt uncommon for people with autism to be thought less human or that the family of said people couldn’t provide for them in severe cases so theyd be dropped on orphanages and psychiatric hospitals)., so he has some first hand experiene with what autism is. It isn’t something for him in all honesty, after so much trauma and hardship in his life he is at peace that peopleare different and their brains are rarely wired the same

-he also know he isn’t ideal, he acts really stupid when he is drunk and his alcohol consumption alone is a very big problem for any relationship he ever had in his life and i doubt he is the image of psychological perfection, but he also knows that if you are willing to keep him around you have seen him wasted out of his mind, he is more than willing to put up with anyof your quirks or difficulties.

-you want to stim? go ahead he’ll leave the room/the house so you can stim to your hearts content, you want to stay? sure thing lass, hell sit in a corner and drink a bit while you have your thing. Work/ school/ home life is stress full and you are in the verge of a breakdown? he has already wrapped you like a burrito and he is holding you while you cry/vent, you dont want to be touched at that moment? hell take you to an open field and you can blow things up to get all those feelings out of you. He isn’t ideal, he is at peace with that, but now that you appeared in his life, you became the apple of his eye. He’ll cherish you and protect you both as body but as a mind and a soul for whatever shit life throws at you, he was never one to back down a challenge.

Heavy

-due to the language barrier and his nature as a quiet man it’ll take him some time. If you bring it up he’ll simply nod and run to Medic or Spy for translation. He isn’t shy to do a doctors worth of research so he knows what he has to deal with, he knows his english is broken and would prefer to have a migraine over the amount of books hes read than make you feel uncomfortable. Probably will ask advice from Medic ( the most qualified on the team) untill hes satisfied he knows enough.

-probably the sanest of the mercs, but he isn’t perfection. He had to endure famine and death from very early in his life, always be the stone his family anchored on and most people on his life, so he has his own big problems. At one side he is used to so many things, he is somewhat indiferent. You aren’t harming anyone nor its life threatening, so it doesnt really change what he feels about you. All people have flaws, noones perfect and if they do think they are perfect, they are very, very wrong. I won’t lie to you, some times hell get confuse with your behavior or will get tired of being the “ anchor” of the relationship, but he will never admit it. He survived the Gulags and years in Siberia, this is nothing but a walk in the park for him. He isn’t a fuckboy, he doesn’t want you just for some fuck and then hell forget you exist, he is much more sentimental than he appears to be. He beginned this with you because he sees you more than a body, he sees you as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with even if itll be a challenge, he was never a quiter and he wont be now.

- don’t expect much communication help from him, unless its in russian. But whenever you feel the tiniest bit of self-doubt or anxiety his arms are open to embrace and warm you with  his love. He might was raised among anarchy and war, but he is a gentle giant with a heart bigger than Russia herself. He knows you two will struggle especially on the communication domain but he is willing  to do what it takes to make your life easier/ less challenging. He came here to stay, only if you allow him 

Medic

-Arguably the most medically qualified of the mercs, but considering the era of his studies hes at least rusty on modern terminology and general understanding of what autism is. Nontheless his a doctor ( with or without a medical license) and i doubt he ever followed the rules of ethical and unethical medicine. He is a healer primeraly and he can’t claim to be the most mentaly stable of the team.

-he might be many things, he knows hes at least crazy by normal standards and has made extremely questionable choices in his life,but he cares for the people he is close to, lovers and collagues alike. He won’t try to ‘change’or ‘medicate’ you; unless you specifically ask him for, like yes he has defied any sort of ethical medicine and has played god many times in his life, but he knows that if he changes you, you won’t be ‘you’. You will be you still, but nothing more than a lobotomized version of yourself and he fears that. Let’s be real, he probably choosed you because you are a smart individual ( that includes both street and book smarts alike) so if he “killed” your smart he would essentially kill you and this doesnt sit well with him.

-feeling down? no worries, the doctor is here ( afterhe finis hes re-connecting snipers new kidneys). Stressed? Archimedes will be your own personal cheerleader and the rest of the flock won’t let you all stressed and alone while Medic is working. In the simplest of works,he wants you to know that  he might be a madman on the field and the medbay, but he is also your lover and that means he cares about you. He doesnt care if act a lil strange or you have some special things about you, guess what? he doesnt cares. H e never cared and he will never cared, all the greatest minds had something  special about them and you are no exception. He chosed to have a relationship with  you and you accepted the love request of a surgery-happy maniac , im sure he is beyond equiped to handle you in all aspects. He might not be the most touchy but he will make his point across that you are someone who means wayy to much for him to change

Sniper

- ( i highly think he is autistic, just the way hes potrayed in most fanfics he acts lowkey autistic, mostly in the communication and sociable part) growing up in the middle of nowhere probably he has never even heard ‘autism’ as a word , so his very lost. (another headcanon of mine is that he is also iliterate) You need to explain to him what autism is and how it affects your life. He has a non-pleasant expression on his face, because he realises most things that you say what that “autism”is and the thing it has are things he actually  has and felt throughout his life. He looks like hes having a religious expierience and when you are done he only nods and hugs you almost mechanically.

-he will need some time, not because ofyou, but because of him. You might think he is breaking up with, butin reality he just needs some time alone to sit down and think about all the things you said. Its one of the biggest revalations he has experienced on his life and it has hit him like a wall of bricks.

- after a few days he will return to the base and will ask you to meet with him on the most secluded of his snipers nest. While you prepare for the upcoming breakup, he actually showers and wears somet hing nice for the first time in a while. He goes out of his way to make the sniper nest a bit more “ comfortable” even bribe spy into giving him one of his fancy wines. Once you go up the nest and you two meet, he is the most clingy he has ever been and almost drinks the whole bottle out of pure anxiety. Once his tipsy enough he actually confesses that from the things you said, he found out hes also autistic. Que him basically clinging you like a broken koala baby while half-sobbing to expell all the tension he  has inside him. Please pet his hair and rub his back,he will melt and quit his rugged manly man persona for that moment. He needs you there, he needs your soft touch to ground him while his whole life comes crushing down and a weight he never imagined is being lifted from his shoulders.After that, its quaranteed you two won’t be seperated ever again, he needs you to ease all this pain he has gathered from his troubled life and he will provide you the world and the stars.

Spy

- he knows what autism is( as a spy he should know about human psychology/mental disorders just to know how to impersonate any person with or without issues) and he is a very observant man. He has above average attention span and knows how to read body language so he has figured you are autistic a long time ago. He is just waiting for you to open up about it or confess it, but he also knows the social stigma around autism so he keeps his mouth shut because he really doesn’t want you  to feel uncomfortable or ‘naked’ in front of him

- i heavily headcanon him to be at least depressed/having an ugly anxiety disorder or even a dissosiative disorder considering a big part of his life is carefully crafted theater , so he can’t say he is any more better than you.Furthermore he never really cared about what society thinks about mental ilnesses, whos here to judge who sane and not? he has seen so much shady things behind closed doors of “ pure” people he has lost all respect for what society thinks its normal and what is weird or not acceptable. Yes he follows the rules of “good” society but thats more of a habit than a need. Plus have you seen what the good ol’ society behind close doors? yap youll need a good bible study and some church to wash away the sins.

