#i just want to feel like i belong somewhere

[mumblesplash]

prologue…

2!!!

J hears the shot go off above her. Hears O-piece suck in her breath.

"Fuck," L says somewhere to J's right, somewhere in the washroom the three of them just cleared.

A gentle gurgling echoes in her ears. J, blindfolded in the Hold, could tell herself it was just the sound of temperamental plumbing. She doesn't.

The hem of her shirt is damp from the blood of one of Z's alternates, and her fingers still thrum with the memory of the blade that spilled it.

When the Boss holds onto J-piece, she's always given a blindfold. Today it's a metal mask locked onto the top half of her face. Her head bows under its weight, but at least the rest of her bonds are light this time. The bars that appeared around her have left her space to move a bit. Her hands are merely cuffed in front of her.

The Boss must be almost over that fuck-up from last month.

And the fuck-up currently happening is not her doing.

"I's gone off-script again?" O says, his tone sharp but unsurprised.

"He must've spotted something up front," L responds. Hearing her, J-prime can picture the exact crease in her brow—the way her lips purse as she switches into damage-control mode.

"He won't have sightlines into the club from up there," says O. "J counted four alternates on the dance floor and one behind the bar. No pairs yet, but it's only a matter of time."

If it were anyone else presuming to speak for her, J would hate it. Even though she hates drawing attention to herself when Held even more. It's the sort of thing I-prime does all the damn time, and justifies himself with "If you didn't want me to say something for you, you should have spoken up sooner."

It's O-piece talking, though. And it's L he's speaking to. So she's alright.

"Someone needs to cover the front," J-piece says. She keeps her voice low, casual. She's pretending they're back in the office, by the vent next to the water cooler. Her shackled hands pull a cigarette from one pocket and her matchbook from another.

"You guys go handle it—I'll be safe."

It's true. Nothing native to this dimension can touch her within the grip of the Hold.

J places the cigarette between her lips and and struggles for the light—

Then a pair of warm, wide hands close around her own.

"Allow me," O says.

J smiles. Relinquishes the matchbox. Hears the strike—feels the flame come in close. Breathes in warm toxicity and the sweetness of O's scent.

She looks up as she exhales, to keep the smoke from O's eyes.

"Thanks, bud," J says.

Another hand brushes J-piece's shoulder—a gentle warning—before cupping the side of her face. This hand is slim, with perfectly rounded nails and a pinky ring.

J doesn't need those details to know that hand belongs to L. Only L-piece touches her like that.

L plucks the cigarette from J's mouth. There's a sharp drag, a slow exhale. J parts her lips wordlessly, and L returns the cigarette.

"We'll handle the set up this time," L says. "See you soon."

"We should hurry," O adds. "Those alternates are gonna be on the move now that I's kicked the hornet's nest. I'd hate to lose this world, it's got a pretty good funk scene."

J starts to agree—

But the shattering of glass and the howl of rending metal swallows all further discussion.

"That's—" J says.

"S and Z," O sighs.

"We gotta run!" says L.

And so they do, and J is left alone and blind with her tiny roll of warmth—too slight to even be called a flame.

And she could easily drown in the unfairness of it all, were she not a fucking professional.

It's time to go to work.

The fabric of reality above J's head splits like cracking eyes. A knife falls from the space between the worlds and catches itself, hovering. Another knife follows the first. And another. And another—

alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.

[rcmclachlan]

Tommy Kinard, from a long line of Gloucester fishermen. Hence his penchant for ill-fitting jeans, flannel, and affection via bitchiness.

He and Evan are sitting on the little bench outside The Causeway waiting for their chowder—best in the country, hands down—when Evan, who's been quietly studying boats in various stages of winter wrapping across the road, suddenly asks, "Why did you leave here? It's awesome. The downtown area looks like something out of a postcard—"

"It does not," Tommy interjects. "Rockport's downtown, on the other hand..."

"—and the beaches feel like real beaches, even if they do smell like shit."

Tommy tilts his head back and inhales the heavy, but comfortingly familiar stench of low tide. "I left because the town's unofficial motto used to be 'Come for the heroin, stay because you've developed a crippling heroin addiction.'"

Unimpressed, Evan nudges him with an elbow, then jumps to his feet to get the door for a family of six who will be waiting at least a month for a table big enough to accommodate them to open up.

The Causeway is approximately the size of an elevator car. Despite its outward appearance, it's relatively new; it hadn't been there when Tommy was a kid. The little cinema next door had been, though, and he feels a surge of pride for the Williams family that it's still going after all this time.

