#i mean now it makes sense why he was so unhelpful at first but still hahaha

[gillionspookstrider]

hetch after his first appearance

[calinaannehart]

9-1-1 Bingo: Round 4 - When I Look At You I See Everything I've Ever Wanted

time is shortening (down to the bone)

Four months after the breakup Buck gets a text message from Lucy.

He’s just woken up after a 24-hour shift, the haze of sleep still clouding him when his phone chimes. He doesn’t read it straight away, a habit he’s gotten into to stop him from rushing to see if Tommy had finally texted him.

Buck has spent hours at a time staring at his phone screen and his and Tommy’s message history. Occasionally, the white bubble would bounce, the three dots telling him that Tommy was typing something out and Buck’s heart rate would spike, nerves and anticipation clogging his throat as he waited, and waited, and waited until the bubble would vanish altogether.

Tommy never messaged. But it told Buck that the man was still thinking about him, that had to mean something, right?

He’s called Tommy a handful of times, giving in to the deep-down urge to hear the man’s voice again, usually in the middle of the night when he’s been wallowing in the bottom of a liquor bottle. The ones that he didn’t end before the call connected had gone unanswered just the same as every call and text in the first few weeks following the break-up.

All he’d wanted was to talk to Tommy, try and make some sense out of what had happened for things to have derailed in the blink of an eye. One minute they’d been celebrating their sixth month anniversary, Buck looking forward to another six months with Tommy by his side, and the next Tommy had been calling him Buck and walking out of his life.

Now they’d been apart almost as long as they’d been together.

A box of Tommy’s things, his toothbrush, a spare phone charger, a harbor hoodie that Buck had claimed as his, the fluffy socks Tommy wore when his feet got cold which Buck found so fucking sweet and endearing it made his teeth hurt, still sat by the door waiting to be collected. Eddie and Chim have both offered to drop it off at Tommy’s but Buck shrugged them off.

If he’s being honest with himself he just couldn’t let them go.

It wasn’t just him who Tommy has been ghosting, Bobby, Hen, and Chim, they’ve all tried reaching out to no avail. Eddie is the only one who’s had any success, a couple of messages in the early days asking Eddie to keep an eye on Buck, and an odd one now and then replying to Eddie’s attempts to get him to meet for a pick-up game or sparing session.

“He always says he’s working,” Eddie had told him with a shrug. “I guess he’s just picking up some extra shifts to keep himself busy.”

They never see him on calls, however, not on the 217 truck or on the chopper when they’re joined by air ops, and Lucy just shrugs when anyone asks saying he’s off that day.

Buck’s starting to think Tommy’s either avoiding the 118 or he’s taken a transfer altogether.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, staring at his phone while he waits for his coffee to brew. The screen lights up again, another text coming in with a chime before falling dark again and Buck figures he’s delayed it long enough.

There’s still a spark of hope as he taps the screen to wake it, but it extinguishes in a flash when it’s Lucy’s contact that’s revealed instead.

If you have any plans today cancel them.

I know you’re off shift today so you have no excuse.

Answer your damn texts Buckley!

I’m not in the mood Lucy.

I don’t care. Clear your schedule for today.

Why?

I need you to go somewhere.

Again, why?

Just do it Buckley. Call it a favor.

How do I know there’s not gonna be a man with an axe waiting to try and murder me?

If that happens I’m haunting you for the rest of your life.

No axe. Scout’s honour.

Fine. Where?

Presbyterian.

Buck hits the call button. Thankfully, Lucy answers after the first ring. “Why are you sending me to the hospital?” He asks. “What’s…wait, are you hurt? Did something happen on a call?”

Lucy doesn’t answer straight away. “Nothing happened on a call.” She says eventually in her usual evasive and unhelpful way.

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

The inflection to her words, whether intentional or subconscious tells Buck what he needs to know. “But someone is?”

Lucy sighs again but doesn’t offer any further explanation. “Third floor. Preferably before two this afternoon.”

“But who—”

“Please, Buck?” The desperation in her voice is enough to sway him. Lucy never sounds desperate.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go. Who am I—”

“Thanks, Buckley. Third floor. Before two.” She repeats then hangs up.

Stepping out of the elevator Buck blinks when he realizes he’s on the oncology floor. He looks around, mind reeling with who could possibly be getting treatment on this floor out of every possible department. It can’t be one of the 118, he would know.

He texts Lucy, asking who he’s there to see, and she leaves him on read. She ignores his call, too.

“Hey, excuse me,” Buck says to the nurse behind the desk. “Um, I’m not sure who I’m—”

The words die in his throat as his eyes land on a familiar form in a large wingback chair, the leg rest raised so he’s reclined with his head tipped back and eyes closed. He’s thinner than he was when Buck last saw him, deep shadows sit under his eyes and his hair, patchy in places, has been shaved short. There’s a port-a-cath in his upper arm and hanging on the drip stand above is a bag of fluid, the bright red chemotherapy label visible even at this distance.

“Sir?” The nurse says, but Buck can’t look away from the man.

“Tommy.”

“Are you a relative of Mr. Kinard?” She asks.

