#i can bust one of these out in under an hour so they've been really easy to get done

[hypnapomparts]

two more YCHs for @blastflight and nomnomgoblin@bsky

[sunnydayjackass]

Hi can I get jack comforting his so after they found out they were lied to about why their hours were cut? (Sorry if this isn't something you're comfortable answering. I'm just really angry about my hours being cut and then LIED about why)

I'm sorry I'm getting to this so infinitely late, as someone who got their hours cut so hard they had to get a new job (resulting in my absence amongst other fucked things) I feel you and hope these bring comfort and that things have gotten better since you sent this.

Cause look, hours being cut is shitty- that's an absolute given. And Jack's immediate response is to provide comfort and reassurance that "It'll get better, sunshine. It's only temporary, I'm sure." But low-key he's probably glad to have more time with you to himself. Until he sees the stress this puts you under. Unfortunately, Jack can't pay your bills, stock your fridge, keep the utilities on, ect. And it's those tangible things that drive him up the wall that he can't help that make him double down even harder onto doting on you and spoiling you with affections. Which is well and good, the comfort is nice for a while and his encouragement can help.

But you're still stressed.

And then, you're angry because you were lied to about it. Maybe you were told that "they just didn't have the hours to give" "things are tight right now" or whatever generic bullshit higher ups like to give. But you find out from a coworker that they've been working doubles, or someone reaches out to you because they desperately need a day off to get something done, whatever.

And like work place gossip is want to do, when you clock in for one of those shifts, someone tells you the real reason why you've been cut so hard.

And when they tell you, they tell Jack. Because when isn't he over your shoulder or attached to your hip? Not that they know. But y'all know.

And you're furious. Rightfully so. That someone could be so petty as to fuck with your money. Your livelihood. Especially after Ian up and left you to shoulder everything on your own. But where you're left to silently seethe, bite your tongue, and put on a fake smile to work even harder in the hopes that maybe they'll "award" you with more hours so your water isn't shut off...

Jack is oddly silent. Absent after you hear the news. Which, maybe that's not the worst thing because maybe he's been a bit of a distraction. So you don't think too much of it at the time, you have to focus up. So while you're toiling away, Jack is floating through the workplace. Looking for the name tag of the superior who was fucking with you, who stressed you out to tears, who made you so angry; he could feel it radiating off of you. And that simply won't do. Jack can't have that and won't stand for it.

It's in the evenings, when you're already fast asleep; either so worn out from scraping up what extra you can at work from your coworkers to busting ass on your actual shifts, or simply just so stressed you need rest- that Jack does what he feels is retribution.

He's heavy handed, we all know what Jack did to Nick and that was for asking you out. Someone who fucked with you to the point you were so upset? Shit. Said superior is mentioned in the news, for either losing their shit completely or dying in a particularly gruesome self inflicted way. It's a bit of a long game, at first it's to get your hours back up to where they need to be. And lastly, it's a lesson- even if the victim doesn't know it, to never fuck with Jack's precious sunshine. He'd do anything for you and while maybe he can't provide, he can certainly remove obstacles. Not that he tells you, no.

Jack is back every morning or incredibly late, plenty of time to curl his large form around you and hold you close. Whispering to you that he's taken care of the problem, he's taking care of you, how he adores you ever so much, and that you deserve the world.

Gossip and rumors swirl about, and while it's awful what happened, this new manager seems far more amenable to what you need in hours and scheduling. So you're back where you need to be, where needs are being met, bills are being paid, Jack is happy that you're happy-thats all he wants for you, sunshine.

Just make sure you don't take too much overtime, he might feel neglected❤️

[spaceofentropy]

It was supposed to be a quick thing, when I started writing it. Instead, my fic for the Harringrove Corner Pride Event grew and grew until it became the 38k-word story it is now.

My prompt was "Find me in the future" and what I offer you today is a story about time travel, paradoxes, pining, the fear of screwing up, and also monsters, titled

Time travel is real

On ao3

Rated E for blood, not sexy times

Pairing: Harringrove (but the last chapter is all Munver because I am a self-indulgent fool!)

Relevant tags: Time Travel AU; Canon Divergence; Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Blood and Injury; Homophobia; Internalized Homophobia; Protective Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper; Robin Buckley is a good friend; Fix-it fic (if by fix-it you mean I fuck things up even more and the body count is higher); Whump; Pride Parades; references to HIV/AIDS Crisis; Billy Hargrove tries to be a decent brother (results may vary); Karen Wheeler and the married ladies of Hawkins being creeps

Summary: It's the summer of 1981 and one of Billy's friend bets that Billy won't have the guts to go and spend five minutes talking with the naked weirdo that's hiding under the pier.
Billy's 14 and he has no idea of what consequences accepting that bet will have.

It starts like this:

"There's a weirdo under the pier."

From where he's propped against the wooden parapet, Billy stops letting his gaze float over the people walking by them on the pier and turns to look at Stab. The rest of their group does the same, all keeping their eyes politely away from Stab's busted lip and swollen cheek even as they look at him.

"As if the whole beachfront isn't full of weirdos every day," Jimmy Z. says in a dismissive huff.

Pudge and Lily nod, and she's already back to drawing little black toothy monsters on the green fabric of her shoes. There's a hole in the sole of her right shoe. She said her mom's waiting for her next weekly pay check to buy her a new pair. They've been waiting for the right pay check for two month.

Billy looks away and stomps down the jealous resentment over the fact that at least her mom seems to be the kind of parent that will never stop trying. Unlike his, or some of the parents of the others in their group.

"A different kind of weirdo," he hears Stab insist.

Billy does his best not to snicker when Jimmy F. eyes Stab with all the skepticism a five-foot-nothing kid can muster. Which is a lot, if your name is Jimmy Fernandez.

"Define different," Jimmy F. says.

"I think this one ran from an asylum or something like that."

"Like Roaming Maggie," Jimmy F. is quick to supply.

"No, different! This one doesn't have shit."

"So, like the poncho guy."

"No. He's naked."

"So, like Perv Guy last summer," Lily intervenes without even looking up, and Jimmy F. nods.

"No-ooooh!" Stab is getting closer to the end of his patience. "This one is not approaching anyone."

"Ok, so, like the high lady with the tattoos and the−"

"No, he's not talking to the sirens−"

"Kraken," Pudge says while exhaling a plume of smoke. "The lady with the orange bush said her talking to the kraken was what kept it from eating the pier."

Billy pulls a cig from his own pack as he tunes the diatribe out. There's a good chance they're gonna go on for hours. They've done it before. It's the first weekend of summer break and they still have fuck all to do: inane chatter is perfect for them to waste time but not money.

He likes when it's like this. When they can just sit around, or swim, or talk about shit that doesn't really matter. He likes when they can forget life is shit, parents are a mess, school's a drag, and the future is on fire. Nothing better than to let his friends' words wash over him and make the world seem a little less fucked.

He has just finished his cigarette, making sure to smoke every last bit of it, when he registers what Stab's saying:

"I bet Billy wouldn't."

"I wouldn't what?"

"Find the balls to go and talk to the weirdo under the pier."

[cosmicbash]

I saw this too late :’( but aren’t Em’s boobs in those pics just MWAH? Cant you imagine a very enthusiastic Kelly trying to convince Marshall to get a nipple piercing and mister grumpy grandpa Mathers just getting absolutely appalled and horrified by that request. Then maybe Colson finds him looking up online sex shops for nipple clamps.

(((I just found this sitting unposted in my drafts????? and its good?? so why didnt i ever hit post??))

Em's boobs just looked so squeezable 😩😩

I envy that guy who copped a feel after Em teased him over their neverending handshake.

If only that could be ME

Also you are NEVER TOO LATE to say ANYTHING about Ems tits in an ask. That IMMEDIATELY revives my artistic spirit. I need those tits like water bby and I know kells would too.

Also nipple piercing em is 😏🥴🥴

So. Ahem

TittyTitTittyTitTittyTitTransitionTit

They've been laying in Colson's bed bickering over it for at least a half hour. Their once content not!snuggling and casual body exploration falling apart completely in favor of an argument.

"Come on, just one little hoop-"

"Ha!"

"It doesn't even hurt that bad I swear babe-"

Marshall's next snort sounds almost gutteral with how hard he holds back another mocking fit of laughter. "Doesn't even hurt- yeah, cuz a literal needle jabbing through one of the most sensitive spots on my body to rip flesh out and make a hole is like playing patty cake-"

"Oh come on, when you word it all fucking extra like that of course it'll sound bad- look-" Colson knew feeling offended was a little stupid but he has never let being stupid stop him before. "If anyone between the two of us has a more accurate pain scale for piercings do you really think its the one that has a single set of pierced ears? Hm? Or maybe the dude with like a dozen-"

This time Marshall did laugh openly at him, tone shifting over to a properly annoyed one.

"Really? Your pain scale is super fucking skewed Colson! How many times this year did you smash literal bottles and shit over your head? Divebomb off a stage to bust your ribs? Sleep through nasty tattoo spots? Don't you dare try and act like I'm being a pussy over nothing."

It's out of Colson's mouth before he can stop himself. His childish selfish wants completely winning out in a "Pftt, well you totally are."

Regret wells up just as fast in him as the anger does in Marshall's eyes. His semi comfortable spot sat over the other man's lap rapidly upseated in a flurry of fast movement. "Fuck you."

"Fuck. Em, come on-" Colson knows when he's stuffed his foot in his mouth and this is definitely one of the worser times. He should have been more mindful of the tension already present, or of his partners ever denied sensitivity to such subject. But the match is lit under Marshall's fire now.

"Some of us don't have a pile of pills or gallons of alcohol to hide behind everytime we go out and fuck our body up some more you know-"

And there it is. The always accurate defensive jab off Marshall's sharp tongue.

It hurts more this time than Colson expects it to. Maybe because he knows he deserves it for pressing and trying to guilt trip the other rapper. And maybe because he knows by now he really should be getting his shit together so the other man doesn't have such an easy diss to throw his way.

To their credit though, he can see a flash of regret pass over Marshall's face too as soon as it comes out.

Not that it stops the brunette from getting dressed any further, or slows his obvious escape.

"I'm--" sorry. Colson can almost hear it. See the word curl and shape on Marshall's lips, but the anxiety further up in blue eyes prevents it. They both know it wont allow it to come out. So another exasperated noise does instead, hands flying up to rake through the rare hatless head before Marshall is moving again. Sweats yanked up and feet thankfully left bare.

"It's my fucking nipple you asshole."

And then he's gone. Out of Colson's room without another outburst. Off to lick his wounds or more so, allow Colson to lick his own.

A few months ago the blonde would have chased after, continued the shouting until it teetered on that scary ledge of physical, their fingers grabbing too tight at eachothers skin, fists shaking, anything to keep Marshall from leaving.

But now? He's learned enough to take note of the shoes in the corner of his room, the discarded kangol, wallet and keys neatly tucked away in the spare nightstand, and so many other little anchors locking Marshall down around the room. It's just space. Space needed to run and cool off somewhere else in the house, prevent a bigger fight. A smart skill Colson should really use more himself.

So he rolls himself over into the warm emptied spot on the bed and waits. Ego wounded and heart a little sore by his own fault.

It only takes an hour for Marshall to come back and even less time than that for Colson to file his horny nipple ring tugging dreams far far away in his mind. An argument decidely NOT for another day or at all if he knows whats best for them.

Keeping Marshall back curled in his bed is obviously whats best. It keeps that gnawing need to drink his sorrows away, and makes the world's edges feel less sharp.

He wants to apologize as soon as he hears the click of the bedroom door, but he manages to bite it back until sock padded feet are thumping softly across his carpet beneath the bed. A rough sounding "Sorry-" leaving his tongue before he even sees Marshall walk into his line of vision. It's the one thing he has on the other man, his ability to actually say the word first, without painful prodding. And he's not going to let go of it no matter how petty he wants to be.

"Don't." The older man is sighing, but in a soft way. It drags his eyes away from the wall finally. The relief he feels just seeing Marshall back standing there in his room quickly replaced by a blip of confusion.

He's got stuff clutched to his chest, a bottle of peroxide, wipes, some plastic packaging. And up further Colson can see how embarrassment is burning his cheeks pink above his dark beard. His expression twisted into one of discomfort.

"Well?"

"Well?" Colson feels even more confused. Marshall is acting like the little bottle in his hand might as well be a bouquet of apology roses and he can't for the life of him figure out why.

"You gonna fucking pierce me or not?" He's chewing the insides of his cheeks. Usually Colson finds this cute but his ears are still ringing from the question. Excitement racing through his veins like gasoline lit by a match.

It's not surprise he practically jumps off the bed. "For real?? For real, for real??" He has to be dreaming, he must've slipped right off into a depression nap at some point while Marshall was gone because there's no way the other man can be serious.

But he is. Hands discarding the clutter of alcohol wipes, peroxide, and clean packaged piercers needles on the bed like it's nothing. "If you're telling me you sat here running your mouth and can't put your money to it now then I'm seriously gonna smack you this time-" Marshall's huffing at him, hands a little shakey while he wrestles off his shirt. "I had to bullshit to your bassist that you were having a manic episode and wanted a new piercing to get all this shit so, don't think you're getting off scott free either. I'm not having those dudes speculate where I let you pierce me if they see you come down without a new one-"

"Oh my god-" Colson still can't grasp reality. He's never won an argument this hard against Em before. Usually his crazy ideas are just whacked back down with a bat. He almost feels like he should cry.

Marshall looks like he wants to as well, but for a different reason. His anxiety visible in the twitchy movements of his hands and the squint of his face. "Please don't tell me you toked your brains out while I was gone-"

"No!" That jerks Colson back to full functionality. His hands moving to grab at the items and heart racing like a horse in his chest. "I-- I just needed a minute to- fuck- to fuckin process that-- you're serious? You're really serious about doing this?"

"Getting less by the second."

God he wants to kiss him. And shit, he does, hand coming up to drag the older rapper down by his neck and seal their mouths together in a firm smooch. Grin breaking their lips apart when he just can't hold back his giggles anymore. "Holy shit, I'm so fucking excited-"

"Shut up." He can feel just how hard Marshall's own heart is galloping when he lets his hand drag down the man's chest after they part. Palm pausing over the hard punch against skin like a magnet. He's certain that's not excitement, which makes it even hotter.