-eventually when you confess to him,he doesn’t really act. He knows its a heavyemotinal moment for you but he can’t open up for his own problems, at least now. But he will embrace you for now and say all the sweet words you need to hear...untill the same time he gets drunker than he can and confesses to you in french all his psychological troubles while he cries on your chest. He won’t let go unless he wants to vomit and he will cling to you for dear life while he experiences one of the ugliest meltdowns he has experienced in the last decade. Probably will wake up with a monster of a hangover, but once he feels you wrapped around him and feel your heartbeat on the bones of his back something will meltin him. He will gather whatever strenght he has, turn around, give you one of the most genuine smiles he has ever given in his entire life and peck your lips bore he starts whining and requiesting you to either kill him or fetch medic. Perhaps one day hell say all the things he wants to say in you mother tongoue but for now, just know he will cherish you and love you like the most exquisite poetry that has graced his life

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao. 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.  

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.  

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.  

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

[transhawks]

I would love to hear your thoughts about the recent chapter!! All day I’ve been wondering how much of what Hawks said to Twice was the truth, why he was thinking about Endeavor during their conversation and where his mission will go from here. I’m really curious about your take on it all if you don’t mind!

I. What Just Happened?

Hawks betrayed the League using Twice. Not will betray. Betrayed. Now, he was already listening out for a hospital; remember that text? But Twice, admitting it was very poor judgment of him, told him Shigaraki is in Kyoto. He admitted it with the bugs on so Skeptic absolutely knows Hawks knows where Shigaraki is. In a sense, this could very well be a trap; Twice could have been told to test Hawks.Either way, Hawks won’t know for certain - he spilled, clearly. The students are evacuating the mountain where Shigaraki’s current hospital is located because the Heroes are making the first move. This is a preemptive strike, and Hawks even acknowledges that unless they make it, they’re doomed when the League acts.

This also means Hawks is pretty much exposed, if I’m reading correctly. This was his betrayal, his ultimate reveal, I hope. He has lived up to the prophecy in his name.

II. The Truthteller

I love, for someone whose first name can be translated “truthteller”, since his first appearance Hawks has made us doubt the verity of his words. Not only us, but basically everyone in the story. It’s a permanent part of him; the double-meanings, the questions of ‘is he serious’ or ‘is he being truthful’. How much is a mask? How much is real?

The thing is, I don’t think Hawks has lied at all. His truths are just complicated things. He can think Twice is a good person and yet betray his trust because Hawks doesn’t think of himself as a good person. Or a kind-hearted person. He isn’t allowed to be and why be kind-hearted.

Hawks himself recognizes one truth; you don’t have to be good to do good, and just because he is a hero doesn’t mean he is a good person. In fact, being a good person is a liability to him. A good person would have refused to kill Jeanist for the mission. A good person would have put up a fight about such an infiltration in the first place. 

Twice is a good person, let’s ignore that he has killed people for a moment. The narrative makes him a very clear victim of society, traumatized and marginalized for it. He is a victim of his circumstances but is hopeful, uncynical, and full of love and acceptance. He might not understand things but want to do well; he wanted to inspire his unit even if Twice didn’t really get what would inspire.

To people like Hawks, Twice’s goodness makes him weak. I know that sounds monstrous, damning even, but it’s one of Hawks’s flaws. People are there to be used. He feels guilt over it, and that’s a good sign. He felt guilt over using Enji, clearly over Jeanist, and now Twice. However that’s not enough - he was raised to ignore these things. Twice’s openness was a weakness to be exploited and Hawks is natural exploiter. In some ways this is a conscious decision and on the other, I don’t think he can function otherwise.

The commission raised him to be like this. 

III. What is ‘Free’?

And yet… the guilt remains. And other things, no matter what, Hawks’s life-defining moment had been the rescue as a child. He is, by all of our narrative, the hero that wants to save. Heroism is saving to him. People like Twice are ‘weak’, but when Hawks isn’t using weakness, he feels obligated to protect and save the weak. 

What this means is he doesn’t feel good about it. He feels trapped by this pull to respond humanely to this person who trusts him, who is so loving against all reason, and giving his heart on his sleeve, and knowing he’s expected to rip that heart to shreds. He does it all in favor of the hero system BUT! BUT! Look at how much he’s learning about the resentment. The PLF has dozens of thousands of people; these aren’t just a few disgruntled people. There’s a huge fatal flaw here.

Now, even before this Hawks felt trapped by his duties, by his life as a hero. He feels beholden to his rank, to his organization, to his abilities, to help others and yet now runs into this idea that maybe he might be hurting more than helping.

What this means is that the pieces are there for Hawks to change his thinking. He’s notice the resentment, he knows he wants to fly free but doesn’t think he can (yet) because there’s so much more he wants to do, and is currently on a path of doing terrible things (by his own admission) because he’s been told that it is right thing to do. 

So what happens when he starts thinking that the right thing to do in the wrong way…isn’t right? What happens when his main reason for not flying free dissipates? 

IV. Tipping Point | False Idols

As much as in trouble Hawks is right now, with the League, I highly doubt this is the end of him. I think he’s about to get his foundations shattered. 

Endeavor is Hawks’s driving force for heroism. There are many reasons as to why he is - one is admiration of the kind of masculine power fantasy of strength and safety that Endeavor projects, one is the fact the man doesn’t quit striving to be better and is determined with a sort of feeling that Hawks doesn’t have. 

Another guess would be that Endeavor, more than anything, always projected a picture of having it all. He was intensely private about his life but the top searches for him in manga do involve his children. He was so close to the top, but where All Might remained a symbol, Endeavor’s fatal flaw was that he seems human and flawed to Japan.And yet Hawks desires that most of all. The freedom to have a life, the freedom to be human and not a hero, or maybe be both, like Endeavor. Knowing nothing about what happened in the Todoroki household, it’s probably goals to Hawks. “This man is tireless, has the most completed cases, and yet still has a family. A wife, kids.”

Hawks doesn’t have a family from what we can guess. As of 258, the reason we have a thief named Takami arrested by Endeavor is unclear. It’s likely this is a relative. Personally, I’ve always maintained Hawks seeing Endeavor as father figure in his youth, mostly due not having one or being failed by his own. Maybe to a young Hawks, Endeavor looked like the perfect father. 

Hawks is an adult now, and can look at Endeavor critically, but it doesn’t mean those feelings faded. That old admiration and yearning to be like him, even if he knows he isn’t meant to, is still there (just like Hawks can’t fully discard the part of him that *uses* Enji and thinks less of him for allowing himself to be used).

What this means is that so much of Hawks’s desires tie in with a lot of childhood dreams of what Endeavor might have meant to him. And we, as readers, know how much of that built is on a lie. Endeavor gave up immediately, he did horrible inhumane things to a woman and his children for decades, all in the name of being ‘better than’, not even a better hero.

Hawks doesn’t know. Maybe he has guesses but I don’t think Hawks knows about his family life.

I think the reveal will be deeply shocking, enough to put those pieces into place. The resentment to his own circumstances, the resentment of the public to heroism, the commission wanting to keep the status quo and Hawks having to choose if the status quo is worth defending at all.

We’re in a crossroads with him. Hawks’s time as a victim with no autonomy is up - he has to start making decisions about where he’s going to go. I can’t say anything is for certain, but I do think he’s headed for moral revelations. I just hope it’s not too late to right his current wrongs.

[empyreal-insights]

Dueling Destinies

i. 