“Uh, I-I’m a…friend,” Buck manages to utter through his shock. “Can I…?” He points in Tommy’s direction, hoping she won’t send him away.

“Sure, he has a little longer left but go ahead.”

Buck moves as though through sludge, mind still trying to comprehend what he’s seeing, and he comes to a stop in the doorway into the treatment room, more of the wingback chairs spaced evenly throughout. A handful of them are occupied, other patients also hooked up to chemo bags, but his sight is fixed on his ex.

With Tommy’s eyes closed it gives Buck a chance to take him in up close. He looks the same and yet completely different all at once. He has the same sharp angle of his jaw; the one Buck would nip at to feeling the shadow of his scruff scratching against his own, but it’s more pronounced now, gaunt. The sweats and hoodie he’s wearing are practically swamping him. He’s a shadow of the man who broke up with Buck all those months ago.

He looks tired, worn. Sick.

Tommy coughs, the rattle deep in his chest audible from where Buck stands frozen, and he opens his eyes as he adjusts his position in his chair.

Then Tommy’s eyes land on him. They widen in shock before turning soft, the way they always did when he looked at Buck, but the look only lasts a second before it morphs into one of resigned understanding.

“Lucy told you.”

Buck’s mouth is dry and it takes considerable force to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Yeah,” He breathes. “I-I mean, no. I mean, she told me to come to the hospital but she didn’t…she didn’t tell me. But you should have.”

Tommy at least has the grace to look regretful, his gaze falling from Buck to where his bony fingers are picking at his cuticles. “I’m not your problem anymore, Buck.” He says to his lap.

“Don’t,” Buck shakes his head. “Don’t call me that. That’s not what you call me.”

read on ao3

If you like please reblog!! 🥹❤️‍🩹

@911bingo

[drksanctuary]

In response to this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/avaetin/757041211064385536/do-we-mean-this-or-this-i-need-clarification

@avaetin Nico "pins the wizard" like this:

For Context: Nico finds himself in the underbelly of a magical scheme and doesn’t know how to navigate but some monster in the crowd seems to make some deal with him that gets him out of it more or less. He’s not completely sure what’s going on but he and the mysterious monster are escorted to a hallway and told to go through the one door on the side and to “not keep them waiting” and the door slams behind them.

Excerpt:

Nico walks down the hallway with the mysterious human figure, shrouded in black shadowy mist. Away from the prying eyes of the monsters down the corridor and who knows what on the other side of the doors, Nico takes his chance. He grabs at where the figures neck would be and slams it against the wall. It gives out a choke. "I don't know if you're here to actually help me or use me as a shield for whatever is coming next, but either way I have no reason to trust you. So we're gonna do exactly as I say got it??" The figure coughs and gasps. "Well," it says "that's certainly not a way to treat someone who's just ~cough~ saved your ass Di Angelo." The figure chokes out in a voice that has come to be familiar to Nico. The shroud of dark mist falls to reveal a smirking, freckled face. "And if you're gonna pin me to the wall at least buy me dinner first" Alabaster says, his grin widening. "You?" Nico says "And here I thought we were on a last name basis, yes ME. Now are you gonna squeeze tighter" he says with a playful wink "...or let me go?"  He finishes with a deadpan expression. Nico is actually unsure whether to let go or not. Alabaster isn't an enemy but he did trick him before, Nico’s  still not sure he can trust the guy. Also was he...flirting? (Now is to the time to think about that) "Listen I don't have time to unpack all of .../that/" Nico says with a gesture to Al's vague entirety before letting go of his throat. "Do you know where this thing  leads?" He points to the door at the end of the hall. Al gasps again and adjusts his shoulders and neck. "You do get right down to business don't you" "They are probably already wondering why we're not in there yet...you wanna make fucking small talk?" Nico scoffs. "Good point, but I thought I was to 'do exactly as you say'?" Al mocks him, overstraightening his shoulders, and feigning obedience. Not unlike a dog told to "sit".  Which was apt considering he was being a b- "So why are you asking me~" Alabaster adds, interrupting Nico’s thought. It's Nico's turn to deadpan "If you know something I don't...I want to know too so I can be prepared" "You want to know what I know and you don't?...hmm I thought we were low on time.” Nico winds up a punch and Al puts his arms up "Joking! Di Angelo,...goodness, you have no sense of humor" “ I’ll have you know I have a superb sense of humor.” He shakes his head and slugs Al’s shoulder.   “you’re just not that funny” “I’m hilarious” “You’re unhelpful” “oh you Olympian campers…never know how to do anything unless you have bloody prophecy huh. How’s this:  He recites a verse that is a vague warning of what’s to come that, while vulgar does, to its credit, rhyme Nico is irritated���.and mildly impressed. “better??” Nico’s lips make a line that if it were anymore defined would achieve a level of straightness that would be unacceptable on his gay face.

[kzmi-j]

Okay, so Wish SUCKED ASS, I think we can all agree on that. The concepts were a ton better than the actual movie, there was so much missed opportunities and ruined potential, and I'll said it many time and I'll say it again :

MAGNIFICO WAS A GREAT CHARACTER, and he had SO MUCH potential, and I'm SO angry, but I love him SO much.

