#glowing patterns stims

[puyostim]

an art themed board! i went with stuff i havent necessarily used yet. there are animals. pens. paints. carvings. some stuff woohoo!!!!

🖌️ ✒️ 🎨

🎨 🖌️ ✒️

✒️ 🎨 🖌️

[ahhhwomen]

Perfect Soldier

Pairing: Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader

A/n: This was supposed to be like a big fic with a full storyline, but I decided I was too lazy to write it so yall are only getting the angsty part :) Not the most in-character thing I have written but I'm lazy.

Warnings: Death, description of dying, implication of torture and abuse, mommy issues, blood, swearing, just like 1k words of dying in a pretty lady's arms

“Shhh… hush… you’re okay… fuck.. you’re okay, just breathe…”

Her hands are warm and sticky as they take hold of your face. Amber liquid coats the crevices of her palm, riveting streams collide and split until an intricate pattern of your life form slathers itself like paint against her.

She holds your jaw in a vice-like grip, but you can’t seem to pull focus on anything other than the color of your own blood.

You are bleeding.

The hues change depending on what light reflects against Victoria as she huddles over you. While draping your body atop her lap, the light catches the side of her face where your blood is splattered in uneven coats. With the florescent lights, it almost glows in a lighter red, not quite so dark as the pool beneath you, the thinner drops reflect the light in a shining fashion, almost as if the blood is light itself.

It’s beautiful.

She is beautiful.

She cradles you close to her chest, stealing your view, and gently holds you like a mother would their child, rocking you back and forth. Her power suit is stained, and as she threads her fingers through your hair and holds your head against the crook of her neck, she subsequently only helps to taint the blue material more as your blood seeps deeper.

Victoria speaks to you calmly, with a mixture of soft murmurs, a soothing coo, and the occasional whispered curse, you can’t help but think she is doing it for her own benefit.

“You’re okay … shhh…”

She lessens the grip around your head in favor of petting you gently. Gentle fingers thread and weave in a sea of stained, clumped-together, strands of hair. She works deftly, untangling and taming, scratching her nails against your scalp.

It’s strange… You never knew comfort. Between Red River and the Vought Experimental Center for Youth, you lived in a constant state of pain and confusion. At the time it all felt natural, like you only existed to suffer and serve.

“Shhh…” The black-haired woman hovering over you clutches your jacket, using her handle on you to drag you even closer, it seems she won’t relent until every skin cell on your body merges with her own.

You aren’t making any noise, but the sound of her hushes and tsks settle the roaring inside your head and you find that you don’t mind her vocal stim... you almost feel comfort in it.

The pool beneath you grows into a storming ocean and with the swishing waves and raging raindrops, Victoria grows mad.

Hughie is a good man.

That’s the lie Victoria told herself while they grew closer over the past year. He is a good man, and though she was right to fear his rejection over her less “human” form, he isn’t cruel or deserving of her rage. So, she had pushed the nagging voice at the back of her mind that told her he was dangerous, and she kept living life as it was.

A death rattle echoes against the cold concrete walls as your body starts shaking and seizing inside Victoria’s hold.

When Edgar forced your presence onto her with the pretense that you were “good security”, she almost laughed in his fucking face. Nothing could stop Homelander, so what could you possibly do? A mute, obedient, pet that has never had a thought for herself.

She could handle herself, and she almost told him that, but, perhaps she felt an ounce of pity at your emotionless state. And maybe, as shameful as it is, maybe she saw something in you that reminded her of herself and her time at Red River.

The expansion and retraction of your chest stumbles in irregular patterns as blood bobbles and gurgles inside your lungs. Victoria forces you to your side as she pats your back firmly in an attempt to dislodge the curdling blood cloths.

So, she let you stay. Let you “protect” her and her daughter.

And when the reality of what she had signed herself, and her daughter, up for set in and she got scared, you never judged her. You stuck by her side till the very end.

Your body falls limp, and you stop struggling and for the first time in your life, you feel free.

Hughie was a good man, but you are a good girl.

Your skin grows colder by the second, and in a desperate attempt to reignite the heat, Victoria curls herself around your chilly corpse.

Hughie, together with his tentacle freak friend and the rest of the boy band, are going to die horrible, dragged-out, deaths that will rival the wrath of a thousand gods.

She will make sure of it.

[fanfoolishness]

Breaching the Wall

For the @summer-of-bad-batch Week 2 prompt "injured," with a serious side of comfort. After Crosshair's injuries on Tantiss, AZI treats his pain with heavy-duty medications -- and Crosshair starts talking. To everyone. Angst, hurt/comfort, whump, family feels. 5800 words, plus illustrations of Crosshair and Wrecker, and Crosshair and Omega.

---

The pain in his hand woke him.

Stabbing, searing, burning, throbbing — it was like nothing he’d ever felt before.  He could feel his hand spasming, shuddering with each pulse of agony.  He tried to clench his fist, hoping that would help, but something wasn’t working.  He reached out with his left hand to try to rub the ache away —

His right hand was gone.

Crosshair shivered, memories flooding back in the dark.  He rolled over, fumbling until he reached the side of the bed.  Where was he?  

He panted with effort, slowly sitting upright, staring at the walls.   Moonlight was faint through the window, but it was enough for him to see his surroundings.  A bedroom with decorations; an old fishing net on the wall, patterned vases, a few holoframes of a familiar family.

That was right.  This was Shep and Lyana’s place; Shep had opened his home to them after their escape.  Told Hunter they could stay for a few days until they were more recovered.  Crosshair glanced back at the large bed, where an exhausted Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had curled up beside each other.  

For a moment, watching their chests rise and fall, rise and fall, the pain receded.

Then he moved slightly and the pain roared back, a blinding burst of it rippling outward from the stump of his wrist.  He gasped, doubling over, shivering violently.

It was hard to think with everything raw and jangling.  Get up.  Don’t disturb them.  You can rest out there… then try to find the droid…  He should have seen him earlier, but the droid had been busy with many of the other clones and their injuries.  Echo had given him some stims on the shuttle, enough to drive the pain back and keep him on his feet, and stubbornly, he’d told them it it was enough.In all the commotion, no one had questioned him.

But he felt everything now.  He’d screwed up.  Badly.

Another wave, roiling, blinding, incapacitating.  He hissed through it. Kriff, it was getting hard to breathe.

For a moment, he tensed his legs, trying to steel himself to get to his feet and take the first step into the next room.  

But he thought of resting his arm on Hunter’s shoulder, their breath syncing in the pouring rain.  He thought of his eyes locking with Omega’s, the trust on her face, the shot of his life. 

He thought of Omega’s arms, flung wide around him.

”Hunter,” he managed.  

For a moment, there was no response, and he nearly despaired.  Hunter had his own injuries, his own pain to deal with.  Normally he probably would have already heard Crosshair and gotten up with him, but he must have been fast asleep, trying to recover himself.

Crosshair took a deep, shaky breath, and tried again.  Please.

”Hunter,” he whispered.

”Crosshair?” Hunter murmured.  Crosshair felt the weight on the bed shift.  Hunter sat beside him, swinging his legs out over the edge of the bed.  He looked exhausted, but his eyes were sharp and alert in his haggard face, clocking the situation.  “Your hand.”

Crosshair nodded tightly, pressing his arm hard against his abdomen.  “Can’t — sleep,” he bit out.  He shivered again. 

Hunter rested his arm on Crosshair’s shoulder, squeezing hard.  “Stay here.  I’ll get the droid.”  He leaned back, reaching out and nudging Wrecker.  “Hey.  Hey, Wrecker.”