The dudes terrified but still willing to go through with this to please him.

He's gonna suck his dick so hard after they're done. Hell, he'll shove him down on the bed and ride him until sunset. This is a bazillion times better than apology roses.

"You do, uh, know what you're doing right?"

Colson does NOT. But he grins and nods his head anyway. He knows how to give someone a piercing yeah, he's done tons of his own and other peoples. Through the nipple though? That's gonna be a first, but his other hand is already tapping away super fast and discreetly on his phone while he pushes Marshall down to sit in his emptied space on the bed. "I got you baby-" He's gonna wikihow his way through this before anyone changes their mind.

[ghostlyhamburger]

Husband Watches Miraculous: NY Special

[does this one have an actual name idk]

OK this is definitely after season 3 because of the box.

Why did they do a Marvel version of the theme? you can't tell me that's not inspired by Marvel.

Okay so they store the powerups inside the thing?

They really tried to go all out with the updated animations didn't they?

Her hair is actually black this time! it looks really good.

Okay that's the first thing that I saw that's super out of character.

Some of these things are textured really well but some are just not. Look you can see texture on her clothes, on the bricks, on the ground, and then BRIGHT GREEN TRASH CAN. It just makes no sense.

This is gonna be a long hour.

Why did they increase Marinette's bust size?

What the fuck was with the way that beard was moving? It's like they didn't want to move the anchor point on the bottom. They anchored it to his shirt is how they modeled it.

Why do they keep changing Marinette's hair color? Why is it darker in the school lighting?

I think I know why this seems so hard to place in the timeline. Its production seems to start at the beginning of season 3 but they definitely got the bible. So they just didn't see all the development Marinette had in getting over her obsession with Adrien over the season.

This whole little bit about Marinette's obsession doesn't need to be here if you've seen the series. Its purpose is only for those who haven't seen the series, which is unneeded because who's gonna watch just for this? It's not a movie. if I skipped the next fifteen seconds nothing would be missed.

When has New York ever been considered romantic? I guess if they watch a lot of American Hallmark movies? But New York is dirtier and dingier than Paris.

They actually made Gabriel look good in this. Like I get how he's supposed to be a silver fox type. He's got a bit too much Justin Bieber face for me, but the hair works for him. I can see how he'd become a celebrity in Paris.

"I'll be keeping an eye on him." If Adrien was a sentimonster under his control, he wouldn't need to keep an eye on him. He could just keep track of him with the miraculous. Like, Mayura was able to track Feast.

Also why is Nathalie in the bed? didn't they fix the peacock? Oh wait she was still super weak and life force isn't easy to regenerate once it's been drained like that.

Oh they've got best girl here.

I think I already see where the entire plot of this special is going. She's gonna be upset at Chat because he's not gonna be there when a sentimonster attacks and she's gonna be upset and debate giving up her miraculous because that's been the theme of the episodes lately and the American heroes are going to somehow be bitches.

[We're only 10 minutes in.]

Gorilla doesn't like planes.

All right so it's not going to work because it's not a sentimonster alert.

How is the eagle going to help you beat Ladybug and Chat?

Marinette, just know when to stop talking, please.

Again, a nice little moment that would be really good.

5 seconds on the plane and she's basically assaulted someone.

Nice use of symmetry and mirroring each other.

Marinette is not having a good day.

Why did they give her such an ass in that shot?

That's actually a pretty good moment.

No. Alya no.

I do like how they call out their weird animation quirks of like. Marinette arms. It's fun.

A convict with a jet engine?

So normal magical and villain type things exist already.

Okay that is just Superman. That's just Superman outfit and Superman theme.

Another thing I don't like is all the infodump. There's a better way they could've introduced Uncanny Valley than Alya's random exposition. She was answering the question of the audience without being prompted to. And it throws me off.

"It's time to show these American heroes how French heroes do it!" NO. NO.

He's not a superhero. That was his entire bit. Also what's he gonna do, endanger everyone by opening up the emergency hatch? You have no superpowers, you have no gadgets, what possibly are you going to do here?

As an introduction, I like this.

It's like they wanted three teachers, one to be nice, one to be crazy, one to be strict, and then they shoved two of them into one character. It doesn't work.

Hot Dog Dan? So he's ... a hot dog vendor?

All right, the dancing is a cute little callback.

Okay I like the new animation style, the very American comic book. but can no one just leave Marinette and Adrien alone? Let them just be awkward together!

Can we get to the catastrophic failure that will lead into the less lovey-dovey shit?

So they're trying to say Lafayette was a holder?

Is that one of the self driving Tsurugi cars?

Wait we've seen the akuma butterflies phase. Why is there no consistency in the rules?

"There's artifacts left by people who unveiled the statue" So there's a miracle box there, right?

Solitude is just Mr. Pigeon!

Doc Ock. Huh. With replication abilities.

Door powers are actually pretty cool.

Now it's finally getting good! Can always count on Hawkmoth to interfere in the right way.

So why is Hawkmoth going after the sabre when the claw thing is very clearly the Miraculous?

Ahh. That's why.

They're still being quite efficient even though they're pissed at each other.

[Aeon is cataclysmed] You have a miracle bomb! It can literally reset people!

That is the smart decision. They don't know each other's identities. Also the American heroes don't have the authority to do that!

I dunno I feel like the reset should have gone through to the other area. When villains have changed in the middle of the episode the reset still works. And when there was the copycat Ladybug she used that one's lucky charm to do a reset bomb. So I call bullshit on that. Also I don't think Paris is still destroyed when we come back to it. So...

"If Uncanny Valley hadn't been a robot I would've caused irreparable harm." Except people have literally died, disintegrated into nothing, converted into energy, and brought back with no issues. So no, it's not irreparable harm. And this is so heavy handed!

The emotional flip flopping here is not great.

[hearing Liiri's ability] That's an incredibly busted ability. Her power is literally limit break.

Why are they having this argument right next to the French students? That just seems stupid.

Let's just steal a bike! oh, safety first

"Adrien I love you" Okay that's just cruel to the people who were watching this.

Yep that's actually what I was expecting.

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY GUNS? Oh right America.

I really like Jess and Aeon's characterization.

Okay I like the skateboard.

This should've just been a movie. It would've been better with time to do all the stuff going on.

Okay that's a neat little trick.

Why does this one hour episode have more musical types than the entirety of the game that came out?

[Ladybug hugs Chat] Okay that was a really cute moment.

Oh is he just gonna launch nukes at everything?

Trading cards, really?

Yeah see Paris is repaired already

"At least let me see what's inside the safe!" It's a miracle box. it's gotta be, right?

I like [Eagle's] outfit.

Was she gonna toss a piano at a pigeon? [Haven't you wanted to do that?] Yeah...

To the sun? To the sun.

Throwing things to the sun is also a Superman reference.

Why do you need more Miraculous? You only need two, and they're not going to help you, you don't have anyone to give them to!

Paris was not like that when they were visiting.

Okay. This should've just been a three part special episode. It tried to shove so much in so little timeframe and over half the thing was just pointless grandstanding about the stupid will they won't they. And I bet that while people loved that Adrien I love you moment, he couldn't fucking hear it and that's the only thing we're gonna get 'cause fuck these producers.

If the pacing was the same throughout, it would've been really good, but it came out of nowhere to the point where they turned up the speed of people speaking to fit it in. A lot of things got super rushed through and I really wanted to see more of it but I know I'm never going to because the producer of Zag sucks!

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, Day Five, Chapter 20

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(First House icon) In which... where does one start?

CROWN PLAYS HER PART—THE SAINT OF DUTY(1)—PALAMEDES COMES CLEAN(2)—THE SADDEST GIRL IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD—NONA WATCHES A DUEL—THE CONVOY—PAUL GETS BORN(3)—ONE LAST TRIP—TWENTY-FOUR HOURS UNTIL THE TOMB OPENS.

Nona isn't sure what's been a dream. She wonders if she's just about to get her day started. Unfortunately, that's not the case. She wakes on the floor with something warm over her, and Cam's jacket rolled into a pillow under her head. When she turns onto her side, her vision swims, and she's sick into a wastebasket that Cam had ready. No, Pal.

She slowly comes to recognize the meeting room at the BOE facility, as Pal examines her vomit, looking troubled.

Nona asks if they're alone. Pal says, not for long, and he needs to make sure she's alright. Nona asks if the bullet came out, but Pal says he had to remove it himself. Nona is almost too afraid to ask about Hot Sauce, but Pal says they let her leave. Then the BOE brought them here, and he fixed Nona under supervision, then they locked them up separately.

“Which made me mad.” “Which made you mad.” Nona said tentatively, “I made a big mess, didn’t I,” and Palamedes said briskly— “They should have bloody guessed. Every mistake they’ve made with us stemmed from a complete lack of trust—a cowardice and an unwillingness to let us in on the game. And now that I know what I know … or think I know(4) … But, Nona, what’s more important is that I make sure everything in your body works, because if you’d been a normal human being we would be planning your funeral.”

Nona says it's fine, she only got angry. Pal swings around the conversation and asks Nona if she saw the whole broadcast, if she recognized anyone. Nona admits, the girl in her dream. Pal gets angry that Nona didn't tell him or Cam, and Nona says they didn't ask.

Pal says they've trained her to tell them this sort of information immediately, but Nona says there were other things to think about just then, and she didn't want to get in trouble.(5) Pal says they've never got her in trouble, and she says she wants to keep it that way!

Nona says Pal shouldn't talk calmly and responsibly when he surely really wants to beat her with the broom in his anger. Pal says he and Cam would never use the broom, which comforts Nona momentarily, then he adds she wouldn't feel it. But he is so angry that if he and Cam didn't love her so much, they'd take turns throttling her and donate her magazines to charity.

Palamedes had never said the word love before. More than anything—even the idea of her beloved magazines going to charity, as though others were more deserving than Nona, the most deserving person on the planet—this broke her.

Nona tells Pal she thinks she only has a few days to live.(6) Pal touches her, not to throttle her, and asks her to stand a certain way so he can check her out, magically speaking.

After, he's astonished: she's shedding thalergy, like she's eating her own reserves, even though she's been eating food. Her soul is trying to leave her body. Nona protests, she likes her body!

“It doesn’t matter about liking,” said Palamedes. “What’s happening to you is why I can’t be in Camilla’s body for more than a handful of minutes, Nona. If I stay too long I start trying to make inroads on her soul—I start trying to bed down and put up new wallpaper and displace Camilla, for all that we’ve tried to make sure that doesn’t happen. At the same time, Cam’s body tries to reject my soul, like when you try to blink dust out of your eye. But your body would never try to reject its own soul … unless it didn’t recognise it. Unless your soul was a stranger’s … or a melange. Is that the gestalt theory busted—or confirmed? Is that how we explain the rapid healing?”(7)

Nona says she doesn't mind dying, she's not scared. Pal says, "with a voice like concrete", that he will not be party to this again.(8) Nona doesn't like that voice, and apologizes. Pal says it's not her fault, her body belongs to someone he owes a favour, and he wants to see her face when he returns it. And then, too, losing the body means losing the soul, and they still don't know who she is, and he needs to preserve all elements of this equation.

Nona asks Pal to tell her his theories on who she is. Pal says they never wanted to lead Nona to try to be something she wasn't. Nona asks if that matters anymore. Pal isn't sure, which frightens him.(9)

Nona begs Pal to give her the tiniest of knowledge, please, so she doesn't die of curiosity. Pal says that's not funny, but relents. If she's one of the two people they thought, and her soul is trying to leave her body because it doesn't belong, she can't be the one who owned the body in the first place. She could be the other, or she could be both of them, together. Nona is confused, there's only room for one of her inside herself.

Pal says Lyctors can, or thought they could, even though they were really just "half-dead cannibals." He thinks a true Lyctorhood is a mutual death, the rebirth of one new person from both dead souls, not "the Petty Lysis(10) of the megatheorem". He apologizes for rambling, and Nona hugs him, exactly the way Cam would, which he relaxes into immediately.(11)

Soon, he asks if Nona remembers the girl in the broadcast who wasn't an obviously dead man with fancy hair. Nona says yes, she remembers the redhead. Pal says that's the other body she might have come from, named Gideon Nav. They need to get her to that body, if they can. Nona firmly does NOT want to be redheaded, or a necromancer, or a prince.

Nona asks if she's a zombie. Pal says anyone born in the Houses would be considered a zombie here, but he's the only true one, with his necromancy. Cam and Pyrrha would be considered minions. Nona says it's no wonder she was kicked out of the gang. Pal says Hot Sauce is a very troubled young woman living on pure nerve for so long… but she'll regret her actions someday.

Pal sits down and grimaces, and Nona looks at his shackle for the first time. He explains it's explosive, in case he tries to do anything without permission and supervision. Nona hates being locked up, and Pal says he thinks so did Gideon.

When there's a knock at the door, Pal says to tell Cam they need to talk ASAP, and to remember that he will get back to Nona and he will not let her die on his watch. Nona doesn't want to lie to him, so she's grateful that Cam's eyes change back to the solid grey that mean Cam is back in control. The knock sounds again, and Nona says to come in.

We Suffer enters, without the mask and the disguise. Nona is surprised, but We Suffer says they're beyond the need for them, at this point. Nona demands to know why they were tied up, why she was shot at, where the Angel is, and have they found Pyrrha.

We Suffer apologizes for the comedy of errors, and Nona thinks We Suffer would be pretty if Nona weren't in such a mood.(12) We Suffer continues that the bonds may seem unfair, but they gave everyone quite a shock with all that violence. Still, her faction may not come out in the red for their actions. Nona registers not a bit of the detail and asks who the Angel, or the Messenger, is? We Suffer refuses to tell anything but that they are Blood of Eden, and it wasn't a good idea to keep them and Nona's family so close together.

At any rate, We Suffer is in charge of the next move. Cam asks what that means, and We Suffer says, that they need Hect. She says, they can take the shackle off. We Suffer assures her that it will happen as soon as she can arrange it. The troops need information to be spun to accept it, especially after the day's reveals. Nona wants to get angry again, but Cam gives her a look to cool it.