The part about his family? Ruined potential, it could've been an insane backstory for him. And I feel like it created a huge plot hole in his character.

His wife turning against him? Ruined potential, the concept of the evil couple was amazing! Why didn't they stick with it, I don't know, but it sucks.

Him being the villain in the first place doesn't make any sense. He's not a villain, antagonist to Asha sure, but he isn't a bad guy at all. The point in all Disney movies is that every character says what they think when they sing. Even Hans in Frozen when he sang with Anna did throw some hints about his true intentions, but not Magnifico. I listen to At All Cost so many times, and there is not one hint that he was evil from the start.

In his mind there was a war coming to Rosas, he felt threatened, and he wanted to do his best to protect his people and they were still ungrateful. It's the whole point of This is the Thanks I Get?, he felt betrayed. The part that he's a narcissist? It's so irrelevant. It hasn't been mentioned once before (beside the "you're right, I am a handsome king." Can you blame him? He is handsome.), and they put it here to excuse their decision of making him a villain. 'Bou-hou Magnifico loves himself more than anyone else, that's why he's bad'. No? All he did during YEARS was to protect Rosas, and I couldn't agree more with him when he says that some wishes cannot be granted because they may be dangerous in the future. He thinks of his people over everything else, because he knows their wishes, and they don't. He protects them from themselves. But he doesn't destroy their dreams, he keeps the wishes safe and keeps their hopes up that one day their wish might be granted.

So, why didn't he grant Sabo's innocent wish, then? Because he felt pressured. Asha barely stepped into his office and asked him to grant her grandpa's wish. When he explained why he wouldn't grant it, she insisted. He cracked, and this one line made him the villain. "I decide what everyone deserves." Well, yeah? He's the King? And he has been a GOOD king until now.

Not to mention that he wasn't evil until he opened the book. Really, like I said, This is the Thanks I Get? is a bullshit song that justifies his 'evilness' and makes a giant plot hole, but in the end, it was just him panicking. His people are ungrateful and unhelpful, Rosas is still in danger and he's frustrated. He decides to take the book because it seems like the only choice left. You can clearly see the switch. He becomes happier, crazier, his emotions are out of control, because he's controlled by the book. From then on, Magnifico isn't himself, and THEN he is the villain. Not before. Only from here.

The people of Rosas are good. Magnifico included.

I'm a huge Magnifico defender as you can see, change my mind. He's my baby and I love him.

I didn't mean for it to be that long buuuut

[comicalarchitect]

Samantha Reads Comics #1

I used to liveblog comics a lot on Twitter, and people enjoyed that sometimes, but once Twitter went to shit I mostly stopped doing that, so I'm gonna experiment with doing it in a longer format (though still keeping it pretty cazh) here on Tumblr. Lately I've been going through the comics bibliography of one of my favorite writers, Peter David, in chronological order, and rather than filling anyone in on the stuff I've already read, I'm just gonna pick up where I'm at now, dumping my thoughts in this post as I go through. (If people enjoy this, I might eventually go and do a catchup post with my thoughts on David's early Spider-Man stories, his first Phantom miniseries for DC, and his first year on Hulk.) This post is gonna cover the first few issues from David's second year writing Hulk, out of a pretty definitive and influential stint on the character. My thoughts, carrying over from my time writing Twitter threads, will be pithy and discontinuous.

I like that David brings out this aspect of Bruce--that he has the potential to lash out and be cruel to people even in this aspect. It makes the whole Hulk-as-repressed-id deal seem a lot more authentic. (Also love the absurd way Todd McFarlane draws Bruce's hair.)

"Bruce being petulant and jealous of Hulk" is another weird side of that dynamic that David teases out, and again, I'm very into. Hell, Hulk's hatred of "puny Banner" makes a lot more sense when you don't make Bruce a saint, but instead make him kind of a whiny hypocritical nerd. "Puny" as an insult works a lot better when it's not just an assertion of might-makes-right superiority, but is instead an observation of the way Bruce almost egoistically weaponizes his weakness, making himself an object of toxic pity who never really has to face consequences. (That's not really all contained in the page excerpt here, but it's definitely present in David's ongoing characterization of Bruce. If you want my analyses to be laid out more predictably, pay me to write a book.)

Rick, I think Mar-Vell's answer would involve some degree of "I would use the Power Cosmic on them," which means it would be pretty unhelpful to you right now.

Solid gag, and very much augmented by Rick Parker's work as letterer.

okay go to Writing Jail now, Peter David

I kid, though. This page right here, this is the deft, subtle, absolutely original level David was working on. This kind of psychodrama is why it's worth writing a Hulk comic in the first place.

I love how David always drops in these shitty little side characters whose petty, disingenuous lives get utterly trampled by the main plot--this kind of guy right here is why Hulk hate puny humans.

Oh FUCK this is a good development. Both a left-field move with possible dire consequences, and also completely in-character for Betty, which makes it the best kind of plot twist.

Betty is such a fucking good character.

