#he’s not actively dying but like. he could. he certainly isn’t going to live as long as he would’ve
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sixoclocker · 8 months ago
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hi (makes starlo a red giant star early)
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hey lol (steals all of his hydrogen EARLY so he’s FUCKED UP and RED instead of a MAIN SEQUENCE STAR and he can’t NUCLEAR FISSION!!!!)
here’s an extra doodle
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he can talk in full sentences but a lot of the time it’s just too taxing along with everything else he has to worry about
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prentissluvr · 5 months ago
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warm brown jacket — sam winchester
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for : 200+ followers event [ open ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : major fluff, friends to lovers ➖⟢ cw : mentions of canon typical gore, violence, and bloodiness at the very beginning, mentions of being casually shirtless around each other kind of?, dean teasing a little, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 1.3K prompt : sharing clothes in a totally (not) friendly way
MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!
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you’re used to the grime and gore of the job; you don’t really have much of a choice. but the whole front and back of your shirt and jacket are so unpleasantly sticky from a horrid concoction of blood, mud, and maybe more, that your fingers itch to peel the layers from your body as you head for the car. of course, you’re just going to tough it out until you can shower and change at the motel. you know that sam and dean will let you take the first shower tonight; they’re not the ones who beheaded a vampire then got shoved into a mud puddle by a second right along with the decapitated body gushing blood from it’s stump of a neck. it sucked, to say the least.
you can’t resist pulling your jacket off, and you’re lucky that it gets rid of most of the mud. but it’s the front of your shirt that took the brunt of the blood, and it’s sticking to your skin, warm and just about dreadful. there’s a rustle beside you coming from sam, and you don’t have to look over to know the sounds of him taking off that big brown carhartt jacket. your favorite.
it’s only when he nudges you, holding the fabric out for you to take do you look at him. he’s got that pretty, borderline awkward smile when he’s trying to be subtly sweet. he doesn’t want to make you feel self-conscious about the mess on your clothes, but your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt and the grimace on your face that’s so subtle just about no one else but him could spot it, and he knows instantly that the stickiness of your clothes is bothering you.
you smile at him, not too wide so you don’t accidentally show him that he makes you feel in love, and accept the jacket with one hand. you’re trying to maneuver your own mess of a jacket away, but sam takes it from you with a soft, “here, i got it,” as you near the car.
“thank you, sam,” you say, pausing at the door so you can shrug the much cleaner layer on without being confined to the small car.
“course,” he replies, all casual and kind as if he isn’t dying to see you put the jacket on. then he remembers his manners. “dean and i’ll look away if you wanna,” he forgets how to be smooth for a moment, clearing his throat as he gestures vaguely to your bloody shirt, “you know, get rid of the shirt too. ‘m sure the blood’s worse than the mud.”
“right, of course. don’t wanna get the inside of your jacket covered in the blood anyways,” you agree, glad sam said something about that because you weren’t quite sure what to do. you certainly didn’t want to keep the shirt on, and you’ve been shirtless around the boys plenty before because of the way you live out of motel rooms, but with sam so close like this, waiting for you to put on his jacket, you feel the tips of your ears go flaming hot at the idea of taking your shirt off without some sort of awkward warning. this way, sam’s being an utter gentleman and taking the shot for you when it comes to who’s the most awkward this time around.
sam gives you his silly, pursed-lip smile and his dimples pop out and all you want is to kiss them til they never go away. he slides into the car, and as the door shuts closed, you turn your back to the impala, tuck the jacket between your knees, and shimmy the mess of a shirt off your body. a chill of air hits your sort of blood-wet skin, making you shiver before you can drop the ruined shirt and pull the warm layer over yourself. but the second the soft fabric is over your shoulders, then around your arms and torso, it’s sweet heaven. sam’s body heat lingers, warming you in an instant and pushing a sigh of relief from your parted lips.
the time-worn softness of the fabric is glorious after such uncomfortable textures, and though the metal of the zipper is a little chilly against your stomach as you close the jacket around you, you couldn’t care less about that. 
a moment later, you’re settled into the back seat, trying not to look at sam to see if he’s taking in how you look in his favorite jacket. instead, you catch dean’s eye through the rearview mirror and he sends you a teasing wink that has you stuck between rolling your eyes at him and flat out planting your face into your hands to hide.
the ride is quiet save the few minutes in a fast food drive-through. dean grumbles about the restaurant’s lack of pie as he drives off in the direction of the motel.
standing in the motel room, you hate to take off the jacket, but it’s a must if you want to shower and get the rest of the day's grime off of you and down the drain. sam’s already assured you that you don’t need to wash it for him, so you leave it on the foot of your shared bed before you head to the shower. you know that he likes to pack up any piece of clothing he isn’t using right away.
you try to keep your shower short for the sake of your companions, though it's difficult when the hot water feels so comforting and cleansing. even so, being back in your own clean clothes afterwards is certainly nice as you leave the bathroom after brushing your teeth and running through your short post-shower routine.
sam’s sitting at the table across the room and dean stands from his bed, ready to shower next. you’re expecting to mourn the loss of the jacket on your bed, but your eyes immediately fall on the nicely folded bundle of brown fabric placed neatly by your pillow. unable to resist, you walk to it and pick it up, placing it on your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed. you try to catch sam’s eye to silently ask what he means by leaving it there, but it almost feels as if he’s avoiding your gaze in favor of staring at the book in front of him.
since you can’t get sam’s attention, you turn to dean before he can go, but all you get is a sly smile before he disappears into the bathroom. 
it has got to be your raging crush on pretty boy over there, sitting so close and far all at once, that’s making you jump to silly conclusions. but the barely visible blush on his cheeks, his refusal to look up when he heard you pick up the jacket, and dean’s knowing look makes it feel like sam wants you to put that jacket back on. and you do too.
so, you stand and turn as if you’re not looking at sam anymore, but you’re careful to keep him visible out of the corner of your eye as you unfold the fabric and put it back on. the ac is too strong; it’s cold, you tell yourself that’s enough of an excuse.
if you could tuck sam’s pretty brown hair behind his ears like you so often get the urge to, you bet the tips would be pink. even with his face half blurry in your peripheral, you can see the look he's giving you, because he is looking now. it’s an expression you don’t see on him often at all; he’s the kind of guy to always school his features away from betraying what he thinks and wants. this time, it’s loud and clear and you can feel it as much as see it. you, wrapped up safe and warm in his jacket, are exactly what he wants. 
you think you’re gonna kiss him, and he’s gonna kiss you back with his hands clutching at that soft brown fabric to be sure it’s all real and glorious like he thinks it is.
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irondad-defensesquad · 4 months ago
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I Need Some Sleep
Also on AO3! TRIGGER WARNINGS - past character death, grief/mourning, and suicidal thoughts. DO NOT SHIP PETER AND TONY. P/ROSHIP DNI.
“Boss, I’m detecting activity in the Spider-Man suit.”
Tony stops whatever he’s doing to focus on the screen, which gives off a small Spider-Man sign. The man checks the time – it’s three in the morning.
“What the hell is he up to,” Tony mutters under his breath, intrigued. “Any injuries, FRI?”
“None detected.”
That’s good, he supposes. He just hopes the kid isn’t goofing off with the suit on a school night. But something tells Tony that is probably not the case. When he opens the Baby Monitor, nothing is going on, apparently. He just sees… New York City up from a building. Besides two bouncing, uneasy legs going back and forth. Everything is quiet.
“You’ve been very quiet, Peter,” Karen points out. “Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”
“It’s okay. I don’t wanna bother him.”
Tony’s annoyed frown immediately disappears once hearing the utter defeat in the kid’s voice.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be bothering him if you wanted to talk,” Karen reassures him.
Peter sighs. “Can I just… talk to you instead?”
“Of course, Peter. What’s on your mind?”
The teen is quiet again. In the meantime, Tony sees how Peter’s patrol has gone today. According to the Baby Monitor, nothing went wrong. Same counts for the previous patrols. However, it seems that Peter hasn’t been sleeping adequately.
“I know you… probably don’t think about it, but…” Peter hesitates. “Do you ever think about dying?”
Tony freezes, attention back to the live screen.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Karen replies, unsure as far as A.Is are concerned. “Do you?”
Peter might lean in a bit to look down. It’s… quite high from up there.
“Sometimes.”
Perhaps reading Tony’s mind, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is preparing the Iron Man suit, but he doesn’t act for now. He wants to hear more from Peter. He wants to understand so he can help.
“Y’know, Karen,” the boy speaks up again, “I think my aunt hates me.”
“Why?”
“I’m the reason my uncle is gone.”
Tony tenses. He has never heard Peter talk more openly about his deceased uncle. He never brings that up with Tony, even if his guilt is always there.
“I was such a brat to him, and then I couldn’t even say sorry. I was too late,” Peter reveals, bitter. “So imagine how it must be for Aunt May to look at me every single day and be reminded that this stupid kid killed her husband.”
“Peter, you didn’t kill him.”
The boy’s heartbeats quicken in rage.
“... why didn’t that guy shoot me, then?”
Karen doesn’t reply.
Peter boils.
“WHY DIDN’T HE SHOOT ME?!”
He growls and sobs at the same time. Like he doesn’t want to cry and the fact there are tears coming out is angering him. As if he doesn’t deserve to cry.
Tony doesn’t realize he’s also crying until he sees a teardrop on his desk.
He’s never heard Peter this furious before. Least of all towards himself.
Goodness, he’s just a kid.
Before that rage can take over Peter – because Tony certainly knows what this kind of rage does if left unchecked –, the billionaire takes a deep breath, and says, “FRI, call the kid, will ya?” He dries his own face as well.
“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen notifies.
“Wait, Karen, no, DON’T–”
Peter can’t stop the call even if he tries.
“Kid?” Tony says.
“Um. Hi. H-Hi, Mr. Stark.” Peter uncovers half of his face to dry his tears. He can’t hide his vulnerability.
“Hi. What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Y-Yeah, sure. Totally…”
“Couldn’t sleep or something?”
Peter sniffs. “Uh… how come you’re not mad at me using the suit at this hour?”
“I thought I’d check on you. You don’t look so good, kiddo.”
“Wait…” the kid frowns. “Did you… hear what I said to Karen just now?”
Tony can’t really hide his heartbroken expression, so Peter immediately groans.
“Oh, right, how could I forget about the Baby Monitor,” he hisses to himself.
“Kid, it’s fine, I’m not angry. You just wanted to talk to someone, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want you to hear all that.”
“I know it’s hard, bud. But how long have you been bottling it up?”
Peter inhales angrily and doesn’t respond.
“Is your aunt home?” Tony asks instead.
“No. Night shift.”
Tony hums. “And what’ve you been up to?”
“Nothing.”
They grow silent. Neither hang up.
“... I kinda had a bad dream,” Peter admits.
“Yeah?”
“It was a mess, I can’t really explain it… but I remember seeing my uncle. I haven’t dreamed about him in a while. Things were fine, until they weren’t. He was bleeding in my arms again and he said, ‘why didn’t you say sorry? Why didn’t you say you loved me? Did I make you this miserable?’. And he was gone again.”
Tony listens.
“I hate that… that it can’t just be a nightmare,” Peter vents. “I hate waking up and not running to him and hugging him like I used to. And I hate that he won’t wake me in the morning with a kiss on my forehead and call me for breakfast. Why can’t he be here with me? Things would be so much… easier. But they won’t be ever again. I’m never going to see him again. My aunt won’t see him again. And it’s all my fault.”
The way Peter hugs his own knees…
It’s clear he doesn’t want to be alone.
“Hey, kid,” Tony calls, “do you want me to come over there?”
“What? Why?”
“You need someone right now, kiddo. And I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
“B-But aren’t you busy?”
“I could never be too busy for you.”
There’s a dim but hopeful light in Peter’s eyes. Yet it seems to fade almost instantly.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but it might sound like, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.”
Tony smiles for him. “Of course.”
Peter looks at him like a lost puppy.
“Just give me… fifteen minutes and I’ll be there,” Tony tells him. “Okay?”
“Yeah… okay.”
When Tony summons his suit…
“Actually,” Peter clears his throat, “could we go eat somewhere? Like the Waffle House or something?” He sighs. “Sorry, that was dumb.”
“No, no, not dumb at all. You hungry?”
“A little, yeah.”
“I could use a bite, too.”
“Oh, okay, great.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. You wanna keep talking to me?”
Peter contemplates. “Actually, I think I’ll be fine, Mr. Stark.”
“You sure?” Tony asks concernedly.
“Yeah. I know you’ll come,” Peter smiles for the first time in this exchange.
He really trusts Tony with his life…
“Alright. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call me again, okay?” Tony insists.
Peter nods, certain. “Okay.”
Tony wants to cry.
“I’ll see you soon, Peter.”
“Okay, see ya, Mr. Stark.”
“Bye.”
The call ends.
Tony sighs deeply.
When he gets to that building, Peter is looking up, readily expecting him to arrive. Tony takes him to the Waffle House, and no one bats an eye at Iron Man and Spider-Man just hanging out there at nearly 4 AM.
Peter isn’t very talkative today, so Tony does most of the talking for him, not that he minds it.
He doesn’t see Peter’s face here since he has to keep his identity secret, but Peter does look a little better now.
Tony already lets May know he’s with Peter, and he takes the boy home. They arrange it so Peter won’t need to go to school tomorrow.
And most importantly, Tony makes sure Peter doesn’t wake up to the empty apartment tonight.
He glances at the old pictures while Peter takes a shower. Tony might sit on Peter’s bed. There’s actually an Iron Man poster on the wall that he never saw before. Peter probably hides that kind of stuff from Tony.
In fact, the red-faced teen immediately removes the poster when he gets back. That gets a laugh out of Tony.
After that, Peter lies in bed, looking wide awake despite his exhausted eyes.
Tony joins in. Peter looks surprised but he doesn’t protest.
They stare at the ceiling. Peter will glance at Tony every now and then.
“... How about a story?” Tony suggests, seeing the insomnia taking control over them.
“Like what? I have no idea what books are lying around…”
“No, no, I’ll tell you my stories. They’re obviously more interesting.”
Peter scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“Oh, is that a challenge? What if I told you the Avengers’ biggest secrets?”
“Really?!” Peter suddenly fanboys.
Tony snickers, knowing that would catch his attention. Peter looks like a little boy.
The man tells him all kinds of stories, mostly how awful they were as roommates.