In one of my Facebook groups, someone posed a question about "destiny" in the Yoruba context. The more I witness my life, the more I understand that this is another layer new world Africans may have to shapeshift around, or at least redefine.

In Yoruba cosmology, the English word "destiny" is a sort of catch-all to describe the reason(s) you decided to manifest as a human being on earth, and what you need to function effectively during your time here. 

As in most indigenous cultures, children with profound spiritual gifts are often recognized and trained - if not initiated - early. They may stray in adolescence and early adulthood, but many return to their spiritual roots because of this foundation.

So when Yoruba folks say, "Ifa initiation will give you your full destiny," I think it’s true for some. And, I wonder if it’s a best case scenario rooted in a social and cultural framework that supported such a path from the beginning.

ii. 

I never felt a Call on my life, but born in a different time and place, it likely would’ve been seen for me. 

The circumstances of my birth are a diviner’s dream: born after several miscarriages to an almost-30 year old mother into a family marked by premature death and clear connections to the unseen realm. I was intellectually precocious, emotionally sensitive, with a tuft of gray hair that never changed color. 

I had - as my grandmother and others said - been here before.

My mother says everyone knew I was "special," but the folks who may have been astute enough to explain further were gone before I could walk.  

Without that head start, I followed a path common to many on this side of the water: discovered the traditions in my 20s and initiated in my 30s, with plenty to heal by the time I stepped on the mat.* 

iii. 

When I initiated to Osun, I was at a low point. I was still grieving my aunt's passing, heartbroken over the loss of some important relationships, and feeling like my life was on hold. I broke down several times. 

Osun lifted my pain like you shake off blankets in the morning. Gently, with finality, She crumbled the walls around my heart and declared Herself the only armor I needed. I felt a lightness I’d assumed was gone forever. My entire life, there's been a sense of not belonging, and being much older than my chronological age. I knew too much, felt too much, and didn’t have words to describe any of it. Eventually I did enough self work to be all right most of the time, but my bad days could get very, very dark.

My "specialness" wasn't discouraged, but it wasn't honed, either; I struggled with feeling unseen and unheard. Because I wasn't the neediest, squeakiest wheel, and had no inclinations towards rebellion or defiance, my okayness was taken for granted. In many ways, I was fine, but I also had questions it took years to learn how to ask.  

Connecting with Egbe softened those blows. I saw and understood myself in ways I never thought I would. Messages from years of readings and talks with mentors and elders finally synthesized. 

My earthly family is a blessing, but I am a Spirit Child; I needed the support of my people in Orun to be whole here. 

iv.

Years after doing what I was "supposed" to do, destiny became a burden to slough off.  

I've struggled with that because I was told and taught that I was supposed to be more. I was raised to see things through, to seek stability and solid ground. The worst things I could appear to be were flighty, flaky, or foolish - no one had time for that, and the world around me wouldn’t forgive me for it.

And yet, I am not here to be something as specific as a doctor, "healer,” or someone's mother - although I could probably play with each of those identities and experiences if I chose.  

The essence of my spirit is water and aether, meant to pivot flawlessly, dream, shapeshift, create, and flow. These are also the parts of me that have been damaged by learning to live life on Earth.

It’s become crucial for me to enjoy and embrace life as it comes - to learn how to be here now - because by my very nature, I am not overly attached to life. 

I was called here and - for reasons still unknown to my conscious mind - decided to be the one that stayed. 

That choice created a situation whereby I am compelled to make peace with my soul’s distinct need for reconciliation and healing. How that “looks” to anyone is a moot point. 

For now, that reconciliation is the only “destiny” I feel fully equipped to focus on and fulfill with no burden, no pressure, and no worry.

And that is enough. 

--

* There’s a sliver of the Black american community that embraced continental and diasporan versions of African spirituality in the 70s, 80s, and even a bit earlier. But for the most part, my generation is the first to juggle ancestral traditions, western living, and the singularity of African-in-america identity. Even if we're not rejected outright by our families, few understand what the hell we're doing.

.

the rough draft (twitter thread)

[all-cursed]

Meet my first OC to have a specific fandom they’re attached to!

So I’ve never created an OC specifically for the universe of a show before, they’ve always been fandomless, but I was excited to create one for Wynonna Earp. I’m going to give him a proper page on the muse list as well as give everyone more detailed biographies eventually, but for now, this should work.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone who may have concerns, please know that I myself am Native American (Blackfoot and Cherokee), and did a lot of research while creating this character to make sure I do them justice and create an actual Native character that isn’t just a stereotype. Some parts that might seem stereotypical - such as the name this character chooses to go by - just comes with the modern era the universe is set in and the character’s own reasons. Several of the struggles he faces as well are specifically chosen because I hope to raise awareness in some small ways to the struggles that IPOC face even today. None of it is meant to be fetishising or stereotypical - some of it just exists in that space as an unfortunate reality.

Alright! Here we go.

                                                       [    i.    STATS   ]

NAME.  meecha wo’i  " crow "  redwolf .   

AGE.  23 as of 1x01 .

DOB.  nov 29th ,  1993 .

GENDER. gender-indifferent cis male  :   prefers he/him or they/them pronouns .

PREF. pansexual but has a preference for men and nonbinary individuals 

SPECIES.  human ,  witch  ,   skinwalker .

RESIDENCE.  the  ghost  river  triangle  .

OCCUPATION. former cashier ; former lead guitar in an up and coming rock band ; current bartender . 

ETHNICITY. in simple terms: native american. specifically: hopi and creek. some scottish but not by much. 

 [    ii.    INTROSPECTION    ]

POSITIVE TRAITS.   curious ,   adaptable ,  perceptive ,   creative ,   passionate ,   loyal ,   perseverant , open-minded , compassionate .

NEUTRAL TRAITS.  persuasive ,   withdrawn (at first; nervous about other’s intentions) ,   secretive , free-wheeling .

NEGATIVE TRAITS.  temperamental ,   unrestrained ,  spiteful ,   reckless ,   capricious ,   hedonistic .

DISLIKES.  sounds of traffic or loud machinery in general &  the sound of metal on metal &  the smell of cheap perfume/cologne &  hot weather &  dust  &  houseflies &  being told (instead of asked) what to do &  rap music &  wool scarves &  fluorescent lights &  lack of hygiene &  orange flavoured candies/sodas/anything that’s not an actual orange &  deep dark waters he can’t see the contents of &  mistreatment of animals &  having assumptions made about him  &  mathematics &  onions &  football  .

LIKES.  the scent and sound of rain &  physical touch &  candles , lighters , and controlled flames in general &  the smell of cedar , pine , and the forest &  music and playing musical instruments &  italian food &  raving about attractive people with others; intoxication is a bonus &  leather; wearing it and the smell of it &  glasses clinking together &  late night talks &  stargazing &  drawing / sketching &  records and record players &  animals &  'stealing’ and wearing the clothes of people he’s close with &  running &  card games &  dancing and singing & creating something out of nothing &  getting the last word .

HOBBIES. drawing &  singing and playing instruments &  exploring / learning as many places as they can like the back of their hand & people watching  &  drinking and bar hopping &  seeking pleasure and adventure wherever he can find it & collecting random things he enjoys / likes .

WEAKNESSES. he’s standoffish until he knows he can trust a person and can come off rude or aloof  & the inability to let go of most grudges &  his tendency to follow his desires and his heart before logic or his mind  &  impulsivity when emotional .