McFarlane's style, especially with faces, is just getting goofier and more caricature-ish as he grows into his confidence (Image Comics wasn't even a twinkle in his eye yet), and it really is a good match for David's writing.

owned

it's about ethics in gamma journalism

what a bunch of clowns

okay but now I really want a "Teenage Idiot" epitaph (even though I'm 25)

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Protector

Chapter One

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Time passed that way for a little bit.  Remus kept up his promise of not asking Virgil what had happened, though Virgil could tell he wanted to.  But it seemed he’d meant it when he said he wouldn’t pry, because he didn’t even watch the videos.  He also kept up his insistence of helping Virgil, however, because he started checking on Virgil more often, and, when Virgil asked or he thought he needed it, getting an ice cube for him to hold or press against his forehead in order to have something to focus on.  (Logan noticed that.  Virgil wasn’t sure what his look meant, or how Virgil felt about it.)

Remus could not be there all the time, naturally, but Virgil was trying to get better about asking him if he needed help.  A lot of times it was easy on Remus’ part anyway, because all Virgil needed was a reminder that his baby brother was safe, and all that required was being in the same space as him.  That did mean the two of them had started spending a lot of time in Remus’ half of The Imagination.

It was growing steadily as Remus worked his creative muscles for the first time in years.  The ideas started getting more Remus-y as time went on, and Virgil often entered to find a new weird thing about the world that had been built.  Sometimes it was a new building, like the museum Remus was designing based around all the times Thomas had done something embarrassing (it was Virgil's fault he still remembered, to be fair, but also Virgil was never going inside).  Sometimes it was a new creature, like the time he walked in and found electric eels swimming through the sky as if it was water.  (Remus had already reassured him that he’d intentionally made it so nothing could hurt them, meaning Virgil had been able to admire the eels and how beautiful they looked instead of worrying about whether or not they’d shock him.)  Sometimes it was a new idea Remus was working on, and he'd found some way to put himself directly inside the idea, like that time he wanted to focus on Thomas stabbing his ex-boyfriend so he turned himself into the knife to better get a feel for how it would work.

Thankfully, Remus had not turned himself into a knife today.

Instead, he was in what Virgil knew as his brainstorming room, which he changed the look and feel of regularly as what he needed shifted.  Sometimes it was a room of wall-to-wall whiteboards.  Sometimes it was filled to the brim with various objects that were seemingly unrelated or unhelpful.  Sometimes it was a Victorian study.  Sometimes it was a Victorian study that had caught on fire.

Today Remus was sitting in a bedroom.  Sitting around him was a combination of both basic things one would expect to be in a bedroom, such as hairbrushes and deodorant (which Remus was eating?), and also things that didn’t seem to have much of a place, such as an enormous toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, and some things that just made no sense at all, like a model of a mountain with a house behind a waterfall and a giant pile of money.

Remus was sitting on a chair he’d made, specifically designed for being able to cross your legs while still being comfortable, and pouring over countless papers and notes he seemed to have tossed onto the bed.

“Hey Re,” Virgil said, walking up to him.  “You doing okay there?”

“Thomas is making another motivation video,” Remus said.  “He’s calling it ‘Why Do We Get Out Of Bed In The Morning,’ so now I’m here.”  He took another bite out of deodorant, and held it out to Virgil.  “Want some?”

“Uh… I’m good.  You know I can make you food if you’re hungry?”

“I’m not hungry.  Just wanted to eat deodorant.”

“…Okay then.  Fair enough I guess?  Do you need some help?”

“Roman’s argument needs work,” Remus grumbled, scribbling something else down on a paper.  “It’s going to be some kind of argument between Roman and Logan, and Logan’s argument is done already.  Roman’s talking about achieving dreams and goals and all that stuff, but he doesn’t make a single mention of anything we leave behind.  Neither of them are talking about Thomas’ legacy.”

“You think that’s important?” Virgil asked, stepping up beside Remus to look down at his notes.

“Well, yeah,” Remus said.  “Thomas isn’t going to be here forever Virgin, if we follow Logan’s argument and spend our days only thinking about making that life last long, we’ll never do anything with it!  Roman needs a stronger comeback than what he’s got.”

Virgil bit his lip as he thought.  Personally he kind of saw Logan’s point.  The legacy Remus wanted to build wouldn’t happen if Thomas died before he could do so.  There was a reason he pushed so hard for Thomas’ safety, and it wasn’t only because he worried about him getting hurt.  Thomas needed enough time to be able to build something substantial, like Remus and Roman, and therefore Virgil too, wanted.

But if this was supposed to be an argument between Roman and Logan, it probably wouldn’t make much sense for Roman to compromise.  At least, not right away.  The video would likely end there, as most of Thomas’ videos did.

Remus did not seem to be coming at it from this mindset though, and Virgil got it.  He and Roman had very similar perspectives on this issue, even if they weren’t exactly the same.

“Do you want some help?” he asked Remus, leaning down next to him against the desk.

“Nope, I’m good.  In the zone,” Remus said, taking another bite of deodorant.

“Fair enough,” Virgil said.  “I’ll leave you to it then.  I’ll get you when it’s time for dinner, okay?”

“Okay,” Remus said, waving his hand to show acknowledgement before focusing back on his notes.