Peter is already asleep when Tony starts reminiscing about the Avengers’ departure, and the fact he hasn’t seen any of them in forever.
And how empty the Compound can be when Tony wakes up after a bad dream.
Peter’s breaths are there to remind him he’s not alone tonight.
Tony grins, giving him a light forehead kiss so as to not wake him.
“... thanks, kid,” he whispers. “For everything.”
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artful-aries · 2 years ago
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Genshin Impact Headcanons: Ways they show affection (Diluc, Zhongli, Xiao, Itto)
I was having some big brain thoughts about these boys. ​​Feel free to request more characters for this prompt! Or any other ideas too I’m dying to write more about genshin. If formatting is weird then just kill me, I forgot mobile sucks for text posts
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​​Diluc
​​You can summarize Diluc’s emotions in one word; Repressed
Diluc loves with his entire being, the overwhelming ache he gets in his chest when he looks at you burns hotter than any fire he could create
​​But conveying this passion…isn’t his strong suit.
​​If words of affirmation are your love language, you’re really going to have a hard time. If you asked him nicely for him to tell you he loves you more he will certainly make an effort, but for a while he will come across as stiff and awkward
He’s much better at showing his affection through subtle means; wrapping you in a blanket when he finds you asleep on a couch at the winery, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, walking you home at night, just general sweet things that could easily be mistaken for platonic actions of you didn’t notice the look of absolute adoration in his eyes.
He would move Dragonspine itself for you if you so much as expressed displeasure at its view, but being able to verbalize his affections isn’t his forte.
​​When he DOES express his affection, it’s so heart achingly tender
​​“The Archons themselves could not keep me from loving you with every fiber of my being, my love.”
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​​Zhongli
​​He’s almost the antithesis of Diluc; this man is ALL about words of affirmation
​​The man practically spits poetry every time he tells you he loves you, and nearly brings you to tears every time
​​“For all the ages I have lived, nothing has made me more certain of the beauty of this realm than your existence. You blossom like violet grass in the crevices of my heart.”
​​He OCCASIONALLY gives you more basic words of affirmation, such as complementing you on your outfit, pointing out how much he enjoys your conversations, etc
​​He definitely goes on monologues about his love for you if you let him, and is completely unashamed of it
​​He’s waited millennia for you, why would he hold back his thoughts now while you’re here to listen?
​​Part of Zhongli is always considering your mortality, so he wants to make sure you know how much you are loved in the short fragment of time your lives collide in the loom of fate
​​
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​​Xiao
​​He’s more like Diluc in that he’s not going to give you many words of affirmation
​​Xiao is a mix of quality time and acts of service as a love language
​​His idea of quality time is…unusual. He’s not used to human customs, so his idea of quality time is literally just hovering around you
​​He doesn’t even strike up much conversation when he does this, he’s comfortable enough to be silent around you
​​If you insist on doing some kind of activity, he will go along with it, though depending on the activity you suggest me might get confused or even flustered
​​As far as acts of service, they aren’t anything grand like giving you massages, buying you flowers, etc
​​He’s straight up going to make it his job to protect you. If he finds out you’re going ANYWHERE that you might encounter hilichurls or other nefarious creatures, you’re not going without him
​​Xiao practically appears before you can even finish calling out his name, he’s ready to do anything to make you happy, even if he won’t admit it outright
​​If you do ever manage to corner him into talking about his feelings, he would answer in a vague way, “As a Yaksha, I shouldn’t interfere with the lives of mortals too much, but I…feel compelled to protect you.”
​​
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​​Itto
​​He’s loud and proud about his love for you, it’s to the point that the Arataki gang is almost sick of hearing your name come from his mouth
​​The downside is that he will also process his love to you to complete strangers
​​“You see that babe over there, that’s my numero uno right there! They’re like the most amazing person you’ll ever meet, which makes them the perfect addition to the Arataki Gang! Don’t get any ideas though since hearing about how awesome they are, they’re waaaay out of your league- hey, where are you going??”
​​When you try to reign him in he doesn’t get it. You’re dating THE Arataki Itto, why can’t he go around town singing your praises?
​​He’s very physically affectionate with you too, you won’t be able to walk three feet without him practically hanging off of you
​​Itto likes doing acts of service too….for better or for worse. He often ropes the boys in to help him with whatever grand plan he’s cooked up, and it always ends in disaster
​​If Shinobu doesn’t practically wring his neck, then he usually ends up on the run from the Tenryou Comission. He’ll say it’s a testament to how much he loves you, Shinobu says it’s a testament to how little he uses his brain to think things through. The jury (you) is still out on the verdict
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breannasfluff · 2 years ago
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Don't Touch
Sky hums as he carves, slowly turning the piece of wood in his hands. Wood shavings fall to his lap where he periodically brushes them away. Beneath his knife, a loftwing is emerging. He’s carved plenty of them by now, but the form is soothing. It reminds him of his Zelda.
He runs light fingers over the wood, feeling for sharp edges to round out. A yelp from the firepit shows Warriors yanking his slapped hand away from where Wild’s frying bread in a thick pan.
The newest hero is slowly settling into the group, but he’s still standoffish around some of them. Wild gets along with Hyrule and Legend, with a surprisingly high tolerance for sharp remarks. Twilight and the Champion spin around each other; coming closer and breaking apart for no discernible reason. Even Warriors, Wind, and Time had their small moments with him.
No, he and Four seem to be on the outside still. With Four, it seems more like they just don’t cross paths rather than active avoidance. It shouldn’t matter that Sky is being ignored on purpose or not, but it still causes a low aching throb in his chest. Did he do something to scare Wild away or make him uncomfortable?
The more he reaches out, the more the Champion edges away. Often literally—he shies away from hugs or even a pat on the shoulder. Sky’s seen him flop all over Wolfie, though, so he’s certainly comfortable with animals. Even Hyrule sometimes offers a hug that’s accepted. When Sky offers physical affection, though, it’s almost always rebuffed.
His frown deepening at the mystery, Sky continues carving.
Wind is curled up against his side with the sailcloth tucked around him when he catches Wild staring. In the near darkness his eyes glint, almost like an animal. Then the fire flickers and it disappears. Just a trick of the light. The champion is still across the low burning fire, eyes fixed on Sky.
Dinner is long gone and cleaned and some of the Chain already unrolled their sleeping mats. Wind insisted he wasn’t tired and promptly started dozing against Sky. Offering a smile, the Chosen hero gestures for Wild to join them.
He jerks and his eyes dart away. ‘I’m good,’ he signs, although it’s hard to see in the dim light. Wild’s arms wrap around his middle in an imitation hug and Sky stomps on the urge to go gather him into his arms anyway.
Against his side, Wind starts snoring softly. Wild’s gaze slowly drifts back to them and stays, but Sky says nothing further.
The next time Time asks for people to split into groups for tasks, Sky volunteers to join Wild. Maybe time alone will help the hero relax.
They’re in charge of foraging, a task Wild is well-suited to, and Sky…isn’t. His knowledge of food from the land is lacking in comparison to the others. Wild must think so too, because he keeps shooting Sky sidelong glances as they head into the forest.
“I’d like to learn more about foraging,” Sky offers. “I didn’t grow up around it, but I don’t want to be a hindrance to the group.”
Wild nods at that, hands coming up to sign. ‘Knowing how to find food can be the difference between living and dying in the wild.’
It’s not the sort of peril Sky’s adventure contained, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Could you teach me?”
‘Of course!’ Wild brightens at the prospect.
Maybe he should have tried connecting on their shared interests earlier. Well, it wasn’t shared but—he really should learn. And if that means Sky gets to spend time with Wild, all the better.
He looks around as they walk, letting the greenery sink in around him. “Here’s one!” he leans over to grab a mushroom only to have Wild bat at him without touching.
“Poisonous. It’ll irritate your hands.”
Sky rapidly yanks his hands back and tries to fix it in his mind. “Well, what about this?” He points to something sticking half out of the dirt beneath a log.
Wild glances at it before grinning and nodding. “Sure.”
With barely held delight, Sky pulls up his prize and holds out—a rock. He gives Wild a flat look, but the other is grinning. “Ha, ha, very funny.” The rock might be thrown more than tossed, but no one needs to know.
The champion continues, still chuckling to himself. He ranges back and forth from tree to tree, eyes constantly searching. Sky follows, less actively searching as he still isn’t sure what to look for.
The flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye has him reaching out to grab Wild. “Loo—”
Wild jerks back sharply, spinning around with a pained noise. Sky freezes, hand still outstretched. The chipmunk he was going to point to bounds away.
“Sorry?” Sky offers.
Wild blinks and stares for a long moment, then turns and continues.
“Wild? Did I…do something?” How did he manage to mess this up already?
Instead of answering, the Champion cuts to the side and pauses. ‘Here,’ he signs. ‘Wild garlic.’ He pulls out a small knife and starts cutting a bunch.
Sky drops next to him, but he’s got the Master Sword on his back, not a foraging knife. The slate chirps and Wild hands him another knife, careful to keep his fingers clear of Sky when he takes it. It’s like he’s trying to avoid touching—
He stares at the bunch of garlic in his hand, still halfway through cutting. Memories of their time and situation run by rapidly as he thinks. Wild’s Hyrule is emptier than expected, for all he seemed to enjoy the company of those at the stable when they visited.
How often is he around large groups of people like this to engage in casual physical touch? He’d bet good money there were few instances during his hero journey.
Wild clicks his tongue to catch Sky’s attention, frowning at the inaction. Another puzzle piece slides into place; others in the group would reach out and nudge Sky for attention.
With a smile, Sky shakes his head and keeps cutting the plants. The last thing he needs to do is make the Champion uncomfortable. He’ll find a way to ease him into it.
Read the rest here!
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panthera-tigris-venenata · 1 year ago
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I’m just gonna post it here. With no context. There is some but I don’t feel like finishing it rn. (The context is that Uma isn’t on the Isle and the Hook siblings are running a crew together.)
Anyway. Enjoy about 750 words of the Hook sibling being mean to one another I guess.
Things are going fine, they really are. Really.
Well, fine. No one is actively dying, at least, which is about as good as it gets on the Isle.
And none of the Hook siblings are yelling at each other, which might be due to the fact that Harriet is, ehm, rather busy at the moment, and CJ is nowhere to be seen.
Harry is more or less haunting the deck of the ship, sitting at the railing of the command bridge and scaring the pirates into actually performing their tasks with his mere presence.
He is reading a book, or maybe just pretending to so he could catch the port rats slacking – one might never know with the Hook siblings. No one can tell what they’re thinking at any given moment, and they love it.
Harry smirks and taps his lips with his hook, only glancing up to tell Desiree to move it unless she wants to be scrubbing the deck for the rest of eternity, and off her own blood at that. 
He gets back to reading without checking if she obeys her command.
Next time Harry looks up, it is to greet Ginny Gothel, who just walked from the Captain’s cabin, smudged lipstick and tangled hair. Self-satisfied smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are so dark they might be black holes. Pupils and nothing else.
She doesn‘t look him into the eyes much longer.
„So long, witch,“ he tells her, sliding of the railing and coming closer, „Ad arbitrium.“
She catches his hook before he can touch her cheek: „Fuck you, Hook,“ she says. 
The deck is silent.
„You wish,“ he answers, or maybe „Is my sister not enough?“
Maybe he said both, and maybe neither; Ginny laughs, high and wild. The wind carries the mocking sound away.
She never answers.
Harry doesn’t look after her as she leaves the ship. After all, Ginny Gothel is not his problem. He barely cares if she lives or dies.
He takes out a flask from his pocket; his rings clank on it way too loudly as he opens it. He takes a sip of the vile liquid inside.
His sister, the mighty Captain Harriet Hook of Dead Beauty, stumbles out of her cabin and immediately tears the flask out of his hands. He lets her have her drink before he pushes her away and takes <i>his</i> flask back. She can get her own alcohol, please and thank you.
Besides. 
She just saw Ginny.
„She left already?“ Harriet asks. She does <i>not</i> sound heartbroken or sad in the slightest,please and thank you. She is a Hook and they don’t have a heart, anyone could tell you.
Harry doesn’t deem it worthy of an answer anyway.
With another drink, he says: „And this is why I should be the Captain, sister dear.“
She sneers at him, grabbing the alcohol again. He will be resupplying from her personal stock.
Unsurprisingly, the taste of cheap rum does nothing to lessen her sneer.
„You, sister dearest, spend your time drunk and fucking that witch of yours, or worse yet, the Tremaine world wannabe.“
If the deck hadn’t been dead quiet and abandoned before, it certainly was now.
„You say that as if you didn’t fuck half the Isle, frater care,“ Her knuckles turn white where she holds the flask. Neat.
„And you drink as much as me.“
„Are you calling me a whore?!“ he declares in mock offence, loud enough for half the port to hear, really. 
„And I ain’t lying!“
Neither of them knows who started throwing things at this point, and the crew is too scared to tell.
Sometime during the fight, CJ comes, sneaking around them to get to her cabin; the older siblings interrupt their fight barely long enough to ask her where was she so long, and where does she think she is going?
„Why,“ the youngest Hook turns her nose up, „I’m crashing at Freddie’s now. Just getting some weapons and jewels and stuff. Eyeliner.“
„Touch my eyeliner and die–“ They both threaten at the same time, „Touch my jewels with one of your fingers and I cut off your whole hand, savvy?!“ adds Harriet.
„Geez, chill a bit. As if your stuff were Freddie’s style,“ sneers Calista, undisturbed by her older siblings, „Also, Anthony’s coming over. Just thought y’all would like to know.“
CJ cackles as her older sister pales considerably and uses the distraction to slip away from her siblings’ grip once more. Chaos cannot wait and all that.
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eyesteeth · 1 year ago
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please talk more about the silt verses. your posts are so good and really get me thinking about the characters. do you have any paige or hayward thoughts? if not, then more faulkner?
THANK U ANON!! you are very sweet :]
i will admit in my sibling brainrotting i have neglected the other two leads a bit, but no more!! here, for your enjoyment, is a very long list of thoughts on paige and hayward!