STRENGTHS. independence and ability to function and thrive alone (even if he would prefer to have company it is not mandatory) &  ability to be resourceful and adapt to new situations quickly &  handles time-sensitive situations well due to his tendency to act quick and think later &  stubbornness to stick to a task and see it through &  quick thinking &  agility and speed of inhuman proportions (thanks to his less than human side) .

HABITS. clicking his teeth together repeatedly when annoyed &  flexing  fingers & playing with his hair in absentminded / lazy moments &  silently staring at someone when he’s done with a conversation until they catch the hint and stop talking  &  if there’s music playing within earshot he always ends up swaying to the beat  &  will often make less than human sounds (growls, etc.) when angry if he doesn’t catch himself .

EDUCATION. average  student  throughout  elementary ,  middle &  high  school .  graduated with an equally average gpa of 3.0 , &  decided against college, choosing to seek education in less typical places .  fed up with his family and much of the treatment of his peers, he began to learn magic from a witch he met on one of his regular trips to wander the ghost river triangle and explore & learnt magic and about the more mystical parts of purgatory - ultimately becoming a skinwalker via the witch’s guidance and training .

[  iii. APPEARANCE  ]

FACECLAIM.  booboo stewart . 

HEIGHT.  5 ' 8 " ,  though when able to he wears combat boots that add a few inches to his height . 

EYES.  a very keen and observant hazel when he’s in human form .   when shifting , eye colour can range from yellow to red to green to blue depending on many factors - location , how far he shifts , etc .  always alert and bright unless intoxicated or in very rough shape emotion-wise . often wishes they were green or grey and has considered wearing contacts to change his eyes (human-wise) to those colours.

EYEBROWS.   defined  arch  but not so much so that it’s dramatic .  not too thin and not too bushy , and naturally neat - he rarely has to tend to them and usually only does so to shave a tiny slit or two through them as a stylistic choice .

HAIR.  long and dark ;  sleek with an ever so slight wave to it .  typically worn either down or in a loose ponytail , occasionally sections are braided .  falls just a few inches above his ribcage .  every so often he’ll dye streaks into his hair but has never dyed his whole head .

SCARS.  many . he has a variety of smaller scars from a rowdy childhood; a few faint ones on his hands and arms from scratches borne of cats and dogs . the typical scars that come from falling off bicycles or off swings ; scraped knees and cuts on chins . his forearms especially are covered in scars he prefers not to speak of .  there’s a scar on his forehead from a fight with his cousin as well as a few long scars on his back .

DRESSING STYLE.  it varies depending upon mood and whatever job he has at the time . especially fond of punk / alternative styles , likes leather , and enjoys the comfort of loose and flowing garments. whatever style he happens to choose at any given time , he wears well and somehow always manages to draw attention - whether from the jewelry he accessorises with (varieties of bracelets and cuffs , rings , pendants with gems , etc.)

LIPS.  naturally  full ,  scar at the right corner of his lip , occasionally  sore or split when he goes through anxious phases and tends to chew at his lips .

SKIN.   smooth , tanned . he doesn’t have much body hair , a fact that doesn’t tend to bother him much. he rarely engages in a skincare routine and much like his eyebrows generally stays neat and well-kempt without much effort . does not wear much makeup but enjoys eyeliner from time to time . if not for his skin tone, the dark circles beneath his eyes would be much more visible .

CHEEKS.  defined cheekbones ,   not easily flushed .  sports the occasional scars due to nervous picking when he was younger.

[  iv. ABILITIES  ]

LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english  [ fluent ] ,  hopi  [ conversational &  spellwork language ] , spanish  [ conversational ] .

THREAT LEVEL.  mediocre  to  high .

WEAPONS.  fairly efficient in his understanding of magic and can easily hold his own with either combative or defensive magic ,  but prefers when possible to rely on his own physical skills ; is proficient in hand to hand combat thanks to the speed , agility , and strength bequeathed upon him by his skinwalker nature . very skilled in knifeplay , whether throwing or up close . has little to no practise with firearms as of 1x01 . 

MAGIC. magic learnt by his mentor was primarily elemental based and neutral in that it could easily be manipulated for defensive or offensive ; he was never extremely proficient and left before he could complete his training so he is still learning his limits and the heights he can reach , and wants to branch out . as for the magical abilities granted by his status as skinwalker - he is able to shapeshift , which saps him of certain levels of energy that depend upon what creature he takes the shape of . he is also granted higher than average speed, agility, and strength because of this which he keeps with him even when not shifting.

 [  v. DETAILS  ]

➣➣ he was born in georgia originally to a loving but struggling mother and father - his mother was hopi and his father was creek, and while both parents had originally lived on their own respective reservations, they had met one another by chance during a trip and fallen in love, eventually deciding to seek out their own home outside of the reservations. his parents loved him but struggled financially; eventually his mother’s sister offered to take him in. as that was the better option rather than the three of them becoming homeless, crow’s parents sent him to live with his aunt in arizona on the rez. while they stayed in touch, his parents needed to stay in georgia, and as such he only would see them on the occasional holiday.

➣➣ while his aunt meant well, his cousins were another story. living with his aunt and uncle would have been fine had it not been for their two children; a son and daughter who constantly bullied him behind their backs for not being pure hopi as they were, often harassing him about being a ‘halfbreed’. a quiet boy at heart to boot, he faced bullying in school as well all the way through high school. his cousins, in tenth grade, snooped in his room and found his journal - which they used to out him as pansexual to the school.

➣➣ the moment he graduated, he spent as much time off the rez as possible, avoiding his cousins. on one of his frequent trips to simply explore nearby cities and towns, he found himself in purgatory. one drunken night led to following a mysterious woman into the woods. as it turned out, she was a witch. intrigued and excited at the idea of learning magic and having a way to defend himself, he quickly took her up on her offer to teach him. after a few months, she let him in on her secret - she was a skinwalker.

➣➣ she talked up how powerful she was because of it, and how no one would ever hurt her again. the more he heard about it, the more he wanted it. still unhealed from the way he was treated growing up and too caught up in the concept of never having to be beneath someone ever again, he agreed to let her hold the ceremony that would make him one as well without thinking of the consequences. when she told him that the final task he needed was to kill a family member... he almost faltered but agreed and went back to the rez. 

➣➣ he almost didn’t do it. it was night when he returned, and he could see his male cousin drinking on the porch. the concept of killing someone - even someone like his cousin who had treated him so poorly - was daunting. he might have changed his mind had his cousin not seen him arriving and was immediately being malicious; using homophobic slurs and accusing crow of having run off with a lover, talking about how disgraceful it was. and it all was a blur from there.

➣➣ bringing back a lock of his cousin’s hair to the witch, she finished the rituals and he became the creature she had promised - powerful but at what cost? still wrought with guilt despite having made the ultimate choice, crow left the forests on the outskirts of purgatory where he had been training and into the ghost river triangle itself, unable to go home after what he did and unable to stomach facing the witch. living out of his truck, he went from odd job to odd job, eventually landing a stable job as a cashier at a grocery store. around this time he chose to begin going by the name crow - both to distance himself from his past, and because if someone were to want to control or destroy him now as a skinwalker, they could do so if they knew his true, personal name. as such, a nickname seemed the safest bet. 