Virgil, satisfied that he was okay, sank out and reappeared back in the commons.  Dinner wasn’t for a couple hours, but it was usually a good idea to start early rather than late, as Remus got hungry early on and Patton wouldn’t make dinner for the others if they were in there at the same time.

So, Virgil made some mac and cheese and put it in the back of the fridge to heat up later, and then headed back to his own room to relax.  Remus was safe for now, at least trying to relax probably wasn’t a terrible idea.

That didn’t mean he was… good at it.  Logan had said things that might help were grounding exercises and reminders that he was safe, but Virgil’s brain was really bad at accepting that idea.

Probably due to the fact that he was quite literally meant to be Thomas’ instinct for when he wasn’t safe.  Throw into the mix that for so many years he hadn’t been safe at all, and well, Virgil was kind of a mess.  What else was new?

He liked music.  Particularly any kind of loud screaming in his ear could give the nerves something to scream back at, and when the music stopped sometimes he could calm down.  He was beginning to take a liking to horror for the same reason.

He didn’t really want to do either of those right now, though, meaning he was kind of stuck with the ball of nerves in his chest for no good reason.

Unless there was a good reason.  Unless there was something to be worried about.  Maybe the others had somehow found a way over here, and everyone was in danger and Virgil was sitting in his room.  Maybe they were getting to Remus right now, or Roman.  Or maybe they’d decided to go for one of the sides that had no idea how to defend themselves, like Patton or Logan or Janus.  Maybe they were going for Thomas.

Virgil whined and reached up towards his hair before catching himself.  That wasn’t a good idea.  But he didn’t want to bother Remus for an ice cube right now, he was busy being in the zone and all that.

He should just check on the others.  Hopefully that would calm his nerves and he could go back to his room and find something that sounded appealing to do.

Virgil shook his hands out to hopefully get rid of some of the nerves, and sank out to the commons.

Logan’s door was closed, meaning he was working.  And since these idiots didn’t keep their doors soundproofed, Virgil could walk up to it and press his ear to the door.  No screaming.  No cries for help.  Just a very light scratching of pencil on paper, that Virgil was barely able to hear through the wood.

But Logan was safe.  Moving on then.

He heard Roman and Patton’s voices both coming downstairs from the kitchen, and a quick peak around the edge of the steps revealed them to be baking cookies.  Huh, Virgil couldn’t remember the last time someone other than just Patton did that.  Regardless, no screaming, no blood, no signs of danger.  They were alright then.

Virgil walked quietly back over towards Janus’ door and pressed his ear up against it.

He didn’t hear anything.  That didn’t help with his nerves.

Virgil clenched his hands, took a deep breath, and looked out at Thomas, the next likely location.

And he found Thomas blocked off.

No, no, no, what was going on?

Virgil took a deep breath, and sank out.  He appeared silently on the stairs, above his usual spot so he could hide in the shadows, and peered through them.

Janus and Thomas were talking, but neither of them looked hurt.  Neither of them looked scared.  Thomas looked unsure about something, but not in a nervous way.

“…but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop,” Janus said, clasping his hands together behind his back.  Likely so Thomas wouldn’t see the way they were shaking.  “I’m not done, Thomas.”

Thomas crossed his arms, but rather than looking angry, he seemed concerned.  “Janus,” he said.  “I feel like you’re taking too much blame for yourself, buddy.”

“It has nothing to do with how much blame I’m taking Thomas,” Janus said, blatantly lying through his teeth if Virgil had anything to say about it.  “It is my responsibility to make sure you’re ready to handle the others.  If you’re not ready to handle them they shouldn’t be in a position to speak to you.”

Virgil’s blood ran cold.  Janus better not be saying what it sounded like he was saying.

“Honestly Janus,” Thomas said hesitantly.  “I feel like we’re doing okay handling Remus.  I appreciate your efforts, but hasn’t he kind of calmed down a bit?”

“I don’t trust it,” Janus said, crossing his arms.  “He could be planning something worse.  I have to find a way to lock him up again.”

Virgil clenched his hands tightly into fists.  He was not going to make a noise he was not going to make a noise he was not going to make a noise—

“I’m just saying don’t push yourself,” Thomas said, reaching out and laying a hand on Janus’ arm, who predictably jerked away immediately.

“I…” Thomas looked bothered, but he put his hand down.  “I’m okay, Janus.”

Janus didn’t say anything, but either way, Virgil had heard enough.  He sank back out to the commons, heading straight for the kitchen.

Roman and Patton were still making cookies, and looked understandably surprised when Virgil showed up seething in rage.

“If you send Remus back,” he growled at both of them.  “I am going with him.”

Both of them stared at him.

“What?” Roman asked.

“If you all send Remus back to that place,” Virgil said, walking forward and jabbing a finger against Roman’s chest.  “I am going too.  And you can’t stop me and you can’t make me stay and I will not be kept from him a second time.”

Roman held up his hands and nudged Virgil gently back.  “Now who exactly said anything about sending Remus back?” he said angrily.  “That was a pretty big part of the deal you forced on all of us, Jason Toddler.”