⚠️ spoilers ahoy!! ⚠️
ok, Paige first :]
so i must confess right out the gate that it was very hard for me to get a pulse on Paige at first, but i believe i’ve got her down now. to me, her story is very much one of “the war is not here, so i don’t have to worry”, in a metaphorical sense. yes, people are dying, and gods are feeding, but i’m safe. i live in a penthouse. i have a job that pays well. i don’t have to worry. any death that happens is happening somewhere far away, where i don’t have to look at it.
and then Vaughn dies, and the fire is lit. the “war” is at Paige’s doorstep. if someone that close to Paige isn’t safe, then maybe she’s not safe. maybe she’s never been safe. and so she drinks herself to sleep, and one day she drives out, and runs into two (and later, three) new perspectives on everything.
i think this relates very well to how the Tree ends up developing later. it hating everyone and wanting everyone dead is sort of an extension of this and the greater series discussions of capitalism. under the current system, literally everyone is complicit in some suffering. someone was sacrificed so you could turn the lights on. people have died for your fast food. the good person/bad person binary that they put into the god failed to acknowledge this, and so, since everyone benefits from the suffering of some unseen individual, all deserve to die by its logic.
and Paige has to know this on some level. she helped with the marketing/designing of gods and saints. those entities she had a hand in making most certainly went on to feed on others. but it’s fine. it’s an invisible person being wronged, and you don’t have to look. and if Paige had this awareness/guilt in the back of her mind and it filtered into the Tree somehow… she might be responsible for even more death. 
despite all of this, she plays an everyman character with surprising efficiency. i think because we’re introduced to her as someone with a mundane job who isn’t drenched (lol) in cult antics that we settle in with her easily, despite the fact that (with the exception of Shrue), she’s the most financially well-off of the main cast. when she’s trying to figure out how to market the Tree, she considers marketing it to people like her before her father suggests prisoners instead. he’s much less well-off, and so he understands the lower-class plight better than she does. she ends up seeming most normal by comparison, at least until the back half of season 2 hits. i hope we get to see more active in the back half of this season. maybe she’ll get to kill someone personally!!
now, for Hayward.
Hayward’s whole ordeal is that he craves purpose. he tells his mom he’s going to be a cop when he’s young and then he becomes it. it’s a direction and drive and it keeps him going. he’s at his lowest in the front half of season 2 because he’s purposeless, essentially using his personal investigation as the one thing keeping him from killing himself. then, he gets to make a god with Paige and Dennis, and gets to worship that god, and suddenly he has purpose again. he’s much happier in season 3 because of that wonderful purpose.
this is fascinating for a number of reasons, first being that he’s one of the few characters to have (seemingly) wholly benefitted from a god. pretty much all god encounters have some mental downside even if you’re physically benefitting, like in the harvest god episode. but because Hayward doesn’t have to make the sacrifices himself, and he’s very purpose-driven, this whole thing is a positive for him.
but there’s a little bit of insidiousness to it. see, Hayward’s role in the force was mostly one of submission. he was following someone else’s orders. he gets to even play bad-cop/meek-cop for a bit in season 1 because stepping out of line means The Stink and he’s so dedicated to this purpose of his that he wants to stay in line. he’s a dog, essentially.
but, when it comes to the Tree, he has a bit of power. he was one of the people who made the Tree, after all. and with Dennis dead and Paige largely out of commission, he gets to direct things, if he likes. and he does, he makes little changes and suggestions without Paige’s input. he’s still submissive to his higher purpose, but he has power within that. the leash is given more slack. he could fully usurp Paige, but he hasn’t, and i find that very, very interesting. quite honestly, he could go full zealot mode later in this season and it wouldn’t seem out of character to me. he’s got potential for that sort of swimmy-eyed shining-teethed sweaty-grinned devotion.
generally though, he’s fun! he’ll do something bumbling or endearing and then turn around and do something that reminds you of just how much of a scumbag he can be. old ham dies hard. i also loved the coal dinner episode and how he dealt with it all. cornered dogs biting and all that. maybe he’ll get a really vicious moment this season. personally i hope Val fucks him up because i’ve had an idea for a joke animatic in my brain for months if it goes real. she could turn him inside out. i believe in her.
and now… my favorite part… character comparisons >:] i love motifs and i love foils and man if tsv’s main six right now don’t have em… here’s four.
Paige and Faulkner: man if these two ever meet up it’s going to be wild.
for starters, Paige being a confirmed prophet provides a baseline for prophet behavior within the series, and therefore provides an avenue of comparison to Faulkner, who’s own prophet status is up for debate. whether it comes down to prophet/prophet mirroring or prophet/false prophet mirroring, there’s still a parallel there.
they’re both suffering from the responsibility of their role and are holed up and left to their own devices when not needed, Paige having her cottage and Faulkner having his room. Paige explicitly engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms whiles doing this, and i fully believe Faulkner does as well.
they’re also both close with Carpenter in different ways, and depending on how things go, i could see this as either a point of bonding or a point of animosity. they could end up sitting down and having a discussion with someone who actually gets it… or they could get very petty very quickly. transgender solidarity or transgender hostility, take your pick.
Paige and Shrue: bit of an oddball choice, but hear me out.
they’ve got very similar premises but end up going in wildly different directions. they’re (kinda) de-facto everymen by being less In The Soup than everyone else, but that's because of their white-collar status. they’re Above the soup, if you will. they smell it every day, but they aren’t broiling between the chunks of meat.
they’ve got strong ideas about what an ideal future looks like, one without gods and sacrifice. that’s why they specifically want to recruit Shrue, their morals line up with what the Tree faith believes in.
Hayward and Carpenter: dogs dogs dogs dogs
i already talked about the diner scene a while back so imagine all that nestled into here. tldr, they have the same doubts about their respective place in season 1, and they move towards a new purpose in season 3.
i talked about Hayward’s dogginess in his segment, but Carpenter’s got quite a bit of dogginess to her too. there’s the explicit “attack dog of the faith” comment that gets made in the s2 finale but also the similar following orders thing. Carpenter walks out, metaphorically taking the collar off, but her whole “i want to be good, let me die useful” thing is just her putting on a different one. which, y’know, this time it’s a chosen binding, but you’re still bound either way. and this applies to Hayward too. exchanged his detective job for the Tree. will their respective choices pay dividends, or will they feel the yank of their self-imposed leashes?
Hayward and Val: it’s just one but it’s tasty
Val joined the military because of her mother and Hayward joined the force because of his mother. both of them expected honor from their respective professions of violence and ended up embittered with it as a result. as much torment as he went through, Hayward’s lucky that he didn’t end up in Val’s place. what sort of saint would he end up being, then? the truth-teller that Carpenter spoke of, perhaps?
there’s definitely More to talk about with these two but i think this is good for now. i’m hoping to relisten to all of tsv over the series break and take extensive notes so hopefully i’ll thread a couple more dots together. thank you so much for your interest!! a hug for you across the net :]
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For the ask game: Snape. 1, 5 and 15
Oooh you’re batting at a hornets’ nest mentioning anything HP related on this website lol but yes, I’ll happily talk about Snape!
[Questions from this meme]
1.My first impression of them I remember always loving Snape. He was one of my favourite characters right off the bat, when I first read the series. Him, Hermione, and Sirius, I would say. That changed over time wherein I dropped Sirius but added in Lucius and Lupin.
I always loved his sense of humour—that man is hands down one of the funniest bitches in that series.
5. My favorite ship of them Snape/Lucius/Narcissa bay-byyyy. It’s the ultimate ot3 and the best pairing anyone can squeeze out of that series, no one can convince me otherwise.
I think their dynamic is really interesting, especially how it changed both over the course of their lives as well as within the series itself. Like there’s clearly layers to their friendship, some real deep complexities. Even when Snape’s switches sides, he feels connected to them and cares for them.
Especially Snape and Narcissa—that scene when she’s asking him to take care of Draco and do, on behalf of Draco, what Voldemort wants. What an ask! What trust she has in him! Because her request could have gotten all of them killed, a single whiff of it getting out to Voldemort, and they’re dead. But she was desperate and knew she could rely on Snape, that at the end of the day he would do the right thing by her and her son (less so Lucius but honestly, Lucius honey, sit down for ten minutes).
And while this ship for sure can go down the road of “they all make each other worse” it can also go the other direction. Especially post-war/the series. Because sorry to the heartless individual who wrote this series, but Snape lived. I enjoy thinking through what Lucius and Narcissa’s rehabilitation/deprogramming would look like. Because they were all, ultimately, in a cult. A racist, fucked up cult that did horrible things. There’s a lot to unpack and unlearn. Not everything can be reconciled. Especially if you were a leader or super active member how Lucius was.
I also live for Snape as the other father figure in Draco’s life.
15. Worst storyline they had I mean, as with most of the good parts within HP, I don’t think JK knew what she had. I suspect Snape’s arc, and the nuance in there of a person who was on the dark-side coming in from the cold, so to speak, who is trying to be good but isn’t always successful, and he certainly isn’t nice, but niceness isn’t required for redemption etc. All that—I really suspect that was unintentional. And she certainly didn’t know what she had with it. Nor with the complex layers to his relationship with Lily.
I think the worst thing that happened was his death. I think Snape should have lived (and Harry should have died/stayed dead). But JK was a) too much of a coward to have that happen and b) writing a children’s book series that was structured along fairly simplistic lines and so you can’t really have the hero die and one of the anti-hero/grey-antagonists live. She wasn’t writing a gritty, grim-dark series. When she started HP, harry dying wasn’t part of the deal made with the readers, so to speak.
Anyway, I think it was dumb and he should have lived.
---
Thank you for the ask!! <3 <3
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honuofhawaii · 2 years ago
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Cyclone
So what do you guys think about Cyclone? Most fandom interpretation seems to be decently positive, like he’s closed off but ultimately a good guy…and its valid I guess…and I suppose it says good things that look for the best in characters, and I don’t know what to think. I generally take a more negative feeling towards his character. Im going to break down some moments and maybe get a dialogue going. 
Some moments that I think about: 
In the first meeting with Maverick when they are going over the mission briefing and the he speaks the ICONIC line “Now Iceman is a man I deeply admire” Do you Cyclone? Do you actually admire Iceman or just some version of him you have in your head. Anyway Ill be back to that. 
In that meeting, Cyclone makes two erroneous statements:
First he thinks that Maverick was first in his Top Gun class. So someone who’s a fan of Iceman, either doesn’t know that he and Mav were in the same class or somehow doesn’t know Ice came first. He also somehow didn’t see that Mav doesn’t have “First in Top Gun class ’86” in his file (idk if that would actually be there but there would definitely be some kind of record). Regardless, this would be very easy for Cyclone to learn was an error. 
The second erroneous statement is an assumption but not an unrealistic one. Bradley. Cyclone assumes that the problem between Maverick and Rooster is that Rooster blames Mav for his father’s death. Now I’ll say Cyclone’s right on the money in saying that Mav blames himself for Goose. Mav will always blame himself for Goose dying, even if by TG:M I think he mostly knows that’s the survivors guilt talking. Bradley, however, doesn’t blame him and never has. He throws the “My dad trusted you, I won’t make the same mistake” at Mav because he’s angry and he wants to hurt him and knows that Goose will always be Mav’s weakness. But remember, when Hangman brings it up, Bradley gets seriously pissed when Jake implies that Goose is the issue. There are a few ways to interpret that scene, but I personally like the one that Rooster gets so angry because he knows Hangman’s trying to poke a his soft spot but is actually jabbing Mav’s. Anyway Ill probably make a whole post about Maverick and Rooster. Back to Cyclone. 
Okay Cyclone seems pretty decent in the dogfight football scene. Oh my god the clips of him searching for the daggers are hilarious, and while it takes Mav’s explanation, he gets what Maverick is doing in building a team. 
Then comes Mav’s no good very bad day. In which he almost looses Coyote then Phoenix and Bob in quick succession gets into it with Rooster and then he actually looses Ice. We don’t see Cyclone until after the funeral and I can read his actions two different ways. If I’m being generous I could read it as Cyclone understanding that Maverick has been through the emotional ringer and isn’t in the psychologically sound space to be on active duty. (Lets be honest would Mav have passed a psych eval after Ice’s death? Maybe…but probably not, at least if the doc wasn’t just going through the motions). However, there’s a second reading harsher reading of that scene, and that is that Cyclone pulls Mav out of instructing the mission because Ice can no longer order him to keep Mav on it. At this point let me return to my “Do you Cyclone? Do you actually admire Iceman?” Idea. I don’t know a lot about tactics, but im not sure there was a better plan than Maverick’s for the mission objective, certainly not Cyclone’s alternate mission parameters. So if Maverick’s plan is the one with the greatest likelihood of success, he was placed on the mission by someone Cyclone supposedly admires, and then Cyclone removes him the moment that person is dead…hard to see the admiration. 
Okay now onto the shitshow of an alternate mission parameters. At first I thought, well maybe Cyclone is someone who values the mission over the lives of the people flying it, but that doesn’t make much sense either. First of all, he raises the altitude. They would be in the SAM’s radar range the entire four minutes. They’d all die or eject long before they could reach the bunker. If somehow the managed to get to the bunker, they were supposed to drop from a higher altitude, which Cyclone himself admits makes it harder to get a target lock. Neither of those changes improve odds of mission success. The only change that might have lead to a better chance of finishing the mission while increasing risk to the pilots, was the lower velocity through the canyon. The Bandits would have had to strafe them, because the missile lock was confused by terrain. They could potentially get through that and finish the mission, though they’d most likely be blown out of the sky after they were done. Basically Cyclone’s plan seems pretty idiotic to me so maybe he’s just an idiot? If you happen to have tactical experience and you disagree, please enlighten me, I’d like to know how Cyclone’s mission parameters were not dumb as fuck and only not acceptable to Mav bc of the risk to life. 
When Mav demonstrates he can fly the entire mission his way successfully, Cyclone says he has to weigh his career against more probable mission success. Wow. That I also don’t understand, because I don’t understand why his career would suffer more naming Maverick mission lead if it failed, then the mission failing following Cyclone’s parameters? At least in the case of failures with Maverick in command he could say, Maverick demonstrated the ability to preform mission parameters flawlessly. If he sent people with his plan and it failed what could he say “I thought it would work?”. Im assuming mission success is a boon no matter how it happens especially if there are no fatalities. Maverick might not be popular in the Navy but its not like his presence on a mission would make it career suicide, the military tends to be more pragmatic than that. (Also if it works, they tend to reward ingenuity even went it means orders were broken, most CMH recipients disobeyed some kind of order, that’s why they are honored what ever they did was way above and beyond the call of duty) 
When Maverick goes down, Cyclone doesn’t launch either Hangman, nor search and rescue. That’s probably the right call for the situation, even though its cold. He most likely did launch Hangman the moment the F-14 was spotted with Rooster’s ESAT. 