➣➣ fastforward to present day (1x01). after a few years of cashiering and attempting to rent rooms and apartments without success, as well as a stint playing guitar for an up and coming rock band, crow landed a job as a bartender at one of the local bars and instead of attempting to rent rooms or apartments, ended up moving into the trailer park. it was sketchy to say the least, but he couldn’t afford anything fancy and clearly didn’t handle having roommates well. a trailer seemed like the next best thing, outside of living in the woods or in his truck. his tendency to mind his own business and expect that of others meant that he mingled with normal purgatory residents and the revenants equally, pursuing his hedonistic nature as he pleased. which was all well and good, until things began to get... a lot more chaotic due to a curse and an heir he had originally had no knowledge of. 

               [ MORE TO COME THROUGHOUT                                               CHARACTERIZATION DEVELOPMENT ]

[drabhisheksrivastav]

Best Motivational Speaker In India

POSITIVE ATTITUDE BRINGS POSITIVE RESULTS

By Best Motivational Speaker In India Dr. Abhishek Srivastav

“The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.”

–  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

A boy from Syracuse (New York), was labelled a dyslexic when he was just seven. His friends would harass him and his school teachers would humiliate him. This is how he describes his early days,“I would try to concentrate on what I was reading, then I‘d get to the end of the page and have very little memory of anything I had read. I would go blank; feel anxious, nervous, bored, frustrated, dumb. I would get angry. My legs would actually hurt when I was studying. My head ached.” He went to three different high schools and each time he would try to hide his disability. Soon, it would be discovered and he would be sent off to remedial reading. He raised his hands very often in class, only to ensure that his teachers noticed him and give him extra points so that he could just about make the passing grades. Even when he had to complete his homework, he would first dictate it to his elder sister, make her write it down and then copy it word to word. His parents got separated when he was just 12, and he along with his sister Lee Anne, moved with his mother to New Jersey, where she had to work in three jobs simultaneously to earn enough to feed the family. Everything in his life seemed hopeless. He finally managed to clear High School but failed his undergrads as he was a ‘functional illiterate.’ He loved to learn, wanted to learn but the dyslexia was debilitating. (Many times, he would even forget that when the fuel gauge in the car falls to ‘E’, it needs refueling.) He decided to move to Los Angeles to become an actor.  Even then he was struggling badly to pass auditions because he simply couldn't read the script. He started requesting others during the auditions to read the script and the directors to talk about the characters and the film. He wanted to give it all up many times, but whenever he did, all he remembered were his mother's words – “You have got so much potential. Don't give up.” These were the words that motivated him constantly and galvanized his spirit. In 1983, he landed his first starring role in the film ‘Risky Business.’ He got noticed. Two years later ‘Top Gun’ was released which grossed 343 million dollar and made him a millionaire (he earned $2 million from the film)! Thomas Cruise Mapother IV is his name; Tom cruise is how we know him – the winner of 3 Golden Globe Awards (and nominations for three Academy Awards). Tom Cruise then a dyslexic with poor memory and today a certified-flying pilot, a millionaire-producer and one of hollywood’s most popular stars.

The changes of fortune, fall from prosperity, sudden misery and tribulation are synonyms to life. However, the question is whether man is going to endure ‘the slings and arrows of an outrageous fortune’ or by taking arms against them, end them or just make an abject surrender to them and thus bring more misery and sorrow into his life. Obviously, the duty of man is to put up a heroic resistance, a bulldog determination against the sea of troubles and fight these evils without succumbing to them. I do agree with you that sometimes in life tragedy hammers you so brutally as if everything is shattered. Catastrophes terrorize you. Pain becomes ruthless. Having been severely wounded by the unpleasant experiences of life, you feel severely depressed. You have to suffer terribly for no fault of yours. Eventually, you begin to lose faith in yourself. You start doubting your originality. Your belief system becomes negative. Your value system goes low. But my dear friend, you know something - Every tragedy has a spark of triumph behind; every adversity provides an advantage for the fuller and greater flowering of manhood. You should have the attitude of a winner. Every winner is a winner because he has motivated himself to keep trying and keep failing. Falling down tragically at any venture in our life is one of the most agonizing, embarrassing and scariest human experiences. But it is also one of the most educational, empowering and essential parts of a happy and successful life. Our attitude determines our altitude in life. A positive attitude with consistent actions and commitment make us a great human being.

[thesimonkshow]

My thoughts on Folklore

This is about to be a long ass Taylor Swift post, so strap in for the ride.

I along with many others were going about their business (looking at Adam Driver gifs) before my phone alerted me to the notification that Taylor Swift was releasing her eighth studio album Folklore the very next day. Chaos everywhere, my sleep schedule went out the window as I went into the Swifties tag to see how everyone else was dealing with this news. So I eagerly awaited 2PM (Australian time) for the album to drop and after a few listens (sleep got the better of me through my first listen due to my previous sleep schedule), I eventually picked out some album highlights.

The 1 - I love how freely she’s cussing on the album (a point that will be reitriated throughout), and I know Gossip tabloids and casuals will be shooketh because they’d think Taylor & Mr. Alwyn have ‘broken up’ due to Taylor’s personable lyrics but this gave me Better Man vibes. Remember when the Bridge said ‘You might have bern The One if you were a Better Man’ and this is basically that without the angsty fire.

Cardigan - I LOVE how Alternative Folk fits Taylor’s voice, it sounds like she’s telling us a story and we are entrapsed by her. It also works perfectly with the love triangle songs, which I had to understand a bit through a few listens.

The Last Great American Dynasty - The moment I saw this track, I knew it would be epic. I pictured her taking the piss out of the Trump family, but what I got was an awesome song about the woman who owned Taylor’s Rhode Island house and the antics she got up to. I love the descriptors she used when describing the weddings and the party’s Rebekah & Bill had and especially the bridge of antics Rebekah got up to later in her time. The ‘And then it was bought by me.’ Part of the bridge, I love a good twist!

Exile - OH MY LORD. When I saw Skinny Love Bon Iver on this album, I knew this would be something and low and behold it was. The concept of the man in exile in her intro caught my attention but seeing it up close and personal was amazing. The vocals interlaced with each other was perfection, especially as Taylor responds to Bon Iver. I really connected it to the struggles of Seth Rollins in the latter half of 2019, how he seemed to be exiled from the WWE, how his initial opponent Kevin Owens was having his flaws disregarded to drag Seth down, the ‘Always Keep Fighting’ shirt that he wore (raising money for mental health chairties) adding insult to injury for Seth, who had even briefly deactivated his twitter to clear his headspace following attacks/death threats from a fellow wrestler’s fan base. ‘I gave you every sign’ rings true here, the man was struggling and no one seemed to care.

My Tears Ricochet - My WWE ass was happy to see another Wrestler reference after The Man. So this was an interesting look, but I got another story that intrigued me, a man having been involved in a tumultous connection with the songs narrator showing up to her funeral to save face. Listeners drew parraells with the recent Masters drbarkle with Scott Borchetta, head of Big Machine Records with whom Taylor was once signed to, and I have to say it’s a good perspective to take.

Mirrorball - This one took a while but I ended up loving the fact she could sing from a Mirrorball’s perspective and still make an epic song. I loved the part about always fitting in with the crowd because at functions/discos where mirrorballs are used, the lights will change to fit the mood and being a reflective surface, Mirrorballs will reflect the colour change.