We Suffer gets a notification, and says "she" is in place. Cam's expression hardens, and she asks WS to pull "her" out. WS says "she' volunteered, and is maybe the only person for whom this would not be a suicide mission. Cam says WS has been played, and Nona feels weak. WS gives her a cool bottle of water, and Nona presses it to vital areas to cool down.

After some more banter, Cam crosses the table to WS and takes on one of Pal's poses, trying to invoke his wisdom and confidence, to tell WS that this is a trap, it will not get what WS wants, and Crown isn't coming back.

This was a lot for Camilla to say. Even We Suffer paused and furrowed her brow, and she said, “I cannot believe this girl would kill her own twin sister.” “Kill her?” said Camilla.(13)

We Suffer's device beeps again, and the mission begins. Cam begs them to pull Crown, because she can't lie to her sister, but WS gives it only a moment's consideration before getting back to giving orders to the team in place.

Nona takes a drink of water as the audio from Crown starts to roll in. Crown makes her way to what must be the entry of the barricaded House forces, admits her identity, and begs entry. The forces on duty are reluctant, but Crown begs them to get Ianthe to confirm. There's a long pause.

Then Crown drew the longest breath that Nona had ever heard anyone draw. “Corona,” called out someone new. Nona had heard that voice once before, on the broadcast. Footsteps, evolving into running feet. Something hit Crown with a big thump. A mess of sounds—clothes rustling, a sobbing, the audio squeaking as it tried to keep up—and Crown, sounding unlike any Crown that Nona had ever heard before, two voices trying to speak at once:(14) “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me.” “Shush-a-shush, my darling. Shush. Shhh. Here we are. We’re fine. I’ve got you, love.”

There's some chat as Ianthe confirms she's piloting Babs's corpse from afar, and it is very much a corpse. Crown asks how could she, but also says she missed Ianthe so terribly, begs her to be real.(15) After some more banter, Ianthe asks Corona to come inside so they can talk. Crown hesitates, and then a car door opens, and Ianthe doesn't bother to hide her revulsion as she asks if Crown is kidding. Crown says "she" needs Ianthe's help. Judith is revealed, and Crown asks if Harrow told Ianthe. Ianthe is more concerned with when Crown talked to Harrow.

Still, Ianthe refuses to help, even with Crown's pouting. Not Judith Deuteros, at any rate, nobody gives a fuck about her.(16) She tells Corona that back home, their shared birthday is a holiday now, nobody congratulated Ianthe on her Lyctorhood, they just memorialized the loss of Coronabeth. Ianthe nearly died laughing.

Crown asks Ianthe to explain what happened, to Ianthe herself, and to Gideon. Ianthe is almost surprised Crown remembers her name, but Crown says she was on a shuttle with her body for ages, she wants to know what happened.(17) Ianthe says there's much to explain. Crown asks if Ianthe will let her inside, and Ianthe says that's up to Crown.

Ianthe reveals she knows about the microphones broadcasting from Crown's earrings, and "he" said it would be earrings or necklace.(18) She asks Crown to nod if they're listening right now.

There was no answer: none that Nona could see. Camilla’s head had lifted entirely. We Suffer was saying into the earpiece, “Do not line it up.” “I understand,” said the voice. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not mad at you. He told me what you were.” Something happened. The speaker crackled, and the second voice got much louder, like they were talking right into the receiver.

Ianthe says she's pleased they gave her sister back, so she won't destroy the planet nobody really cares about anyway. She doesn't even really care about the BOE, they're not the real enemy no matter what they think.(19) She wants every House asset in their possession, the Sixth House Oversight Body, Camilla Hect, and most of all she wants Harrowhark Nonagesimus intact. She tells Crown not to cry, they were silly to think Crown could fool her.

Crown begs that "you" not touch Deuteros, and Ianthe thinks she's talking to her, but Cam recognizes that she's still communicating to the BOE. Cam tells WS not to have her snipers take the shot, as Ianthe may or may not be moving Crown and Judith into the building.

Over the line, Crown’s voice suddenly changed. Her mouth had moved in some other direction.(2) She said, “Oh my God! No!” The other voice drawled, “Don’t freak out, darling. He’s a tame Lyctor … he won’t hurt you. He can’t really hurt anyone anymore. You and your little firebrands took him in as a pet, didn’t you? Well, I’m taking him back to Poppa as a gift … that is, if Poppa can look up from his mid-dismyriad crisis(21) long enough to pay attention.” A new and wonderfully familiar voice ground out, in tones that were unfamiliar— “Silence.”

Ianthe says she shan't, she's been John's only hand for six months and she's done with it. The voice argues about taking Judith in, saying she's "deadweight",(22) but Crown says she'll walk back out if they don't, and she won't go anywhere with… she hesitates before adding "him". Ianthe says fine, take Judith in as well, but "he" comes regardless. Crown asks if he told about Harrow and Cam. Ianthe says he told her everything.(23)

The new voice said impatiently, “Get the fishhook(24) out of the fish. Second earring. Right ear.” The last thing the audio recorded was a blurry “Ow,” and then the line went dead. Nona thrilled with recognition and relief; the new voice had been Pyrrha’s.

=====

(1) Huh, thought he was rather dead. Of course, he still is, it's just Pyrrha's infiltration game. "Tame Lyctor" indeed. (2) What's he been hiding? (3) Wasn't aware anyone was pregnant. Who do you think Paul is, if you don't already know? Certainly that's another strong biblical name. (4) What does he think he knows? Is it about Nona's identity? (Does he know who she is yet?) (5) Presumably, she thinks it would be for skipping out of school nearly alone, since they never let her go anywhere alone except staying at the school where there's protection. (6) The big secret she's been keeping since the beginning. (7) Running through all the theories as to who Nona could be. Does this agree or disagree with what he thought above, for point (4)? (8) Party to letting a friend die without intervention. He thought, no, he knew he could have helped Dulcie, the real Dulcie. Nona's state isn't Dulcie's blood cancer but Pal is driven to save lives, particularly those he knows. He can't sit by and let this happen again. Is there a single person in this universe without some trauma? (9) Not knowing things when you grew up literally in the House that does the fact checking and academic stuff will definitely do that to you. (10) Petty meaning inconsequential or insignificant, of course. Lysis is a Greek word for loosening, unfastening, untying, and is often used in science to refer to the breaking of a cell membrane. (For example, some antibiotics cause bacteria to grow faulty cell membranes, which break down/undergo lysis under normal operating conditions, causing the bacteria to die.) (11) He just misses her so much.

(12) Have you any theories on why Nona thinks everyone's pretty or handsome or attractive? How might those mesh with who you think she is, at this point? I find it very telling that the clarifier in the narration is Nona's mood, not We Suffer's objective features. (13) Cam knows the codependence. Crown isn't going in to die, she just can't help herself when it comes to her sister. (14) The Crown persona trying to still be Crown for the microphone feed to We Suffer, and old Coronabeth beneath, unable to help herself from peeking out again in the presence of Ianthe-as-Babs, is my guess. (15) This whole sequence is well worth rereading for yourself as there's such an intense vibe here, it's not just sisters coming back together, it's not just the instinctive feeling of home for seeing Babs, there's literally "I'll die if you don't touch me" stated at one point, it's massively erotic in a weird, wild, incestuous way that I just want to wrap myself in for a moment and think about the implications of. These should have been one soul, one flesh, and one end. (16) Certainly, nobody whose opinion Ianthe cares anything about. (That list is basically "Ianthe, and maybe Jod if he ever gets wrathful".) (17) This is probably the reason As Yet Unsent was republished on the Tor website. Without it, you can probably grasp the bare needed context from this line, but there's so much more nuance to it that you really benefit from after reading. (18) Jod, or someone else? Must have been, right, since we were led to assume that Mercy was misted irreparably and wouldn't be "he" anyway, and August seemed to have been left to fall into the stoma in the River, and G1deon was already dead by then. (19) If the BOE aren't the enemy, who is? Or, who does Ianthe think it is? The remaining RBs maybe? (20) A literal other direction, as if she'd taken off the earrings? Or a figurative other direction, the way Nona felt Crown was torn between being two people earlier? (21) John's having a bit of a troubled time, is he? Gosh, don't you want to know more? (Also, dismyriad appears to just be two-myriad, as in, 20 000 years, an arbitrary number chosen purely because of the convenience of being in the middle of such a hypothetical period of time of his reign. Like mid-life crisis, but for immortals.) (22) If you have an ebook, now's a good time to do a keyword search for "deadweight". If not, run back to the end of chapter 1, when Nona's reviewing the code words for the week. (23) Extraordinarily unlikely if Pyrrha was pretending to be G1deon. (24) Another codeword, this time from early in chapter 2. You didn't think those were for nothing, did you?

[knife-moth-mc]

With the music asks, I'd like to ask prompts: 1, 3, 11, 19, 23, 26, and 30!

1:A song you like with a color in the title

3:A song that reminds you of summertime

11:A song that you never get tired of

19:A song that makes you think about life

23:A song that you think everybody should listen to

26:A song that makes you want to fall in love

30:A song that reminds you of yourself

1: It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Bob Dylan, but specifically this version. I haven't formally posted my Haven music playlists anywhere (I will do that.... soon......) but this is one of the first songs on the arc 1 playlist. You can think of it as Anathema and C!Moth's meetcute song : P

3: The Beast of Pirate's Bay by Voltaire. A girl I went to summer camp with... gosh, at least a decade ago now--taught it to all of us since we didn't have access to music that wasn't us singing. I also learned about Homestuck and bisexuality from her, so, you know, pretty much all the good parts of my life I found originally through meeting her that summer. Wiki, if you're still out there, thank you.

11: I could be wrong, because I haven't known it that long, but I think I'm going to go with Blacksoul by Onya. I could say more about it but honestly just listen to it. It's beautiful.

19: God Fearing, Sea Faring Man by The Accidentals. I listened to the album this is from a lot back when I first stumbled onto it, and while I think the band has now largely disavowed it it remains very deep in my heart. This specific song has stuck with me especially, I think because there's a kind of... the word that's coming to mind is grace, it feels like there's a kind of grace to this song. It feels like a moment of clarity. If I had to claim the meaning of life was buried in any one song, I would pick this one.

23: I'm going to cheat here and say an artist, because so far as I know they only ever released a handful of songs, most or all of which I try to link people to every so often because they're not otherwise available. I'm talking about superedge, who was a fanmusician back in 2015 or so. I hope they're still creating somewhere, but they've left behind some of my favorite songs in the world and I'm grateful that I happened to find them when I did.

26: Ben Caplan's cover of Lovers' Waltz by A. A. Bondy. The original is also solid but something about Ben Caplan's version really particularly speaks to me. I think according to the lyrics this song is actually about dying together? Which makes this a weird choice I guess but it feels in a way comforting, and I think fits the prompt better, because I have lots of people I love! I don't need a generic love song! But this song feels deeper and more permanent, in a way that's at least as appealing as it is scary.

30: You know, I have a whole collection of books that are me; you'd think I'd have a collection of songs that are me. But I don't. I think I have a tendency to shift songs from me to my (or others') characters, or to strongly associate songs with the circumstances under which I first listened to them. I've been combing through my library trying to think of anything and I could make some cases but most of them are weak. So I'm going somewhere very personal and emotional, and I trust you'll understand.

When I was 17, I was in a really bad place. It was, I think, the worst year of my life bar none. I'll spare you the details, but one day after a really intense couple of weeks, I played nice until I was given back my ipod. The moment it was in my hands, I grabbed my bike and fled to the library. I cried the whole way there, and I listened to this song, The Bust from The New Albion Radio Hour by Paul Shapera. This wasn't the song I came to identify with at the time--that would be The Wasteland, from the same album--but to this day, I can't listen to it without remembering that scared teenager.

[busterheadspace]

For the prompt, maybe slammed into a wall or doesn't realize they've been injured would be good for Reagan inflicted by Robo-Reagan 👀? (This is just my excuse to see more robo rae fics)

Congrats! You’re the first one to request here . This turned more into an Andre and Reagan friendship story but RR is still there. Thanks! I did doesn’t realize they’re injured because slam into the wall.. is hard. I’m open to the prompts so send an ask

Busted Back

—-

You don’t realize the pain at first when a robot replication of you is about to screw with your date. After regaining consciousness, from being slammed into the wall, Reagan was focused on something else. Her robot clone taunting her about her social skills and dating life. A rush of adrenaline went through her as she escaped and grabbed a gun and ran to the Colosseum.

The gun ended up being useless as it was crushed by Robo-Reagan. She had to fight using fake dinosaur bones and a shovel from the exhibits. Unfortunately those ended up being tossed away and the robot grabbed Reagan by the neck, holding her against the wall.

“You really think you could have stopped me?” It taunted her. 

“You’re unstable! I have to put you down!” Reagan replies with a glare. Robo-Reagan said nothing as she prepared one of her eyes to shoot out a laser. The scientist threw a punch but it ended up with her hand being hurt. The robot rolled her eyes, turning a round and slamming Reagan into the floor

Her back was hit hard, barely registering it as Reagan’s adrenaline kicked and she ran. Knowing the Colosseum, she ran into the mineral rooms and amplified the giant magnet. The robot was pulled into it, malfunctioning and saying her final words before dying.

That took place in the evening and Reagan was ready to relax. After being rejected and cleaning up Bryan-Bot, she just wanted to lay in bed and go through the dating options that Alpha-Beta had shown her. None of them had really piqued her interest the more she looked into it, so Reagan decided to sleep with a heavy sigh.

—-

Three hours later, her alarm went off and she sat up to find the stupid arm. An ache shoots through her back, making Reagan wince. Shit. Must have been sleeping in a horrible position because it hurts. Whatever it was, she can ignore it and get dressed.

Taking off her orange sweater was actually harder than she expected. Pain shoots from her lower back to her arms, making her stop and hold her breath and then pulling it off her body. The gray collar shirt she usually tucked into her pants, made it much worse and ended up just leaving it out. 