“Yeah well the two-faced snake you all let into your family is shit at keeping deals,” Virgil hissed.  “If you care about Remus even a fraction of the amount that I do, you better talk Janus down.  Or I’ll force him again.  This is your only warning.”

“You do not get to make demands of me, Anxiety,” Roman said firmly, narrowing his eyes.

“Watch me,” Virgil snapped, before storming from the room.

“I’m sorry, padre,” he heard Roman say as he did.  “I don't know what in the world got into him.”

“I wasn’t scared, Roman,” Patton said.  “And that wasn’t your fault, you don’t need to apologize.”

Virgil didn’t hear any more of their conversation, because he’d made it to the top of the steps and marched over to slam the door to his room shut.

He was not sending Remus back to the others alone again.  Ideally, neither of them would go to the others again at all, but if it came to that, Remus most definitely wasn’t doing it alone.

Virgil clenched his hands around his jeans.  Well, at least rage was a proper distraction from fear.  Though he wouldn’t deny there was some terror in there too.

He hadn’t thought Janus would stoop this low.  He didn’t know why he’d been so stupid.  Janus was Janus, and Virgil should stop having standards for him.  But he didn’t get to break their deal just because he felt like a failure.

…Except it was Virgil’s fault he felt like a failure.  He was the one who forced him into that deal.  Not that he wouldn’t do it again.  But still.

Virgil buried his head in his hands, his mind drifting to the look on Janus’ face when he realized Virgil had been lying to him.  Or at least, he thought Virgil had.  (Hadn’t he been?)

That had to be a low blow, to get manipulated as Deceit.  But Virgil had only been doing what he had to.  Janus would have appreciated that once upon a time.

A loud knock on his door drew Virgil from his thoughts.  Virgil growled, trying to redirect his anger towards whoever would be waiting on the other side of the door.  It wouldn’t be Remus.  He wouldn’t have knocked.

“What do you want?” Virgil snapped, yanking it open.

“I don’t understand,” Roman said.

“Shocker, Roman doesn’t understand something,” Virgil said, starting to slam the door again, but Roman caught it.

“I don’t understand,” Roman said firmly.  “Why you came to scream that at me.”

Virgil scowled.  “I need a reason?”

“You could have just as easily screamed at Janus,” Roman said.

Well, that wasn’t true.  Scream at Janus one too many times and they both really would get locked up.  But Roman didn’t know that, so instead, Virgil settled for a much weaker excuse.

“Janus was too busy being awful.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, seeming both angry at the comment and still confused.  “Patton and I were baking cookies.”

“Patton and you are insignificant,” Virgil said, slipping into an asshole tone, because if he made Roman angry he’d probably just storm off.

And Roman did narrow his eyes further and clench his hands, but surprisingly, he didn’t walk away.  “You could have gone to Logan,” Roman said, crossing his arms.

Virgil clenched his own hands into fists at his side.  “You’re the one who gets nightmares like a little wimpy baby,” he said.  “Maybe I like playing to your weaknesses.  Now go away.”

Roman took what looked like a calming breath, and Virgil didn’t understand why he wouldn’t leave.

“So you’re looking for an ally,” Roman said, and Virgil blinked.

“Did I say that?” he snapped, trying to get the conversation back in his favor.

“You’re not going to find one in me,” Roman said.  “Just because I— you think I care about Remus does not mean I’m going to forget what you two did.”

“Great.  Thanks,” Virgil said, leaning against the doorway to try and seem as casual as possible.  “Are you done talking about things we both already knew?”

“But,” Roman continued as if Virgil hadn’t spoken.  “We’re not going to send you back, Anxiety.”

Virgil stiffened against the door and narrowed his eyes up at Roman.  “Yes, because that’s up to you.”

“Janus isn’t going to send you back either, Surly Temple,” Roman said, rolling his eyes.  “He’s just worried about Thomas.”

Virgil clenched his hands.  “I think you’re underestimating him.”

“I’ll talk to him then,” Roman said, and Virgil startled, jerking upright.  “But neither of you are going to be sent back, Anxiety.”

Virgil stared.  “You’ll talk to him?”

Roman scowled.  “Don’t read into that.  I want you to stop bothering me about it.  And I don’t particularly enjoy having my time with Patton interrupted by someone screaming at me.  So if it will get you off my back, yes, I’ll talk to him.”

And with that, he finally turned around and stormed off, leaving Virgil to stare after him and be bewildered.

...

Chapter Twenty-Six

[kiigan]

@kyuusou ㅤ“Why do stars explode when they die?” The seven-year-old asked her friend. “I asked my mother, but she said they just do, which confuses me more. Something about when we stop breathing when we die. But what if we explode? We die and stop breathing; does that mean stars breathe too before they die? But they float in space, and there's no oxygen in there. AAAAAHHHH!” Izumi's head was about to explode while trying to make sense of it all. 

«Please tell your mother that was a very unhelpful thing to say.»

ㅤWhy was it so difficult for adults to, one, admit whenever they were ignorant about something and, two, go and educate themselves on the matter? It made no sense to Itachi. Even Hiruzen himself, on occasion, would dismiss his questions and send him back on his way, which was a very un-Hokage thing to do. How were children supposed to learn if the grown-ups were not available to teach and share knowledge? All this aside, he now had the chance to be useful to Izumi and he wouldn't waste it.