"No, but seriously." Evan hunkers back down next to him. "Why'd you leave?"

"Why'd you leave Hershey?" Tommy counters.

The corner of Evan's mouth twitches knowingly. He's got Tommy's number in a way no one else does. "You know why I left. But you could've stayed here and done anything. Massachusetts might be even more progressive than California—I mean, it was the first state to legalize gay marriage. Plus, I know there's an air base nearby."

"Hanscom," Tommy says. "It belongs to the Air Force and I wouldn't have been caught dead joining them."

Evan gives him a dubious look. "But the Army was okay?"

"Don't you know, Evan? The Army is for real men," he says with a grin, putting an emphasis on it so Evan knows just whose words he's parroting. "The Air Force is for fa—"

"Yeah, okay, I got it," Evan says loudly, cutting a furtive glance at the people on the other bench, who are too busy looking at their phones and not talking to each other to pay attention to any casual homophobia. "You're gonna get us run out of town."

"Please, it's Gloucester. If anything, they'll probably join in."

Evan deflates a little, pouting, and Tommy is helpless against the urge to press a kiss to his hair. What Evan doesn't understand is that Massachusetts is like an impressionist painting: beautiful if you're standing back far enough to see the whole of it, but get closer and it's as ugly as anywhere else.

"My point was," Tommy continues, "I left because I needed something more than what this place could give me, same as you. And also I needed to be somewhere with a spring wind chill above -10°."

"You bitch if the temps hit above 70," Evan points out.

"I also bitch if the day ends in Y." Tommy shrugs. "Complaining is the official state sport, especially when it comes to the weather."

Checking his phone for the time, Evan heaves an impatient sigh and drops his chin onto Tommy's shoulder. He's too used to LA's food trucks to last a minute here. "There's so much here, though. Like, Worcester looked fun."

Tommy winces. "It's pronounced 'Woo-ster'."

Wide-eyed, Evan lifts his head. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not," Tommy says. "And Worcester's okay. It's big, though. And a pain in the ass to navigate."

"What's beyond Worcester?"

"Nobody knows." He coughs out a 'fuck' when Evan buries an elbow in his gut.

Laughing, Evan echoes, "'Fahk.' There's the accent I've been hoping to hear. I mean, heeyah. Try and hide it all you want, Kinard, I know what you are."

"Okay, Hershey, I dare you to say 'water' like a normal person," Tommy can't help but tease. "Remember, there's no U or D in it."

Eyes sparkling, Evan presses close with a shit-eating grin and says slyly, "I'll show U where to put a D."

Before Tommy can shove him off the bench for that one, the door to the restaurant opens and a head pops out. "Order for Kinard?"

"Saved by the clams," Evan chortles, standing up when Tommy goes to grab the bag from the kid. He gives a long, luxurious stretch, and Tommy can't help but let his eyes be drawn to Evan's belly when his shirt rides up. "Where do you want to eat? We could go sit down by the beach. There's a big dahlia garden display there."

Huh. They still do that? That's actually kind of sweet, but Tommy has plans and they don't involve the public.

"If you don't mind a bit of light trespassing, we'll head up to Mussel Point. The view's well worth it."

Intrigued, Evan lifts his brows. "Trespassing? Gee, Tommy, you take me to all the best places."

That snark is nowhere to be found half an hour later when Evan's full of clam chowder and getting ruthlessly jacked off while the ocean bays at his feet, but Tommy doesn't call him on it.

[p0orbaby]

R thinks Alexia is embarrassed to be dating her because R hasn't met her friends when in reality she doesn't want the team to scare R away.

-

The first thing you notice when Alexia walks through the door is her expression. A mix of contentment and exhaustion, like she’s just finished saving the world but could still go another round if she had to. Her hair is tied back in that effortlessly perfect way that you’ve never quite managed to replicate, no matter how many YouTube tutorials you’ve watched.

“Hey,” she says, setting down a bag of groceries on the counter like it didn’t cost her at least fifty euros for whatever organic nonsense she’s insisted on this week.

“Hi,” you reply, the word clipped, your voice low.

She pauses, turning to look at you with that face. The one that says she’s already analysing the situation and will probably win whatever argument is about to unfold. You hate that she’s good at this. You hate even more that you’ve already lost, but you press forward anyway.