”What is it?” Wrecker groaned, wincing as he rolled to the side.

”Crosshair needs AZI for his hand.  Stay up with him ‘til I get back.”  He got carefully to his feet, hunching over, rubbing his back with one hand.  

Wrecker nodded, stifling a yawn, and sat up stiffly.  “Right.”

“No.  I’ll go.”  A glow-lamp turned on, filling the room with soft golden light, and they all drew back against the brightness, trying to let their eyes adjust.

Omega slid off the bed, hurrying over and taking Hunter by the hand, pushing him back to sit on the bed again.  “You rest.  All three of you.”  She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at them, though the worry in her eyes was clear.

Crosshair smiled weakly at her.  The kid had steel in her, that much was certain.  He couldn’t speak — he was breathing too hard — but Omega gazed back at him.  He could see his own pain reflected in the sorrow on her face. Guilt rose up in him.  

“I’m sorry, Crosshair,” she whispered.

He tried to shrug, but the movement was interrupted by another hug from her, this one gentle, measured, careful.  She was trying not to nudge his arm.  She rested her cheek against his and whispered, “We’ll help you.  It’ll be okay.”

He raised his left arm, curling it around her.  He closed his eyes, his breathing softening, growing a little easier.

Somehow, he believed her.

---

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Omega arrived with the droid.  Everything was blurred, between the radiating pain and the late hour.  Hunter and Wrecker sat beside him, each with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly any time he shuddered.  The distraction helped.

“CT-9904.”

Crosshair lifted his head, squinting until things shifted back into focus.  AZI-3 hovered in front of him, wide yellow eyes staring.  Omega stood beside him, nibbling on her lip, watching anxiously.  

The droid scanned him, the scanner lingering on his stump.  Crosshair looked down at his wrist.  The white bandage Hemlock’s people had placed on the wound was tinged reddish-brown.  It made his stomach turn.

AZI finished his scan, then hovered forward, injecting something into his right shoulder without fanfare.  He then lifted Crosshair’s wrist, the sound of mechanical whirring evident as the droid replaced the bandages at the end of his arm.

Whatever AZI was doing, Crosshair didn’t feel it.  A cool wave flooded down his arm, numbing as it went until it reached the wrist, bringing with it a blessed relief.  At the same time his head began to feel floaty and strange, a different kind of haze than the fog of pain.  He wobbled slightly where he sat.

AZI finished redressing the wound.  “Your wound will require further attention, though without access to a full medical bay, I am afraid my services will be somewhat limited.  Your attackers provided basic battlefield wound closure and temporary pain relief, but a revision surgery will be necessary to remove bone fragments and prepare the amputation site for interface with a prosthetic, should you choose to use one.  I will explore the area once the swelling has begun to abate.”

The droid’s words slid in one ear, out the other; Crosshair could barely make sense of them.  He wavered, listing to one side.  When he spoke his words slurred slightly.  “Why can’t I -- Why am I --”

A hand, sturdy and familiar at his shoulder, bracing him upright.  “Hey AZI, I think those pain meds you gave him kicked in,” Wrecker said.  “He’s way out of it.”

AZI nodded, his confusing chatter fading.  “With the mild anemia from the amputation, it is unsurprising that he would react more strongly to the sedating effects of pain relief than the typical clone.  He may exhibit altered mentation with this dosage, but it is necessary with an injury this severe.”

“Ahhh, he’s always been a lightweight,” Wrecker chuckled, though the laugh turned into a groan.  He rubbed at his chest, grimacing at his own wounds.

Crosshair managed a scowl at his brother, though it made him dizzy to turn and look at him.  “Not true,” he muttered, though distantly he remembered a particularly brutal night at 79’s, years back.  

“No, it’s true,” Hunter chimed in, smiling faintly despite the concern in his eyes.

The droid hovered forward, giving Crosshair another injection of something in the arm.  “This will allow for rapid replacement of your blood, CT-9904.  You should start to feel less lethargic within the next rotation.  The pain medication I have given you is a long-acting infusion and should provide comfort for the next three days before redosing is necessary…”  

The droid’s voice tuned in and out of his ears.  He was drifting in a sea of half-formed memory, drifting somewhere dark, somewhere painful --

The boot on his wrist --

The blade swinging --

Flesh tearing, bone screaming, bone crunching --

Crosshair gasped, his head swimming.  He looked up, lost again.  He was here in Shep’s house, Hunter and Wrecker sitting beside him, exhausted, pale, worried.  AZI hovered in front of Wrecker, examining him now.  Omega stood beside the droid, her arms crossed over her chest, peering closely at him.

Crosshair caught Wrecker’s eye, and his brother gave him a small smile.

“Hey, you back with us, Cross?”

“Everything’s… I don’t know,” Crosshair said slowly, shaking his head.  He raised his left arm, rubbing his face.  He felt disconnected, as if he might float away.  He had a vague sense that this was much better than how he had felt a few minutes ago, but he was having a hard time remembering why.

“Does it still hurt?” Omega asked.  

“Does what still hurt?” Crosshair mumbled.  His gaze wandered down, and he saw the bandage on his wrist, the missing hand.  Ah.  That.  “No.  Not anymore.”  He closed his eyes.  

He remembered now.  He’d asked them for help, and they’d given it.  He leaned to one side, and Hunter leaned in to close the space between them, letting him rest his head on his shoulder.  

He breathed in; he breathed out; again, and again.

---

The sunlight felt a galaxy away, gold and white playing shadows against his closed eyes.  Crosshair wandered somewhere beneath it, eyelids flickering open, bracing against the light.  Everything was muted, far away with blurred edges.  He was here on a bed.  The walls were dawn-yellow.  The ceiling rippled.  He watched it move placidly, then reached up to scratch an itch on his face, straining his fingers to reach.

His stump bumped against his cheek, and his skin crawled.  

They took it.  They took it.  It’s gone.  Nothing -- nothing there --

“Crosshair?”

He turned his head with a great effort.  Sitting at the edge of the bed was Hunter, looking out the window, watching whatever lay beyond.  He looked better than he had last night -- his hair was combed, and he’d found clothes somewhere that looked like they belonged on Pabu, not armor castoffs.  

“It’s morning,” Crosshair said, the words stretching out for what felt like hours.  He rubbed his face with his left hand, keeping his right as far away as he could.  “Why’s it -- everything’s off.”

“AZI’s got you on serious painkillers,” Hunter said.  “Better for you than combat stims, but he said you’re gonna be loopy for a few days.”

“I doubt that,” Crosshair muttered, but the bed had turned into a pitching sea, rolling him back and forth.  He groaned, fighting back a wave of nausea. 

“Here.  Let’s get you upright.  See if that helps.”  

Hunter carefully helped him up, putting some pillows behind him so he could lean back against the wall.  The dizziness shrank back into the distance, but the world still felt like it was at a remove.  Several of them.  He rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes again, breathing hard.  

“You need anything?  Hungry?  Thirsty?  ‘Fresher?”  

“No.  Not yet.”  Crosshair shook his head, then smiled, a grin lazily stealing across his face.  “Toothpick.”

Hunter laughed slightly.  “So you’re not totally out of it, then. Lemme check your belt.”  He stiffly got to his feet, searching the pile of discarded armor in the corner of the room.  “Ah.  You’re running low, you know.”

“Not the only thing I’m running low on,” Crosshair said slyly.  Everything seemed oddly funny.  He reached out to take the toothpick Hunter held, fixing it between his lips.  “I also seem to be down a hand.”