—-

Arriving at Cognito, Brett had immediately greeted her and noticed that she wasn’t wearing her lab coat. How did she forget that? Her clothes were getting more greasy and stained now. She waved off as they headed to the War Room. To their surprise, JR was the only one inside. He smiled widely as he handed Brett and Reagan clipboards with all the departments in the building. 

“Inspectaction day!” JR said brightly, snapping his finger. “We need to see if any department needs to lose their budget or we need to fire anyone!” 

Reagan groaned and rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to walk around while her back hurts. Not to mention usually these inspections end up with her having to fix whatever problem occurring. Brett took half of the department while she took the rest.

The first department is no other than the Biochemistry Department. She knocks on Andre’s office and the door opens quickly. He seemed a little out of it but nonetheless he let her in. 

“Well you took a while.. but let’s get this over with. You see those Chemtrails-“

Listening to Andre talking about the experiments and the employees working, Reagan tried to write it down on the clipboard. However his office was dimly lit so she moved under a ceiling lamp, her back facing Andre.

“You got all that. Get rid of Michael and we still need a bunch of those chemicals. Okay Reagan! Okay!” His arm hung over her shoulder to balance. She didn’t exactly like the touch but she could tolerate it for a bit.

“Yes Andre. I got it already. . Can you let go of m- AUGH FUCK.” Andre tripped forward and into her back. The clipboard drops out of her hands as she swung around, the doctor falling onto the floor. He looked at her, a little surprise. Eyes squinting as he got up with a wobble

“Maybe it was the drugs… but holy shit. Your back is all purple..” Andre mumbled. 

“What..? You saw my back?! How?” Reagan said with a glare. 

“Your shirt went up when you spun..What happened?”

“How bad can it be?” 

“Do you really want to see it?” Andre said, grabbing his phone. Before Reagan could even respond, the doctor was already behind and lifting her shirt and snapping a picture. At first she was about to yell at him for grabbing it without her consent but then the photo was shoved in front of her. 

Oh. He wasn’t wrong. A big bruise that spread from the top to the bottom of her back. She grimaced. It did not look good. As she stared at the injury, Andre put a hand on the bruise making her yelp a curse.

“How did you even get it?” Andre asked again.

‘My robot boyfriend made a robot clone of myself that caused an explosion and I hit the wall. Then said robot slammed me into the wall.’ That was the first thing that came into her mind but it sounded really stupid. 

“I just got attacked. Machine malfunctions ” Reagan answers after thinking, pulling away, her hand smacking Andre. A quiet hiss coming from the quick movement

“Typical. I got some medication that could help you.., and maybe some ice too.” 

“It’s fine. I can make it through the day with this.” 

Andre shakes his head as he opens a drawer and tosses a bottle to Reagan before opening his freezer. It had “Fentanyl” on the label. 

“The fuck? Why the strongest painkiller?” 

“You’d be surprised how much it’s going to hurt you the next few days. Then again., you probably don’t care. Just take them. We’re making more.” Andre answers, grabbing ice and putting it in a ziplock bag. Then he went behind her and lifted her shirt as Reagan took the pill. She didn’t protest knowing what he was doing now.

“Don’t scream” 

The ice was placed onto the bruise making her almost scream. It hurts like hell as he moves it to different areas of her back every few minutes. Eventually it ends and he tosses the half melted ice pack into the trash. It felt a little better 

“Alright. That wasn’t too bad actually.” Andre smirks leaning on the wall as Reagan tucked her shirt in . “Just take and the pills and then take it eas“

“Shit! I spent too much time here! I gotta check the other departments. Thanks Andre!” Reagan looked at her watch, rushing out, mumbling about the other department.. 

She wasn’t going to take it easy huh.

[deuterosapiens]

It is 12:46 in the morning. I should be asleep; I have work in a few hours. I've just finished Philip K. Dick's Valis.

It's been a bit since I've done one of these long-form novel posts. Mainly because the books I've read this year have been good, but not strictly things I want to talk about in depth.

Scratch that, I had strong opinions about Children of Dune, which I neglected to post about, but that's not relevant here.

I'm not sure what the best way to talk about Valis is. It's such a strange book. To be clear, I did sort of seek it out deliberately as a matter of academic curiosity. Having obviously read a bit of PKD's other works (A Scanner Darkly which, as I've posted about previously, depressed the hell out of me; and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which was entertainingly weird), I had a faint idea of what to expect when you combine psych-trips with Gnostic imagery.

I want to touch on that statement, as it relates a bit to why I went for this Dick novel specifically, rather than Ubik, or any of his other works. Basically, if you do a quick search for "Gnostic fiction," this tiny little thing (my edition clocks in at a whopping 270 pages) is one of the top results, next to The Matrix and Evangelion. TVTropes refers to it as "practically a novelization" under the Gnosticism heading.

I have no desire to discuss my own personal beliefs, however, it is worth noting that purely from the perspective of a media consumer, I find works which feature the core tropes of traditional Gnostic belief (I am aware of the inherent falsity of that statement) interesting.

Dick does a thorough job of explaining his interpretations of Gnostic Christianity here. That's under-selling it a bit. I should write that word properly.

Thorough

There, much better.

Let's remove the in-depth discussion about the nature of the Universe, God, and the human condition. The resulting fifteen-page short-story is as follows: Horselover Fat is depressed because the women he falls in love with have this distressingly rude tendency to be dying, or suicidal. Fat attaches himself to these woman out of an addictive need to help troubled people, though their deaths tend to lead him towards self-destructive habits. After an encounter that's very much like John Travolta in Phenomenon (busting out the odd references, aren't I?), he becomes obsessed with making sense of reality and spends his nights writing an extended rambling codification of his thoughts.

Coincidentally, there's a new sci-fi film playing which lines up quite heavily with Horselover Fat's experience, and explores themes remarkably in line with Fat's research. The film is called VALIS, and it's freaking weird. Fat meets up with film's director, who seems completely crazy, but surprisingly, they've just sort of got Christ's reincarnated (sort-of, not really, kind-of) form in their commune (you see, Fat had this notion, before becoming obsessed with the VALIS-film, that he was going to go out into the world i.s.o the new Savior).

Fleeing the director's commune, Fat acquires news that the Savior he'd found has died due to a freak laser accident. It happens, what can you do? Instead of going crazy again, Horselover Fat goes off on a quest to seek out all Pokémon find the fifth Savior. Roll credits.

What I've politely omitted from this summary is how incredibly insane everyone and everything is. First, I lied when I described Horselover Fat because he just so happens to be the Narrator and a third person character removed from the Narrator. As in, he is referred to from both an internal first-person perspective, and from a third-person bring observed by himself. Himself who is Philip, who is obviously Philip K Dick himself. The two are both the same person, and not. No, Fat is not a dissociative alter; other characters interact with him separate from Narrator-Phil who, towards the end, engages in experiences which physically must occur as simultaneous events to events Fat experiences.

This is never cleared up. It simply is.

Okay, so this novel is very much a character study in madness (from a Philip K Dick novel? Surely, I jest!). It also looks in-depth into theological conundra from this same maddened perspective. Everyone who's anyone has a background in history, language, anthropology and theology. Hell, Fat is released from his time in a psych-ward by discussing religion with his doctor. His therapist exists almost entirely to give Fat a chance to explain the concept of Yaldabaoth (ha-ha, Persona 5 fans, weep you must at learning that the Holy Grail of Human Desire, Yaldabaoth, existed in literary form long before SMT became popular; I play, I'm aware that the concept is a hell of a lot older than this novel).

I'm unsure of precisely what the take-away from this novel should be, which is very much for the best. I think of it as containing the sort of insight a theologian might have after trying LSD for the first time. You cannot take a single thing at face value here: to say the Narrator is unreliable would be like saying the Sun is a bit hot. True, but that so under-values the reality.

On one hand, I want to read it as a sci-fi narrative, but it's so steeped in reality (every single fictional, or at least, non-realistic, element can be explained as the direct result of following a character who's been so drugged-up, and emotionally screwed-up, that you could reasonably interpret it as being hallucination, or other brain-fuckery), that there's not much science fiction actually happening. I want to read it as biographical, but very little of Dick's life here lines-up with any actual events in the real-world. I guess you could call it a biographical fiction of a hypothetical Philip K Dick, from a universe where he's more cracked-out than he truly was. I'll coin the term "meta-biographical fiction," as a way to cope with how much thinking about the Narrator stresses my brain.

There's a very popular Dishwalla song "Counting Blue Cars". There's a chorus line which goes: "Tell me all your thoughts on God". Dick has done that quite extensively here. I can imagine it would have been extraordinarily interesting to hear him speak about these interests in person.

For today's lucky Ten Thousand.

This novel will definitely require a second read to get the full picture, I suspect. But that's later me's problem. The now-self is a bit too exhausted to have any thoughts on this novel.

I think I should sleep. Hopefully I don't dream of pink light.

[my-misplaced-stew]

The offense classes receiving a love letter from you

I'm splitting this one up into the different classes so I can spread out my content because I'm kinda running out of ideas. I'm not sure when to put Miss Pauling for this so maybe that'll be it own fanfic!

TW: Ask to tag

Scout

Oh man oh man! He's so stoked that someone likes him enough to confess to him! It's a huge ego boost. But who wrote it? He finds it cute that his admirer was to shy to confess to him face to face. It's all he thinks about. You can find him staring off into space just thinking about the letter. He will do his best to figure out who wrote it, which is usually just him re-reading it a bunch until he's got it mesmerized by heart. Keeps it tucked away under his pillow because no one else needs to see it! It's his own personal letter that you wrote and he doesn't need to be teased about it. He will try to snoop around to see if anyone has the same paper you used for the letter. He usually gets caught but that doesn't stop him. It takes around a week and a half to connect the dots. After he actually figures it out he spends at least a day just acting like a school girl after she got asked out by her crush. Despite Scout being so cocky and confident about everything else in life he has a hard time just asking you out. He tries to just do some small gestures to show you that he knows now but he's worried it'll be interpreted as creepy. So after some thinking and planning he writes you his own note! He spends a ridiculous amount of time perfecting it before leaving it placed in your room. He's nervous the whole time, just waiting for you to read it. He suggested to meet up with you in a secluded spot away from everyone else but what if you think it's just some prank? What if you think he's planning something malicious? What if you were just messing with him? Scout eventually sucks it up and goes to meet you. He's surprised to see you there first, but then feels guilty for making you wait. He feels really awkward, so you have to make the first move. After a bit of talking and a quick peck on the cheek you swear you see hearts in his eyes whenever he sees you.

Pyro

Well this is a first! They've gotten note written for them before but never a love letter! He's absolutely over joyed! That letter seems to be the only thing on their mind, aside from fire. Every chance they get they will re-read the letter doesn't matter when or where, even in front of others! They take notice of the beautiful fire-y yellow and orange wax that held the letter closed. They often just stare at it for hours on end. You feel flattered that they enjoy the effort you out into it, makes your heart flutter. They accidentally catch you staring at them sometimes but they don't think much of it since they stare at you too. You notice that even after the fact it's been around 2 weeks that Pyro hasn't really done anything to figure out who wrote it. So it was time for you to take measures into your own hands, even though that went against writing a letter in the first place. After taking a few hours to write a letter that was very obviously from you, you went to pour the melted wax for the seal. At that very second Pyro busted his way in to tell you they figured out that it was you who wrote the letter! Their student entrance scared you so much that you spilt the hot wax on your hand and knocked over the flame that melted the wax right onto the letter. In the panic you didn't even feel the hot wax on your hand, you were just so focused on saving the letter that you went to put it out with your hands. Pyro quickly intervened before you could touch the growing fire with your bare hands and put it out with a loud slap from their gloved hand. After you calmed down from the threat of your desk catching in fire you could finally notice the pain in your left hand. A small bit of worry bubbled in your stomach but Pyro reassured you that they knew how to help. Considering they're the expert in pretty much everything related to heat you trusted them. Following them to the kitchen they motioned for you to sit on the counter while they searched in the cupboards for something. Sure the hot was didn't hurt all that much but you were concerned with actually getting it off. They placed a bottle of olive oil and a roll of paper towels next to you. You figured it would be best not to question it. They dampened a pall of paper towel with olive oil then pressed it against your skin. After around a minute they easily wiped away the wax. You hugged them tightly as a thank you for helping you. They wrapped their arms around you tightly and swung you around in a circle. After they that followed you like a love sick puppy, constantly holding onto you in some way.

Soldier

He expected the note to be another angry letter from Merasmus or maybe someone else. He wasn't expecting it to be a confession of love. He gets very flustered once he reads it, but still thinks it might be some sort trick. And what's the best way to figure out if this love letter if genuine or not? Interrogate everyone until someone confesses! It's not as successful as he wanted it to be, as no one actually came to the big interrogation. You felt nervous because you really didn't the while base to know about the letter. You have to sneak around him so he doesn't suspect you but that does the opposite of what you wanted. Scares the living daylights out of you during breakfast demanding an interrogation. You don't really have much of a choice since he's already dragging you away. RIP to your breakfast because it was dragged off the table. It will be missed. Anyway, Soldier had dragged you into some interrogation room. When was this built? You realize it's just a room Solder redecorated to look like one of those interrogation rooms from a cheesy cop show. It was a bit scary but you knew nothing bad would happen. It was all going good, just him asking you questions about why you were being so sneaky. When suddenly a little raccoon came running in with a neatly folded piece of paper in its mouth. Soldier took the piece of paper and thanked the raccoon before turning his attention back to you. A small pool of nervous-ness built inside you. But why should you worry, this is what you wanted right? Well... you would prefer something less intimidating. Knowing Soldier you didn't really know what he was thinking, he looked so serious. He started asking you about the note which you decided to out right confess to writing, what could you lose? Suddenly his seriousness disappeared and was replaced with pure joy. He dragged you over the table in a hug, dragging you down to the floor. Your nervousness was quickly replaced with relief and happiness. The silence in the room was replaced with his and your laughter.

[mashiraostail]

Hi! Can I please get some Gang Orca, Aizawa, Vlad King and Present Mic when their S/O knows they've been having a rough week and they surprise their mans with lingerie and an evening of... *ahem* Stress relief? Also some pampering and snuggles!

o my gosh i love this song this is kinda on the longer side i have diverged into the world of p o rn 

ns fw under the cut (i think it’s pretty gender neutral lmk tho!)