“So,” you start, trying for casual but landing somewhere closer to brittle, “I was just thinking. You know how we’ve been dating for, oh, six months now?”

Her eyebrows lift, just a fraction, but she says nothing.

“And how I still haven’t met any of your teammates?”

There’s the flicker of understanding in her eyes, followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. You press on, emboldened.

“Not even one,” you add, holding up a finger for emphasis. “Not Irene, not Keira, not even Ingrid, and she seems like she wouldn’t hurt a fly”

Alexia sighs, rubbing a hand over her face, and you know you’ve struck a nerve. “It’s not like that,” she says.

“Oh, isn’t it?” You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter. “Because it kind of feels like you’re embarrassed of me”

That gets her. She blinks, her mouth opening and closing as if she’s trying to form words but failing spectacularly. You’re on a roll now.

“I mean, it’s fine if you are,” you say, with a shrug that’s entirely too casual. “I get it. I’m not, like, a professional athlete or anything. I don’t even know what half those drills you talk about are. I had to Google what a rondo was”

“Cariño,” she interrupts, her voice soft but firm, and it derails you just enough to make you falter.

“What?”

She steps closer, her hands finding your hips in that way that always makes your resolve crumble. “I’m not embarrassed of you. I could never be embarrassed of you”

“Then why—”

“Because,” she cuts you off again, her forehead resting lightly against yours now, “my teammates are… a lot”

You blink at her, thrown. “A lot?”

She nods, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “Yes. Imagine a group of very competitive, very opinionated people who spend way too much time together. Now imagine them interrogating you about every single detail of our relationship”

“I think I could handle it,” you say, but your voice wavers just enough to betray you.

Alexia smirks, pulling back just slightly so she can meet your gaze. “Could you handle Mapi trying to figure out your star sign within five seconds of meeting you?”

“I—”

“Or Patri asking you whether you think pineapple belongs on pizza?”

“I mean—”

“And then there’s Aitana, who will definitely ask if you’ve ever made me cry”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. She raises an eyebrow like she’s already proven her point.

“Okay,” you admit after a beat. “That does sound… intense”

“Exactly.” She presses a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back, as if that seals the conversation. “I just don’t want them to scare you off”

“Alexia,” you say, grabbing her wrist before she can fully retreat. “I’m not going anywhere”

She looks at you then, her expression softening in that way that makes your chest ache. “I know. But you’re too good to deal with all that. At least not yet”

“Not yet?”

“Maybe next month,” she teases, a rare grin breaking across her face.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan, after being officallt together with Wade for multiple months just sitting at the table with this longing look on his face.

"What's wrong, Wolvie? Kitty havin' a bad day?"

"...My wife died today.."

"What?"

And it's not that Wade doesn't already know he's been married multiple times already, but it's the suprise that Logan is just now mentioning this today. I mean its like 4 pm and he just now is bringing this up.

"Well.. Let's go see her!"

"... I can't.."

"Oh... cause it hurts to much?"

Logan is staring at the table, just.. staring.. out of it, looking like he's gonna cry if someone doesn't do something. And seeing as he's sober now, he's trying really hard to stay here. He wants to run off to some bar and drown himself in his own sorrows, but he doesn't.

He's a good boy.

Cause he's staying right here. At home. With Wade. Where he belongs. It's so hard, though. So damn hard.

Theres a big pause before he looks up at wade with the biggest wettest eyes. "..Cause shes in Japan."

And suddenly, Wade Gasps. "Ooh I love Tokyo! Lets go!"

Logan is now frustrated, he thinks wade is teasing him about going. He thinks hes mocking him. Tears fall as he glares at him.

"DONT... not today, wilson."

So Wade blinks and is like 'oh shit' cause he got hit with the army name.

"...so.. you dont want to go to Japan?"

Its now that Logan looks at him, baffled. "Of course I do..."

"Then let's go! Im bringing an empty suitcase, EEHH Im gonna buy so many clothes!" So as Wade runs off, Logan thinks for a second, processing before awkwardly coming to the bedroom. "W-..were actually going?"

Wade stops packing and blinks. "Peanut you really gotta make up your mind. Do you want to go see your wife or not?"

"... yes."

"Then yes. We are. Now come on I cant imagine a ticket this late would be cheap but oh well! Anything for my Logan." He declares.

Logan smiles a bit.

My Logan

"Y-you dont mind? Really? It'll be a lot of money, Wade... wont you feel weird coming with me to watch me talk to her?"