It was funny, wasn’t it?

Hunter winced, and Crosshair felt a twinge of guilt.  Not funny, then.  “I -- uh, yeah, I guess you could say that.”  Hunter sat back down, folding his own hands in his lap, seeming to search for words.  “So.  How are you feeling?”

Crosshair stared up at the wavy ceiling, worrying the toothpick between his teeth and tongue.  The wood felt both richly textured and yet wrapped in fuzzy wool.  He rolled it between his molars, incisors, molars, incisors, until its end was sodden with saliva.

Oh.  Hunter had asked him a question.

How was he feeling? 

He closed his eyes.  He saw a wall, familiar, vast, unbreakable.  One he’d carefully built up foot by foot, a shield, a fortress.  It kept things hidden.  It had towered overhead after the Order went out, after Bracca, after Kamino.  It had threatened to block out all light and leave him there alone in the dark.  Yet it had protected him on Tantiss, there a lesser evil.

But there’d been breaches.  Cody, questioning Desix.  Mayday, his life in Crosshair’s hands.   

Omega, never giving up on him.  

He was floating up somewhere above the clouds, somewhere high above the wall.  Up here, it didn’t really seem to matter.  Up here, it seemed small and inconsequential.

He looked down at the bandaged stump at his side.  He took a deep breath.  Hunter’s question… he didn’t know the answer to that.  But there was something pressing, a thought twisting and itching in his head, trying to get out through a breach in the wall.

“You were right, you know.”

Hunter cocked his head to one side, slight confusion on his face.  “About what?”

“Plan 99.  I wanted to call it,” Crosshair said quietly.  “Planned to, after they took her.”

Hunter stared at him, his eyes narrowing.  “You were planning it before we got to Tantiss?”

Crosshair shrugged, the movement sending him floating further amongst the morning sunlight.  Hunter’s horror barely registered.  Why shouldn’t he tell him?  The instant Crosshair had seen the tracker fall into the waves, he’d known what needed to be done.

A trade, his life for hers.

“I thought it was the only way.  What I deserved.”  His breath caught in his throat, a pain the medication couldn’t touch.  “But -- you stopped me.  You and Wrecker.”  Were there words for what he’d felt, that moment in the jungle?  To see his brothers stepping up beside him at last, even after everything he’d done?  

No.  He’d never have the words for what that had meant to him.

“Crosshair.”  Hunter laid his hand on his arm for a moment, and Crosshair looked at him, ignoring the way his eyes burned.  “Whatever you’re carrying, you can lay it down.  You saved her.”  Hunter smiled fiercely.  “She’s right outside with Wrecker, having breakfast.  The first day of real freedom she’s maybe ever had.  That’s because of you.”

The bridge.  The rain.

His breath, in and out, focused and sure.

The shot.

Crosshair’s voice cracked, the words leaking out of him, pouring through the breach.  “She… did you see?  The look on her face, when she saw me, when she saw --”

It was burned into his mind.  The beaming relief, fading to a horrified realization when she saw his missing hand; the tears streaming down her face, mingling with the rain; her face twisting into a sob as she ran to him.  

To him.

“She loves you,” Hunter said softly.  “You’ve got to know that by now.”

Why was his face wet?  He let out a shaky breath, nodding, blinking away the water in his eyes. 

“I know.  I knew.”  He bit down on the toothpick, his teeth stamping little ridges along its end.  He remembered Omega asking him for one, the way she’d sat there on the Marauder nibbling it in perfect imitation of him.  

His sister.  Safe now.  Because of him.

He didn’t have words for what that meant, either.

He shook his head, the room spinning around him, and sank back against the pillows.  Hunter’s voice rolled over him.  

“It’s all right, Cross.  Get some rest.”

---

“You’ll get through it.  But it’ll be hard, I won’t tell you otherwise.  And… they won’t really understand.”

Crosshair raised his eyes, looking around the room.  Echo sat in the chair beside the bed, his outline blurred in the streaming sunlight.  

They’d been talking, hadn’t they?  Time was looped and stretched and meaningless.  When had he last seen Hunter?  It felt like last year, but maybe it was an hour ago.  Crosshair wasn’t sure.  He tried to keep up with what Echo was saying, concentrating with a great effort.  There it was.  He found the thread again and followed it, clinging to it with both hands.

“You never complained,” Crosshair said at last.  “Arm.  Legs.  How did you —“ He took a deep breath.  “How did you do it?  This part, right now?”

Echo smiled ruefully at him.  “Sorry.  I can’t say I remember it all that well.  I still don’t know everything the Techno Union did to me, but from the Citadel to Skako Minor, there’s a lot of dead space.  First time I really realized what was missing was when I saw Rex’s face.”  He sighed.  “It took a long time for the shock to wear off.  To realize everything that had really happened.  So to answer your question, I’m not sure.  I just kept going, one day at a time.”

”’Just keep going,’” Crosshair repeated.  He could do that.  He’d been doing that every day since he was small.

“AZI will help you out,” said Echo.  “Don’t be afraid to talk to him, even after everything’s technically healed up.  I used to see him sometimes when we’d stop back at Kamino, during the war.  He’d help with phantom pain.  Exercise ideas.”  A wistful, distant look crossed his face.  “And sometimes he was just good to talk to.  Like about Fives.”

“Fives.  A reg.”  Crosshair frowned, then shook his head.  No.  That didn’t matter anymore: they were all clones together, like Cody.  Like Mayday.  And he’d heard Fives’ name before, remembered through the fog what he was to Echo.  “A brother.”

Echo tilted his head, a look of surprise crossing his face.  “Yeah.  Don’t know if you remember me talking about him, but we made ARC trooper together, back during the Kamino invasion.  We were close.  You’d have liked him.  Tough as durasteel, and one of the finest troopers I’ve ever met.  And just enough of a mouth on him that you’d have been fast friends if you didn’t kill each other first.”

Crosshair chuckled.  “Sounds like a good man.”  He sighed, his smile fading.  “No word from Cody?”

Echo shook his head.  “No.  Rex’s contacts are always keeping an ear out for him, but no one’s had any word.  If anyone could stay alive out there on his own, it’s Cody, but… it’s been a long time.”

”He tried with me,” Crosshair said softly.  “Tried to help me see the Empire was wrong. But I… let him down.  If you find him…”

“I’ll let you know, Crosshair.  That’s a promise.”  

He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard.  He reached up to pull his collar down and missed, his stump going wide.  He groaned in irritation, using his left hand instead, and cracked his eyes open to glare at Echo.

“I keep forgetting,” Crosshair growled.  “Stupid, I know.  How could I forget --”

“Takes time to adjust,” Echo said.  “It’s not stupid at all.  You all never looked down on me for it.”

Faint memories, flickering up.  Echo needing help donning and doffing his armor at first.  Reaching for something with his scomp arm, remembering halfway through, switching to his left hand.  Tech, helping repair his leg after a rough early mission.  It hadn’t seemed strange back then.  “You were defective, just like us,” Crosshair said slowly.

“Another bad batcher,” said Echo with a warm smile.

Crosshair grinned, shifting.  His stump grazed against the bed, and he jerked backwards, expecting it to hurt.  But the droid’s drugs were working.  His stump felt like a dull, frozen log attached loosely to his shoulder; everything was numbed and confused.  Better than the pain, but no less disorienting.  

The smile on his face slid away, remembering his hand straining, struggling, shaking, desperate --

“You all right?” Echo asked.