Seven - This was a nice ditty about a past friend Taylor once had. I really loved the line ‘Please picture me in the weeds before I learned Civility’ it gives a more sophisticated parraell to Never Grow Up.

August - This is the second in the love triangle songs, and I loved the storytelling aspect as Taylor paints the picture of an affair that Summer Nights would quake in it’s boots if it heard about it. She sweeps up the adience in the Mistresses POV, showcasing the sweetness of love and the sting of toxcisity.

This is me trying - Where are those who said Taylor Swift plays the victim in her songs? Because this is for them. Taylor states in this her regrets of wasted potential, broken relationships etc. at the end of the day no matter how many awards she has, records she breaks, or money she possesses, Taylor Alison Swift is a human being, and we should give her boundries to grow and flourish.

Illicit Affairs - This track title also intrigued me, and whilst it does what the title says, and discusses the highs and lows of the secret passions of mismatched lovers, the second verse & bridge stood out to me the most. The way Taylor’s voice went up on him in the line ‘Leave the perfume on the shelf that you picked out just for him.’ Drew my attention as she later did the same thing on the word high, this had to mean something. And given that we don’t know the narrators gender, this could also be a song about a closeted gay man who’s found love but is struggling to accept this relationship. Whereas the bridge reminded me a lot of the Adam & Hannah breakup in Season 4 of Girls in the episode Sit In where Hannah denounces Adam’s nickname of kid, which he had called her by since the first season, with the episode before that showing her heartbroken that Adam has gotten a new girlfriend behind her back and thus turns into a mess locked in her apartment for a day and two nights. it was a heartbreaking part of the show, one that shifted it into a new era for better or for worse, and the entirety of this reasonated with me.

Invisible String - Around this point was where melotonin kicked in for me on my first listen, so I’ve heard this less than the other songs, but I love how it discusses her relationship with Joe & how for better or for worse, he is hers. It continued the theme with them on Lover of not having a great picturesque love, but having ups and downs like any couple.

Mad Woman - The calmer sister of The Man, she won’t throw big production and actions around, she can take you down with words alone. The track stings brutally as Taylor takes down sexism as it exists in our world today, and even sadly paints a visual of how it must have been for women back in the day fighting for equal rights. ‘Does a scorpion sting when fighging back?’ Line was annother connection, as I was reminded of Vanessa Ives from Penny Dreadful and how the animal symbology that stuck with her was a scorpion, used to great effect in the Season 2 finale in a confrontation with Lucifer’s makeshift doll of her. The chorus line ‘And you’ll poke the bear till her claws come out, and you’ll find something to wrap your noose around’ stuck with me on my listens, and really shows how men will strike and then run away saying ‘it’s a joke, she’s hysterical’ etc. the part about women loving to hunt witches also reminded me of a Doctor Who episode called ‘The Witchers’ and also reminded some listeners of how Demi Lovato took Scooter Braun’s side in the Licencing debarkle, in fact in the first part of the bridge, the song also has a double meaning. It’s also about the state of affairs following Taylor’s songs being stolen from her. The part in the bridge about the wives knowing about their Spinster husbands having affairs and not wanting to show their anger for fear of being outcast like the titular woman is angsty but so lyrically genius.

Epiphany - I had to listen to this a couple of times but once I realised what it was about, I was in shock. This is about her Grandfather Dean who she mentioned in the intro who fought in a war. The song paints the war setting with the helmet, the flesh wound and the rifle within the first few words, and I especially loved the line ‘And some things we don’t speak of.’ because it talked about how some soldiers develop PTSD from their experiences, yet don’t want to discuss them for fear of being perceived as weak. Also the outro beat sounds like a radar scanning for a plane, and the beat of the drum sounds like bombs exploding, really adds to the War theme.

Betty - This is the final track in the love triangle story as it tells the story of James as he fights to earn back Betty’s love after he has an affair with Inez. The eventual pitfalls of Illicit Affairs have come for Inez which causes her to tell Betty of their affair, which is a nice link. This songs gives a classic Greese/Christine/Cheesy 80s Film meets Trixie Mattel vibe which I loved. I also loved the callbacks to August & Cardigan, along with the casual F bomb droppings.

Peace - This is another sweet love song for Joe which calls back to Cruel Summer, Cornelia Street & Dancing With Our Hands Tied as Taylor struggles with the connection she has established with Joe, and contemplates escaping, but eventually knows she’ll stay. How the entire world will be on them, but she’ll be by his side through it all. Similar to Invisible String but different all at once and a perfect penultimate track to lead to the last song.

Hoax - The sweetness brings us to the double edged sword of a closing track. Giving a shattering realisation that love can be tricky at times, the references to Call It What You Want ‘I am ash from your fire’, The Archer ‘You know the hero died so what’s the movie for?’ & ... So It Goes ‘You knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score’. Taylor loves Joe so much that when they fight it’s as painful as when she became Pop Culture Enemy #1 back in 2016. But no matter what, she says herself ‘Don’t want no other shade of blue but you. No other sadness in this world would do’ relationships are always painful, there is no happy endings all round, but there is still love to be found.

All in all this is an incredible album & @taylorswift you have created magic and I hope you know that myself & all the Swifties are so proud of you for flexing your writing skill and crafting such a stunning album.

[eastertag]

@eirabach gift for @fallenfurther

Hello @fallenfurther I’m your EasterTAG author! I’m so sorry. Your lovely fluffy prompts got eaten by my angsty frame of mind, but here’s International Rescue and an Easter Egg Hunt / Gordon + Alan + Bunny headbands. Sort of. Happy Easter to your and yours, stay safe out there! <3

---

Like most terrible ideas, it had seemed like a good one at the start. At least, Gordon had thought so, but then Gordon would. It was Lady Penelope’s idea, after all, and Alan’s only too aware that when she says jump, Gordon is already halfway down the cliff face.

Just a little bit of International Rescue’s celebrity clout, darlings, she’d said, and that wouldn’t have worked on Scott and it wouldn’t have worked on John and it didn’t work on Virgil, but she’d smiled as she’d asked and there Gordon had gone, head first, dragging Alan after him. 

C’mon, it’s for a good cause?

There’s a plea in his voice and a glint in his eye that leads Alan to suspect that the cause closest to Gordon’s heart isn’t, entirely, the children’s hospital fundraiser itself, but rather that this is a charitable means to an end that Alan probably doesn’t want to witness.

Celebrity clout, though. What a concept. Probably works better when people can see who you are.

“No.”

“Aw come on,” Gordon wheedles, “you owe me this.”

This is fundamentally untrue, of course, and they both know it, but this is also how all arguments between the two of them tend to go. There’s a script, a set text to follow, and the winner is the one who hangs on the longest. Alan knows his role well, and he’s not planning to deviate today.

“How, on any level, do I owe you this?”

“I took the blame for the hair dye thing?” This makes it sound like it was a mere misdemeanor, a nothing-prank, when Alan’s ears are still ringing and Virgil’s carefully coiffed locks are still six shades pinker than they ought to be. This is Gordon clutching at straws already, and Alan’s got this one in the bag.

He still has a point to prove though. “Because you did it!’

A shrug. "Semantics.”

“Ugh. Why though?” Alan knows why, of course. He’s the youngest, he’s not an idiot. 