ㅤ«First - not all stars explode at the end of their life cycle. Only once they grow past certain limits. There is no absolute consensus but it is believed that a star will collapse if it is above nine to ten solar masses, and up to about forty to fifty solar masses. That will result in a nova explosion and a neutron star will be left behind. If a star is any more massive, then it qualifies as a supernova or a hypernova, and a black hole will be formed instead.»

ㅤ«Second - they explode because they eventually become unable to uphold the balance between gravity trying to collapse them and internal heat trying to expand them. In their core, stars reach such high levels of pressure and temperature that atomic nuclei can fuse - which releases energy and also creates heavier elements. Hydrogen fuses into helium, helium fuses into carbon, and, after a short sequence of heavier elements being created with each step, eventually there will be iron being created. Which is the tipping point, because, when iron fuses, it actually consumes energy instead of releasing it. So the balance is disturbed and the star lacks sufficient energy production to sustain it, and collapses under its own colossal gravity. And it is the shock wave caused by this collapse that results in the explosion.»

ㅤ«Third - a star is not a living organism, therefore it has no necessity to breathe. And, even so, breathing can happen in the absence of oxygen, if we consider breathing the process by which said organism expels waste material and captures useful resources. It's called anaerobic respiration.»

ㅤ«And, finally-» Reaching over, he now left his hand on top of Izumi's head, giving it a gentle ruffle with a reassuring smile. «The sun is a relatively small star, it cannot produce enough energy to reach the point of fusing iron. In fact, it will stop at the fusion of carbon and will still expand and shed its outer layers, but peacefully by comparison. And then become a white dwarf. So, you don't need to worry about us exploding. The Earth will simply be consumed by those outer layers as the sun expands and gradually grows into a red supergiant, and become either a dead and scorched planet or be completely absorbed altogether.»

This should make her feel better, right?

[headcanonrepository]

Thoughts on Final Fantasy XII

I've been replaying Final Fantasy XII lately. I say replaying - I never actually finished it the first time around, yet have proudly denounced it as my least favourite entry in the series for years. But I decided that to be fair to that, I should actually finish the game, so I picked up Zodiac Age for cheap with the idea that I can show my wife exactly why I rate it so little. Definitely a 'get drunk and bitch about it' kind of idea. (So uh, sorry if this is your favourite game, but this is a pretty negative post, just FYI)

My original criticisms still hold up, for the most part. Vaan makes no sense as the main character - aside from stealing the first stone at the beginning of the game, his impact on the actual plot is nonexistent. The plot is something that happens around him, not something he drives and impacts. In fact, apart from Ashe and Balthier, it's really difficult to justify anyone's connection to the plot.

Compounding this is that no one ever really talks to each other or comments on the situations they are in. There are a few cutscenes, brief and far between, but for the most part, there's an immediate 'what next?' after every section that just serves to point the player in the right direction. We learn next to nothing about who the characters are as people - what do they think? What are they passionate about? What do they hate? We just don't know.

While I'm ragging on the plot: it's a dense opening with many kingdoms named, important leaders, and characters, all before you take control of a single one of them. It's a struggle to remember so many plot points introduced so rapidly, let alone care about them. The density of information continues throughout, where you are expected to remember who is part of which kingdom, who is an ally and who is foe and how different people's agendas are playing out from one scene to the next. It feels a lot like the prequel trilogy of Star Wars - lots of information introduced relatively quickly and without spending a lot of time memorising it, working out how and why things are happening is borderline impossible. I had a similar critique of the prequel SW movies: good plot and ideas, terrible execution. Unfortunately, FFXII doesn't have a whole miniseries to help the player comprehend the politics of Ivalice.

I really disliked the Gambit system the first time I played. It felt very much like getting the game to play itself and if that's the case, why am I playing a game? I'm just running from fight to fight. I appreciate it a little more now - mostly because I am a tired adult with limited game time so automatic fighting for 99% of the time combined with 2x speed (which honestly the original game should have had, it's been permanently on throughout this playthrough) makes it more palatable to grind and get through some of the longer travelling sections of the map. I also think it's partly because my expectation has shifted from 'strategy is what I choose to do in a fight' to 'strategy is how I prepare for the fight' - I was already aware of the gambit system and how to make it work so I could start having fun with trying new things.

However, the descriptions for some techniques are just ludicrous. The in-game text for Traveller lead me to assume that it gets stronger based on the total amounts of steps you've taken in the game (and similarly Horology for time spent in game). The wiki dispelled that illusion and confirmed that both attacks were pretty much useless unless you were micromanaging to a degree that I am simply not willing to do. Lots of the gameplay information is similarly vague and unhelpful. I feel like the only reason I understand what I'm doing is because I have played other Final Fantasy games (so I already know what the spells are supposed to do) or other RPGs (so I can guess that equipment will behave in a particular way or puzzles will react in a certain way). Even then, I've had to search for the odd solution (wait, you mean I have to summon the guy to open the door, not just touch it with the person who can summon him?).