“I remember,” Crosshair said haltingly.  “A vibrosword.”  He swallowed.  The room seemed darker suddenly, sunlight vanishing, or was that his imagination?  “‘You should be more careful with your shooting hand.’”  He shuddered.  “Tried to -- tried to stop him --”

Echo’s left hand, resting on his shoulder, a firm squeeze.  “I’m sorry, brother.”  

Crosshair reached up, fumbling, his own hand searching for Echo’s.  He gripped it as hard as he could, chancing a look at the other clone’s face.   

His chest ached at Echo’s smile.  “Brother,” he whispered.

---

“What do you do?” Crosshair asked, unsteady on his feet.  He leaned heavily against Wrecker as they walked back from the ‘fresher.  His feet tried to slide out from under him.  How could his head feeling so light make his feet work so badly?  The two weren’t even connected.  It didn’t make sense.

“What do I do when?” said Wrecker, helping him back down to the bed.  Crosshair sat there, staring out the window for a long minute.

“What do you do when you’re afraid?” Crosshair mumbled.  “Always… wondered.”

Wrecker sat down carefully beside him.  “Huh.  Yeah, you’re uh… you’re definitely feeling it.”

“So?” Crosshair scoffed.  “Answer the, the question.”

“Well… I dunno.  I guess just… keep trying?  Why?”

”I don’t know,” Crosshair said.  He’d already half-forgotten asking the question, though it had seemed important somehow.  

There’s no room for fear on the battlefield.  No room for cowards.

So why did he feel so afraid?

Wrecker leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, I dunno.  I mean, there’s afraid, and then there’s afraid.  I guess maybe there’s some stuff I never could figure out.”  He ducked his head.  “Like heights.  ‘Specially after… after Tech.”  

Crosshair stiffened.  He didn’t want to think about Tech.

Not when he should’ve been there.

Not when he could’ve been there, if he’d chosen right.

But even though the wall was floating far below him, his tongue froze in his mouth.  He couldn’t speak.  Not yet.  Not about him.  It was too hard, too much, even now.

He just leaned to the side, resting his head on Wrecker’s shoulder.  

“Aw.”  Wrecker laughed, a soft, pleased sound as he raised a hand to clap Crosshair on the back.  “Like when we were cadets.  Remember?  You always used to sleep on me.  ‘Til suddenly you were all about ‘personal space.’  Whatever that is!”

“Hrhm,” Crosshair muttered, adjusting his head to find a more comfortable spot.  He did remember.  Sometimes they used to fall asleep on the same bed after a long day of training; sometimes it was naps in a pile of all four of them.  He didn’t remember why he’d stopped.  One day, it had just felt like something he shouldn’t do anymore, not if he wanted to be a real soldier.  

“Wrecker?” 

“Yeah, Cross?”

”Shut up.”  He leaned in harder to his brother, and Wrecker’s arm around him was something he’d lost, then found again.  He closed his eyes, sinking against him.

“I know you don’t mean it, you big softy.”

”Shut up.”

He fell back asleep with Wrecker’s warm laughter in his ears.

---

”You’ve got to eat,” Omega said, sliding a tray of food across the table to him.  “Hunter said you wouldn’t listen to him.”

”Hunter doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Crosshair muttered.  He rested his head on his hand, staring down at the tray of sliced fish and marinated seaweed and fresh fruit.  He supposed it looked good.  But he hadn’t felt hungry all day, too busy floating and rambling and sleeping and trying not to think about his hand.  

Omega grinned.  “You’re still so grouchy.  AZI said sometimes that medication can make people giddy.  Or just very sleepy.  Maybe you’re just being extra Crosshair on it.”

”Nobody needs that,” he groused.  He tried to pick up a wedge of fruit with his right hand and succeeded only in smearing fruit juice across his bandage.  He pulled his arm away, growling as Omega reached for a napkin.  

“Can I help, Crosshair?” she asked.  

He looked at her face, kind and concerned, and begrudgingly pushed his arm toward her.  She hesitated for only a second before carefully dabbing at the bandage with her napkin, laying one hand tenderly on his forearm.  He wished he could fully feel her hand there, instead of a faint pressure that was all he could sense through the drugs.

“It isn’t fair,” Omega said quietly.  

“That you’re stuck babysitting me?” 

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “Oh, please!  Come on.  No.”  Her mouth twisted into a frown, her eyes suddenly too bright.  “It isn’t fair about your hand, of course.  You’d been getting better.  You were working so hard.  I could see it.  And then they hurt you —“ 

She let go of his arm, folding her own arms on the table and resting her head on them, looking away from him.  “Because you were trying to help me.”

Crosshair’s jaw clenched.  “None of that,” he said sharply.  “Not your fault.  Don’t you ever think that.”

She raised her head, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.  “But it’s true —“

For a moment, they stared at each other, both flushed and breathing hard.

His head was jumbled, aching with how his thoughts swirled around each other.  He had to figure out how to put the words together, how to make her understand.  He reached out clumsily and took her hand in his.

”Omega, if this is what it took, it was worth it.”  He swallowed.  “Understand?”  He squeezed her hand, and hers was the one that trembled.

She nodded, trying not to cry.  “Crosshair?”

”Yeah?”

”I’m so proud of you.”

He blinked, tears sliding silently down his cheeks, and nodded.  He let go of her hand and pulled the tray back to him, and started eating, not bothering to wipe the water from his face.

---

Hunter again, silhouetted by moonlight this time instead of sunlight.  Night again already?  Crosshair sighed.  He was getting sick of the way time slid away from him so quickly.

”How much longer?”

”Until what?”

”’til this wears off.  Tired of it.”

”AZI stopped by again today, remember?” Hunter asked, crossing his arms.  He leaned back in his chair, looking at him with mild concern.

”Vaguely.”  He’d half-thought he was dreaming.  

“He said this dose should wear off in another two days.  Once you’re a little more recovered then he said he’s got to go in and work on it more so it heals properly.  So you’re not done just yet,” said Hunter.  “It’d be a faster process if we had a full medbay, but the Empire doesn’t exactly leave them lying around.”

Crosshair huffed.  “Of course.”  His mind drifted back to Echo.  “Guess it’s one day at a time.”

“Good way to look at it,” said Hunter.  He paused.  “Glad Omega got you to eat something.”

”Can’t say no to her,” Crosshair said.  He chuckled.  Things were funny again.  “Maybe that’s her enhancement.”

Hunter laughed.  “That’s a pretty good theory.  When she gives you those eyes, it’s hard to say no, even if it’s for her own good.”

”Uh-huh.”

Crosshair sat up, testing his balance.  Still off.  He wobbled to one side, then slowly sank back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.  He thought of the kid, so damn earnest.

“She tried so hard to help me,” he said.  “With my hand.  Told me you put her up to it.”

“Some of it,” Hunter admitted.  “But she came to me about it first.  She’d been worried about you for a while.  She knew you weren’t ready to talk to me or Wrecker about it.”

“No,” said Crosshair.  He curled the fingers of his left hand up into his palm, relaxed them, curled them again.  His right wrist felt like a strange ghost, numbed and muted, a thousand parsecs away.  “The droid said it was all in my head.  I guess it was.”  His throat was tight again, and he looked away.  “Just couldn’t… Tantiss…”  The words choked in his mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Hunter said.  He let out a long, shivering breath, the sound of it echoing in Crosshair’s ears.  “Hemlock told me what he tried to do to you.  Tried to do it to me, too.”  He hung his head.  “I -- I didn’t know.  What you’d gone through.”