Anyway, Ive got a lot of mixed feelings about Cyclone. What are yours? 
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plus-size-reader · 3 years ago
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Cute
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Void/Stiles Stilinski x Plus size!reader
Word Count: 2939 words
Warnings: none
Summary: The reader finally gets up the courage to tell Stiles about her feelings for him but Stiles isn’t really himself at the time. 
—————————————————————————————————
You should have seen this coming.
Of course Stiles was never going to go for a girl like you. All your lives he had been absolutely obsessed with Lydia Martin and lord knows you looked nothing like her. You were never going to look anything like her, but it was easy to ignore when it was just her.
Stiles had always liked her, drooling over her in math class and talking about her every chance he got but you both knew he had about as much of a chance with her as you did with him.
It wasn’t going to happen.
...but now he had Malia.
She was just as thin and gorgeous as Lydia was, but she was actually into him. She wanted to go out with him and there was nothing stopping them from going for it, why would there be?
It wasn’t like Stiles had any clue that you had been in love with him since middle school or that you were actively more and more in love with him as time went on.
He didn’t know you thought about him as much as he thought about them, or beat yourself up because you were never going to be a size three like Lydia was.
You adored him, but he was never going to see that.
It made you feel so empty, like the last seven years didn’t mean anything to him which wasn’t even close to true. You knew that both Scott and Stiles cared a lot for you, like they cared for each other but it wasn’t enough.
You wanted Stiles to daydream about you, to see you, because you were right in front of him. You would have done anything for him, and did, but for some reason, it was still like you didn’t exist.
It was getting old.
Really old, and the more you thought about it, the more the reality of the situation upset you. You had been there for Stiles all his life.
You were right by his side when his mom got sick, and beat up Jackson Whittemore once in the eighth grade for calling him a geek, but none of that seemed to matter to him.
Stiles still couldn’t see you.
“You’ve been staring at them for thirty minutes” Scott hummed, shaking you out of your thoughts with a bump to your shoulder with his own. You were searching for anything that could explain the strange occurrences around here as of late, but there was nothing.
It wasn’t your fault watching Stiles canoodle with his new girlfriend was more entertaining than looking through some dusty old book.
“I have not” you sighed, shooting him an almost defensive look as you glanced back down at the book in question. Had he been anyone else you may have pretended to have your shit together, but Scott knew better.
He knew the two of you better than anyone else in the world, and even if he wasn’t the true alpha, which he also happened to be, it wasn’t hard to see what was going on.
You clearly liked him, in a way that wasn’t just platonic like your relationship was. You had never gotten so shook up when Scott was seeing a girl, he would have noticed.
“It’s okay, I get it” he tried, hoping that you weren’t going to try and shut him out over this again. Scott had tried to have this conversation with you a few times already, and it never worked out the way he wanted.
You always got cagey and didn’t want to talk about it.
“No you don’t, Scott. You’ve dated every girl you ever had a crush on, because you’re you” you grumbled, poking him in the abs as aggressively as you could without hurting him to prove your point.
He didn’t ever have to worry about the things you did.
Not only was Scott one of the sweetest and most brave men you’d ever known, but he also couldn’t have been in better shape if he wanted to. He looked like one of those perfectly sculpted men in the movies, with six pack abs and chiseled muscles.
It wasn’t like he constantly had to live with the knowledge that the person he loved most in this world didn’t love him back because he wasn’t good enough. You knew that Stiles didn’t feel the same way about you because you weren’t as skinny as you could have been, or as pretty as the others were.
At this point, you doubted he even saw you as a girl at all because you were just his best friend, and that was it. That was what you’d always been and considering how oblivious he was to the feelings you had for him, it wasn’t surprising.
You weren’t even on his radar in that way.
“First of all, ow! Second of all, you’re super cute, why wouldn’t he be into you?” Scott wondered, that same supportive, loving tone that was always in his voice making itself known to you. He really did believe that, not that it made you feel better.
Cute.
That was all you were ever going to be.
Puppies were cute, and everyone loved them but no one was actively dreaming of taking their favorite puppy out on a date or dreaming about a puppy out loud to their friends. You didn’t date someone just because they were cute, which was the whole problem.
You didn’t want to be cute.
You wanted to be beautiful, to be hot, to be drop dead gorgeous in the way that Lydia was, and it killed you every day that you weren’t.
“Thanks Scott, but I don’t think cute is gonna cut it” you decided, closing the book in front of you as a way of closing this conversation before getting up and heading out of the library.
It didn’t make any sense to Scott.
It was clear to him that you and Stiles had something that could very well be a great relationship but you kept getting in your own way and it wasn’t like Stiles knew what he was doing. 
Some days, Scott worried he’d leave his head at home if it wasn’t attached.
“Hey Y/N, think about it” he called, catching the way you turned around to look at him before heading out to the parking lot.
There was no way Stiles was going to come to the conclusion that you cared about him as anything more than a friend on his own, and until you got that push to do it yourself, it wasn’t going to happen.
He just had to wait for one or both of you to take that chance.
~
Scott had a point.
Of course he did, Scott usually had a point as much as you hated to admit it. You were super cute, and while it might not have been enough, there really weren’t that many reasons why Stiles wouldn’t be into you.
Now, all you had to do was figure out what you were going to do about it, before all desire to do so left your body completely if it hadn’t already. 
You had only been trying to sike yourself up about this for the past hour in the rear view mirror and it just wasn’t happening.
You felt like an idiot.
Here you were, sitting across the street from Stiles’ house like a creep, without a single idea of what you were actually going to say to him if you ever made it to his front door. It didn’t make any sense, this was a guy you’d known since you were a kid.
You had never had a problem saying anything to him or doing whatever you wanted, but now, the idea of even looking him in the face was enough to make you want to be sick. It was hardly fair but you had done this to yourself after all.
It was perfectly fine before, even if you were unhappy. No one else had to know that you had feelings for him and you could just suffer in silence but now that you had Scott in your corner, it was hard not to want to try.
Surely your shared best friend was the best authority on whether or not there was anything between you and Stiles. If anyone was going to know anything, it was the true alpha, after all. 
That was like, his whole thing.
“You can do this. You’ve fought monsters, this is just Stiles” you reminded yourself, before pushing the mirror away completely, getting out of the car before you could buckle back up and drive home. It was now or never, and whatever happens, happens.
You couldn’t worry about it now.
“Hey Stiles, are you feeling better?” you hummed, the words barely registering under your breath as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say. You’d had this nightmare a million times over but you’d never actually considered doing it on your own.
Now that you were, the words just weren’t coming to you like they should have been.
“I just had something I wanted to run by you” you tried, testing out how that would sound before immediately scrapping it. That sounded like you were making some kind of business proposal and you certainly weren’t.
It had to be perfect.
Not that you had time to actually nail down what you wanted to say before you found yourself at his front door, already having knocked out of habit. Again, you briefly considered sprinting back to your car before it opened but you couldn’t make your feet move.
You knew that you had to do this.
“Hey Stiles, I was hoping we could talk” the words left your lips before you could police them, as soon as the door opened. You knew that it was hardly the smoothest you could have been but at this point, there was nothing between the two of you to soften the blow.
You just had to get this over with. If he accepted your feelings, he accepted them but if he didn’t, there was nothing you could do to change that either.
Naturally, those words freaked Stiles out a little because he assumed something terrible had happened but you didn’t seem as panicked as you should have been if someone was dying. This was a little more than your usual high strung but not by much.
“Yeah for sure, are you okay?” he allowed, moving away from the doorframe to let you in before closing the door behind you both. His dad was working late again, so it would just be the two of you but that had never been a problem before.
Especially lately, you and Stiles had killed time on several nights when Scott was busy with the pack or on date night. It wasn’t strange for you to be alone together, normally but there was a strange air about it today.
You just couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or you.
You knew that Stiles had been having a little trouble sleeping lately, and the nightmares were driving him crazy but the pack was going to handle it. 
The pack always took care of those kinds of things and you both knew Scott wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.
All he had to do was wait it out and try to relax in the meantime.
…And of course, you were having a hard time being your calm and collected self as you tried to figure out the best way to go about this whole thing.
It wasn’t every day you confessed your feelings to your best friend after all.
“I’m alright, I just have something I want to talk to you about is all” you shrugged, sitting down on the couch. This was a lot harder to do than you could have ever thought, and it just seemed like it wasn’t going anywhere.
There was only so much stalling you could do before you had to tell him the truth.
“Okay, I guess I’m just gonna put it all out there,” you sighed, your hands falling on your thighs. This was your last chance to walk away and no one would ever have to know what it was you were hiding, and that almost seemed like the right thing to do.
Though, the way he was looking at you took that all away.
You knew that if you ever had a chance at being with him in the way you wanted, you had to be able to tell him how you felt, at the very least.
Here goes nothing.
“I’m in love-with you” you allowed, exhaling as if you’d been holding that in your lungs all this time, which you pretty much had. You had no idea how this was supposed to feel, but you were pretty confident it wasn’t like this.
He didn’t even say anything at first.
All you could see was Stiles rubbing his temple out of the corner of your eye, his eyes screwed shut. It was hardly the reaction you had been expecting but at that moment, it didn’t even matter. You knew what he’d been going through, and it worried you.
It always worried you, especially knowing about his mom and all the stress he’d been under lately. 
Needless to say, you were more than happy to forget about everything you’d just said in favor of making sure he was alright, especially if your words had upset him.
If he didn’t feel the same, you would have happily moved on as if this moment had never happened. It would be easier than having to swallow that rejection.
You didn’t know if you could handle that after all this.
You had been hiding your feelings for Stiles all this time, and now that you said it out loud, you hoped you’d feel better but you just didn’t. This whole thing was really starting to seem like a mistake, and you didn’t even know everything yet.
Neither did Stiles.
In reality, he was more than thrilled at your confession but something was wrong. He felt like he wasn’t in control, like he wasn’t even in his own body anymore. It didn’t make any sense but he had never had a feeling like this before.
Stiles was vulnerable.
Before this moment, the Nogitsune hadn’t been able to break through to the surface but you provided the crack in his armor that it needed to escape. It was perfect, at least for the void, it certainly wasn't going to be pleasant for you.
After all, it had been a long time since it had seen the light of day and it was hungry, hungry and wearing your little lover boy like a cheap Halloween costume. Of course it was going to use that against you, void would be an idiot not to.
Your love for the boy made you little more than an exposed nerve, one that the Nogitsune could poke and prod at all it pleased until it was satisfied.
...and it certainly intended to.
All at once, there was a huge change in the room between the two of you, and more specifically, in Stiles. 
There was a cold, darkness to him that you had never seen which you didn’t even realize was there until he started laughing, a deep chuckle leaving his throat.
You weren’t ready for it, but what you were less ready for was what happened when he spoke.
“Did you really think I could ever feel like that, for you? We both know that’s a little crazy” he scoffed, an almost mocking tone that didn’t sound like Stiles at all. It shocked you, in all honesty, but not for the reason you may have thought.
Deep down, you knew that Stiles wouldn’t be interested in you but you never could have imagined him being so aggressive and cruel in his rejection of you.
He’d never spoken to anyone like that before, especially not you.
“I just-” you tried, but he stopped you before you could even try to get through this whole thing with any dignity at all. For the Nogitsune, this was all fun and games, but for you, it was so much more than that.
This was quite possibly the worst moment of your life.
“You aren’t blind, you had to have known this wasn’t going to work out the way you wanted. I mean, look at you?”
Stiles was screaming, using everything he had to try and get through to you, to overpower whatever this thing in his head was, but he couldn’t make it happen. It was too much, too strong, and all he could do was sit back and let it happen.
He knew it was breaking your heart, he could see it in your face but no matter how hard he fought, there was nothing he could do to get back in control. He felt like he was locked in a cage in his own head, and someone else had the key.
He just didn't know who.
You sat there for a second more as you tried to process whatever it was that was happening right now before you felt tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, and decided that it was probably time to leave.
Staying here any longer was just going to make this worse. Besides, it wasn’t as if Stiles was in the mood to talk this out or even treat you like a person.
Clearly, Scott was wrong, being cute wasn’t enough to make someone care about you.
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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago
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Small Bits of Memory
Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader
Word Count: 1,531
Warnings: None
Premise: Little moments between Scaramouche and the reader.
Author’s Note: Warning, I’m not caught up on the archon quest. I did skim the wiki (which made me kinda sad ngl), but if there are inaccuracies, that’s why. I also may have made Scaramouche a bit sappy because of this.  
I took “comfort” to mean “hurt/comfort” so if some of these are a bit melancholic it’s because angst brain does not turn off.
Scaramouche
Scaramouche is well familiar with nightmares. He knows the feeling of opening yours eyes in the dark, not moving, not crying out or sitting up; simply opening your eyes as the latent fear of your dreams finally catch up with you and finally your breathing starts to speed in your chest, as your finally realize how afraid you were. Thus on the first night he wakes to you staring intently at the darkness around you, still to the point of stiffness, he automatically understands what’s going on.
At first he’s too scared to wrap his arms around you, afraid that you’ll find the action frightening, or that you’ll instinctively reject him. He only reaches out his hand, secretly relieved when you entwined your fingers within his. Feeling vaguely sentimental in his tired state he whispers: “I’ll protect you from the dark, so stop staring and go back to sleep.” He hopes that you won’t tease him about it tomorrow, as some small part of him knows that it was a very silly thing to say.
Afterwards he grows a little bolder, inching closer to you, then letting one arm rest on your shoulder, fingers featherlight on your skin. Thankfully your penchant for nightmares isn’t too great, so it’s about two months before he wakes up the next day to his arms wrapped around you, you nestled within his sleepy embrace. Seeing you sleeping peacefully after the look of uncomprehending panic plastered across your features the night before calms him like few other things, and he sighs peacefully, letting his eyes flit closed once more. The two of you sleep in that day.
Scaramouche always panics slightly whenever you get hurt. It could be a paper cut, it could be a bruise, it could be a battle injury, his response is relatively similar each time. You might squirm as he cleans your cut off for the third time in ten minutes, assuring him that you aren’t going to die, but he isn’t truly listening to you. There’s a glazed look in his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to register that you’re calling his name. You worry about it sometimes, you wonder what might happen if you were to truly injure yourself. You hope he wouldn’t blame himself too much. Scaramouche has a surprising penchant towards self-flagellation, when he’s not telling himself that he’s superior to everyone around him.