"Oh don't worry about it. I took a couple extra jobs this week, and why wouldn't I be? You let me see Ness. And Death."

"I dont exactly *let* you see death... she just takes you."

"Yeah well. When a girl is needy you dont really complain, now do ya? Now get packed or ill go myself. Ive been itching to go somewhere for awhile. Love new york. Hate america." He states, slamming his case shut and zipped it only for a couple yips to come from the bag.

"...Wade... did you pack puppins?"

"What? Shes an essential."

"Wade..."

"Fine! I'll leave her with al! Jeez."

And so, here they are, packed, sunscreened, and at the airport when Logan remembers how much he hates planes. He's nervous, anxiously staring at the boarding gate and his hands itch. Hes in the corner, waiting for wade to get back with their pretzels.

"You know- Its really convenient that I saved up all that money and we were able to go on this vacation style trip. Oh well. You want your pretzel now or later? Yours has cheese. Mines mustard.. Kinda like that new Kendrick song."

"What??" Logan asks, out of it and is obviously sweating.

"Ooh kitty... shit I forgot. Here. Hurry up and take these. Hank said if we ever needed to go somewhere on a plane or you were going crazy to give you some of these." He says, shifting hands to give him a bottle of pills.

"Im not so sure about this.."

"About going to Japan?"

"No no.. I... I wanna go to Japan. I just.. I really hate planes.. and these I-" he looks at the pills, whining. "I used to do a ton of pills, Wade. Anything I could get my paws on."

"Ha!! Paws."

"?? Did you take one of these?" He questions.

"Oh what? Nah. Did do a ton of coke though before we left... Oh shit... you know what the author just remembered?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah exactly. We cant get through TSA... Welp. Time to go buy a plane."

"Ohh hell no! You are NOT flying us anywhere!.. Look.. I know a guy."

"Oooh. Mysterious cliff hanger. What will happen next? Who knows. Maybe we'll get a plane crash and logan will drown to death over and over-"

"WADE!!! NOT. HELPING!"

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

117 for 🐓:

---

 His first thought is sort of dramatic. Thieves. Thieves are coming for Buck and Mrs. Gladwell’s homes! To be fair, he heard a lot of Athena stories at Chrismtas dinner. 

He pauses his podcast and listens for a minute. And it is in listening that everything changes. 

“You have a key, just use a key,” comes a very familiar voice. Albeit, one he has not heard in person in half a year. 

“I can’t do that,” replies his favorite voice ever. 

Buck stiffens. What… What are they doing here?

“Why not? He gave it to you,” Chris says.

“Because he doesn’t know we’re here,” Eddie replies. “We can’t just barge into his house. What if…” 

“What if what? He’s not even home.” 

“Uh, nothing. It’s just rude. We can’t. We’ll just wait and surprise him when he gets here. It’s usually around this time.” 

Buck is grinning. He’s grinning. They came to surprise him? For New Year’s? That’s incredible.

“Okay, but, Dad, I really have to pee.” 

“Shoot. Fine, okay. We’ll unlock it, you go in there, and then come right back out and we’ll make it look like you never broke in.”

Buck is about to laugh out loud. Seems as good a time as any to give himself away.

“Or,” he says, walking around the corner and into view. Not just their view. Their view. He can see them. Right in front of him. Real. “I can unlock the door, and you don’t have to pretend anything.”

Eddie and Chris whip around to look at him. Christopher’s face breaks out in a huge, warm smile. 

“Buck! You’re here!” He beams. 

“I’m here?” Buck asks, striding over to them. “You’re here!”

He bends - though far less than he used to have to - to hug Chris. He wraps one arm around him, grabbing Eddie’s forearm with the other and squeezing. Like he needs to touch them both to make sure they’re actually real. 

“Surprise,” Eddie says sort of weakly. His voice sounds tight. 

Buck shifts his body a little, drops the hand holding Eddie’s arm, and opens the hug. 

“Come on, man, don’t make me choose,” he pleads.

Eddie laughs, then wraps his arms around both of them. For a too-short, precious moment, it’s all okay. Everything is okay. Something that has been broken since the spring is whole, and Buck feels a bone-deep sense of ease. He’s okay. They’re okay. They’re here. 

When Buck pulls away, he can’t hide the tears in his eyes. 

“Um, Buck,” Chris says.

“Yeah?” Buck asks.

“I love you and I missed you but can you open the door so I can pee?” 

Eddie and Buck both laugh. Buck steps in, pulls out his keys, and unlocks the door. 