“I wasn’t exactly telling,” Crosshair muttered.  He looked back at Hunter, whose face was blurry, sliding away.  For a moment he looked young again, a cadet with brown eyes blazing, face set with determination.  Then things shifted, and he was a tired clone who’d been through hell, his eyes weary. Compassionate.  It was almost more than Crosshair could bear.  “Felt like I deserved it.”  He held out his stump.  “Like this.”

“No one deserves this,” said Hunter flatly.   “Look.  I’ve been talking to AZI.  It might take a while to find a source for one, but we’ll get you a new hand.  I promise.”

“But this one’s still gone,” Crosshair hissed, flaring with a sudden rage, incandescent, poisonous, raw.  He thrust out his arm, shoving it in Hunter’s face.  “I don’t care what you find.  It won’t be the same.”  He let out a sharp huff of breath, his heart pounding.  “Maybe I’d ruined it, maybe I was never going to be that sniper again, but it was mine.”  

Hunter held out his hands in a placating gesture, and the anger ebbed away, a foggy memory.  Crosshair sank back against the pillows, shaking.  

“Sorry,” said Hunter, and something like pity crossed his face.  “You don’t have to have a prosthetic, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Crosshair said roughly.  

I should figure out how to get along without one.

I don’t need their help.

Maybe a prosthetic would just shake, too --

The thoughts ringed around his head dizzyingly, too difficult to get out even through the crumbling wall and his lowered defenses.  He clung to them, confused and ashamed. 

Hunter’s voice cut through the cloud of thoughts.  “You don’t have to know, yet.  You can take the time.”

The thoughts quieted down again, and he fell back into a remove again, faded and muted.

Hunter spoke again.  “Sorry, Cross.  I don’t know what it’s like.”  

“No, you don’t.”  He gave Hunter a twisted smile.  “Hell, I don’t either.”

”You talked to Echo.”

”A little.  It’s — hard, like this.  Good man, Echo.”  A wave of drowsiness rolled over him, heavy and oppressive.  He stifled a yawn, trying to keep focused on Hunter.  “I’m talking a lot, aren’t I.  Must be whatever the droid did.”

“Must be.”  Hunter reached out, offering a toothpick.  Crosshair took it with his left hand, shimmied it into place.  This one tasted of stale sawdust, and he frowned, the dryness of it puckering his mouth.

”Keep seeing it,” Crosshair said under his breath.

”What?”

“That moment.  After the explosion.”  He sighed.  “Should’ve stopped him.  Could’ve, if I’d had a knife.  Stupid not to carry one.  Why’d you let me talk the Kaminoans out of it?”  He shuddered, rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, grimacing at how tender it felt even through the numbing of the pain meds.  He rolled up his sleeve cautiously.

There was a dark purple-black bruise on his forearm.  A swollen crescent shape.  It took him a moment to realize it was from the rim of his gauntlet, crushed into his arm from the weight of the trooper.

He rolled the sleeve back down hurriedly and gnawed on his toothpick.

“Because if our sniper was having to engage in hand-to-hand combat, we’d failed as a squad,” Hunter said dryly.  “It didn’t make sense to add the extra weight to your kit when you hadn’t had the hand-to-hand training Wrecker and I had.  Remember?  I backed you on that.”

Crosshair snorted.  “What did we know back then?”

Just battle sims and life as Clone Force 99.  What else was there?

He gazed out the window.  The night sky was a wash of blues and blacks and grays, white-gold starlight twinkling across the immense sky.

“You know something that doesn’t make sense,” Crosshair ventured.  It seemed important to tell him, though it was stupid, it was shameful.

“What?”

“I thought, at least it’s over.”

“I know.  Tantiss is gone.”

“No, not that.  This.”  He held up his stump.  “The tremor.  It was getting worse.”  He grimaced.  “You saw.  I’d let Omega down.  Couldn’t handle meditating after they took her.  But now it’s… gone.  She’ll never have to know I couldn’t -- I couldn’t fix it --”

“Hey, hey.  Crosshair.”

He spat out his toothpick into his palm and turned away, burying his face in the pillows, his back to Hunter.

”You think that matters to her?”

”I — I don’t know.”  It matters to me.

For a moment, Hunter fell quiet.  The only sounds were their breathing, soft and steady.

Like on the bridge —

Hunter’s voice was quiet but determined.  “We all have our battle scars.”

And?  This was news?

”I don’t think they’re always the kind that we can see,” Hunter said.  He paused, as if trying to figure out what to say.  ”There’s some injuries… you don’t fully recover from.  That doesn’t make you weak.  Look at Wrecker’s eye.  Look at Echo.”

Crosshair was very still.  With his eyes closed like this, Hunter’s voice enveloped him, the world shrinking down to his brother’s words.

”Maybe you’ll be different now.  Maybe some things can’t… really be fixed.  But I think you can get through it.  You’ll still be Crosshair.”

”You sure about that?” he asked softly, so softly he wasn’t sure if Hunter had heard him.

”Crosshair, you’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met.”  Hunter’s voice was warm, affectionate.  “If you decide to get better, you will.  I know it.  You just… you have to decide you deserve it.”

That was the hard part.

He hovered in the dark, the wall far below him, crumbling into a shadow of itself.  It wasn’t gone.  He’d probably add a few more bricks to shore it back up, once he got out of this fog.  But it was a ruin now, broken down, far easier to get over and through than it ever had been before.  

Maybe it was something he wouldn’t need for much longer.

“Hunter?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Think I’ll remember this, tomorrow?”

”I don’t know.”  Hunter reached out, patting him on the back.  “But if you don’t, I’ll tell you again.  As often as you need to hear it.”

That sounded fair to him.

He drifted off into the haze, his arm dull and quiet, his mind blank and free of pain.  He thought of his brothers beside him, Omega’s hand in his, and he slept deep and long and dreamless into the morning.

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Wishlist Ideas for Closeted Regressors

So, it’s a little early to be posting holiday stuff, but I wanted to get this out there so since I know a lot of people start their holiday shopping around this time. So, If you’re looking for agere gear as a closeted regressor, or you just want something that’s subtle, here are 12 ideas-with pics. Note: pics are not mine, they are screenshotted from Amazon. prices are in USD, as Im American. Happy regressing and happy holidays!

1.Kawaii water bottles, specifically in the style below. The straw on most of these is a lot like a sippy or bottle, so if you can’t have/don’t want one of those, then these are a great alternative! Just look up ‘kawaii water bottle’ on Amazon and a whole bunch will show up. Most are between $15-25 USD

2. Funko Pops. I actually use mine as action figures and play with them (just be gentle with them if you do this!) so they can be great agere toys and decor! You can find just about any character and any fandom too. The prices very greatly, depending on what character and where you buy from. Black Friday deals on Amazon and Five Below are great ways to find them for only a few dollars.

3. Fidget toys; they can make great Agere activities! Because they are designed to stimulate your senses, many function similarly to baby toys. Note: when buying in bulk packages, the quality isn’t great. So consider whether you want to invest in better quality or quantity. Most bulk fidget packs are about $25 USD on Amazon. Dollar stores often have similar products as well, though once again the quality is unknown.

4. Fleece throw blankets. They are super cute, soft, and cuddly! Not only can they keep you warm, but I like to use mine as a playmat. Once again, price can very greatly; typically anywhere from $10-30 USD

5. Coloring books. I think this one is pretty self explanatory, as lots of regressors love coloring. If you’re worried about rousing suspicion, then just ask for an adult coloring book; these often have more intricate patterns, but if you ask for a fandom themed one, it’ll still have some awesome characters to color! Typically around $5-10

6. Silicone night light. These are available in so many colors, animals, and foods—and they are appropriate for any age, thanks to their kawaii esc appearance; they usually cost about $15.