Scaramouche has never horsed around in a river, never experienced a snowball fight, never watched a sunrise for the sake of it. He was not created for such things after all. It’s hard for him to imagine enjoyment in the little pieces of universal humanity, perhaps because he feels somehow separated from such a privilege. You start keeping a list of these sorts of things, small moments to enjoy. He finds the idea silly at first, but gradually grows to like the experience. Perhaps not the individual activities, but the experience as a whole. He might not understand the “universal human experience” as you call it, but the snow against his skin is cold and clear, and the sun looks like fire in the sky, and you’re smiling next to him, and all is well in the world.
Scaramouche doesn’t have much attachment to Inazuma, considering it a desolate land where the people survive despite, not because of, the land. He has no love for the plains, or the skinny forests, or the craggy rocks and hills. The flowers glow preternaturally, and the electricity that fills the air makes unpleasant crackling noises. Nevertheless he has to admit a fondness for the cherry blossoms that bloom on Narukami Islands. It’s as if a small sliver of beauty managed to scrape its way into the world. He’ll take you to see them sometimes, regardless of his status as a Harbinger and a general menace. Perched amidst the falling petals you remind him of some sort of spirit from folklore. If he could draw well at all he thinks he would make a portrait of you surrounded by those blossoms. Certainly there’d be nothing else worth painting.
The two of you like to read together, Scaramouche going over whatever plans he’s currently focusing on, you curled up with a book. If you find a passage or a quote you particularly like you’ll tap him on the shoulder, and Scaramouche will duly listen to you read it aloud. He likes the sound of your reading voice, the way it varies slightly from when you talk. Unfortunately he made the mistake of telling you that once, and you began to insist that he read for you. Though he secretly enjoys doing so, he still grumbles about it out of habit. The both of you know he’s only doing it for show.
Scaramouche once caught you using a broom like a sword. Though you looked very drunk he secretly found it endlessly endearing. He offered to teach you some basic sword forms (despite his weapon knowing swordplay is a basic requirement for all Fatui soldiers). You accepted eagerly at the time, unaware of how much you’d underestimated Scarmouche’s fervor when it came to training. It took a wooden sword snapped in half for him to lay off a little bit, but at least his troops started dropping hints at you that they no longer feared for their lives. Though you think they were joking, you were still glad for the learning experience. You two still spar every once in a while though.
Living up to his title of “Balladeer” Scaramouche has quite the haunting voice. Not particularly high, his range still has a natural warmth to it that belies his cold exterior. You almost never catch him actually singing. The first time it happened was when you had a migraine. Refusing to leave your tent – you hadn’t actually convinced him you weren’t dying – he seemed torn between boredom and worry. At first it was a mere hum, but soon enough it morphed into a captivating song. He refused to tell you the name of it, claiming he’d forgotten, and refused to bring it up the next morning. Still sometimes you’ll catch him now and then humming out a tune, usually when he’s reading or if you’re sick or upset. His singing is something you associate with comfort.
Scaramouche is a terrible letter writer. If you send him ten letters while he’s away he’ll send you three. Still what he lacks in quantity he makes up for in word count. Curt in his official reports, his letters to you are pure stream-of-consciousness, captivating whatever he’s thinking about at the time. Usually the letters are somewhat sappy (or surprisingly bold) missives on how much he loves you and misses you, somehow more honest than when he speaks to you face-to-face. Still you’ve also gotten quite used to a thousand words on how much he hates his fellow Harbingers. You don’t mind, keeping all his letters to you in a box. Though he claims to burn yours, he does the same.
Scaramouche always tell you the days he’s leaving and the days he’s returning. Sometimes he’ll have it down to an estimated hour. Though he appreciates the pomp and spectacle of appearing around others unannounced – something he does quite a bit when working – he refuses to keep you in a limbo of waiting. Secretly he’s also always afraid you might not show up on the docks one day, and every time he sees your face after a long time away a weight lifts in his chest, the pressure on his soul just a little easier to bear every time.
Scaramouche has always felt most comfortable at night. When the world sleeps, when he has the advantage of being awake, being alert, being more powerful. When there are fewer eyes on him, and he can even tell himself that he is the only one awake in the world, can indulge in those moments of wondering, wondering whether he has ever felt something, whether he is missing a crucial piece. Whether he has ever been happy, whether he wants to be so. He can be vulnerable at night, and thus is the reason it appealed to him so much.
Now the night is his favorite time of day because he can always be near you at that time. If you two are in the same land, then you will spend the night in the same room, the same tent, the same bed. Listening to the sound of your breathing, letting himself revel in your closeness, your arms wrapped around his waist, or his wrapped around you, Scaramouche feels truly content. Perhaps he is even happy, perhaps this is what happiness is, what love is. Perhaps it is something more than that, something undefinable, something too abstract to put into words. He loves you, he realizes to himself, he loves you so much. It is overwhelming, like a tidal wave, yet it does not frighten him. He could be struck by lightning and it would not frighten him. It will in the daytime, but now is the night, and now he can marvel peacefully at the fact that he truly loves you.
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lilyofthesword-writes · 3 years ago
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Alchemy (Batman Oneshot)
Summary: A new criminal is reaching infamy in Gotham, and Batman is having a difficult time apprehending them. He needs help and seeks you out for information. You, on the other hand, are trying to live a quiet life under the radar. Are you willing to go out of your way to help the Dark Knight solve this case?
Pairing: Batman x Reader (Can be read as either platonic or romantic)
Word Count: 5,596
Warnings/Disclaimers: Mild cursing, mentions of blood, kidnapping, allusions to torture/murder, PTSD, old injury
A/N: Finally finished editing! Wound up adding a couple of new sections for everything to make sense. This is a small crossover to Supernatural. Sam and Dean are mentioned but not present. So yeah, this one is darker in tone than some of my other works. Falls in line with Spooktober nicely. I also wanted to write something that was not strictly romantic. Hope you all enjoy!
Masterlist
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You bit back a harsh sigh as you sat in the seat across from your supervisor’s desk. You would prefer to stay as far away from this man as possible, but when your boss calls you in “urgently”, you don’t have much of a choice. What had you done this time?
Now, the older man was sitting there with a newspaper covering his face, purposely ignoring you. Of course, he would play that game. You come immediately when you hear his message, and he acts like you’re not in the room just to see if you would break and speak first.
Well, you could keep yourself busy in the meantime. It was time to catch up on some reading. The front page headline was at least bold enough.
Frankenstein Murderer Strikes Again
Latest victim found missing a lung. GCPD baffled.
The scar on your leg twitched and burned. You unconsciously rubbed at it like that would lessen the pain.
Yet another one of Gotham’s lunatics brought to light. This was the eighth victim in a mere few months. Each person had been missing one or two organs when they were found. It didn’t seem like anything was off limits. One victim was even missing an eye. Whoever this guy was definitely had a sick mind.
The media certainly didn’t help either. The news had spotlighted this maniac, crafting outlandish theories as to why they were committing such heinous crimes - the most popular being the criminal was building their own human just like the fictional doctor. It almost seemed to spur him on, the speed of the bodies appearing growing with each article. It made your blood boil the more you thought about it.
That small voice in the back of your head piped up to remind you of something you actively tried to not think about.
You used to do this for a living. Hunting things, saving people. They won’t stop unless someone makes them. What if this guy isn’t human?
No. Hunting wasn’t your thing anymore. Besides, this was Batman’s territory. He and his protégés seemed able enough. They could manage. Gotham was nutty, but surely it would be worse without the Bat and his birds.
The newspaper crinkled and crumpled like a dying radio station as your supervisor shoved it down to glare haughtily at you. Apparently, your silence was not taken well. He was just mad that you won this round.
He tossed the paper to the side of his desk before leaning back in his creaky chair.
“And how was class?” he mused, mostly disinterested.
Your head physically hurt from how hard you were trying to not roll your eyes.
“Well, sir,” you replied with a venomously polite smile. “The students seem taken with cultural anthropology, especially when bringing in artifacts to-”
“Yes, yes. All good and well.”
His interruption forced you to bite your tongue, less you say something to get yourself fired.
He leaned forward conspiratorially, hands laced in front of him to take on most of his weight. His voice was hushed as he said, “You will never guess who I spoke with last night!”
Guess it was time for him to brag. Might as well play along for brownie points.
“No, I probably won’t, sir. Who did you meet?”
“Batman!” He threw his hands up like a bad Broadway performer. “The Dark Knight came to me for help on a case! In all my years in this city, this is the first time we have ever spoken.”
Your supervisor’s eyes were alight like a small child being handed a new toy. So, you did have some common ground — a mutual admiration for the vigilante who had been making Gotham safer for decades now.
You angled yourself forward with a touch of honest curiosity. “Are you allowed to talk about what he came to you for?”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to divulge some details considering the evidence he showed me was a dud.”
He fell back in his seat with a loud screech. How had that chair not broken under his weight yet?
“A dud?”
“Mmm, yes. He claimed he had found it at the scene of a crime and it could be an artifact, my specialty. He wanted to see if I could translate the markings.”
He paused for dramatic effect. It was more irritating than anything.
“And?”
“And, nothing! I told him it was a bunch of nonsense. No use to his investigation.”
You nearly choked trying to swallow a laugh. Bet Batman didn’t like to be told his evidence was crap. A tiny part of you wished he had come to you instead. Not that you needed validation that you were great at your jobs both here and at the museum. Although sometimes, it would be nice.
“Well, that’s a shame.” A shame you’re arrogant.
“A shame, indeed,” he nodded along with you. “He was not pleased, but who wouldn’t be? I just hope Gotham’s Greatest Detective is not beginning to fall.”
“Doubtful, sir. No harm in gathering as much as you can. It’s better than too little,” you replied with a thoughtful, customer service voice that seemed to be appreciated.
“Very true! Oh! Look at the time! I have a class starting in a few minutes. Run along! No more time for chit chat!”
He waved you off like you were some mischievous child being a menace to him. And you obeyed, just happy to be out of his office and away from him. The walk down to your own office would allow you to cool off before your meeting with the museum director.
Some urgent meeting that was. Batman really should have visited you instead.
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“Late night, Professor?” a deep voice pierced through the room the moment you illuminated your dim, antique lamp.
Jolting in your chair, you had to slap a hand over your mouth to halt your scream when you realized it was Batman looming in the corner of your office.
“Apologies. I assumed you would be expecting me.” He stepped out of the shadows into the center of the room.
Your brow furrowed. “Why would I—”
“I had asked your supervisor about your hours before ending our conversation,” he stopped you calmly, though his voice held a hint of annoyance probably meant more for your boss.
“Right…” you huffed. “He never mentioned that part. All he did was gloat about how he helped Gotham’s Dark Knight.”
His mouth pulled into a deep frown. “‘Helped’ is a strong word.” Reaching into his utility belt, he nimbly plucked a small, clay-like medallion attached to a string. “Especially after clearly misidentifying the markings on this.”
The pendant hung delicately off the thin string as he held it out to you. He must have thought it strange you didn’t reach for it, his cowl minutely tilting to the side.
“Sounds about right for him. Overly confident, overly wrong,” you barked a laugh and motioned for him to place the object on the desk. If it were an genuine artifact, you were not going to risk further damaging it with the oils on your hands.
And who knew the big Bat could be so gentle. The medallion barely clinked as it graced the desktop.
“I would prefer a second opinion. Your supervisor was… Adamant about his analysis being correct.”
Pulling a pair of gloves and a small but powerful flashlight from your desk drawer, you smiled. “Nice way to put it. I’d have gone with ‘belligerent’.” You heard a nasally amused huff slip from the Bat. “And how do you know he misinterpreted the markings?”
You could hear the mirth in his voice as he answered, “This may not be my field, but I know runes when I see them.”
Now gloved and peering closely at the designs, you nearly bursted into laughter. “He really said these were runes? You were right to look for a second opinion.”
Gingerly lifting it into your palms, you turned the disc over to find even more details.
“And what do you say, Professor?”
“Please.” You asked him to call you by your name. “I’m only an adjunct professor. My academic stature does not qualify me for that.”
“You are experienced though, aren’t you?”
There was something about his tone. It was like he was poking at the veil concealing your past that he very well likely knew already. He wasn’t the greatest detective for nothing.
Clearing your throat, you brought your attention back to what you could only call an amulet. “These designs do look familiar. Definitely not runes of any sort. Nothing of Scandinavian or Celtic origin…” You placed it back on the desk and moved to the bookcases that hugged the walls like wallpaper, partially to keep from making eye contact with the vigilante and partially to look for the text that might have your answer. “So, if you don’t mind telling me, where did you find that anyways?”
You heard him shift on his feet, presumably to face your direction. “I’m sure you have heard news on the recent murders.”
Your scar seared like it had before, adding a slight sway to your stance. If Batman noticed (he probably did), he didn’t call you out on it.
“The ones reporters are calling the Frankenstein Murders? Who hasn’t?”
You kneeled, biting back a groan as your thigh twinged, to look at some of the larger, heavier books coated with a thin layer of dust.
“It was left at the scene of the last crime near the body.”
It all clicked into place at that moment. It couldn’t be…
Ignoring your leg’s throbbing, you rocketed to a standing position, snatching a leather-bound tome from the corner bookshelf near your desk. Opening it up next to the amulet, you flew through the handwritten pages, eventually coming upon one with drawings that matched the sigils. One of your hands swept over the images as you worried your bottom lip.
It is… But how?!
“What is it?” Batman’s voice broke through your inner monologue before it rambled on.
“I…” You were going to have to choose your words carefully. “I know who this belongs to.”
“But?” He urged you to finish.
“But… I don’t know if he is the murderer.”
The lump forming in your throat and burning of your thigh told you otherwise. It couldn’t be anyone else. Why did it take you so long to piece all of this together?
“Who is he?”
You could tell by the extra clench to his fists that he was attempting to stay calm. You couldn’t blame him for being a bit excited. If it were you, you’d probably have started bombarding questions to hit the near looming breakthrough.
“Doc Benton. He’s known as ‘The Alchemist’,” you breathed, plopping into your chair. It creaked in protest under the weight of your worries, worries you tried to massage away through your leg. “He’s one of the few humans who discovered eternal life.”
“I’m guessing that comes at a price,” Batman mused.
You bobbed your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Yeah. His soul stays bound to his body, but… The body itself still decomposes like any other. He has to replace parts — skin, teeth, organs — all in order to keep functioning.”
That was when the Bat surprised you. He took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. What was he doing? Trying to seem more human? Did he need to sit to think better?