Kugo Sakamata/Gang Orca: Kugo tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve in private with you, stress was no different. He was clearly stretched out beyond his normal limits, and by the looks of it, he still had a ways further to go. He always got a little short with you when his work became tedious, not in a mean way just in a curt way. One word answers to your questions became favorable and for better or worse he mostly just liked to be left alone. He apologized after things were sorted he knows you’re only worried and trying to check in with him but when things pile up he gets overwhelmed even by your simple questions.  You could feel the irritation appearing on Monday night, and it only piled as the week progressed, by the end of it the poor man was about to spill over with his annoyance. You were working quietly across the room from him, much less stressful and more leisurely assignments that didn’t make your heart leap out of your throat, you watch him tap his pen around on his desk, prattling the black plastic as he sat on the phone, after a moment he just hung up and sighed, that was the fourth interaction like that within the hour. You watched him forlornly, you wished there was some way for you to help relieve the tension in his shoulders, something you could say or do that would put him at ease rather than overwhelm him further. As you pondered it you realized that maybe there was something. You stand up suddenly, and the unexpected motion leads Kugo to turn and look at you expectantly.  “I’m going to get ready for bed I think.” You sigh, “I’m pretty exhausted so it’s probably best to call it an early night.” It was at least worth a try, even if he’d say no, “you look tired too.” You press a kiss just below his eye, “why don’t you join me?”  He shakes his head, “In a little while. I’ll be quiet.”  “I wasn’t worried about that.” You squeeze his shoulders, “don’t work too hard, okay Kugo?” He just hums back at you as you leave.  You were sort of worried you’d lost it, you’d boughten it a while ago but got too nervous to even put it on by yourself let alone in front of someone else. It wasn’t that you thought he wouldn’t like it, you were pretty sure Kugo could find a way to compliment you if you were wearing a trash bag, it just felt...strange. Embarrassing maybe. You couldn’t pin the word but it made you flutter nervously.  When you do manage to dig it up you contemplate it for a second. You decide the nervousness will be worthwhile if it helps relieve Kugo even a little bit.  You wonder how to go about it, should you just walk across the hall and bust in his office? That feels sort of curt. You look around for a moment before an idea percolates.  “Kugo!” You call out to him, trying to keep an indifferent tone, “can you come here a second? I need a hand!” You hear him sigh, and you’re half expecting him to call back that the step ladder is in the kitchen. But you sit on the edge of your bed in wait, trying to look less nervous and more appealing.  “What’s the matter? I’m very-” Blue, dark navy blue and barely there. He really wasn’t expecting this. He could practically see all of you, sitting on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, thin satiny straps hardly holding the frail garment together, he’s sure just one tug from his finger would send it fluttering to the ground. He feels sort of bad for letting so much annoyance bubble up in him when you called for him. But now something else was bubbling up. It was like you’d packaged yourself up for him.. well he supposed you quite literally did. “Are you busy?” You can feel his gaze latch onto you, his eyes taking you in, up and down rapidly over and over again.  “No..not...very..”

 It really doesn’t take much coaxing to get him undressed and into bed. After a while of kissing him while his hands roam around the sheer blue lace that just scarcely covered you, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him. You’d been together for a while, and you were never one to hold out on him, he isn’t sure why he’s on cloud nine right now, it’s not like he’d never gotten this sort of thing from you before, your hands, mouth, and a lot more than that were always there. If he wanted you all he had to do was ask. But something about you doing this for him, because he was stressed...the way you did all this just to relieve him? It was too sweet, combined with the sight of you in that perfect outfit on your knees for him and the feeling of your lips and hands playing with his already hard cock was more than enough to wash the tension away. It cleared his head of anything but you.  Big hands pull your mouth off his length, the drool and precum around your lower lip, paired with the redness washed over your face and the obscene plumpness in your lips that the stretch of his cock left behind would have been enough to make him beg if you felt any need to withhold from him. Lucky for him you did not.  “Kugo-” You let him spread your legs, tread careful fingers between them pressing in one, then another while he holds you up in his lap, leaning you against his chest for leverage.  “What a sweet thing you are...” His chest rumbles with it, “did you go to this trouble all to make me feel better?”  His fingers knew their way around too well, his other hand splayed on your chest, careful to simply push or slide underneath the lace rather than remove it, palms and fingertips occasionally brushing over your nipple, all you can do is keen and nod.  “You did?” His hand on your chest pushes you closer, “that makes me so happy my love.”  “Kugo-” You call for him again and he hums as you clutch his wrist, the one between your legs.  “I’m right here. Hm... What would I do without you?” He murmurs it close to your ear, it sends a full-body shudder down your frame, “you always take such good care of me, and I was being cold to you wasn’t I?”  “No,” you shake your head, your whole face is burning, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment at the exposure, “you weren’t-”  “But I was.” He sighs, “and now I’m sorry, how can I make it up to you?”  “Kugo- I just want you,” you gasp, fingers tightening around his arm, “please Kugo,” his fingers leave you at that, the loss makes your whole abdomen stutter.  “Turn around and face me.” You follow his order with shaking thighs.  “Aren’t you lovely?” His tongue slides over your chest as two big hands curl around the small of your back. “Can you do it?”  His question falls on deaf ears, you’re already lining him up and starting to take him in, the groan that rumbles out of him only spurs you on until you’ve worked yourself up to hysterics bouncing in his lap, his low grunted praises pushing you closer to the proverbial edge by the second.  You’re a nice view, Kugo’s surprised he’s lasted so long with it. He watches the flush extend down your chest, his hand occasionally treks down the small of your back to your hips, then down still to feel the stretch of you around his length, until he's just about there, then he’s guiding all your movements, pushing and lifting you with ease, an almost bruising grip gets you to roll your hips against his. You��re sheathed totally in his lap when you both finish.  He enjoys watching your chest heave as you come down from it, then you fall against him. “You really do look lovely.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place.  “You think so?” You shuffle up his chest, “well I’m glad. I don’t know why I was nervous..”  “Nervous?” His tongue glides along your neck, “about how you looked?” “Maybe, I don’t know. I thought maybe you wouldn’t like it, I...I guess I don’t know what I thought to be honest.”  “Whatever you want to give to me I’d be delighted to have.” He nips your earlobe and you sigh, coiling a leg around him as he continues, “even when I get a little short with you, you’re always what I want. I’m a pushover when it comes to you.” He concedes, and then you remember.  “Sorry to pull you away from all your work. I just wanted to help...”  “No need to be sorry, you did help..” He’s rubbing long, tender strokes up your back, “and anyways it was an emergency.” 

Shouta Aizawa: Stress wasn’t foreign to the erasure hero, though stress that came from being behind on work presented a certain dilemma. He dealt with stress by sleeping, but in this case...well sleeping would only make it worse. So he got even less sleep than normal. He was irritable at best and downright rude at worst. He’d apologize later, he always did, but at the moment all he wanted was to be left along to plug away at all the responsibilities he’d neglected until now. You felt bad, you wished there was more you could do to help him out, but as it were all you could really do is be there if he wanted to lean his weight on your arm or complain about his day, normally you’d offer a nap with him but that seemed like the last thing he’d want.  You’d already left him to get ready for bed, you’d showered and were rummaging around for some pajamas when you find it, you don’t think you’d even worn it before. You wouldn’t say you and Shouta didn’t have a lot of sex, you had a decent amount, but normally fancy lingerie was left to fantasy, it looked fragile and not at all like something that would hold up against Shouta’s semi-destructive bedroom tendencies, you wonder why you bought it in the first place. Though you realize that it may be useful right about now, especially if he was in a being taken care of mood over a, doing the caring mood.  You wonder how long ago you even got it, it still fit fine so it can’t be all that old. You peek out the bedroom door to make sure he’s still sitting, unsuspecting at the table in the kitchen, his back to you.  When it all checked out you made your way over, sliding your arms around his neck.  “Shou.” You rest your cheek against his temple, “it’s so late.”  “I know.” Is his deadpan reply. “Do you need the time?” He points to the bottom right of his screen, a small digital clock displaying the hour. You huff at that, you knew he knows that’s not what you mean. “Come to bed with me.” You rub his chest over the ribbed fabric of his shirt, “please?”  “In a minute.”  “Shouta..please..” You whine at him and duck down to kiss his jaw, he reaches behind himself to hold onto you, he finds your shoulder, by the crook of your neck, expecting to feel the fabric of a t shirt or a tank top strap, but there’s nothing, just skin, he slides his hand over your shoulder, in search of something. His other arm reaches around too, lower, to your legs, thighs, and hips.  “Are you naked?” He asks incredulously. “Maybe,” His hand finds one strap around your thigh as you continue, “or better.” He pulls away and stands, facing you, you’re still bent over resting on the back of his chair.  “You-” His eyes latch onto the purple, royal purple, dark, and figure-hugging, leaving nothing to his imagination, purple that he wanted to pull away with his teeth, leaving marks on your skin behind in its place.  “Where’d you get that-”  “Why’s it matter?” You laugh, pulling him closer by his shoulder, “want a matching set?”  “Shut up.” He wraps his arms around you despite his words.  “Ready to call it a night now?” Your own arms come around his neck and he sighs.  “You’re such a brat.”  “You were the one being mean, if you work like this too much I’ll worry you don’t love me anymore, you know?”  The trek from the kitchen to your bedroom is mostly lost in your memory.  You aren’t entirely sure why you considered the possibility that Shouta would want to lay back and let you take care of him, as soon as he touched you back in the kitchen you realized all he’d really want to do was blow off steam. But you were fine with that too. 

That in mind...he can be utterly cruel when it suits him. 

“Are you still worried I don’t love you anymore?” His voice is low and gruff beside your ear, his lips and stubble scraping down your jaw to your neck. If you’d had plans to get on your knees for him he nixed them before you could even get started in favor of getting you where he had you now, back to his chest three fingers inside you at a grueling pace, pushing and curling and rubbing until your eyes were watering and you were arching against him, trying to get enough leverage to close yourself off.  “Keep your legs open.” His other hand is at your collar bone, keeping you pressed against him, “come on, or I’ll tie you up how I want you.” You grip his arm at that you can feel him grin into your skin.  “You’re gonna rip it-” You turn into him, chest stuttering, he hadn’t gone to the trouble of removing the lingerie, just pushing and twisting it out of the way of his hands.  “I’ll buy you a new set if I do.” He’s teeth close around your neck, “don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about anything.”  You dig your nails into his arm unsure of what number orgasm this was, honestly after 2 you felt like they just melded together anyways, it’s not like he let up nearly long enough to let you recover.  “Are your eyes watering?” He mutters it into your jaw, “aren’t you cute? Is it too much?” You’re just shaking your head, keening and arching into his touch, chest heaving with helpless breaths.  “No?” His voice is thick with faux sympathy, “are you gonna cry? It hurts a little to be so close, doesn’t it? Can’t take it? You’re right there aren’t you? Why can’t you cum?” He doesn’t mind the scratching, and it’s a good thing, cause if he did..he’d be an unhappy man after this all let up.  “You didn’t say-” You barely get the breath in your lungs to push the words out.  He’s grinning though, it’s the answer he wanted, exactly how he wanted it, breathless and needy. “You want me to say you can?” His other hand rubs your stomach comfortingly, a stark and unfair contrast to the pace of his second hand. “Is that what you want? Will you cry if I don’t?”  “I’ll cry if you do too-”  “I’m willing to test that, come on. Cum now.” It happens like clockwork, with Shouta it always was. Stuttering thighs, your stomach taking in shaky uneven breaths. Once your peak is there and gone both hands are softer, slower, rubbing long strokes against your sex then your stomach and chest.  “That was good.” He’s murmuring it into the soft skin behind your ear, “that was so good. You’re so sweet.” His hand’s rubbing small circles over your belly, his thumb brushing over your navel. “Is that all you can do tonight?” “No,” You shake your head vehemently, “no I want you too-” He hums affectionately into your skin at that. “You are sweet tonight.” He squeezes you a little, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment, but you feel it. “Okay then, if this is what you want then I won’t feel bad. Lay on your chest.”

Sekijiro Kan/Vlad King: Despite how he looked Kan really wasn’t very brutish at all. But when he got like this sometimes his own strength evaded him. It made his emotions obvious, when he got too stressed even a fountain pen was liable to snap in his fist. He’d worked through all the wooden pencils in your apartment, they’d been halved and discarded in rapid succession, he was currently working through all the mechanical pencils. You hoped this all got sorted before the fountain pens, that was a mess you’d rather avoid. He was usually good at dealing with stress, long runs, combat trainings, things in that vein were usually enough to relive him of a bad couple of days. But if the discontent extended past that normally he liked talking with you, when he was stressed, upset or exhausted he liked having you hauled up in his lap, squeezing him, combing your fingers through his hair and babying him into perking up a bit. But when it got past even that stage was when you had to worry about fountain pens.  He’d brush you off, just a grunt or nod as a reply as he slunk back into his seat. You tired your signature knuckle kisses to get him to warm up to you, but all you’d gotten out of him was a huff of breath. He didn’t pull his hand away from you though, until his phone started to ring, and by the time he finished his conversation and hung up he didn’t look keen on offering it to you again.  “Sek.” You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and he nods.  “You should come to bed. It’s late and you don’t feel good.”  “I feel fine.” He shakes your hold on his arm, “you go ahead. It is late, there’s no need for you to be up now.” Normally he’d kiss your head with a phrase like that, but all he did was break the pencil in his right hand. You sigh, “alright. Well wake me up if anything okay? If I can help at all I want to.”  “I know. Thanks.” You kiss his temple as you stand up, “Don’t be too late.” He just nods at that and you close the door behind you as you leave.  It’s there in your closet front and center when you open it up. You were planning on using it for his birthday...but now..well maybe it’d be enough to rescue him yet? You only got it a few days ago, you hadn’t even tried it on yet. You look between it and your reflection before settling on an idea.  You stand before the closed door, separating you and Sekijiro, you’re just a little nervous, if he brushed you off dressed like this you’d be sort of crushed, but he got such tunnel vision sometimes it was a possibility in your head. But you were almost 100% there now, so there wasn’t any use in turning back. “Sekijirio.” You open the door and try to seem less anxious. “Mhm?” He doesn’t turn to look at you. You approach him without responding. “Sekijiro.” You say it harder this time and he nods more obviously, still spinning a barely together pencil in his fingers.  “Yeah,what’s wrong?” You’re standing beside him and he still doesn’t look at you.  “I though you were going to bed?” He says still without looking at you.  “I was.” You agree.  “So why didn’t you?” “I got lonely.” You put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to get his gaze on you, though you’re ineffective. “I’m really busy.”   “Sekijiro.” You spin his chair.  “Baby what gives, I-” He stops, maybe chokes on something.  “You’re being such a brute.” You take his hands and slide them up your stomach as you drop into his lap. He hears you but all he can think about is red, lacy and showy fabric highlighting the best places, like a guide for all the places his wants to put his hands, the band around your thigh squeezing, making you look even fuller and more supple in his lap. “What happened to my big sweet man Seki?” His mouth feels dry, your holding the sides of his neck, drawing him into a kiss, and clearly encouraging him to just put his hands all over you. It was like he was having some embarrassing high school fantasy, like someone dug around his brain and picked out his most perfect fantasy and laid it out like a trap for him. “I say that..but it’s so sexy when you get all worked up..” His stomach swarms at that as your eyes cast to the abandoned pile of broken writing utensils. You’re practically whining into his lips, “ and I know I shouldn’t distract you, you said you were busy, I’m sorry I’m so needy-”  “I’m not busy at all.” He barely lets you finish, “this is nothing. Don’t be sorry. I can do it tomorrow.” He was sure his class would understand if he..waited an extra day or two to return the exams..  “Just keep working.” Your hands are sliding into his shirt, “I’ll take care of you.”