“Make yourself at home,” Buck says. Like, please? Home. In this city. Where they belong?

Once Chris is gone, Buck turns to Eddie and pulls him into another hug. And… And it’s a bit different from the way they usually hug. For one, Buck is holding onto him so tight it hurts his arms. Two, Eddie lets his head drop onto Buck’s shoulder. It’s strangely intimate, for nothing at all happening. 

“What are you doing here?” Buck asks breathlessly when they part.

Eddie’s cheeks flush. “I miss you.”

“Eddie, god. I miss you, too.”

“Uh… I have something to say, and… And, I mean, I took a pretty big shot coming here, so can you listen before commenting?”

Buck blinks, surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Eddie nods and takes a deep breath. 

“I almost ruined my whole life this year, at various different points,” Eddie says. 

Buck frowns. Damn.

“And I don’t think I realized just how close I was to really sealing the deal, but luckily… Luckily, I have a pretty observant kid.”

Buck wants to cry. They must be really talking to each other again. They must be… Oh god. Chris came here. With Eddie. Are they back under one roof?

“One of the mistakes I made, clearly, was thinking I could… That I could just be somewhere you aren’t without being miserable.”

Buck can’t help the way his jaw just sort of drops. That’s like… The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him! And it wasn’t even said romantically! Wait. Right? It wasn’t said romantically, right? 

[amorre1989]

sweet popsicle...

pairing: Spencer Reid; Reader (I should really include someone else sometime)

word count: 2,5k

story: hot summer days with your boyfriend. You've given Spence confidence with each other that has become irreplaceable with anyone, enough to joke with each other the way you do now.

It was the hottest day of the year, you had recently showered while your boyfriend was waiting for you in the living room, when you came out of the bathroom with a pair of jean shorts and a little shirt his gaze went from book to you. He smiled because he had never seen you wearing something like that, slightly revealing, and comfy for the temperature.

You were moisturized and perfumed, and your scent drove him crazy, so magnetic, he got up from the couch and followed you towards the kitchen.

When he got to the doorframe you were leaning looking for something in the freezer, those shorts were driving him insane, so tiny, so tight...

"what are you looking for, pretty?" he says, standing now behind you, getting a better view of your ass being choked with those shorts while revealing a bit of your cheeks.

"there's ice cream hidden somewhere..." you say, still looking through the frozen vegetables and tuppers. You pulled out two popsicles.

"choose, we got, strawberry and lemon" you smiled while closing the fridge with your foot.

He grabbed the pink packaging and opened it up, you opened the balcony door where you have designed the perfect resting space. You sat on a chair and started to eat your popsicle. He sat across you while observing you, and trying not to stain his shirt with the melting popsicle.

You got up and rested your elbows on the edge of the balcony while observing people melting under you.

"look! there's a woman with that summer umbrella I want!" you said as you pointed out, Spencer was too focused on those shorts and you caught him just in time.

"the what?" he asked while trying to save his mouth from freezing with the piece of popsicle he had just bitten.

You smiled and kept eating your popsicle, unaware of the way you were eating it, Spencer pointed it out in his mind, the way you were wrapping your lips with ease, the glimpse of your tongue some times, and suddenly, the way you were eating it almost all in.

"the umbrella?" you said innocently, but it was too late, Spencer had already covered his pants with one wrist and nodded.

"oh, right..those are good aren't they?" he said getting up from his seat to stand next to you. You nodded with the popsicle between your lips again.

He smiled and watched your lips, you realized then what was going on, sweet Spence, you decided to tease a bit as you started to go lower on the popsicle while looking at his now parted lips, his popsicle was melting in his hand and he was totally unaware.

"your popsicle's melting" you said before holding his hand and licking his dripping popsicle, he gasped and licked his lips.

"that's...very antigenic..." he mumbled. You smiled. For god's sake you have drank each other's... nevermind.

"my bad, you can have mine then" you said, jokingly, it was the same thing.

"sure" then he leaned and licked your lips, you gasped and he took advantage of it sliding his tongue inside your mouth. You could feel him inside you, his tongue massaging your walls while you were trying to follow his pace, and his cold tongue hitting against yours as if it belongs there, it does.

"what was that move you were doing with the popsicle?" he asked.

"what move?"

"this move" he said and he took his ice cream and shove it inside your mouth, you laughed and pulled it out.

"Spence!" you laughed as well as him.