“How do you know this?”
The question was simple and if you didn’t know better, innocent.
Leaning forward on your desk, you steepled your fingers and dared eye contact. “Experience.”
His sitting posture was immaculate, almost to the point where if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t notice his torso angle towards you ever so slightly.
“I had a run in with him once,” you sighed. “A long time ago. A few years before I settled in Gotham and finished my degree. He…” You had to pause as your mouth went dry while remembering that day. “He’s strong… Maybe Bane levels if the rumors on that guy are true.”
Batman’s jaw tensed harder than steel. “And why do you think the Alchemist is not the murderer? He fits the profile.”
“I mean,” you swallowed. “You’re not wrong. It all adds up. And if it is him… I’d like to know how he escaped.”
“Escaped? You captured him?” Now he was leaning forward with rapt attention.
“N-not me specifically,” you murmured, head hanging low. “Two boys went up against him a while back.” Sam and Dean Winchester’s face lit up your mind. No, you were not going to name drop them. “I don’t know the details, but they managed to trap and securely bury him. When the news filtered through, I went to check.”
“I see…”
Silence filled the air. You adjusted yourself to relax fully in your seat. You tights-clad guest rose to his feet, retrieving the amulet as he did so. Guess he was ready to leave.
“Batman.” Your tiny voice froze the man as he made his way to the door. “Do you really think it’s him?”
“It’s… a possibility. Although, I can’t say I believe in the whole immortality thing.”
That didn’t imbue much confidence. At least he was trying.
“Right…” you sighed. “If it is… Well… Be careful. He’s… the main reason I’m here…”
“I appreciate your concern,” he nodded, taking it as his cue to exit.
You swiveled in your chair, finger tapping sporadically on the desk as you stared at the tome. Did Doc actually escape, and was he running around Gotham freely? If the amulet was anything to go by, the answer was an assumed yes. Then again, assumptions almost always had been trouble in the past. They were what landed you with your injury in the first place.
Snatching up the book, you snapped it closed to place it back on the shelf. You had to know for sure. There shouldn’t be an issue with asking for a few days off, especially since you were close to the weekend already.
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The car’s tires crunched over the dead grass and twigs as you passed over the nearly unmarked road. It was so surreal being back here. It looked the same somehow. Sure, there were new broken branches and rotting foliage. Yet, the ambiance was still identical. If you had to describe it in short terms, it was basically the woods from the Evil Dead franchise but not quite as cursed. Even the cabin that was finally coming into view was just as decrepit as the rest of the forest.
You parked near the front porch and stepped out of the car. With a deep breath and slow gait to keep your leg’s burning and pulsating to a minimum, you wandered around the cabin to the back of the property where the boys had buried the Alchemist. The sight was not one you wanted to see.
Globs of earth were strewn about the grave and embedded with smatterings of shattered wood and chains. You could see where a pair of hands had clawed their way through dirt for freedom. Then, there were the dragged, limping footprints leading to the cabin.
With a groan, you made your way up to the stoop. Although you refused to look, you wondered if your scratches and splintered fingernails ingrained in the wooden porch were still visible. Or had they faded with age to be replaced with more recent victims who attempted to escape?
The door squealed open reminding you of the sound wrenched from that poor girl’s throat when you failed to save her all those years ago. The pain in your thigh surged as you stepped through the doorway, forcing you to seek a nearby table for refuge. Your stomach churned at the phantom iron stench when you noticed the blood still staining the floor. It had long since turned black to look more like a dangerous mold variant.
Come on… You can do this. Batman wouldn’t let this bring him down. Doc had to have left some kind of clue behind.
Forcing yourself to move, you knew you had to get to the basement where he did most of his work. With your phone’s flashlight, you made the arduous journey down the stairs, its steps whining in disuse and age. Upon reaching the bottom landing, you found the single hanging light bulb attached to the ceiling. Oddly enough, the light did work when you pulled on the chain. It did flicker and threaten to blow but eventually stabilized to a dim setting. Although, it didn’t matter too much. There wasn’t much to reveal.
Other than a few papers strewn about, the tools the lunatic favored were absent. They hadn’t been gone too long though. You could still see where the dust had framed various medical instruments, including the butcher knife that had once been lodged in your leg. A strange sense of relief washed over you at the memory.
Damn, you were lucky he hadn’t hit a main artery.
You hobbled over to the table, the only piece of furniture still left in the room. Some of the abandoned papers resting on its top had various sigils and scribbles. They looked… looked strikingly similar to the ones on the amulet. The notations around each design were certainly enlightening.
Silence… Conceal… Shield…
The amulet was for… Cloaking? Well, if it worked, that would allow for Doc to rack up so many victims in such a short time.
And then the other papers. They were maps of different cities with the heavily populated ones being circles. One of which was Gotham.
Dammit all!
It really was him, wasn’t it? You needed to get back and quickly. Racing back up the stairs as fast as your leg would allow, the light sifting through the ground floor windows was already taking on pink and orange hues.
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The rough brick wall of the alley dug into your back while the cold gun barrel indented the skin of your forehead. You were probably going to have a bruise come morning.
“Fairly stealthy for someone dressed as a civilian. Now, what do you want?” the modulated voice behind the glinting red helmet growled.
Of course, you came across Red Hood, not the vigilante you were looking for.
Your hands went up, palms out, as a sign of peace. “I need to get a message to Batman.”
“I don’t work for the old Bat,” he hissed, shoving the gun more into your brow. If he wasn’t careful, he would crack your skull. “And I’m not a messenger.”
You snorted harshly. “Look, Red. I just got back in town. I’m exhausted, but I have information he needs to hear for the murder case he’s working on. And if you care about this city like I think you do, you’ll help at least this one time.”
The hulking mass of a person didn’t reply verbally to your ramblings, but he did pull the gun back like he was waiting for you to continue.
“Just tell him this: It is the owner.”
“Vague enough,” he laughed harshly.
You just shrugged. “He’ll know what it means. If he wants more info, he knows where to find me.”
Although you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his stare burn through you before he finally holstered his gun with extra exaggeration. “Fine! I’ll tell him. But that’s it.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you,” you breathed.
“Whatever.”
He pulled out a grappling gun and flung himself up to the top of the building, leaving you next to the tied up morons who had attempted to rob a family-owned business. You followed suit, making your own exit into the connecting alleys. It was the long way around, but you’d rather not have a run in with the police now, not after all the effort you went through to stay under the radar.
Back in your car, you glanced at the police scanner laying on the passenger floorboard. There was no need for that anymore. It could go back into the storage unit with all of your other old hunting gear later that week. With a huff, you started the engine and left for your office.
The streets were dark, and you kept your speed slightly under the limit to the dismay of the few drivers on the road. With how your scar was pulsating and the little sleep you had had in the last three days, you could easily ignore the rude drivers and focus on controlling the vehicle.
Pulling into the university parking lot, you found the only cars were the ones belonging to security. Smiling, you gave them a wave as you parked and hurried to your office. They were sweet, older gentlemen who were used to staying awake at odd hours, but that was about all they were good at.
Unlocking and opening the door, you found the window ajar, a small breeze fluttering the blinds.
“I got your message,” came a familiar deep voice from behind the door.
You nearly jumped out of your skin. Despite being half tempted to slam the door closed out of spite, you did so quietly instead.
“Jeez, you’re fast,” you hissed. “You really like scaring the crap out of people, don’t you?”
“You’re slow. And only specific people.” The corner of his mouth twitched as if he fought off a smirk.
“Right, right,” you sighed, leaning on the desk. “So have you actually seen him yet?”
“Yes. Just yesterday. Though, I was unable to apprehend him. You were right about how strong he is.” He moved to stand in front of you. “What did you learn on your trip?”
“He escaped… The ground was dug up from underneath. And I found more specifics on that amulet when I checked the cabin. There were some papers left behind. A couple mentioned more on what it does.”
Batman nodded. “And?”
“Some of those sigils are for protection, but most were for cloaking so he can’t be caught. I’m sure it’s important to him.”
“So, you think I may be able to lure him out with it.”
“It’s a thought, yeah,” you agreed. “And if you are successful, it will hopefully mean no one else dies.”
“Is that important to you?”
Oh, there he goes again…
“Yes, actually,” you snapped before plopping into a chair with a sigh, unable to take much standing anymore. “Sorry. Long few days.”
He merely tilted his head inquisitively.
“Alright, I know you looked into me. You know the things I did before I had to stop. You’ve no reason to believe anything I say, but…” You chose this moment to lock your gaze with his.
“Nearly everything I did was to protect others. I’m not proud of what I’ve done.” You leaned back, rubbing a temple as you closed your eyes to will away the memories. You were not about to have a complete breakdown in front of some guy dressed as a bat. “Mistakes were made. People who should have lived were lost… I carry those souls with me to this day…”
Trailing back into a tense quiet, you opened your eyes to find Batman standing before you closer than he had ever been.
“And yet, you’re here. Why?”
An amused hum seeped from your throat. “Looking for confirmation on what you already know… Right. Do ancient cultures and artifacts not work in tandem with my previous line of work? At least here, I have more access and connections than most hunters out there. I may not be able to work out in the field, but I never truly stopped trying to help.”
He watched you, appraising you like he was piecing together a puzzle. He seemed satisfied with your answer and stepped around your desk to the window.
“For the record,” he said while pushing the window up farther. “If I did not believe you to some degree, I would not have sought you out again.”
“Thank you,” you half whispered. “I know I said it last time, but be careful out there. That bastard probably has some other tricks up his sleeve.”
You turned to find an empty window. The cool Gotham breeze gliding over your face was your only reply.
It was probably a good idea to follow suit and head out yourself. It was later than you wanted it to be, and Gotham was definitely not safe at night, even if you were only going from your car to your apartment. But… You had just arrived. Might as well try to get some work done. You might be able to find more information to help.
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Your head pounded as you tugged against your bindings, one of which dug into your scar and threatened to carve it open. Sucking in air through clenched teeth, you continued to test the coarse rope tethering you to a chair with hopes of finding some weakness you could exploit to free yourself. No such luck so far. This is what you get for staying late at your office for the third time this week.
The blindfold obstructing your vision didn’t help much either. Echoed footsteps prowled around you, circling closer and closer. At least you didn’t need sight to know who had managed to capture you.
“Hello again, little hunter.” The owner of the now silent footsteps cooed. “Did you really think you could hide from me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, old man,” you spat as he hastily tore off the blindfold.
The man let loose a phlegm-filled laugh.
He looked just how you remembered him, save for a few patches of stitched skin on his face. Those looked a bit newer than last time as did one of his eyes which was now an icy blue. That shock of white hair hadn’t changed though.
“So what? All this for me?” you continued.
“Yes… And no.”
He smirked and stepped over to a tray lined with various medical instruments. To your dismay, he chose a scalpel with rust beginning to assimilate the blade and waved it around. Always one for the dramatics.
“I needed to strengthen myself again after those damned Winchesters. It took me some time to escape that underground prison.” He turned back to you, gracing your cheek with the flat side of the scalpel. “Enough time to need some… Upgrades. And I thought, ‘Why not a city? Surely, people go missing there without a care in the world from anyone.’”
He pulled back, wiping the blade with his shirt like that would remove the rust before continuing with his eye roll inducing monologue. “And believe me Gotham was not my first choice, but it turned out to be the best. So much chaos here. Would anyone really notice a hair more?”
“Clearly, you didn’t factor in everything,” you interrupted, earning you a swipe of the scalpel.
“Clearly,” the Alchemist growled. His lips curled into a smirk when he saw the delayed ooze of blood trickling down your cheek. “I did not research this city before swooping in. That bat fellow was becoming a hindrance. Then, I learned you were here and thought I’d have a little fun.”
The thought hit you like a dump truck. “The medallion…”
He grinned and waggled the scalpel for you to continue.
“It was a distraction… and a way to see if I would reveal myself…”
“Very good, little hunter. Once I figured that annoying vigilante was done visiting you, I removed the ‘obstacle’ in the form of those guards.”
A shiver ran down your spine. The apparition of those horrified howls echoed in your head. Their screams had triggered your old hunter instincts. Of course, you wanted to save them, needed to save them. That desperation was your downfall.
The former doctor used the instrument to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Now, I have you. I wanted to save the best for last. All I need is a new heart.”
In the brief moment you had to mentally curse, there was movement in the shadows and the sound of clinking metal at your feet. You didn’t even have a chance to see the source when your vision erupted into plumes of smoke.
Loud smacks of skin being pummeled, cracking bones, grunts and heavy breathing filled your ears to the point you didn’t even notice that someone had shown up behind you. The rope was gone, and you were free to move.
A small hand grasped your upper arm to get you to stand. “Come.”
Spinning around to your secondary savior, you were met with a young, tanned boy clad in red, yellow and green with a mask covering the top of his face. With an impatient sigh, Robin pulled you away from the fight. “Tt. It is time to leave, Professor.”
You begrudgingly complied, allowing this newest Robin to lead you out of the warehouse. Once outside, the cold night air reminded your lungs to expel the smoke you had inhaled. You focused on your breathing, attempting to prevent suffocation via coughing. Robin remained vigilant by your side. He made no move to help you, but at least he didn’t leave you to suffer alone.
Unaware of how much time had passed, you nearly leapt into the air when the door you had used to exit was kicked open, revealing the Dark Knight and an unconscious Doc Benton in tow. Even in the low light, you could see the split lip along with the bruises forming to decorate Batman’s jaw.
He studied you as you leaned against the wall, still attempting to bring fresh air into your lungs and take some of the weight off your leg. A frown shaped his mouth when he took in the blood congealing on your face.
“Are you alright?” His deep voice held a hint of genuine concern.
You nodded, your breathing back under control. “Yeah. Been through worse. I’ll survive.”
He didn’t reply. His attention had moved to Robin. “Make sure the professor returns home safely. I will bring the Alchemist to Arkham personally.”
“What if he wakes-”
“He won’t,” Batman stopped the boy from arguing. “Chloroform seems to do the trick. I have more just in case. Now, go.”
“Tt,” Robin scoffed and swiftly turned to lead you away.
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Unsurprisingly, Batman was lurking in the corner of the room again. Surprisingly, the corner was in your apartment’s living room.
“The Bat makes house calls now?” you quipped, locking the front door and dropping your things on the tiny entryway table.
The now infamous amused huff left his nose. “Not usually, no. This is a special circumstance.”
“Yeah? How so?” You left the table to perch on your well-used sofa.