Penelope asked and Gordon jumped, sure, but there’s a secret there – something about Alan’s closest brother that most people, heck all people that don’t share their genetics probably, don’t know. This probably looks like pride to them, like vanity. Like Gordon’s thrusting the rabbit costume at Alan because he wants Alan to be the one who’s embarrassed, like it’s something shameful to be seen cavorting about at a charity function with three foot long furry feet and a snout.

It isn’t, not at all. Alan knows that. Gordon will dress up and dance about for pretty much anybody, he doesn’t need an excuse and he definitely doesn’t need convincing. 

Thing is, though, the thing is, is that there’s an edge to Gordon around hospitals. A twitch. Something a bit paler around his brother’s only somewhat hypothetical gills. The sort of thing that might be hidden behind a furry rabbit costume but that would be happier, vastly so, behind the half a tonne of steel and plexiglass that is the waiting Pod B.

Alan knows this because he’s not an idiot, even though sometimes he thinks maybe that Gordon is.

“It wasn’t your turn,” Gordon says, purest innocence, and no, no he’s not that dumb. No one is that dumb. Are they?

"Not that.” Alan hisses. “Why this?” He lifts the stuffed rabbit’s head and gives it a little shake. Gordon huffs, shrugging his shoulders like Alan’s transformation into a giant stuffed rodent ought to be obvious. Like all those other people are right and this is just one more big joke played by the biggest joker of them all.

“It’s an Easter egg hunt. You need a bunny.”

“You need a bunny. I need to be literally anywhere else.” Then, with a narrowing of eyes, the question he already knows the answer to, the one Gordon won’t answer because hell if he’ll admit to a weakness. “Why can’t you be the bunny?”

“Because.”

Because to Gordon hell looks like pale-faced children and smells like bleach, but Penelope asked. Penelope asked and here he is regardless, and honestly? Honestly, Alan thinks Gordon deserves this one.

“Bullshit.”

Gordon’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. The script has run its course, and he’s left with only one choice. Admit it, or wear it. Alan can taste victory already, as sweet as their stash of chocolate eggs.

“Gentlemen? Are you ready?”

The head drops between them with a soft thump, landing neatly on top of the rest of the outfit before rolling away toward the door. It comes to a rest against Penelope’s feet, and she looks from it to them, one eyebrow raised in query. Her hair is topped with a set of snow white fluffy ears that nod gently as she bends down to pick the discarded head up.

“Um,” says Gordon, which is, again, pretty much par for the course lately whenever Penelope appears. It’s sort of tragic. Alan sort of pities him. Sort of.

He is not gonna be the rabbit now though, and that’s for sure.

“Boys?” She’s holding the head out now, and that eyebrow’s been joined by a little furrow right in the middle of her forehead. “The children are waiting.”

“Oh man,” says Alan, cheerful as can be as he backs away and around Penelope, “can’t leave the kids waiting huh, Gordy? Better get that head on! I’ll be out in the pod okay just give me a shout or – y’know, snuffle. Whichever. Bye!”

He bolts for it across the manicured lawns of the hospital wing with Penelope’s family name emblazoned above its entrance, and throws himself into the cockpit of Pod B moments before the stream of hover chairs and humanity appear. The grapple launchers are locked and loaded with more than enough sweet treats to feed the small army of children and their carers that are now gathering alongside him, all wide eyes and hopeful smiles. He just needs to wait for the bunny.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Parents are beginning to look concerned. Small sickly children in nightwear are going a little blue around the edges of a British April and one unimpressed looking teenager appears to be scratching their initials into the pod’s right engine with an IV hook. So Alan’s celebrity grin is kinda feeling the strain by the time the Easter Bunny launches himself from the potting shed and skids to a halt in the centre of the lawn.

Penelope isn’t far behind, hands smoothing her skirts, one of her bunny ears flopping over her eye, and Alan would probably be more suspicious except he doesn’t really have time – Penelope’s speaking and Gordon’s being swarmed by tiny figures that tug at his fur and hang from his shoulders – and he ought to just fire the candies into the air, take a few selfies for twittergram and get home. He ought to, but instead, he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches his brother take the smiles and the selfies, watches Lady P guide him – half blind as he must be – across the lawn to where the more poorly and less mobile children linger. Watches as his brother swallows the dread and the fear and the bile to kneel before children swathed in wires and make each of their faces a little brighter. Watches the soft tightening of Penelope’s hand in the bunny’s coat as he shakes each ashen hand with a huge, solid paw.

Then he fires.

Brightly wrapped eggs scatter like confetti and children stream after them, shrieking with glee, their nurses and parents and problems left behind, and, in the midst of it all, he sits and watches Gordon take the credit.

Yeah, he deserves this one.

[flintsjohn]

if you're still taking prompts, how about one where michael realizes how fondly alex looks at him?

uhh so i didn’t proofread this and also almost forgot to post it so i’m sorry if it’s messy? also very canon-divergent with a hell of a lot of oblivious!michael and all of their friends being awesome :)

I.

“But do you think he likes likes me?”

Max heaves out a sigh and lifts his eyes from the worn copy of War and Peace he’s reading while chewing on an apple. Michael returns the look nervously, biting down on his thumbnail. His eyes fleet to Alex, sitting on a table not too far from them, laughing with Maria and Liz.

“Yes, Michael,” Max finally says after he swallows. “I don’t know why you keep asking me that, bud. You know how he looks at you.”

Michael takes one last moment to look at Alex, all smiles and shining black-lined eyes, and then turns back to Max with a pout. “He never looks at me.” Not once, in three years of high school together and one that Michael has been crushing on him, and not in that way anyway. “I had to steal his guitar for him to even look my way.” That had been a good day for Michael, crush-wise, even though he had been accused of being a thief which in that case, to be fair, he had been.

Max doesn’t seem convinced, by the state of his raised eyebrows, but Michael shrugs and goes back to his sad little salad, trying not to think of Alex Manes or his stupid eyes, rings, outfits, whatever.

II.

Michael has a physics essay to turn in for which the deadline is in three hours and if he doesn’t finish this now he’s going to be fucked, but Isobel doesn’t seem to care. He’s not even sure why she’s here, because visiting for the weekend doesn’t count when she’s at fashion school fifteen minutes away from his dorm on the UNM campus.

He’s only half listening to her latest rant on her relationship problems with Rosa as he writes his conclusion, but when he’s finally sent in the damned thing, cracked his back and focused back on her, she’s apparently moved on, because she’s now asking, “Why don’t you just ask him out?”

“Uh?” he says stupidly, eyes burning from being focused for so long on the computer screen. He rubs at them and yawns, reaching for a cup of coffee that is now lukewarm.

“Alex, dumbdumb. You know, your life-long crush.”

Michael snorts because yeah, right. Like he’s just going to gather up the courage like that after three years spent pining dramatically. Besides, Alex is always being swarmed by admirers nowadays, college having given him the freedom he’s never had in high school under his father’s thumb. He’s going on dates left and right with guys far more deserving of him than Michael is. He’s tried saying as much to Isobel, but she apparently hasn’t heard a word of it.

“You know, and I can’t believe I’m saying this because God knows I’m the only functional human being in our family, but Max is right.” She sighs, flicks him on the forehead, and finishes her sentence as she moves to the door like she’d come into his dorm just to tell him that. “You should take the blinders off and see how he looks at you.”

III.