He could not keep working. It was unfair of you to hold him to that standard, when you were so good at this, when you looked so good on your knees between his legs, taking him to the back of your throat, when your hands felt like that braced on his thighs. No sane person could keep working. Not when your hair was begging to have his hands in it, or when you clearly needed to be guided up and down his length by the nape of your neck.  He only had two hands. And when your’s started wandering, up his abdomen, around to his waist, begging him to toss his shirt somewhere else..the work can wait, for your sake. He doesn’t mean to pull so hard, but the moan that flutters past your lips when he does indicates it may not be the worst mistake he’s ever made. He pulls you off his length and you let him go with a pop, a thin strand of something obscene connected your lips to the head of his cock, the sight of it alone was enough to make him buck his hips up into nothing.  “Let’s just go to bed.” He’s guiding you to stand, “I’m done here. Let’s just go bed.” He can’t tell if the ditzy stumble and blown out pupils are just part of the act or if blowing him really does shut your brain off a little. “if you want-” Your voice jumps as he swipes you up via the back of your thighs, once your settle though you take the short walk to your bedroom as an opportunity to get your lips on him again, his shoulders, his chest, just around the neckline of his hero costume, if it even tore a little one stood the chance of sticking out. He loses his pants on the way. He just tosses you on the bed once you’re close enough, before you can protest or complain he’s kissing you quiet, then trailing his mouth down your neck and shoulders, to your chest and stomach and legs, kissing and biting and fingering, enjoying the feeling of your fingers twirling and tugging his hair, and the way you’re spreading your legs to allow him closer. He enjoys it until he’s hooking your legs over his shoulders and lining himself up, your hands brace his hips as he presses forward.  If anyone asked him this was the best of both worlds, he got the physical work out plus he got you cooing in his ear? He wasn’t really sure what he was stressed about in the first place.  “Fuck-” You’re gasping it out, pressing his face into your neck, “you’re amazing-” Even subtle praise makes his stomach jump, and you’re just babbling it out thoughtlessly at this point, he doesn’t blame himself for not lasting much longer after you start.  His weight drops onto your chest after you finish and you heave, “jeeze Sek-”  “Sorry.” He presses his face into your shoulder, “sorry.” But he doesn’t move. The way you wrap your arms around his back say you don’t want him to.  “That was really good.” He’s still huffing into your skin and you hum, dragging a hand up his back.  “I’ll help you grade that stuff tomorrow.” You twirl the hairs at the base of his neck around your fingertips. He groans thankfully. “I’m sorry I was being mean.” He rolls over and traps you against his chest, “you’re the best.” 

Hizashi Yamada/ Present Mic Hyperactive was an understatement, manic was an intense downplay of the current state of your boyfriend. And he was doing everything but the things that needed to get done.  “Hizashi-”  “I can't now I need to do-” (insert thing that doesn’t need to be done at all).  He had plenty of reports to fill out, from what you heard it was a busy week for patrols in the area, plus his usual grading and any work for the show.  But instead of doing that he was reorganizing a record shelf.  “Hizashi I-”  “You don’t understand how badly I need to organize these alphabetically by title.” He doesn’t let you get a word in.  “Clearly I don’t at all. Can I help at all?” You sit on the ground behind him.  “No I don’t think so.”  “Alright.” You concede, “I’m gonna call it a night.” You sigh, “call if you need me.”  “Aye aye.” He’s scrutinizing two records as you leave him.  You just needed to get him to focus on something, then he’d be fine. But what could you get him to focus on...something starts to bubble up, it might just work too..if you could get his feet on the ground  in anyway at all you were sure it’d stick.  It doesn’t take you long to find the box, you’d bought it for a special occasion, though with Hizashi you normally didn’t get much in the ways of planning and preparation, when valentines, your birthday, his birthday, an anniversary etc.. rolled around he was jumping your bones the moment you rolled over in the morning. You don’t think he’s ever even seen this one on you.  You don’t take long to get changed, you’re inspecting yourself in the mirror when your bedroom door opens.  “Babe I know you said you were going to bed but I hope you aren’t asleep because while I was cleaning out that box that I use to prop up some vinyl sleeves I found these hilarious pictures from high school of you and Nem-” He drops the pictures.  “Oh.” You turn to him, “well I wanted to give you a surprise.”  “You did-” He chokes it out, red flush creeping down his neck, “why are you wearing that-”  “Because.” You go over to him and take his wrists, pulling him further into your bedroom, he just stumbles along with your pull. “You need to calm down Zashi baby.”  “This does not make me feel calm-” It’s strangled, if he got any redder you were sure you’d see steam coming out of his ears.  “You need to get all your energy out.” You press him down until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed. You roll your hips against him, and drag your lips down his jaw, one hand braced on his shoulder and the other against his chest, but you can still feel his attention waining.  “Zashi.” You drop all your weight into his lap and it pulls his eyes from your dresser back to you.  “Focus on me.” You guide his hands up your waist and all the fluster that had been lost as his thoughts wandered away from you returned. You realize the better thing to do is stand up and let him have things his way. “You can look or touch however you want.” You pull his hands down your hips.  “So just blow off all that extra steam okay? Whatever you want, just tell me.”  He looks mildly like he’s about to pass out.  His hands go where you expect, your hips, around to cup your ass and his lips flutter around your stomach and waist. You elect to just sigh good naturedly and curl your fingers in his hair to keep him with you. “Can you turn around?”  “Hizashi.” You frown, “don’t be distasteful.”  “You said whatever I wanted-” You suppose you cant argue that so you turn around and try not to let out an embarrassing squeak or squeal when 100% of his attention is directed at your ass, one arm circling around you to hold you in place.  Various articles of clothing are lost or rearranged to accommodate the touching and kissing. He manages to pull you into bed with him, still keeping your legs on either side of his head as he lays down. His arms wrap around your thighs  fingers and palms running slow strokes over your sex as his teeth scrape the surrounding skin, tongue fluttering against your hole occasionally. You press against his chest for leverage and he encourages you to rock your hips against him. You eventually go for his cock, as he starts to work you up too much, getting you too close. You thumb at the head before leaning down and taking him past your lips. He seems contented with that for a while until he’s laying you out on your chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pushing into you. He doesn’t stay pressed to you for too long before he’s pulling back to watch your whole body react to him.  It held his attention exceedingly well.  “Zashi fuck-” To say that the way you reached back and fumbled for his hand where it held the bend of your hips heightened the experience would be an understatement.  “Fuck you’re really sexy-” He presses his fingers into your skin harder, “god you’re so fucking hot,” he groans watching your back shift to accommodate the way your hand searches for some purchase. Instead though he’s pushing it away and using his grip on you to turn you to your back, he pulls your legs around his waist and you follow his pull with no protest.  “Fucking god,” He grunts, bottoming out as if he hadn’t pulled out in the first place, “shit, look at you.”  “Zashi-” Your chest flutters with it, he can feel it under his hands.  “Say my name like that again.” He mutters it, maybe more to himself, he’s unhooking one of your legs from his waist and aligning it over his shoulder.  He seriously had way too much energy, you could barely keep up you felt so dizzy.  “Zashi!” You keen at the deeper angle and he groans. “God you sound almost as good as you look.” He presses his forehead into your shoulder, “I’m gonna fucking cum babe-”  The way you were gripping him like you’d float away if you didn’t was already more than enough for him, but the way you’re nodding, eyes squeezed shut as you gasp it out at him, “me too!” If that didn’t do the trick then nothing would.  He’s against your chest, heaving. “Feel better?” You ask pulling a long strand of hair between your fingers. He hums and presses his face into your neck.  “Yeah I do..”  “It’s still pretty early.” You curl your arms around his back and drag your fingers over the shifting muscles below. He nods at that and takes a deep breath of you. “So..” You prompt him. “I could help you work out what you need to get done tomorrow?”  “We could go again?” You speak in unison.  “Again!?” You flush, “Zash you have way too much energy!” 

Bonus Aizawa ending hehe: “Are you sure you’re okay?” He’s looking at you where you lay below him the next morning, he’d reached over you to click off his alarm when he caught sight of you, he’d really done a number on you. Red in all the places he’d grabbed or smacked, shapeless hickeys outlining where the lingerie had been the night before, the map on your skin the only thing left of the garment as far as you were concerned.  “I’m fine.” You wave, “I’ve gotta get up soon though, I’ll be late.” You pin some of his stray hairs back, “what really matters is how are you feeling? Did I help at all? I was worried I’d only make it worse-”  “I feel much better.” He leans down to bridge the gap between your lips, “I shouldn’t get so stand offish. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t really think I don’t love you.”  “Of course I don’t.” You laugh, sitting up, “I’m glad you feel better now. It’s okay to need space Shouta.” You squeeze his face in your hands, “I love you and I know that you love me. I’m always here for you, even when you need space okay?” He hears your words and appreciates them, but his attention is taken by the state of your thighs, which was 1000x worse than that of your chest and stomach. “Are you sure I didn’t do too much? You can be honest with me. I know I was in a really bad mood.” He asks pushing the blanket to reveal more reddend skin.  “Positive. Now you should get a few more z’s Shou.” You stretch out, “I’ve got a meeting.”  As soon as your feet hit the floor your legs protest the weight of your body with everything they have. “Are you sure you’re sure?” Shouta can see your hickey covered thighs trembling as you walk around the bed to your closet, the way you hold the door knob like a life line makes it obvious. The backs of your thighs are still stained red and tensed taught to carry your weight. “Yeah I just...need to stretch is all..” “Uh-huh. Stretch.” Shouta’s just laughing at you. 

[drferox]

Cows are tough

@fixusi​ said to @ask-drferox​: Hey! I read your post on why horse anatomy is quite bad, and it was great. I snooped around online some more about it, and I saw someone mention that cows are really tough, kinda like the opposite of a horse. I was wondering if you could elaborate on what makes cow anatomy so good? I wasn’t able to really find anything online, though I’m not even sure what search terms to use. Thanks for the great blog!!

Cows are tough, infinitely moreso than horses though it's not necessarily apparent unless you're studying their medicine side by side. So have ten facts about cows.

Here is the original horse post.

Cattle can eat quite a lot of things that are not food, and aside from the occasional inconvenient potato which might get stuck in their throat, most of it will cruise on down to the massive rumen and just kind of... float there for years. Occasionally pointy metal bits will cause a problem and can actually enter the reticulum, and be pushed forward all the way to the pericardium (heart sack) if they are long and pointy enough. This causes an infectious pericarditis which is not necessarily lethal but is inconvenient.

Seriously the cardiovascular system of cattle is quite durable. With a horse a valid method of emergency euthanasia is to slice open the aorta via the rectum. A horse will be dead in 20-30 seconds. A cow will continue to walk around for several minutes and may even have a snack with a severed aorta.

While the guts of a cow are huge, most of it is the rumen which is really too big to go anywhere. They can displace their abomasum ('true stomach') but most of the time this is into a position which only inconveniences the cow a little.

Because they're a ruminant they don't colic in the same way horses do, but they will get bloat if they can't burp (the rumen fills with gas and/or foam). If this happens it is an emergency, and it's perfectly legitimate for a farmer to stab their affected cattle in the stomach to open it up and let out the gas. The cow will probably wander around and have a snack, with a stab wound into her rumen letting it vent, until the vet can get there to patch it up.

While there is lots that can go wrong with giving birth in cattle, it's not nearly as dramatic as the horse can be. While with a horse if something goes wrong, it goes wrong fast, cattle can survive having their calf die while giving birth and being stuck, starting to rot, and then being pulled out piece by piece.

Cattle have sturdy skulls with well-built sinuses, which is how it's possible to shoot one in the head multiple times and still not have it be dead.

Their infection resistance is superb compared to the horse. If a horse has retained fetal membranes after giving birth, it's an emergency by 24 hours. With a cow you can leave them for days or weeks if you can stand the smell.

If they've busted their stitches and eviscerated themselves after a caesarian, you can scoop up those intestines she's been walking on in the mud, hose them off, put them back in, and with treatment it's plausible she'll survive. We do caesarians standing in cattle by the way, under local anaesthetic.

They're actually pretty good at having their organs outside their body. If  cow prolapses her uterus (the whole organ pops inside out through her vagina following the calf after giving birth) then it's not certain death, so long as she doesn't run about too much.

Because they have two toes on each foot, instead of one hoof like the horse, if they break a bone in either toe you can reasonably attempt treatment.