"I'm sorry" he said laughing while wiping the corners of your lips with his thumb before he licked it.

"super antigenic" you said.

"very" he kissed you, feeling your cold lips.

this teasing was what made you realize...you got him, he's yours, he's never gonna be like this with anyone else, he's yours now and you're his, so now you can continue to eat your popsicle and finish it in one shove.

"he should go do something productive, shouldn't we?" he suggests tilting his head.

"sure, what's on your mind?" you say squinting your eyes to avoid the sun that's hitting your head so strongly it's making your hair dry.

He couldn't take the words out of his lips, you knew he wasn't gonna say it, but he wanted it.

"go on" you insisted.

"you know what I want" he said, with that stone cold face along with a slight blush.

You smiled and kissed him.

"does Spencer Reid have the guts to do it right here in my balcony?" you asked, as if you were in a contest.

He looked at the chairs and around, to check if there was anyone there.

"well..it's too hot inside.." he said.

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 43

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's (Mother Spore) pov*

You think you gained some kind of understanding of what they are talking about trough just context clues. They talk about it like It's common knowledge so you have to guess on what they are discussing.

In short these guys want to fight this weird egg themed cult., the villains all seem to dislike the egg cult people for some reason....It's just...a whole lot of missing information they aren't sharing.

You do try to think about who this egg could be... The blood god would never stoop so low as to take the shape of an egg, neither would Exor or Shad... You come up empty, either this egg tging isn't actually a god or it must be one you never really cared about knowing in the past, either way you don't see why everyone hates these people.

Now, you thought it was time for the plan to be explained but no, of course not. Despite everyone having shared how much they hate this egg they still need to discuss payments and favours and other stuff that doesn't matter. You get it, humans are greedy or whatever but come on! You thought this was going to be fun! And you can't even lament about it vocally because Mother Spore is supposed to be silent and mysterious. Xonorth though...he's the worst offender, while the others take little time to convince he just keeps wanting more.

At least the whole stealth operation with Poultryman is just about to start, at least.

*Grian's (Poultryman) pov*

Flame motions towards you and the other two, he points to the ground and you land, you aren't at Las Nevadas yet but you are close.

"Does everyone remember the plan?"

...

You raise your hand. "I wasn't told anything."

"Right, I knew I was forgetting something. We aren't going to just walk in the casino. That's stupid."

You expected that, from what you have seen as Mother Spore the main entrance is under close surveilance.

"I came up with the plan!" Worm man shouts before Seraphin places his hands on his mouth.

"Yes you did. We are going to go through the vents, they aren't big so we'll have to crawl..."

"Hmpfffg"

"... Seraphin, let him go."

You feel a bit like a fourth wheel.

...

Wait they want you to crawl in what now?

"Why the vents"

"Easier, plus we get to listenificate in to the meeting."

"That's... alright."

"Well then, let's go!"

*Grian's pov*

After the last movie's credits Scar suddenly got a message and excused himself for a few minutes.

As soon as came back he started saying you had to go and make excuses for the two of you two leave early, Pearl sent you a look but didn't say anything...You decided to not fight it, you were sure he had his reasons, so with Pearl and the others waving you away the two of you quickly gathered your belongings and left in a hurry.

As soon as you leave the apartment he quite literally deflates and his smile wavers.

"Scar, what was that abou-"

"Not here! Just...let's get somewhere else first!"

He's desperate and flustered and something is definitely up.

"... o ... k?"

And so you let him lead you to an empty street and wait for him to check around for anyone that might be near.

"So?"

"The association wants Hotguy and Cuteguy...now"

Huh that's unexpected, what could it possibly be for? You hope It's not near Las Nevadas.

" . . . Why?"

"Someone saw Poultryman, Flame, Seraphin and Worm man near Las Nevadas. They sent us both to catch them"

Oh this is ... Of course It's Las Nevadas, you shouldn't have hoped. You are going to fight yourself fighting yourself, that's going to be something... You do wonder how you were seen at all though, you were sure Flame and the others had been extremely careful about not being seen.

Wait one moment, what does he mean they want Cuteguy??? You aren't even allowed to go out as Cuteguy!

"I thought I wasn't allowed to go out as Cute guy yet"

"I thought so too... They didn't really explain what changed, that just said that things have changed"

"Well then we have no time to waste do we?"

"No...no we don't."

...Wait.

"Weren't they supposed to give me like...a hero outfit or something?"

"Cub is working on one but it's not ready since you weren't...supposed to go out this soon."