7. Snack boxes. If your dietary needs allow for it, then these can provide some really cool little space snacks. They’re all pre packaged and come with a wide variety of things, ranging from crackers to cookies. And if you want something unique, you can try snack boxes that feature food from other countries. Prices will vary greatly, mostly dependent on the size

8. Lava lamps. These are just cute and make for a neat visual stim. Plenty of colors to choose from too! If you wanted, it could be used as a sort of substitute as a baby mobile since it’s very colorful and relaxing to watch. These can go for anywhere between $20-40

9. Microwaveable plushies. Super comforting, and for any Littles with cramps or chronic pain, they can be disguised as heating pads. Many of these also come with a scent, typically lavender, though you can find them without too. Cost around $20-40, depending on brand.

10. Scrapbooking materials. Kind of a random one, but they can be used to decorate a journal, you can make a physical photo album like many of us had in our childhoods, etc. Just a fun craft project you can consider! Typically, scrapbooking kits that include some paper, washi tape, and stickers can be around $10-15

11. Onesie pajamas. Lots of options, and are great if you live somewhere cold! Usually $25-40. These can be animal shaped, character themed, or more subtle like a plaid pattern. Very comfy and make for great little space clothes.

12. Glow in the dark stars. They are cute, fun, and aesthetically pleasing. You can get them in a who,e bunch of colors too! Typically $5

[sweetyamz1]

✦ autism npts pack﹕

names — Echo.　Pattern.　Rhythm.　Wave.　Flicker.　Bounce.　Prism.　Loop.　Ripple.　Spark.　Pixel.　Digit.　Data.　Quest.　Logic.　Pulse.　Detail.　Flow.　Spin.　Stim.　Focus.　Beam.　Buzz.　Orbit.　Symphony.　Comet.　Vector.　Fractal.　Nova.　Quanta.　Matrix.　Cipher.　Vibe.　Sonic.　Helix.　Atlas.　Nexus.　Cory.

pronouns — stim / stims / stimself.　rock / rocks / rockself.　flap / flaps / flapself.　beam / beams / beamself.　glow / glows / glowself.　buzz / buzzs / buzzself.　wave / waves / waveself.　spin / spins / spinself.　flow / flows / flowself.　hum / hums / humself.　spark / sparks / sparkself.　pulse / pulses / pulseself.　orbit / orbits / orbitself.　loop / loops / loopself.　echo / echos / echoself.　focus / focuses / focuself.　shine / shines / shineself.　pattern / patterns / patternself.　swirl / swirls / swirlself.

titles — [prn] who stims freely.　the pattern seeker.　[prn] who speaks in special interests.　the collector of precious facts.　[prn] who feels deeply.　the finder of hidden details.　[prn] who moves uniquely.　the keeper of routines.　[prn] who thinks in pictures/numbers/letters/words.　the lover of soft things.　[prn] who sees the world differently.　the guardian of special objects.　the weaver of patterns.　[prn] who rocks back and forth.　the explorer of textures.　[prn] who infodumps.

[outoutdamnspark]

Nails

Emmet x Reader

Just a little warmup. I wrote this because I, too, have a thing for hands, but also because having pretty nails is something that makes me feel good about myself and I just wanted to put that into something.

(cw: slightly suggestive, but nothing explicit. hints of body worship. reader is non-binary. Emmet has a thing for hands.)

Ingo: Lips -> here

Emmet loves it when you paint your nails.

He loves to hold your hands, playing with your fingers, fitting his own between yours and gently stroking them just to feel your skin against his. It’s grounding, his favorite stim, and he’ll seek it out absently when he has a build up of energy he needs to let out but doesn’t have the room to pace or the desire to flap his hands. Or, if he’s feeling anxious, he’ll squeeze your fingers gently but rhythmically, keeping time with the nervous tapping of his heel against the floor. It keeps him sane in crowded space when he’s so overstimulated he feels like crying angry, stinging tears. 

But your nails are his favorite part. If you keep them short he likes to trace the edges of them with his fingertips, enjoying the blunted shapes and trying to memorize them. If you keep them long he likes to stroke the pad of his thumbs across the tops of them, feeling how smooth they are and memorizing the texture. 

If you wear fake nails then he’ll move his touch in a repetitive pattern, up and down and around, seeking out the faint outline where the acrylic meets your natural nail bed. It’s like a fun little maze with no real stakes that he can navigate over and over again as many times as he wants and never get frustrated. Sometimes they’re all the same; sometimes they’re not - tiny little differences that he likes to explore on each nail.

But oh. If you paint your nails. That’s another story entirely. 

He likes to help you pick out the colors, whether they’re glossy or matte or glittery; if it’s a special event or a date night he’ll help you coordinate your nail polish to your outfit, or even just to match something he’s wearing if it’s more casual. He’ll often pick out several different colors all of the same hue and watch as you slowly stroke the colors along your fingernails, finding satisfaction in how easily they glide on. It’s calming to his mind, nearly hypnotic, something to help him quiet the constantly racing thoughts brought on by his ADHD.

Eventually he’ll ask you to teach him, watching you closely as you show him just how to hold the brush, how to smooth the polish down the length of each nail one at a time until the entire thing is evenly coated. He’ll be a little sloppy at first but he’ll learn quickly, until he’s gliding something bright and pretty across your nails with expert grace.

His hands are steady despite his usual constant movement, his grip gentle and sure, and as he leans down to softly blow on the newly-applied polish, he’ll look up at you with eyes like moonstone and desire before kissing your knuckles slowly. 

Tell him he did well. Praise him softly. Watch the way his eyes darken and the way his steady hands begin to tremble. 

Later, when your nails have dried enough that you can touch things without ruining all of his hard work, Emmet will pin you to the bed by your wrists and smirk at the way the polish on your nails glints in the low light of your shared bedroom, almost like his signature on the canvas of your body, because to him you are nothing less than art.

His favorite colors on you are metallic - chrome and glittering gold and rusty red, anything shiny, bronze-y, icy silver-white. He loves the way they catch the light and seem to glow, so when he covers your body with his own and holds your hands while he rocks against you, makes you gasp his name, he’ll keep his gaze on the flash of shining paint on the tips of the fingers he loves so much and feel the warmth of pride in his chest that he’s the one that helped to decorate such a beautiful being as yourself. 

And once he lets go of your hands to let you wrap your arms around him, to let you hold him close as though you never want to let him go, he’ll close his eyes with a groan and imagine the way your painted nails must look as you drag them down his back and mark him in return.

[stardustandash]

plane drabble fic for @breakfastteatime who requested BD-1 going on a Cal rescue mission, kinda like a reverse of what happens on Ordo Eris. Very fun prompt!!

The ducts are small. Too small for humans, but there’s just enough space for BD-1 to creep through slowly. The Star Destroyer is large, but BD-1 doesn’t need to sleep while he’s on the hunt. All he needs is his Cal back, and maybe to leave something nasty in the ship’s computer. Or blow it up. He’s not feeling particularly picky on that part. He scuttles past a grated opening and overhears an officer complaining about the caf. A left turn brings him over the Stormtrooper barracks. BD almost risks a scan of the armour left abandoned below, knowing it would give them an advantage when he frees his Cal, but stops himself because the glow from the scanner would give him away.