“I involved you in this case. I should have realized the whole thing was a setup.”
You sighed, observing the caped crusader almost inconspicuously shuffle awkwardly on his feet. “If you’re trying to apologize, don’t. Even if you hadn’t come to me, I would have figured out who was behind the murders eventually. I’d have made the same decision. My choice either way.”
Without being able to see his entire face, you tell he still felt guilty. It weighed on his shoulders despite trying to hide it.
“But. I am glad you did.” You hopped to your feet and strode in front of him to make sure he was making eye contact. “If you and Robin hadn’t been there, the Alchemist would have gotten the heart he wanted.”
This time it was like Batman was missing a piece of the puzzle he needed to find as he stared you down.
“You’re not like the other hunters who’ve come to Gotham,” he concluded.
You shrugged. “We’ve all lost people we care about. I try not to let the grief and anger consume me.”
The Dark Knight smiled then, not a quick flash or smug smirk but a true, honest smile. You couldn’t help but think his awkward protégé could have done that more when he had brought you home a few nights ago.
“I see the wheels turning. What’s going on in that head of yours, Bats?” You gave him a lopsided grin.
His normal stoic nature returned, mouth pursed to form a thin line. “Just seeing some similarities.”
“I’ll take that as a good thing.”
He turned suddenly as though he was listening for something. “I’m on my way,” he said while pressing two fingers to where his ear would be if the cowl wasn’t concealing it.
“I have to go.” He was back to speaking to you but moved towards the window.
“Right. Be careful out there.”
He was already out on the fire escape when he nodded.
“And Batman?” You caused him to pause when he brandished his grappling gun. “If you ever need help again, you know where to find me.”
He seemed surprised by your offer, but it was short lived. “Of course. Stay safe.”
Not a second later, he was swinging up to the neighboring building’s rooftop.
Maybe he didn’t expect you to continue your life in Gotham. With the Alchemist in Arkham, there was always the chance he would escape. While he would most likely leave the city to continue cheating death and avoid capture, the possibility he would come for you, one of the few who had ever escaped him, was still there. You’d prepare yourself for that, and should something happen, at least one person in this city would have your back.
Tag list: @thedumbgirl
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stillness-in-green · 2 years ago
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What do you think of shigaraki killing afo?
I made a quip about this months ago, but at this point I have no idea which post it was in, so I'll go ahead and reiterate and expand on it here.
On the one hand:
I think there’s a hanging conflict between All Might saying that trying to kill AFO seven years ago was a mistake and Hero Society’s inability to keep AFO in prison, and the easiest way out of that conflict that doesn’t leave AFO’s blood on a hero’s hands is to make the question moot by having Shigaraki kill him instead.  Absolving a story’s heroes of having to make a difficult moral choice has long been the purview of villains!
As far as the heroes go, I know most people think AFO is an unrepentant monster and killing him is not exactly a mortal sin, and they’re not wrong that he’s a ludicrous caricature who law enforcement would have every justification in the world for putting down as an active threat.  That kind of judgment, though, is easy from the metaphorical armchair, but gets a bit more complex when you start asking how it fits into a regulated system and/or the overarching narrative themes.
Should Midoriya Izuku be the one to kill All For One?  Are we okay with asking a teenager, one who thinks the highest aspiration of his chosen career is saving people, to take a man’s life?
What does it do to All Might and the institution he represents when he, the paragon of heroes, caved in a man’s skull with his bare fists?  What does it further say about All Might and his society when he calls that murder attempt a mistake, only to turn around and help plan another one not even a year later because he can’t think of another solution?
Endeavor and Hawks?  We already know they’re willing to kill; it was kind of a defining thing for them with the High End Noumu and Twice.  It’s not exactly a big challenge to who they are and who they wish to be to have them do something they've already proven capable of doing, especially when they’ve never truly reckoned with the blood already on their hands.
And so on.
We could also ask, who okayed this?  We know that Tsukauchi was involved in the planning stages, and since Tsukauchi is a police detective, that does imply state approval.  The readers never see that process, though, and it certainly doesn’t seem to have involved a trial at any point.  Is there a judge somewhere who weighed the evidence and then signed off on an outstanding circumstances waiver of some kind?  A Head Commissioner of the National Police Agency?  How much bureaucracy did this have to go through?  How much precedent is being established by it?  What protections are there against similar actions being called against lesser threats, now that this example is being set?
I know there’s a point at which asking questions like this of a fantasy adventure narrative gets pretty absurd, even willfully obtuse, but BNHA leaves itself open to arguments like mine in the way it positions its heroes as duly vested agents of a state government, especially a state government the story itself has positioned as grotesquely corrupt.
On the other hand...
All of that being the case, Shigaraki is not a duly vested agent of the state.  Nor is he a character whose hands the narrative has any motivation to keep clean.  Shigaraki is the (living) person in the story most directly, personally wronged by All For One, especially if it turns out he’s the one who gave Tenko Decay to begin with.
There’s a karma to All For One dying at the hand of one of his victims that there isn’t when he’s being killed by someone who’s more his “equal” or who lacks that personal connection.*  And while there’s a reason vigilante justice is illegal, Shigaraki’s role in the story is such that he’s posing and answering different moral questions than a hero would be.  If it’s problematic to let Shigaraki have that kill, it’s only because it lets the author dodge a harder question, not because it’s Setting A Bad Example For The Readers or Establishing A Worrying Precedent For The In-Universe Legal System.
Cards on the table?  AFO is kind of asking for it, where Shigaraki is concerned.  I used to admire that he was the only person in the story who never doubted Shigaraki’s capability—the only one, even counting all of Shigaraki’s friends!  But if AFO is going to swan in and think he can easily handle his protégé, the kid who has risen to every occasion, upended every expectation, then frankly, he deserves no better than every other asshole who’s made that same mistake.  I am praying Horikoshi gives me that level of consistency in Shigaraki’s villain arc!
Also too, it's not like Shigaraki killing AFO would instantly end the series or the problems the heroes are facing. Shigaraki killing AFO just gives Shigaraki his agency back, makes him a threat again rather than a hostage, and Shigaraki's status as ultimate victim/ultimate villain makes him a way more challenging moral dilemma than AFO ever presented. All things considered, he'd be a trade-up.
Thanks for the ask!
*Are Deku and All Might his victims?  Well, they’ve certainly been targeted by him, and All Might was injured pretty terribly in the backstory, but the OFA generational rivalry puts a much different spin on those relationships than the one AFO has with, say, Tomura or Aoyama.  Both All and Deku, in any case, try to frame their battles against AFO as being intended to stop AFO from committing further harm, rather than one of vengeance or personal recompense.  All Might in particular is not without those motivations, especially when AFO starts mocking Nana, but it’s a frame of mind he has to be baited into, not the one he normally occupies.
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beanieman · 3 years ago
Text
My Headcanon’s About Each Character’s Percentage
Sara Chidouin 15.5 - I think Midori pretty much spells it out why Sara’s percentage is so high. She’s good at manipulating others, and has psychical strength if that doesn’t work out. Going off the logic route, I’m also fairly certain she used Ranmaru often to do her bidding, and then betrayed him last minute. 
Keiji Shinogi 9.5 - Keiji voting for Kanna is a pretty big indicator why he won so often. He’s willing to do whatever it takes for his survival, including killing kids if it means increasing his chances. He’s able to betray Megumi at the start of the game, so him turning on others that he knew a much shorter time than Megumi, doesn’t seem like a crazy idea. If he had the sacrifice card, I think he’d be smart enough to know how to direct votes towards himself. But he also cares about Sara in a Fatherly way. And the times he did die, I wouldn’t be shocked if it was because he was allying with Sara and she stabbed him in the back. 
Q-Taro Burgerberg 8.8 - Why Q-Taro wins so much isn’t hard to figure out. The vending machine gives the answer. He can be selfish and it looks like it quite a few test data’s it got the better of him. But he can also be selfless under the right circumstances as shown by his death. Which is why he doesn’t have a higher rank then Keiji. 
Reko Yabusame 7.7 - My biggest theory for her high number is Alice sacrifices himself to save Reko over and over. It’s not that I don’t think Reko is capable of winning on her own, because she is, but as shown by her death scene, Reko would hurt herself before she was able to hurt her friends. So it’s hard for me to see her maliciously winning the game. I also see her being the most likely to win with the sacrifice card. Because if she had it, it’s almost certain Alice would vote for her, and possibly Kanna and Gin. Even when her personality is her more selfish, she still can’t bring herself to hurt Nao or Sara as shown by when she chooses to stab herself over hurting either of them.
Alice Yabusame 6.6 - The times Alice won, I would say are the times Reko was chosen by Majority Vote. Reko dying by a floormasters hand like in the game is one thing, but the group actively choosing to kill his sister? That would not go over well. It would also give him yet another parallel to Shin, by killing everyone and winning the game to avenge his little sister. 
Megumi Sasahara 4.9 - I don’t have a lot to say about her percentage, since we never get to know her well. Her deals with ASU NARO to keep the shooting out of the news might have something to do with her wins. But shadiness was probably her downfall. 
Kazumi Mishima 3.0 - I think Mishima’s low percentage rating is due to his more passive nature and willingness to sacrifice himself. The others also see him as as suspicious due to his appearance, which gets him killed in the test trial. But as seen in Island Mode, he can have a willingness to attack others, like if he fights Touko for the boat. His intelligence and calmness probably kept him alive in the route’s he did win.  
Kanna Kizuchi 2.7 - I could see Kanna sacrificing herself for others, especially Sara, which is why her win rate is so low. I do like the idea of the greenblings having parallels the the Yabusame by Shin saving Kanna. It’s possible Shin made it to the end a few times and let himself become a doll to save her. Or Shin was able to manipulate the others into voting for her when she had the sacrifice card. Because Kanna is such a kind person, I don’t see her intentionally killing others. 
Gin Ibushi 1.3 - Gin gets stuck in a trap every chapter, so that’s almost certainly what kept killing him. But if he made it to the final vote, I think the others would be very apprehensive to kill him, which is likely how he won the few times. 
Shin Tsukimi 0.0 - While a few people have pointed out Shin might be so self sacrificial he would give himself up to protect the others, I disagree personally. His AI’s reaction when he dies, pretty much confirms even the kinder Shin wouldn’t want to die. And kind or not he still has an intense fear of death. I do like to think however, he’s responsible for Kanna’s 2.7 rate, because as seen in the second main game she’s the one person he’s willing to die for. I think the reason he dies so much is because he’s an easy target. He’s a very emotional person with no psychical strength. Even when he tries to lie he’s terrible at it, and stress makes him lash out and crumble. So I just don’t think his personality was built for a death game. He’s just the weakest link. 
Dolls
Naomichi Kurumada 9.9 - Early on in the game, Naomichi shows willingness to keep his allies at arms length and a willingness to win. Which is how he kept living. But after seeing the more selfless side of him in 3B, I can easily see how he’d keep loosing to Sara or the others. Much like Q-Taro there are plenty of scenarios, where he’s selfless, which leads to his death. 
Shunsuke Hayasaka 8.2 - Very simply, I think his knowledge of ASU-NARO and how it functioned is what kept him alive so often. The times he died I would bet money on it being because the others found out about his connection and pulled a Kai, or he died protecting Gin from a trap. 
Anzu Kinashi 8.0 - Since she has such a high survival rate, I think no one saw her as a threat because...well she’s really not one. No one would be targeting her for their own survival like they would Keiji, Q-Taro, or Sara. Which means she slips under the radar and isn’t the groups first or even 19th priority to kill. Ironically this probably lead to her accidentally winning the game a good chunk of the time. 
Mai Tsurugi 7.5 - Mai stabbing Q-Taro is a perfect explanation for why her win rates so far. She’s willing to go very far to survive. But as also shown, Mai can be a very caring person. Which is probably why she lost so often. Kind of a personal headcanon that she had her own vending machine ending in the test AI to parallel with Q-Taro. 
Ranmaru Kageyama 5.3 - Ranmaru died so often likely because of his loyalty to Sara. That probably screwed him over more than a few times. But he does manage to win a decent amount of times. He’s willing to kill people if pushed, and would want for the others to vote for him with the sacrifice card if it meant escaping for Sara. I do think they had a close bond in most routes, because Ranmaru became very infatuated with her very quickly. 
Hiniko Mishuku 1.1 - The real Hinako wanted to die, as she told Rio Ranger. So she probably wasn’t trying to hard to survive. The few times she did win, I’m guessing the others voted for her when she had the sacrifice card, because they assumed she was lying about having the card in a ploy to die.  
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elareine · 4 years ago
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Tim realizing that since Jason has been in the pit, Jason is always cold. He cant get warm. Tim throws himself into working this out, there has to be something to warm Jason.
Hi, anon, thank you for your patience. I… took the sappy route with this. Since this got longer than 1k, I posted it on ao3, too.  
Attempt One
“How’re you doing?” 
Tim eyes the bundle in front of him critically. Jason dropped by his safe house thirty minutes ago, teeth chattering after an encounter with Mr. Freeze, and he only looked marginally better. The chattering stopped; that can be a good sign or a very bad one. 
Jason gives him a weak grin. “Alright. No danger of turning into an icicle any time soon.” 
Hmm. Tim will see that for himself. 
When he moves, Jason lifts a hand in protest. “Hey, no—“ 
Tim completely ignores Jason’s protests—he’d feel worse about it if it wasn’t the only way to handle injured Bats—and sticks his hand between the isolation blanket and Jason’s neck… just to flinch back. “Holy shit!” 
“Nah, it’s—“
“It’s hypothermia, is what it is!” Whatever bullshit is coming out of Jason’s mouth, Tim is not listening. “You’re going into shock! We gotta get some extra heat in here, or maybe actually call the hospital; I’m not equipped for this—“ 
Jason’s hand closes over his mouth. Tim gives him a second to remove it, then he licks it. 
Jason just grins. “As I was trying to say: It’s always like that. My body temperature never went back to normal after daying.” 
“Nnr?” 
“Never.” Jason shrugs. He looks completely unbothered in a way that leaves Tim incensed. That’s just stupid. Did Jason just accept the fact that he’s in constant discomfort as if that’s not a thing there should be—should be—multiple solutions to, what the fuck. Tim is gonna fix this, so God help him. 
Tim is so busy coming up with 315 possible solutions that he even forgets to bite Jason’s hand for a moment. 
(Only a moment, though. “Ouch!”)
Attempt Two
“I’m not sure how you think piling more blankets on me will help me raise my core temperature.” 