"And I'm guessing It's not going to be done in a short amount of time"

"Probably not..."

"Great... We'll have to put something together in- ... how long until we have to leave?"

"Half an hour, at most."

That's literally nothing, were you a mortal and this would have become a disaster. The hero association should have circus music as their theme song.

"I'll figure it out just... go back to the tower and get your stuff together and we meet up back in half an hour"

[yanicide]

You don’t understand—so let me help you. How deeply, how completely, I’ve consumed every fibre of you in my mind. You exist in a loop behind my eyes, a constant presence in the space where my thoughts should be. I’m obsessed—utterly and unapologetically obsessed. Each message you send my way, each word that you speak, the mere twitch of your lips, I catalogue it, memorise it, make it mine.

It’s not enough to just watch you, though. Not enough to bask in the glow of your presence like some lovesick fool. No, I want more than that—I need more than that. I need to own you in ways no one else ever will. I need to tear apart the idea that you could ever belong to someone else. You’re not just a person to me; you’re a masterpiece, a riddle, an addiction I can’t and won’t shake. You’ve burrowed into my brain, threaded yourself through every neuron, and now everything—everything—is about you.

Your scent lingers in places you’ve never been. I hear your voice in every quiet moment. You’ve taken up residence in my chest, like a pressure I can’t ease, a craving I can’t satisfy. I wake up thinking of you. I go to sleep thinking of you. My entire world has narrowed to the shape of your silhouette, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Do you even realise the power you have over me? How I replay our conversations in my mind, dissecting every word, savouring the way you speak, the pauses, the inflections, the way you laugh, what makes you laugh, how you word things. I save scraps of you—your words, your pictures, the faintest remnants of your existence. I hoard them like a dragon with its gold, guarding them jealously from prying eyes.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Watching you from the outside is torture, knowing there’s a whole world inside you that I don’t yet own. I want to crack you open, see what makes you tick, understand every corner of your mind. I want to peel back every layer of you, see what’s beneath, even the parts you try to hide. Especially the parts you try to hide.

I hate that others even look at you, that they dare to speak your name as if it belongs to them, as if they could ever know you the way I do. I hate their ignorance, their blindness to the details I’ve memorised. They’ll never understand the way you furrow your brow when you’re thinking, or the way your lips twitch before you smile, or the exact shade of your eyes when the light hits them just right. They don’t see you like I do, and they never will.

And you? You have no idea what you do to me. How one text, one smile, your mere presence, can send my heart into a frenzy. How the sound of your voice can twist something deep inside me, make me want to keep you close forever. You have no idea how hard it is to keep my distance, to pretend I’m not completely consumed by you.

But I can’t keep pretending forever. I can feel the cracks forming, the thin veneer of control I’ve clung to starting to splinter. Soon, I won’t be able to hold back anymore. Soon, I’ll take what’s mine, claim you in ways no one else ever could.

Because that’s what you are. Mine. You might not realise it yet, but you do. Somewhere, deep down, you know you belong to me. You know you’re already wrapped in my web, every strand pulling tighter with each passing moment. And I won’t stop until you’re entirely, completely mine—body, mind, heart, and soul.

You can try to resist, if you like. It’s adorable when you think you have a choice in this. But I’ll wait, I’ll watch, I’ll work my way deeper and deeper into your life until I’m all you know, all you see, all you need. And when you finally give in, when you finally look at me with that understanding in your eyes, you’ll see that this was always inevitable.

You were made for me. And I was made to obsess over you. Always, and forever.

[clawsextended]

“why?”

the step back is unintentional. she doesn’t realize the way she keeps making herself smaller — how every step she takes lowers her only a little from neve’s stature. like she expects the worst at every turn, and she does. she always has.

she’s not like them. sometimes it sinks in — she’s not even like lucanis. even he has some semblance of pride, even he has some semblance of upbringing. while the della morte clan isn’t precisely noble, while his profession isn’t exactly honorable, he has honor.

and she doesn’t have that. none of it. she’s always been alone. she’s always been apart.

sometimes she doesn’t belong.

“why do you want to figure it out?” like she needs to clarify this — maybe she’ll clarify this. maybe it’ll make sense if she can talk herself through it, if her hackles lower, “…why do you want to help me figure it out?”

she presses herself against the side of the stairs down, half open, half closed, entirely herself. it isn’t something in her eyes any longer that’s frightened, like she’s lost the energy for fear. the only thing that’s left is helpless, stripped bare, disarmed. she’s got no defenses to speak of.