It was only a lucky stun shot from a sniper that downed his Cal in the first place. BD hadn’t been doing his job. That’s why he needs to save his Cal. He snuck onto the transport after the Troopers that hauled Cal away and now he’s sneaking through the vents trying to figure out where the Imperials keep the brig on their ships. The layout so far as followed as logical a set up as an organic can make, If BD-1 keeps going on the path he’s chosen then he should reach the brig and his Cal in no time at all. He turns another corner and comes face to face with a mouse droid. It shrieks, high and shrill, yelling about danger and intruders. BD rears back before beeping at it to shut up. It doesn’t. So BD readies his electric prod in hopes that he can intimidate it into being quiet. The mouse droid flees. BD chases it for a moment, then stops as he watches it bump against the walls of the vent in it’s panic. It probably doesn’t know the way out, BD-1 guesses. The stupid thing likely accidentally wandered in through a missing grate. He lets it run screaming into the depths of the ship. Finding his Cal is the higher priority. Three more turns and BD can finally look down through a grate and see the telltale red glow of a ray-shield. He’s found the brig at last. The excitement is cut by the fact that at least four stormtroopers are stationed in the small hub. But BD-1 can be patient, despite what all the organics who live on the Mantis might say. He watches, zooming in on the computer readouts as the troopers flick through various displays. Apparently there’s a rather volatile ugnaught in one of the cells, along with a host of people who probably did a fat lot of nothing to get on the Empire’s bad side. Then, at last, they switch to a readout for human male - Jedi, and BD has him. It’s a short hop over to the proper grate with slats so thin he can’t see through it, but he knows his Cal is on the other side. The grate falls away with a clatter and BD-1 hops down into the cell with the help of his boosters. His Cal lies on his side facing away from BD. The sound of the grate falling didn’t send him into full alert, which is worrying. With a quick scan BD-1 can tell his Cal is physically okay and his breathing pattern indicates unconsciousness. The Imperials must have drugged him or keep stunning him. Well, BD knows one surefire way to wake someone up. He loads a stim and primes it to launch and gets out his electric prod. His Cal doesn’t have time to lie around when they have an escape to make. Five minutes and several expletives later, BD-1 is back in his favourite spot on his Cal’s back, getting treated to the view of him ripping apart the brig with the Force. This Star Destroyer won’t know what hit it.

[lakesbian]

Ashton tried it.  The wall was clammy, the residual glow left by touch a bright, warm color.  He liked the contrast of the two things.  He traced fingers along the wall, and watched patterns emerge. “Ashton,” Abby said. “I like this,” he said. “I wanted to show you something.  This wasn’t it.” “This could be it.  This is nice,” Ashton said.  “This is good enough.”

he's so autistic it's great. abby also but i like how he's a huge fan of Patterns and Colors. he can't come on your adventure abby im sorry he's busy stimming

[go-go-devil]

okay the ask of all time: how do you think various dark souls characters stim? could be relevant to your fic or not, up to you! [if you want to introduce modern stimming to them (like how daniil dankovsky now has ye olde snake tangle) that's also groovy]

🖤🔥EXCELLENT QUESTION🔥🖤

I've got a good amount of stim headcanons for certain characters! Some of them may end up getting highlighted in To The Accursed, but this answer won't spoil anything for the fic per say so don't worry.

(I should also specify that this will only focus on DS1 characters since I'm not finished with 2 and haven't played 3 yet)

Well to get the obvious out of the way I know Siegmeyer is a major vocal stimmer. All those “Mmmmmmm, hmmmmm’s” he does whenever he’s deep in thought comes across like he’s trying to keep himself calm so he doesn’t get frustrated in each of his predicaments. I can’t blame him, and I’ve even found myself parroting his hums after first hearing his dialogue since it helps me out too!

Though we sadly don’t see much of Sieglinde, I imagine she too has a similar vocal stim as her father. We just don’t get to hear it because we never run into her experiencing the same bouts of indecision as he does.

Big Hat Logan I imagine is very tactile. He’ll rub the ends of his sleeves or his robe’s collar when he’s feeling anxious, and would especially love the textures of a book’s spine and pages (only the GOOD books though, he refuses to read any in bad condition unless they’re the only source of the knowledge he’s seeking). Logan’s also invented his own stim sorceries: complex but intentionally weak little glowing patterns with satisfying sounds he casts simply because the act of casting them feels so good!

We already know the Undead Merchant Woman hyperfixates on moss, so it wouldn't be a surprise if her major stim come from peeling the plants and kneading her fingers deep into each of the clumps. I can even see her talking to herself while she does it too. Her voice does kinda work for an ASMR lol.

Solaire... I'm actually not entirely dead set on his stims at the moment. If the npc models weren't so stiff I could definitely see him flapping his hands a lot, especially when he's allowed to infodump. Hell, his Praise the Sun gesture could be a stim for all we know!

Patches I can totally see as a nail-biter. He also used to pick at his hair often back when he still had any, and even after shaving it all off the muscle memory occasionally causes him to reach up and scratch his head. Though of course we mustn't forget his absolute favorite form of stimming: kicking people off of cliffs >:-)

And a bonus! My oc, Leiurus, often self-soothes by rocking back and forth while sitting down. She also particularly likes grabbing things, whether it be her own clothing or any nice looking trinkets she finds, most especially ones that have a good texture like fine robes or scales.

[deusexlachina]

Cheeseaged Exocolonist Age 16 (Again): Be so good at the game that I doom all of humanity and have to backtrack significantly

In which I, the player, get trapped in a time loop to fix my mistake (of not making horrible decisions).

I reach age 17 and realize I made a slight oopsie by never successfully meeting Symbiosis, a godlike alien(?) lifeform trying to make peace with humanity. Unfortunately, the only human Sym has met so far is Dys, Tangent's Equally-Maladjusted-And-Evil-But-In-A-Different-Way brother.

The two fall in love in a Romeo-and-Juliet situation, but this will not result in peace, largely because Dys is basically the kind of internet leftist who thinks that talking to people and working together is politically naive and that violence is just inherently Better Praxis. So it is up to Sol to arrange peace between humans and Gardeners.

So I really should've been going out of my way to meet Sym and...didn't do that. I only caught a glimpse of him once, but you need to encounter him three times - I'm two First Contacts short. The reason is that the most reliable way to meet Sym is to get into dangerous events and then lose the skill check. This will put you in a near-death situation where only Sym's intervention will save you, giving hints of another intelligent species on Vertumna.

The "lose the skill check" part is a little tricky, though, if you've gotten into the habit of passing every skill check with flying colours. I am so powerful that even Sym fears me. It is lonely at the top.

I reload an earlier save, consulting the Exocolonist fandom for which events trigger Sym, because I have long ago forgotten how to lose. Going to people for help is almost as embarrassing, but just as necessary, as flirting with Vace to squeeze more friendship out of the bastard.

WIth this guidance, I press forward once more. This time, I get myself swarmed with adorable hopeyes, which are not actually dangerous but could kill you if you just helplessly sit there, which I do, playing no cards at all. Sym comes to my rescue.

Then, I steal a manticore's egg that I don't even want, for the sole purpose of pissing off a manticore. Manticores are very dangerous, though I could easily defeat them with stimming. But I choose not to. Sym intervenes to save me from the inevitable consequences of my own actions. He puts the egg back where it was, either to mollify the manticore or, just as likely, to prevent me from choking myself on the shell.

This pattern of alarmingly self-destructive behaviour is enough to help me track down Sym, who is hiding in a glowing golden exclamation point. I yell out his name, because I've met him before, and we start the process of peacemaking by presenting him with a gift of knowledge and internet memes.

I then conclude my sixteenth year, ready to move forward again and step into year 17. Then I realize that I forgot to take screenshots for any of this.