“Of course it’s not.” 
Jason raises an eyebrow at the three blankets currently on top of him. “Right. Silly of me.” 
Tim rolls his eyes. Men. So ungrateful. “Your core temperature is obviously affected. That’s why I brought heating blankets.” Many, many heating blankets. Jason ends up looking somewhat like a disgruntled duck by the end. Tim has pictures to prove it. 
Thirty minutes later, Tim takes Jason’s temperature. Still way, way too low for a human. He sighs. That would’ve been too easy, huh. 
“You know,” Jason waggles his eyebrows, “there’s a rather more traditional way of warming up under the blanket.” 
Tim swats his head. “Keep it in your pants.” 
“Even if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be able to tell under all these blankets,” Jason tells him mournfully. 
Tim decides that retreat is the better part of valor. For today. Just until he can stop imagining what Jason could do to… warm up.
Attempt Three
“A hot bath.” 
“A hot bath.” 
“…you think I haven’t tried that?” 
No. No, actually Tim doesn’t, and his expression must adequately convey that cause Jason throws his hands up. “Okay, no, I haven’t, not really. My place isn’t that fancy.” 
“It certainly doesn’t have this tub. Now shoo, get out of these clothes.” 
“Why, darlin’, you only ever had to ask.” Without ceremony, Jason pulls off his shirt, then begins working on his belt. “Alright, tell me: What makes this tub special?” 
“From observation, I conclude that your resistance to high temperatures has also increased,” Tim begins in an excellent mad scientist voice, just to drop it right after. “Or you wouldn’t be able to wear that fucking jacket in summer. So I engineered a tub that will slowly heat up to a temperature just above 50 degrees Celsius.” 
“I sure hope so,” Jason grumbles as he climbs in, unabashed in his nudity, “cause right now it’s really fucking cold, babybird.” 
Funny cause Tim thinks it’s definitely getting hot in here. 
Hoping his face doesn’t heat up—haha—, he looks down at his phone and activates the heat settings on the tub. “At least,” he says thoughtfully, “we don’t have to worry about accidentally causing a heart infarct or anything like with normal freezing victims. I think.” 
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 
“We’ll take it slow, anyway.” 
Almost two hours later, Jason’s skin is red and wrinkled and covered in glitter from Tim’s bath bomb. He’s still cold to the touch. 
Attempt Four
“Tea? Really?” 
“You like tea.” Jason has been hanging around Tim’s place often enough that the younger man knows. (If there’s a corner of the top shelf just dedicated to Jason’s favorite blends, well, they don’t talk about it.) “And anyway, this tea is special.” 
Jason put down the cup. “Tim.” 
“Yes?” 
“Tell me you didn’t get this from Ivy.” 
“I didn’t get this from Ivy,” Tim recites just a little too dutifully. Truthfully, he hasn’t—it’s of his own creation in the lab—but seeing Jason squirm is just too funny. 
“The things I do for you, babybird,” Jason sighs and exes about half of it. When nothing obviously terrible happens, he drinks the rest in small, careful sips. 
“Nothing?” 
“A hint of chamomile—I get that one, soothing—and… bergamot?” 
“Yeah, that’s your favorite, right?” Tim’s taking down notes and is only half-listening. “How do you feel? Any warmer?” 
When Jason doesn’t reply right away, Tim does look up. “Jay?” 
The older man has a slight smile on his face. “A little warmer, yes.” 
Tim brightens and jumps up. Jason lets him stick the thermometer under his tongue without any objection. Tim is a little disheartened when it climbs up to 33°C and stays there, again, though he tries to stay focused on the positives: “I guess it’s a start, though. After all, the perception of warmth is just as or more important than the objective temperature.” 
“Uhuh.” 
“Also, you didn’t turn green, so that’s good.” 
“Tim!” 
Attempt Five
“Okay, if this doesn’t work, I don’t even know anymore.” 
“Please tell me you’re not hooking me up to electrodes.” 
“Sorry, that’s too dumb a lie even for me.” Tim is about to demand that Jason takes his shirt off again—an unfortunate side effect of this type of experiment, really, how terrible that he has to ogle those pecs and abs again—when he pauses. “Wait. Is that… a bad thing?” 
Which is terrible phrasing for Is this something that was used to torture you? but Jason seems to get it cause he shakes his head. “Nah, just didn’t know you’re into that.” 
“I’m not!” Tim isn’t. 
…at least, he doesn’t think he is? There’s certainly something to be said about the inherent homoeroticism of applying gel to another man’s skin and attaching electrodes. He’s so caught up in the entire thing—and the way Jason’s muscles jump and twitch when Tim applies his own brand of stimulant ray to them—that he doesn’t notice how quiet Jason is, too. 
However, in the end, the thermometer still reads 33°C. 
“Fuck,” Tim mutters. “I really thought I had it.” 
“Guess I can put my shirt back on.” Jason makes no move to do so. 
“Yeah.” Tim is looking at his notes again, trying to figure out where he went wrong. His joking words at the beginning aside, there are still options, avenues for him to pursue. It’s just that these are the most promising ones, and Tim can’t bear the thought of failure. The idea that Jason will just—will just have to live like this, forever cold and disconnected—
He lifts his face when he hears Jason putting his shoes and jacket on. “You don’t have to leave. I can still—“ 
“Nah, it’s fine. There’re only so many sex jokes I can make before even I can take the hint,” Jason sighs. “Thanks, though, Tim. I really appreciate the effort.” He turns toward the window. 
It takes 4.7 seconds for Tim’s brain to catch up with that, and then another 2.4 for it to convince his body to move. 
“Jay! Wait!” 
The Solution
The afternoon sun throws golden rays into their bedroom. Tim can feel her rays tickle his face, his eyes, so he turns further into the embrace that’s been offered to him all night. Jason doesn’t wake up, just snuffles out a slight snore and pulls Tim half on top of him as if his boyfriend is some sort of overgrown teddy bear. 
Tim snuggles into the crook of Jason’s neck contently. In his opinion, there’s no better place to be: His lover underneath him, chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, warm and alive and here for Tim… 
Wait. 
Warm. Jason’s warm. 
Tim scrambles up and frantically reaches for his bedside, where the damned thermometer has a place of pride after the last time he got sick, and Jason returned the favor by taking his temperature every five minutes. 
“Babybird…?” Jason’s voice is rough with sleep. Tim feels a little bad about waking him up, but: !!!! 
The thermometer climbs. And climbs. When it stops, it reads 36°C degrees. 
“That makes absolutely no sense,” Tim whispers, awed. 
“Nope,” Jason agrees amiably. “You’ll figure it out, though. Can I have some more snuggles first?” 
On the one hand, Tim is dying to look this up in the literature and maybe talk to someone who knows Lazarus Pits better. This doesn’t make sense scientifically, so there has to be some magic involved, right? Perhaps the pits are more into metaphors than they thought, or—there are so many possibilities, and Tim can’t wait to explore them. 
On the other hand… Jason’s looking soft and warm, opening his arms for Tim, and he’s smiling. It’s no contest, really. 
Tim presses a kiss to Jason’s cheek and sinks back into his embrace, scientific pursuits forgotten. 
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the-descolada · 3 years ago
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Penny and Winter as Symbolic Human Machines
So honestly, I’m really impressed by how well done the ending of RWBY Volume 8 was with regard to character arcs being fulfilled, especially for Penny and Winter. I’ve seen a lot of takes, some that I somewhat agree with, and some that I just don’t, that Penny’s death was “bad writing,” and I think that, subjectivity of what constitutes bad writing aside, this is ignoring a lot of aspects of V7/V8 that made for a very compelling narrative, and feels heavily based in just people wanting Penny to not have died.
And I get this! Penny is one of my favorite characters and I’m very sad that she died; however, I really actually loved how fitting her death was for her story and the broader story of RWBY as a whole, so I wanted to do a write-up of my whole rant on this so that people could read it and see my thought process for why this only made me love Penny’s writing more. I’m not necessarily going to ascribe value to the writing itself in this analysis, as that is highly subjective, but I am biased so that’ll shine through some.
V7 through V8 had a lot of moments that frankly I hadn’t picked up on right up until the end that worked to build a dynamic interplay between Penny and Winter’s characters. Specifically, Penny's role is of a literal robot becoming less of a machine in the thematic sense and more of a person throughout, contrasting with Winter, who, while she is helping Penny realize herself as more of a person and less of a tool, is going through the opposite experience herself. This is essentially textual - it’s explicitly said by Winter herself in less words during the Maiden power transfer scene in V8E14.
When we as the audience reconnect with Winter at the start of V7, she is firmly entrenched as Ironwood’s confidante and second-in-command, serving as a face of the Atlas military as it squeezes Mantle. It’s safe to say that not many Mantle citizens like her very much, but she is insulated from this and continues to follow orders without regard for the welfare of the people. Ironwood at this point is already extremely authoritarian, even though he hasn’t graduated to full on dictatorship and declared martial law yet, and his will is also imposed on her through bringing her into the fold with the chief purpose of grooming (god this word feels grossly fitting given their dynamic) her to become the next Winter Maiden.
Winter, despite holding a a significant level of power and authority due to her military rank, has very little agency in this decision. She insists that her choice to take up the duty as Ironwood ordered is something she’s grown into and chosen, but it’s alarmingly clear that this is not the case; nearly every action she takes in V7 is still fully in the purview of Atlas (read: Ironwood)’s goals. I would go so far as to suggest that Ironwood giving her this position within the military after she escapes her father’s influence is intentionally conditioning her to view him as the sole way out of an abusive situation, and to disguise the fact that this new situation is just as abusive as the first below the surface.
Penny’s role in V7 is completely in opposition to this; while she is still theoretically under the control of the Atlas military, she is presented as the Protector of Mantle and seems to be beloved by the people. Our immediate image of her in Atlas is one of emotion and caring; she is overjoyed to see her friends from Beacon again, and this continues throughout the volume as she talks about what it means to be a person with them, Ruby and Winter especially. When things start going wrong and she is accused of killing people through the doctored footage from the rally, she is horrified at the prospect of being seen as a monster and continues to make every decision with the aim of protecting everyone around her, even at the expense of what her “duty” to Atlas might be. It’s clear that she is growing into her own agency, rather than being beholden to what Ironwood wants for her, and this helps prove to herself that she is her own person, not simply a tool of the military, not a machine.
The climactic scene of V7 takes these two character arcs running in strained parallel and drives a wedge between them, even as they battle a common enemy side by side. Winter’s devotion to Atlas (read: Ironwood) results in self-destructive tendencies, uncaring for her personal survival if it would further a goal that she ultimately and ironically does not truly believe in. Penny, however, begins to entirely shake this duty, risking even the Maiden power going to Cinder if it means saving Winter from dying. To her, personal feelings (ding ding ding!) and personal friendships mean more than duty to a state, or even (as we see later) her own well-being. Self destructive tendencies aside, this loyalty to people she earnestly cares about, who earnestly care about her, is loaded with symbolism that separates her from the metaphor of machine.
The result of the V7 finale reinforces the track the two of them are on; Winter, having been molded into a machine of the military, fails in her duty, while Penny, who has begun to recognize herself more and more as a person, succeeds at keeping the power from Cinder. She still has a massive amount of self-doubt and deep-seated fear that she doesn’t count as a person, but the Maiden power, being the perfect thematic symbol of “maidenhood”, goes to her, proving her to be a “real girl” and reinforcing the ongoing narrative. Winter, battling her own mixed feelings over being chosen for the power, never questions this; it’s clear that she, too, recognizes that Penny “was always the real Maiden, while [she] was the machine.” This also reinforces Penny’s narrative being heavily trans-coded, but I think that’s pretty obvious and doesn’t need to be reiterated. The two of them part sides here, one remaining with the Atlas military and one actively rebelling against it.
As Ironwood starts going off the deep end at the end of V7 and throughout V8 and starts sacrificing everyone around him to fuel his own narrow and tyrannical view of how to save Atlas, Winter simply...falls in line. She is continually forced to follow harsher and harsher orders, and any choices she makes as part of that, with only two exceptions, still are entirely in service to Ironwood. She has become, in essence, a machine locked into a set path, a path she, conflicted as she may be, follows all the way up to a choice she cannot abide - mass murder. Even orders that would result in her sister’s closest friends’ deaths she follows unquestioningly - it’s unclear whether she would have actually gone through with it, since the option is taken off the table by forces outside her control, but she certainly says as much in her conversation with Marrow. Only the prospect of annihilating the entire city of Mantle finally snaps her off the track Ironwood has set her on, making her recognize that all of this has never been for Atlas at all, but for Ironwood’s own ego. Fittingly, finally seeing Ironwood as her enemy and not a savior, she is tasked with taking him down herself.
Contrasting this, Penny’s role in V8 is entirely one of rebellion. The entire volume is her building her agency more and more, making decisions based on what she thinks is right and what she values. She rarely listens to any one person telling her what to do; even her father, who she loves dearly, isn’t able to make her do something when her sense of justice is on the line. Ironwood no longer has his hold on her for the most part; any attempt at manipulating her into doing something against her own morals is met with defiance, supported by her friends’ love for her. She has to be outright hacked to be forced into doing his bidding, and she fights this all the way down, her own inherent personhood pushing back against this attempt to dehumanize her. In this sense, even her becoming organic symbolizes this; she and the people she cares about defy this dehumanization of her, finding a way to free her from the last remaining vestiges of Atlesian influence and further reclaiming her own agency.
And what does she do with that agency when she is faced with oblivion? She simultaneously affirms it by making her final choice in a desperate situation, defying Cinder’s attempt to rip her power away, and also gifts it in the form of the Maiden power to the woman who she is watching attempting to also shake the shackles of Atlas, symbolically showing Winter her own inherent humanity. This decision, though dire, is in recognition of what is most important to her: her friends. Even believing half of them are dead, she gives up her life to ensure the rest survive. In the final moment she has with Winter, she reassures her that she won’t be really gone: the memory of her choice and who she is as a person will live on through Winter’s continued choices, through her agency.
In the end, neither of them were machines; just two hurt people fighting back against a brutal world that sought to strip their agency away. The tragedy in this conclusion, that that brutal world took one of their lives away, is fought just as defiantly. Penny knows that gifting the power in her soul to Winter means that her death won’t be meaningless, that her agency will last beyond her mortality and might result in the world finally being freed from the threat of destruction. It’s because of hope, not despair, that she makes her final choice.
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