“i don’t get it. i lied to you.”

the tears drying on her cheeks feel forgotten, and they are. she doesn’t think crying has ever felt real for her, like someone else sheds tears she can feel somewhere else in her soul. she’s every inch her age for just a moment — young and foolish, silently desperate.

“i don’t understand.”

humiliation coils in her gut. stupid, mangy cat. you can’t understand anything. you never will. stupid, mangy cat.

she doesn’t know what she needs. what neve’s asking is.. something she doesn’t understand. she doesn’t know what she needs because no one’s ever asked her, and she’s never asked herself. that’s insane. what she needs isn’t important, getting through the next ten minutes is.

she presses her palms to the floor and pushes herself back to standing. she’s shorter than neve without her heels and she’s all too aware of this fact, even if it’s by a couple inches. and she doesn’t have a weapon on her to speak of.

“don’t do that. i’m not a pathetic little kitten. you don’t have to talk to me like i am.”

it’s only partially guarded. it’s halfway unguarded, and the thing is that there’s no bite to it. she’s nervous — more nervous than she thinks she’s ever felt. and for a solid creature compounded of muscle and grit, it feels juxtaposed directly to her words — she isn’t a pathetic little kitten, but she’s sure she sounds like one.

she doesn’t know what she needs. that’s never made a difference. get through the next ten minutes and be quiet, bleed, grit your teeth, redeem yourself for the kind of person you’ve been in what feels like another life.

“i don’t know. i don’t know and i just—“

and she’s turning only a little to peer back in the direction of their little festivities. like she’s quite swiftly coming to an awful realization. yet another one. her fingers tingle.

“—i just fucked up a really nice night.”

she laughs again, hardbitten, and this time it’s quiet and down at her feet and it’s all she can feel.

“because i can’t ever keep my mouth shut.”

[velvetlilith777]

why is finding where you fit in actually so hard?

[angria]

Not sure what to say the past few days. Just feel really out of it and alone. Maybe dissociative, but more unfocused. Not really caring about anything. Feeling on the outside, not seen.

Idk. I never feel like I belong. To anything, anyone. Thought that would change as I got older, but nope. Just gets worse.

[erstwhile-elster]

Oof

[itspileofgoodthings]

my seniors have been so quiet all year and it’s been fine cause we’ve had a lot of writing/research to do but I need them to talk to me now so i was hit by a bolt of inspiration two days ago and I made them all tell me their comfort level with sharing aloud, rating themselves on a scale of 1-10. I then averaged the class score and they’re a 4.5. I then told them yesterday we needed to raise the score the tiniest bit. And the 1’s and 2’s didn’t need to be 10’s just maybe 3’s and 4’s. And they tried! They talked more 😭

[silkjade]

i haven’t been here much recently, and i’m sorry i’ve only been negative on the off chance i’ve been online, but let me just say one last piece before the end of this month, so that maybe the next might be better….

[simplifiedemotions]

I think 2025 is the year I pull away from social media almost completely. I enjoyed it for the last few years, made some great friends and entrenched new memories I’m deeply grateful for, but I’ve also lost any and all confidence in myself. Uncertainty and embarrassment follows almost every sentence I type, and although I can’t place exactly where this heavy feeling started, I do know that it’s not something I can bear with peace. I’ve tried to work through this largely unexplainable shame, but maybe it’s for the best that I stop trying to force things that aren’t working for me. A lot of people know how to make lights shine. They purchase settings where they can make them multicoloured, and cast them so bright you can see them from space… but I think all I wanted was the light of a tiny lamp. And right now, the bulb is nearly dead.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the last unicorn post from earlier has me thinking about the master. that yana is still in there, you know? is still someone he was, if even for a brief flash across the life of a time lord. there’s no way to unlive that life. there are ways to twist it later, sure, to make utopia into hell on earth. but the life was lived. in much the same way that the doctor can remember, can feel, the love he held onto as john smith even as that life is ripped out of his hands. the doctor choose denial and then grief and then to shutter it all away. and so john smith died, and so professor yana died, and the doctor and the master live on. the doctor has done this before, and he lives in orbit around humanity, trying to keep the best parts of them and hold them deep enough to take root (which he can pretend he gets to choose, as a time lord. as a human, it all floods in and can’t be dug back out.) but what about the master, right?

to borrow a turn of phrase: i think there are two time lords left in the universe, and they both learned how to regret.