I do not reload again.

[merryrogue]

The inking layer for my very, very cheap and cheating version of the illuminated page from “the unknown and static strange” by @qqueenofhades . I am just tracing a page from jastor by the Limbourgs brothers for the border. After a few hours of that, I can say with the confidence of an autistic that whichever of them did the borders was autistic /as balls/. All the “leaves” are looped patterns, my dude was (beautifully!) stimming on paper and getting paid for it.  Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/45673276/chapters/114935725 

it is /amazing/. Go read if you like ““I’m going to write my fav doing my job” in the best way possible. Deeply academic ( and amnesiac?) Hob hunts down missing-and-presumed-dead Dream though magically appearing medieval artworks?! It’s so rich and vibrant, many, many heart emojis worthy. 

Not super in love with using the whole Christian halo on an immortal Greek god/immortal/etc being. I’ll isolate that on its own layer. But how else do I get “glowing magic” across in a vaguely historic way? Please mention methods. 

[clawsextended]

selina’s brand of stimming is very vocal and kinesthetic. she touches constantly, hums always, buzzes and buzzes and buzzes with life. she purrs, a sort of sound that comes raspy and rolling in the wake of her little notes, the melody that constantly exists in her head. selina’s feet move like she is ever and always a couple steps from dancing — fluid, liquid, boneless, her whole body is serpentine. her movements are perfectly elegant.

the particular brand of stimming she tends to partake in is very rhythmic. selina will tap dance little routines when she’s standing in place — her silly idle animation is always clicking her heels in a pattern, tapping her claws together if she’s in the suit. sound intimately affects the way she moves and what she does, and she’s constantly generating it from herself just because.

selina is perpetually quietly clicking her tongue, always touching a surface, always making some kind of constant connection with what’s around her. the world was made to be acted on by selina, and act on it she always will.

music is a large part of the happiest selina there is. put on something with a good, consistent, perpetual beat she never stops moving and it is so invigorating for her. however, does she go dancing? — oh, absolutely not, absolutely not, the topic of that kind of social closeness is terrifying unless she’s on a job.

(selina’s jobs can be so actively self-harming it’s insane. and it isolates her from normalcy. she can’t be a person in a crowd — she’s always a tool, never a human.)

the kitchen is filled with beautiful scents that waft up and away from the dinghy glow of old yellow streelamps. those same sentinels have seen her grow, have kept watchful silence through her every stage of life. she mixes batter and pours maple syrup over strips of bacon as she dances across the floor, an earbud beating some barren movement. the lyrics fall wayside and only the rhythm matters, only the solidity of percussion. every movement is a musical thing, partially for ease, partially for the constant sensation that attunes to her every molecule.

and selina, ever and always, is at home and enclosed in her own perpetually moving bubble, differing only when she chooses to push past it and alter outcomes.

[operation-resonance]

I think I’ve gotten some appearance notes for our world compared to how others see them~ Agent Valentine

We should discuss this Scarlet~ Agent Violet

Well let’s share these with everyone! ~ Agent Starlight

Very well let’s discuss~ Agent Sapphire

Here are some au design headcanons for Resonance, let’s begin!

Phoenix Wright: Phoenix has gotten a little softer from recovering from the gap, he’s pretty buff too. He does have quite a few scars on him, the one on his lip being caused by eating glass. After the swap incident he wears a phoenix pendant that he can use as a stim. When using the magatama his heterochromatic eyes turn to green and red/black.

Miles Edgeworth: Edgeworth has also gotten pretty toned thanks to recovery, he and Phoenix are both units. Edgeworth has a scar on the back of his neck from the kidnapping, he doesn’t have too many scars other wise. After the swap incident Edgeworth has a stubborn strand of hair that falls in front of his face, he also has a sword pendant. When logic/mind chess is in use his eyes have a slight checkerboard pattern.

Apollo Justice: Apollo is a soft boy, he may not be as much a unit as Phoenix and Athena but he is one. Apollo has burn scars on his arms and he also got another outfit post AA6. After the swap incident Apollo has gotten a sun charm and he also has his horns soften from time to time. When perceive is active, Apollo’s eyes glow bright red.

Klavier Gavin: Klavier is a twink, even if he has some muscle he is still a twink. Klavier tends to wear clothes that show off, occasionally wearing red to represent Apollo, he isn’t scarred but he has freckles. After the swap incident Klavier has the horns and he wears a silver lightning bolt charm. When Klavier is reading the melody of someone’s heart, his eyes have a soft Purple Heart glow.

Athena Cykes: Athena is a unit who accepts her feminine qualities, she sometimes wears shorts. Athena has a scar but it’s almost fully healed, she has alternate attachments for widget so she can have options. After the swap incident Athena has a slight ahoge, that animates with her ponytail, she wears a golden moon charm. When she’s using mood matrix her eyes have a sound wave and they can react with different colors depending on the feeling.

Shuichi Saihara: Shuichi is a toned twink, thanks to Kaito’s training. Shuichi carries things from K1-B0 and Kaede to remember them (a hair clip and an armband), he doesn’t have any scars. After the swap incident Shuichi’s hair is slightly longer, he also wears a cyan locket that he uses to keep K1-B0’s memory chip. Shuichi doesn’t have any distinct eye indicators but he could have a snow like glow to his eyes when he is focused on something.

Ryunosuke Naruhodo: Ryu is a twink, he is also a ghost who died of natural causes. Ryunosuke has burn scars from the time the courtroom burned, he keeps ahold of Kazuma’s items and memory as it’s been passed through the Naruhodo household. Ryunosuke’s paradox avatar has a golden dragon mark for when he is called, he also got a friendship locket in the shape of a purple eye from Yuma. Ryunosuke has a bright glow when focused on the truth.

Yuma Kokohead: Yuma is a short king, he’s the shortest of the main cast. Yuma has a key tattoo on his chest and on his wrist a rainbow eye, this is due to his forte and previous connection to Shinigami. Yuma post swap has decided to let his hair be a little more messy, he also gives a charm to Ryunosuke; Yuma himself has a scale charm he wears as a necklace as a gift from Ryu. Yuma’s forte will often cause him to get physically drained risking his health. (Headcanon from @pixelatedraindrops not mine originally)

Makoto Naegi: Makoto is the second shortest of the bunch, he’s soft. Makoto does have a scar from his failed execution, in regard to hitting his head. Post swap, Makoto’s hair softened its spikes, he also has a green star charm too. Makoto has a focused flame to his eyes and they shine like stars when all hope seems lost.

Hajime Hinata: Hajime is a toned guy with a bit of chub to him, mostly due to recovery much like Naegi. Hajime has a few scars on his body from the Kamakura project, along with his heterochromia. After being split into two souls, Hajime finally accepted Izuru as a part of him, letting his hair grow out, he wore a key charm along with the hairclip. Hajime’s red eye occasionally glows in the dark and Hajime’s hair flares up when he’s feeling a strong emotion (when fusions get involved it turns white).

Iris: Iris ties her hair up, she also has a blue and red charm bracelet to remember Phoenix and Miles. Iris has gotten pink eyes from time to time when she’s using her gift from a spirit inside her. Persephone is her second self, channeling her true self allows a fairy of karma to manifest. Persephone is a magical girl.

[sensoryeen]

✦ | Enderman Stimboard

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[scopostims]

Green stimboard for day two of this list :D

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[bugs-sad-lgbtq-edits]

Greysexual Omniromantic Stimboard with Body Stims, Liquid and Glowing Patterns

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