In short, when faced with conditions that would devastate another species, cows respond by wandering off and possibly having a snack at the inconvenience.

In addition, cattle can do some seriously weird things. Sometimes they're born with an extra, non-functional leg. Sometimes you get a schistosoma reflexus. Cattle can throw some weird curve balls and then they just keep going on with life.

That's not to say they're bombproof. (Partially bulletproof maybe, but not bombproof). If they don't burp, they die. They can bloat. They can get anthrax if they eat too much dirt. They can do some serious damage to each other, especially bulls and once they're down they're in serious trouble. But compared to the horse, cows want to live.

This post viewed early by my patreon supporters.

[peterrparrkerr]

Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

*-*

Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt. 

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

[mimisempai]

Wait for me on the other side 1/8

Summary:

Mobius, a watchmaker, and Loki, a teacher, realize that they are separated by two years of time when they exchange letters from different years in the mailbox of the house on the cliff where Mobius lives. As the two lonely hearts feel they have found their soulmate, will they ever meet?

or the Lakehouse AU that nobody asked for.

Notes:

This is my very first multi-chapter AU. I hope you'll enjoy it. Chapters will be released on a weekly basis.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32948254/chapters/81773392

3772 words - rating G

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)

When two people "connect" the bond between them can be so pure and simple as to stir hearts in heaven.

When they connect in all the right places at all the wrong times, heaven weeps for broken hearts. To heal these broken hearts, heaven breaks time.

—Blithe Spiritus

Loki took one last look through the rearview mirror at the cottage on the edge of the cliff, which was getting smaller and smaller as he drove away.

Shifting his gaze forward, his face slid to the crate on the passenger seat, where Croki, his pet alligator, was sitting.

"I hope you will like your new home..." Loki sighed.

Then suddenly, he braked abruptly, holding back the cage with one hand as it slid forward. Then he backed the car up.

"Shit. I'm sorry Croc'"

He walked over to the mailbox. He put his hand through the window, opened the mailbox and put an envelope inside. Then his long fingers pulled the red flag in a vertical position, to indicate that there was mail. All this under the eyes of Croki who followed with attention all his gestures.

He tapped the top of the cage, "Come on, this time we're off for good."

He rolled, speeding up, refusing to look at the sign for the tiny village his home was in, New Asgard.  Loki rolled east, the cliff behind him, then passed a sign: New York, 35 miles.

The traffic became heavier as he approached the city.

After maneuvering through the various streets and making his way through the New York traffic, he stopped in front of an apartment building on a busy street. It was a very recent building, cold and sterile. The contrast with the tranquility of New-Asgard was striking.

He parked, got out of the car and took a moment to absorb the change in his surroundings. Then with a sigh, he began to unload his things.

**********

Loki stopped at the steps in front of the entrance to the imposing establishment - September High-School. He inhaled deeply to give himself courage before moving forward, climbing the few steps and pushing open the heavy door. He entered and walked to what appeared to be the front desk where a busy looking secretary was standing.

Loki asked softly, "Excuse me?"

"Just a minute, okay?"

Loki waited a minute, politely, then tried to get the secretary's attention again.

"Ahem... Excuse me, I need to..."

She handed him a stack of paper, while saying, without looking at him, "Just fill this out and wait for me there, okay?"

Loki handed it back to her.

"No, I'm Loki Laufeyson. I'm a new teacher. I was told to report here."

The secretary looked sheepish, "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. You need to find Principal Romanov. She should be around here. A woman with red hair, dressed in black, you can't miss her."

He did indeed find the Principal in the hallway that the secretary had pointed out.

Natasha Romanov may have looked young to be a high school principal, but everything about her demeanor, her head carriage, her attitude exuded confidence and authority. She walked quickly down the hallway and Loki, though tall, had a hard time keeping up with her.

The principal handed him a large stack of files as soon as they arrived in her office.

"You will be in charge of the sophomores, this morning you will have three classes to teach and three this afternoon."

Loki repeated to be sure, "Three?"

"That's a quiet day, for a first day."

Loki looked a little dazed, he didn't think he was going to jump into the deep end and thought he would have some time to adjust.

The principal turned around, as if she sensed his hesitation, "The teacher you replaced let us down without notice, and it took us a while to find the right replacement, the students lost a lot of time for their final exams. We have to do our best to make sure they pass."

They walked past a student who was sitting alone on a bench, looking sulky. Romanov motioned to a supervisor.

"What's he doing here?"

The supervisor replied, "He was grounded because he took apart a computer to prove Professor Banner wrong and has to do an hour of gym under Professor Odinson's supervision. However, I can't leave the place unattended, and I was waiting for my backup to take him there.

"Peter get up," said principal Romanov in a sharp tone.

The young man stood up, a sulky look on his face.

"Professor Laufeyson, take him to Professor Odinson in the gym and then you can begin your lessons in this class."

The principal pointed to the door of the classroom in question, then turned and walked back to her office, not waiting for an answer.

"Well come with me, Mister...?"

The young boy followed his lead and replied with a pouty tone, "Parker, Peter Parker. »

"Then let's go Mr. Parker, the computer dismantler." replied Loki with a wink.  He knew he couldn't condone what the young man had done, but he couldn't help but find it amusing.

Seeing that the professor didn't look reproachful as he said these words, Peter lost his pout and got a small smile.

"Although I'm curious as to what could have caused you to disassemble a computer."

Peter seemed to come back to life, explained to an amused Loki, that Professor Banner, who taught biology, had said that nothing could compare to the complex construction that was a living being and Peter had wanted to show him the opposite by dismantling the Professor's laptop.

"But I was about to put it back together though, I don't understand why he got so upset."

Loki couldn't help but laugh.

Peter's face frowned because they had arrived at the gym.

They walked through the door and there a giant blonde man came striding in, "Peter Parker, it's been so long! Tell me what you've been up to again." he ruffled Peter's hair who tried to shy away from it, then he held out his hand to Loki who had to hold back a wince at the strength of the professor's grip.

"Professor Odinson, but call me Thor. Nice to meet you. New professor?"

"Yes, I am the new literature professor, Loki Laufeyson, but call me Loki. I'll leave this promising young man to you," He winked at Peter before continuing, "as for me I'll be teaching my first class."

"Welcome here, and good luck!" threw Thor at him before turning back to Peter, "Go change, we'll start with 10 laps running around the basketball court."

Hearing Peter's grumbles, Loki smiled as he walked away.

A few minutes later, he stopped outside his classroom door and took a deep breath.

"It takes a little time to adjust, but most of the students here are exceptional and the teaching staff is really, really nice."

Loki turned to see who had just spoken.

He found himself facing a black man, taller than him, and very impressive. But despite his imposing nature, his smile and eyes were very warm as he held out his hand. "Heimdall, art professor, welcome."

Loki grasped it and replied, "Loki, literature professor."

Heimdall gave a small nod in the direction of the door, "Good luck." then walked away.

Loki, surprisingly relaxed following this little interlude, walked through the classroom door with a confident air, placed his belongings on the desk and with an engaging smile on his lips addressed his first students, "Hello, I am your new literature teacher and I hope we will work well together."

He paused, letting his gaze roam over the entire class before continuing,"O Captain! My Captain! Who knows where that came from? No one? No idea? It's-"

A young boy raised his hand at the back of the classroom.

"Yes Mister...?"

"Keener, Harley Keener."

"All right Mister Keener, I'm listening."

"It's a Walt Whitman poem about Abraham Lincoln. And it's plagiarism of Professor Keating's introduction played by Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society."

Loki didn't lose his confidence at all and replied, "Thank you Mr. Keener. I'm not going to apologize for the plagiarism. I didn't expect anyone to contradict me since this film was released long before you were all born. Thank you, Mr. Keener, for setting me straight. I won't ask you to call me Captain, Sir, or Professor, but simply Loki. Yes, Mr. Keener, Loki, as in the Norse god of mischief... "

The whole class, including Harley, laughed and Loki thought that it wasn't such a bad start.

But he still felt exhausted at the end of the day, and he slumped into the chair at his assigned desk in the teacher's lounge. He leaned in and put his head back, closing his eyes.

"So they've worn you out already?" it was the deep voice, which he recognized as Heimdall's. He opened his eyes to see that the art professor had sat just at the desk next to him.

"Yet the Famous Five keep talking about Loki, the new professor who is super cool. It's been a long time since I've heard a literature professor on such good terms." It was Thor who came to join them and pulled a chair to sit in the space between Heimdall and Loki.

"The Famous Five?"

Thor chuckled before answering, "They're called that because they're always stuffed together, probably five of the smartest minds in this elite school, and as a result always going out on the town to..."

"…the benefit of science." finished Heimdall.

"That's their argument every time they get busted," Thor clarified.

"Who are they?" asked Loki, curious.

"There's Peter who you met this morning, he's in the same class as his two childhood friends Ned and MJ. There's Harley who talked about how you put him in his place, when he thought he had fooled you. Captain my Captain huh?"

Thor chuckled before continuing, "and finally Kamala Khan, the newest one, a little brunette, a ball of energy who always wears a big red scarf, summer and winter and who the other four have taken under their wing."

"Interesting..." replied Loki, thoughtfully.

"Wait until you're the target of their prank and we'll see if you find these kids interesting." said an unknown voice behind him.

"Bruce my friend! Were you able to fix your laptop?" exclaimed Thor with a laugh.

Loki turned around, only to find himself standing in front of a man who was a little older than him. He stood up and held out his hand, "Professor Banner, I presume."

"Am I that famous?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow as he shook the outstretched hand in a firm grip.

"It's mostly that I had the pleasure of taking Peter Parker for his grounding to Thor." replied Loki

"That brat..." harrumphed Bruce. "He's smart... but his habit of proving he's always right..."

The other men laughed in unison.

"So boys? Are we having fun?" a young woman with short blond hair stepped forward and held out her hand, "Carol Danvers, homeroom teacher at this crazy school."

"Nice to meet you," Loki replied, shaking the outstretched hand.

Unaccustomed to being around so many people and especially such friendly people, Loki felt a little overwhelmed and suddenly the fatigue of this first day seemed to fall on his shoulders to the point that he had to stifle a yawn.

Thor patted him on the back and said, "I have an excellent remedy for that."

"What is it?"

Heimdall and Thor high-fived each other and said in unison, "The Bifrost."

At Loki's look of complete incomprehension, Carol explained, "It's a bar two blocks away, good burgers, good beer and for good company, that's us." she finished with a wink.

Loki realized they were inviting him to come with them but he hesitated and finally replied, "Thanks. I better not drink tonight. I'm dead."

Bruce retorted, "We're all dead."

"Yes, but I still have a lot to unpack."

They nodded, and did not seem disappointed by his refusal, even rather understanding. Loki really wasn't used to this kind of company.

Heimdall put his hand on his arm and then said softly, "Next time, then."

Loki, not understanding why his throat was tight, simply nodded.

A little later, they separated in front of the school gates. Loki on one side and the group on the other.

" Bye Loki!"

"See you tomorrow Captain!"

Loki lived only three blocks from the school and soon arrived home. When he entered he realized how sterile and cold his large apartment seemed.

He had not yet had time to unpack all his things and the boxes were scattered everywhere. The first thing he had unpacked was Croki's terrarium, which took up a whole room.

As he closed the door, he heard Croki's typical little paws coming and rubbing against him as usual. He patted his head and headed for the kitchen. Croki was a Cuvier's Dwarf caiman. Loki had once wanted to get a dog, but in the animal shelter he had immediately felt a connection with the animal, perhaps because he was different, like himself.

Loki opened the refrigerator which was desperately empty except for Croki's fish ration. He put it on a plate and put it on the floor while commenting, "Need alligator food. And human too."

He was going to have to do some shopping tomorrow.

After snacking on a bag of chips, exhausted, he took a quick shower before going to his room.

"Good night Croki."

His room was as functional and depressing as the rest of the place. He went to stand in front of the window. Outside it was all stone buildings. It was very difficult to even see the sky. He sighed, "What a view..."

He pulled the blinds and went to bed. Once his head was on the pillow, he fell asleep very quickly, which prevented him from thinking too much about everything he missed.

**********

A red pickup truck passed the New Asgard sign before parking at the side of the path that leads to the house. Its back end was filled with furniture and moving boxes. A mustachioed man with gray hair got out. He walked toward the cottage on the edge of the cliff and stopped, hands on hips, contemplating the view.

He opened the door, looked for the electric power meter. He turned it on and went to turn on the light in the entrance and then in what seemed to be the living room.

Mobius examined the place, satisfied. There wasn't much. A stereo, some books, an armchair. But the bare and cosy furniture matched perfectly with the austere beauty of the small cottage. He looked out the window at the cliff. He was going to like it here.

It took him a good four hours to unload his pickup truck by himself and install just about everything he had brought. Once finished, he grabbed a cold beer that he had put in the cooler and while drinking it quietly walked around the house before getting in the car to go shopping at the local grocery store that he had spotted on his way in.

Once he had gone around the store, with his groceries in his arms, he went to put them on the counter.

The young owner and his wife were behind.

"Hi, are you new around here?" the owner asked him.

Mobius smiled and replied, "More or less. My name is Mobius."

The owner replied, "My name is Clint and this is my wife, Laura."

Laura smiled and added, "You're going to like it. Especially now that the weather is getting warmer." Then pointing to the groceries, she added, "We'll get you some boxes for all that."

"Oh thanks." replied Mobius.

Laura fetched an empty box from a high shelf. Now that she was no longer hidden by the counter, it was obvious that she was pregnant. Clint rushed to her. "No, honey, let me."

Mobius looked at them, feeling moved and at the same time fully aware of his own loneliness. He paid, took his box and left, but not without promising the young couple to return.

He parked in front of the small road with his groceries in the back of the truck and noticed the mailbox with its flag up. He stopped and opened it. There was an envelope.

For the new tenant.

He took in the groceries, put them away, made himself a sandwich tray and taking the letter, he went to sit on the armchair in front of the bay window. He put his tray on a small table next to it, opened the letter and started to read.

Dear new tenant.

Hello and welcome to your new home and congratulations, blah blah blah. You have made an excellent choice, New Asgard is a wonderful place and this house is a gem, as you may have already noticed.