It’s not like Michael and Alex aren’t friends. They are, ever since senior year of high schol, when they bonded over shitty childhoods and music. They still hang out in college – living in the same building, it would be weird if they didn’t – and their friend group has remained pretty much the same since high school in Roswell, so they can’t really avoid each other. So Michael knows, on a logical level, that Alex likes spending time with him. It’s just that he doesn’t think Alex will ever see him that way, and by now everyone but Alex knows about Michael’s crush and they’re not subtle about it.

“So, you two fucked yet?” Rosa asks as she drops on the free chair next to him in the middle of the busy café as Michael waits for Alex’s shift to finish so they can have their study-session. He rushes to shush her, even though Alex is so busy behind the counter that he couldn’t possibly have heard her. He blushes as Rosa rolls her eyes, and goes back to his text book, drumming the page with his pencil.

“Sooner or later you’re gonna have to talk to him,” she reminds him, not unkindly (she’s never as insolent as Isobel is, though her crass language would suggest otherwise). She takes a sip of her latte and stares at the busy crowd, probably waiting for her girlfriend’s blonde head to pop up.

“We talk.”

“Not about things that matter, Mikey-boy.” She grins at the glare he directs her way at the nickname and continues easily, “Like the fact that you love when he smiles and lovingly bats his eyelashes at you while you go on and on about science facts nobody else cares about.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, dropping his head on his book and slamming it down a couple of times. Sometimes he wonders why he’s friends with people like Rosa, who won’t know when to drop some topics, but then he always remembers that Isobel would have his balls if he didn’t make an effort with her girlfriend, so all he ever does in the end is shrug and try to change the subject or deny. “And he doesn’t do… That.”

“Dude. I’m in a band with him. He talks about you all the time.” He picks his head up just in time to catch yet another of Rosa’s patented eye-rolls, and then she’s squealing and jumping up to throw herself into Isobel’s arms. He makes a gagging sound as they kiss as he does every time he has to see that, without fail, but the thought of Alex talking about him when he’s not there keeps nagging him for the rest of the afternoon, even when the man himself joins him with complimentary coffee.

IV.

“Maria, please,” he begs, tugging at her arm for her to stay.

“Jeez, Michael, it’s just Alex. You’ll be fine.” She shakes her head and drops a kiss to his cheek before waving at him and going back to the bar to join the rest of the girls. Hell of a night for Max to be busy and leave him at the mercy of the meanest group of ladies he’s ever met. And, well, Alex.

It’s just Alex, Maria says. Michael snorts and shakes his head, thumb rubbing at the condensation on his beer bottle. Just Alex is always Michael’s problem. He gets tongue-tied and stuttery around Alex, the last four years of shared life experiences forgotten when Alex as much as looks his way.

Which is what happens next, more or less. Alex gets back with his drink and an added sway to his hips which Michael knows, because he’s had to witness it countless times before, means he’s already been hit on by the first guy of the night, and Michael settles in for a long, long night of sulking in his beer.

Thankfully, around the third guy that strikes up a conversation with Alex and offers him a drink, Liz comes to save him. Michael really, really loves Liz, and he hopes Max will pull his head out of his ass and ask her to marry him sooner rather than later so he can have her as his sister-in-law, because Liz is awesome. He tells her as much, because he’s tipsy and loose-tongued enough now that he’s not alone with Alex anymore. She laughs and wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him to the dance floor.

Five minutes later, however, Michael feels like taking back everything he’s just stated about Liz, because she’s swaying with him so she can yell in his ear. “Why did you let him leave?” She draws back to catch Michael’s reaction, which is just a frown, before she continues, “We left you two alone and with alcohol! It was the perfect opportunity, Mikey!”

Scratch awesome, all the girls he knows are downright evil.

V.

Pool night with the boys becomes a thing in college, and they bring it back to Roswell when they all end up moving back. No matter how busy Alex gets with teaching, or how swamped with deadlines for his current writing project Max is, or how tired Kyle is from shifts, or how forgetful Michael gets with new projects in his lab, they try to keep their one night a week going.

Michael is getting drinks at the bar, making small talk with Mimi, when Kyle joins him, clapping him on the back before he takes two of the glasses from him. He’s coming off a double shift and almost missed boys night, though he refused to force them to reschedule, so Michael guesses from his crazy hair and shining eyes that he’s still running high on caffeine. Unfortunately, a caffeinated Kyle is a chatty Kyle.

“So, tell me, what did I miss? It’s been a while since our last night out.” Michael throws a look his way and shrugs at the expectant look on Kyle’s face, which earns him a pout. “C’mon, man, as your best friend outside of your siblings-“

“Liz is my best friend.”

“As your best friend,” Kyle repeats more forcefully, glaring at him until Michael accepts the statement with another shrug, “You should talk to me about this stuff.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Kyle.”

Kyle’s expression drops at that, and he stops to put the drinks down on a random table so he can turn on Michael, even though they haven’t reached the pool table they’ve commandeered for the night yet. “What do you mean nothing?”

“I mean,” Michael sighs, running a hand through his curls. He throws a glance Alex’s way, but he’s deep in conversation with Max and doesn’t seem to notice Kyle is holding him hostage, “Nothing happened.”

“But you went on a date.” Michael nods, taking a sip of his beer since it looks like Kyle isn’t going to release him any time soon. “And you kissed. He told me you two kissed!” Another nod, and Kyle frowns again. “So?”

“So what? He doesn’t want a relationship, Kyle.”

“Did he tell you that?” Kyle crosses his arms over his chest, studying Michael as he shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Alex hasn’t actually said that, not in as many words, but Michael can read the signs, and he knows that date was a mistake. Kyle doesn’t seem to agree, because he mutters, “Por Dios, que idiota eres.”

“I speak Spanish.”

“I know! I want you to understand what a dumbass you are!” Kyle pushes a finger into his chest, and Michael barely has time to mutter an ow before Kyle’s hands are on his cheeks and he’s forced to look into the other man’s eyes, which is weird because he hasn’t been this close to Kyle’s face since they drunkenly made out at his graduation party.

“Now, you listen to me, Guerin,” Kyle says determinedly, “You go there, free Alex from Max, and ask him out again. I will not lose the bet because of your obliviousness.”

VI.

“Oh,” Michael breathes as the pictures pop up on the big screen set up appositely for the slideshow. He tried to avoid it, of course, worried about what photos Isobel would be able to unearth, but it was non-negotiable in Isobel’s wedding plan, and unfortunately Alex had been on her side. Alex, who now sighs happily and cuddles closer to him with an inquisitive noise. “That’s- That’s what they always meant.”

“With what, babe?” Alex presses a kiss to his cheek and entwines their fingers, both of them smiling sheepishly when their rings clink together. Three hours haven’t been enough to get used to that (Michael isn’t sure a lifetime will be enough to get used to the fact that he’s just married the love of his life).

“The way you look at me,” Michael whispers, just for them to hear. He nods at the screen, which is now showing a picture of them in college, a guitar in each of their laps, heads bowed together as they play. Michael’s eyes are focused on his fingers in the photo, but Alex is looking at him, an incredibly fond look in his eyes. He has the exact same look in most of their pictures together, and Michael gasps as he looks down to find it replicated on his husband, eyes crinkling with his smile.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, pressing his forehead to Alex’s, “That look.”

Alex hums, pressing closer to Michael like he would want to fuse them together if he could. He smiles as he drops a kiss to the corner of Michael’s lips, causing him to shiver when his next words brush against his skin like a caress. “I never look away.”