I'm sure you'll love living here as much as I do.

By the way, I'm the former tenant, Loki.

Mobius looked perplexed but also pleasantly surprised.

The post office forwards my mail normally, but if something should happen here, because the post service is what it is and we are never safe, my new address is below. Thank you.

Mobius turned over the letter.

P.S.: Sorry for the pawprints leading to the front door. They were already there when I moved in, as well as the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

Mobius stared at the letter in amusement and could not help but check the end of the letter.

He went to the front door. The floor was clean. Inside and out.

"What did he talk about?" he scratched the back of his head before heading for the ladder that led to the attic. He opened the hatch, poked his head through and looked around. It was empty. No box.

Mobius went back down, shrugged, crumpled the letter and threw it away.

He finished his meal and went to bed.

The next day, in his clock store, while repairing an antique watch with an extremely complicated mechanism, he couldn't help thinking about the letter and its more or less strange ending when he was interrupted by the doorbell indicating that someone had entered the store.

He put down his tools, wiped his hands, and headed for the store.

"Hey Mobius! I made lunch, shall we share?"

It was the bubbly and somewhat invasive, Sylvie. The owner of the antique gun store right across from him.

He replied, annoyed, because she had interrupted his work that he loved, "I can't, I have urgent work to finish."

"Oh come on Mobius, there's nothing urgent about an old watch."

"It is to its owner."

She made a disappointed pout, "Well, okay..." she sighed and headed for the door, then turned abruptly. "Is it true you bought a house? Where is it? How is it?"

Mobius rolled his eyes, used to Sylvie's chatter.

"It's an isolated cottage, in a small village called New Asgard."

"You're sick to isolate yourself like that!"

"It's what I want and I already feel at home there. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my work, which is not urgent." He walked briskly toward his studio, annoyed by the criticism of his choice, and didn't even hear the door close.

In the late afternoon, after his day's work, he decided to repaint the faded fences that lined the small path. The manual work, like his work on watches, helped him to clear his head.

A few hours later, as the day was getting darker, Mobius was kneeling on the steps and applying a new layer of paint to the weathered planks. He finished, satisfied with the result, and began to put his equipment away.

Behind him, a small dwarf alligator trotted along the path. Mobius didn't notice it at first. The alligator sped up and before Mobius could react, he stepped into the paint and left footprints behind him. "Hey!"

Mobius tried to catch the alligator but it ran back inside the house whose door Mobius had left ajar. Mobius was about to follow him, wondering what an alligator was doing here and if he was dangerous, when he suddenly stopped.

On the ground in front of the house, there was a trail of paw prints.

Mobius rushed to the garbage can and searched with determination through his trash when he finally found what he was looking for: Loki's letter.

He stared at it.

Sorry about the footprints leading to the front door. They were already there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

He remained for a long moment staring at the crumpled note.

*********

Loki went out to have lunch at a place he had spotted not far from the school.

Finding the weather warm, he opened his coat and continued walking.

When he arrived at the place, he sat down on a bench and started to unwrap his sandwich, a book in his hand. He enjoyed this moment of calm, even if the place was crowded on this beautiful day.

Once finished eating, Loki closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight warm him up. Just aware of the surrounding sounds, the water of the fountain, the splashes and laughter of the children playing there, an old man grumbling about global warming, the pigeons landing not far away, hoping to get some crumbs from those who like Loki had decided to have lunch here.

Suddenly, a horrible noise, a high-pitched squeal and a horn made Loki sit up. He suddenly opened his eyes and looked around.

A few meters away, in front of Loki, a double-decker city bus was trying to stop. It was going pretty fast, although you could tell the driver was trying to brake.

Loki registered it all, the noise, the bus, before noticing the gray-haired man standing directly in the path of the bus. There was nothing to be done, it was inevitable and almost immediate, the man was hit by the bus, and Loki, horrified, saw his distant figure fly ten or fifteen feet into the air before crashing to the sidewalk. The faint sound of the impact reached Loki half a second later, due to the distance.

Loki automatically took out his cell phone and dialed 911. As he walked towards the impact point, he gave all the information to the rescue workers, trying to remain calm.

Once he hung up the phone, he started to run towards the lifeless body.

_______

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless🥰

[british-bombs]

( TO BEAT THE DEVIL ) An introduction.

FORMAT: teleplay / novel

GENRE: horror, coming of age

LOGLINE: An interning demon drives a pair of twins cursed with obedience and honesty to kill their cult leader.

THEMES: Trauma, sexual abuse, domestic violence, victim blaming (particularly self blame), peer pressure, redemption, internalized homophobia, and religion.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual abuse, violence, domestic and otherwise, manipulation, and death

EXTENDED SUMMARY, CHARACTERS, EXCERPT AND NOTES:

Carmine can taste it. They're hiding something. Humans have such a silly smell about them, turns an overwhelming shade of sweet when they've made a demonic deal. All four of these children have. He just can't figure out what, and more importantly: why.

It keeps him on the surface longer than he should be. Long enough that Lilith sees it fit to send him a fucking trainee? And if that wasn't insult enough, the trainees one of the eternal teenage know-it-alls.

He's already got four annoying toddlers to trail, and now there's one tugging his hand in the new generation's approach to soul-catching like Carmine isn't one of the best employees they've had since the turn of the century.

And somehow, to make it all worse, the trainee is good at it. And if Carmine wants to keep his spot at the top of the food chain, he's going to have to get the soul of that dumb bitch who's running the joint.

But, of course, the kid gets him murdered??? And then has the nerve to figure out how what those toddlers managed to stick their syrupy, grubby little hands in. What gives?

But two can play at that game. If he can't get the dead guy's, then he can have the next best thing.

Jesse has lived just under seventeen years, but he's ready to check out. Or he was. But of course, some selfish bastard had to come along and say you can't ever act on those thoughts again! Don't think like that!

And then the hole kept getting deeper.

Six feet deep, to be exact. He's got blood on his hands and no matter how fucking good it felt to cut off the air supply to the God who stole his innocence, it's probably not going to feel very good to watch his mom suffer through a highly publicized trial with headlines like CHILD MURDERS HIGH PROFILE BENEFACTOR!!!

Oh. Well. Billy did say if he really got in that deep, he could always strike up a deal. His soul, everything wrapped up in a nice little bow, sweet as Easter Sunday. But until then? Yeah, he's content to live in a stupid fucking Sherlock Holmes novel.

CHARACTERS:

JESSE NIX: A soon-to-be seventeen-year-old saddled with the curse of obedience. Unlike miss-lucky-Ella-Enchanted, he wasn't told to give away his mommy's locket. No-siree. He was told to give away his virginity. In his opinion, the only appropriate payback is a life. Maybe, one day, if he really snaps, he'll dig up Pastor Dallin's corpse and chop his dick off. Really stick it to the man. If he doesn't go to prison first, anyway. (spotify playlist)

NANCY NIX: Also a soon-to-be-seventeen-year-old, though saddled with the curse of honesty. It's really not so bad. That is, until she stumbles across the sight of her dearest little brother covered in blood for no reason he can push through his metal braces. She refuses to believe he did it on purpose. If only she could convince the cops without sounding like a nutjob. (spotify playlist)

BEVERLY PINES: A seventeen-year-old cursed to feel the pain of those around her. It makes for some fun family dinners with a sadistic mom and a missing dad. Distance nulls pain, but she can't ever seem to make it past state lines before her mom gets wise and breaks one of her ribs. Oh, well. She's got a bone to pick with psychos like her mom. Apparently, Pastor Dallin was one of them. She doesn't think she could stomach the pain of killing someone, so next best thing, right? (spotify playlist)

CLARICE ANDERMANN: Also a seventeen-year-old cursed to be constantly in motion. It's honestly not that bad. She's Yale bound! Perks of having endless energy for everything to cheerleading to debate contests, though she can't imagine her heart's going to keep up like this. It's already hanging on by a thread. That thread is named Beverly Pines and like hell she's letting it go to prison for nothing. (spotify playlist)

BILLY: An annoying fuck trapped in a seventeen-year-old's body. No curses. The opposite, in fact - blessed with a silver tongue and a keen sense of deduction. It takes him all of two hours to put together (almost) everything about Jesse Nix. He just didn't think he could push the repressed little fuck to murder that quick. (All the more power to him, though. Prison always makes people desperate and paranoid, AKA: an easy mark.) (spotify playlist)

MAVIS EVANGELISTA: Former housewife turned grieving widow turned revered prophet. If she got a little help from someone downstairs, then who's to know? They love her all the same. Now, she really, really wants to see how far she can push them all. (spotify playlist)

CARMINE: Just a helpful guy, passing through. Really doesn't need anything, just a little pledge, is all! And then? Then, you can have everything you want, fame, money, power, love. The sky is your limit. The water's fine! (Ignore the piranhas, they'll wait till you're dead to eat your face, just a little bit.) (spotify playlist)

NOTES:

- all of these characters have equal importance within the story.

- personal tag system for story stuff is '#tbtd' and character tags are just first name (ex: '#jesse')

- this is kind of really fucked up. the only reason i wrote it was cause i was thinking damn ella enchanted really is NOT fucked up enough. like i don't think the author of ella enchanted went dark enough. a locket? that's it? a bitch move. i'm taking it to straight murder and sexual abuse

- jesse transgender, no character straight except evil people

- i'm not entirely sure how tag lists work but i think i get the gist of them?? idk if you want rb or ask or something </3

EXCERPT:

There were moments, where she was reminded just how different this voice was, how violent.

She had found Lynette, making off with her makeup that she’d spent her own allowance on. Mavis doted on her and, from what she’d seen of other families, everyone else looked upon their little siblings with contempt, despising the burden they dragged along with their existence.

But Mavis adored Lyn. When she'd been born, her mother had come home with a tiny thing bundled in pink fleece. Mavis had taken to Lyn on sight, thinking Lynette’s headband adorned with a baby blue bow was the universe’s way of telling her happy birthday! as reparations for the ones her mother had missed while she was enduring her week long stay at the hospital.

But that mindset was a disease, one that had finally caught up with her. Had Lynette not become her burden? She was nineteen, busting her back day and night so Lynette wouldn’t have to, that she might avoid the life that Mavis had lived in those blissful six years where it was her and her alone.

Had her mother not tampered down her birthday celebrations since Lynette’s was so very close and they couldn’t afford double anyway? Had Lynette not deprived her of the teenage experiences she heard her classmates speak of, going out and tasting alcohol for the first time while Mavis followed a ten year old Lynette house to house so she could complain of a stomach ache after she’d devoured all the candy on the walk back home?

And now this! Stealing her few precious items, the few things she bothered to save up for, few things she bothered to keep hidden. For what? It wasn’t as though she was ever going to have the courage to ask a peer of her’s out. She was a thief.

One Mavis had made the mistake of taking care of. She should’ve embraced those stirrings of resentment, should’ve left Lynette to her own devices since Lynette didn’t appreciate anything, or even half of what Mavis afforded her. She should’ve left her out in the cold that Christmas. How could anyone have known? It wasn’t as though corpses could talk--

She had let Lyn take off with the whole case, as if to remind herself when she woke up the next morning what she had considered, how vile the thought was.

Lyn had never done anything unforgivable to Mavis. Mavis didn’t suppose she ever could. It was no fault of Lyn’s she didn’t understand what it was like to live with their father. How could she? It was a topic off limits to Lyn by both Mavis and their mother. After all, a child born blind doesn’t know until it’s pointed out to them.

And yet, she found guilt hard to summon. She did, but the speed at which it came, the strength, made her uneasy. What had happened to the girl she was? Lyn had been her world. What had changed?

Then, dully, that other voice, entirely of its own volition, said You did.

[spookyvalentine]

If you’re still taking the hour themed asks, how about II, XII, XVII, and XXIV for Mercy and/or Stellan?

II. The Velvet Describe a secret that they have. How far would they go to protect it?

mercy was prepared to go to prison and lose years of their life. kasumi and them were a team back on earth, a pair of nightmares for a lot of people. their personal mission led them off-planet, despite kasumi's protests, and when they’re arrested, mercy says they worked alone to keep attention off of kas (and also, why they didn't reach out to find kasumi while under the alliance thumb). not even anderson knew about her, let alone heard mercy say her name, even years after taking them under his wing.

stellan... honestly? they don't really have any "big" secrets that i can think of. they're an awful liar, and also an open person. they might think they're hiding their gigantic crush on shiala, but everyone knows when they've been talking.

XII. The Sun-in-Rags What do they consider to be their greatest loss? How have they coped with it?

i think its a handful of things for mercy. losing contact with kasumi after being arrested. that they couldn't do much for, let alone acknowledge it. they busted ass through officer school because being on the absolute best behavior meant the alliance wouldn't monitor them so closely. the disaster on akuze. that one they hadn't coped well with at all, but anderson was an anchor for that storm. and then finally, when they wake up on that table. the loss of self and autonomy. that really fucked them up, and i'd say it takes them well into the events of me2 to start untangling those feelings.

for stellan it was the raid on mindoir. they were a commune kid, which means every person they lost was part of a closeknit family. great grandparents, grandparents, parents, many many siblings. they were nonverbal for a long time after that--at least a year--and still signs as they speak. chakwas (on paper an aunt but stellan grew up calling her one of their parents, despite the fact chakwas lived off planet ) took them in, and made sure they received loads of therapy

XVII. The Vagabond Describe an alternate version or an au you have of them.

mercy has the sports coach au!!!! no reapers, irikah lives, after akuze mercy joins alliance intelligence to hunt cerberus, and is assigned at a magnet school on the citadel as a sports coach, and teaches kolyat and some others. the pairing is thane/shepard/irikah >:)

stellan doesnt have one quite yet, but thanks to @yellingaboutmasseffect i've been playing around with a howl's moving castle au with stellan as sophie and shiala as howl, and the thorian perhaps as madame suliman. might ignore the reapers to make my life easier

XXIV. The Flint What is their most destructive tendency?

ooooh hoo hoo a toughie. hmm. oh man. i'm sorry these aren't my strongest answers but

mercy's stubbornness, and stellan is prone to isolate. and i'd say they're both prone to assuming too much responsibility