The hunt sidequests are just tedious. There’s no need to pick up a hunt, then confirm with a separate NPC that you’ve accepted the hunt, then go to a third location to find the hunt (often with a stipulation that the mark can only be found when the weather is just right, which is largely random and results in you loading and unloading an area repeatedly to get the conditions right) and then go back to that NPC to claim the reward. Especially when none of those objectives are ever marked on your main map, and you can only access a reminder by opening up the main menu, selecting the clan primer, selecting hunts, scrolling through every hunt you’ve ever accepted (even completed ones) to find the current hunt, to see a description and on one very particular screen, you can open a map that has the hunt’s current objective marked. Unless it’s a hunt where it just gives a vague location for you to search. Those exist, too.

Speaking of tedious, the Great Crystal was a section designed to force you to use a guide. Prima must have bribed them for that, because I swear that place is impossible to navigate without a VERY detailed map - no ingame map, switches to open doors (on a timer) and multiple doors per switch that can actually wind up blocking access to areas later, so you have to retread old areas to reactivate the switch and open the right door (still on a timer) and do this while running past enemies and hopefully going the right direction, with no real visual clues or references? Either you grew up playing old school dungeon crawlers and you’ve drawn your own map, or you’ve bought a guide. Or googled, but back in 2006, you probably didn’t have ready access to the internet while you were playing.

On a really annoying ‘we want you to buy a guide’ note for me - Libra seems mostly useless as a skill. It allows you to see enemy data and traps in the world, which would be useful, except there’s a large swathe of enemies that are unreadable. Those would be the bosses and hunts - the powerful enemies you are most likely to want extra information on. Given that you have used resources to both learn and acquire the skill, plus the resource of time in the field to use it, it is really frustrating that it’s so useless when you really want it, and I can’t see a compelling gameplay reason for it except forcing you to use an external guide. Given that a large part of the combat is adjusting your strategy to suit the enemy you are facing, purposefully withholding the information is just forcing you to use trial and error or brute force. Or a guide.

The game thinks it's better at writing ye olde English than it is. I'm willing to chalk it up as difficulties in translation, but most of the dialogue is very stilted and formal regardless of who is speaking and what their actual background is. A third of the party are guttersnipe orphans, a third of the party are pirates and a third of the party are used to royal formalities - they should not all have the same vocabulary and manner of speaking. Similarly, the voice acting has some very weak moments that I absolutely chalk up to localisation difficulties - voice actors have to fit the dialogue to mouth flaps rather than the other way around, and they have some awful dialogue choices to work with, especially in fast-paced cutscenes.

Also, there are so many different non-human races and different human cultural backgrounds - which I love in theory - but they don't really explore anything in great detail. Either the beast races like Garrif and Viera don't want contact with humans and so give very minimal details on their culture and way of life, or they are like the Seeq and Bangaa - they integrate with humans so well that they might as well have been a human in a costume. Even the humans from vastly different places seem to not have any major differences between their ways of life, which considering a large motivation of the plot is war, you would think to see some kind of resistance or protest purely against losing their heritage or way or life. As it is, an NPC in Rabanastre is largely the same as an NPC in Archades.

There’s some really cool aesthetics in the background of Final Fantasy XII that were probably a result of Star Wars (personal hover-transports that absolutely aren’t speeders, the vehicles in Archades that don’t look at all like Coruscant or the huge dogfights between airships that definitely aren’t an action sequence from any movie franchise we can think of, no way…) but otherwise inaccessible to us as the player. Oh, you wanted control of a speeder? How about a chocobo? An airship? Uh, you can get one sometimes, if we want you to, but you don’t get to drive, and most of the time, you’re on foot, bucko. I’m not saying a little speeder chase section would have made the game amazing, but it would have been cool as all hell if we had something like the motorcycle chase sequence from FFVII to break the game up a little bit, you know?

Despite all this, I did have some kind of fun with the game. But it's definitely one where I'm brought my own fun. Like trying to work out how I would rewrite the script to make it more compelling. There are definitely seeds of something interesting, just never really explored.

Things I actually liked, in no specific order:

Balthier and Fran’s whole dynamic. I really like shady duos who have shared history, with the man as the brains and the woman as the brawn of the operation. Optional points for the woman being athletic, agile, and a woman of few words. If I had a nickle for every duo who met this standard…well, I’d have two nickles, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice. (see Roman and Neo from RWBY)

The fact that Vaan and Ashe didn’t wind up romantically entangled. Like, I was really worried that was going to be a thing. Especially as the game kept setting up ‘Ashe sees dead ex-husband’ followed immediately by ‘but anyway, here’s Vaan’. He is so young and childlike in comparison to the weight on Ashe’s shoulders, I was really squicked to think that this was a direction they might be going in.

The vierra in general - I just wish we had more of them and their culture. Just give me about 20 more cutscenes where I can appreciate tall bunny ladies who can step on me, please and thank you?

That’s about it. The team dynamic was underwhelming, to say the least, no one really bonded or connected with each other on-screen in any way the player could appreciate, they all just bounced around from plot point to plot point reacting (barely) to circumstances as they came up and never really had a proactive plan or goal.

If you did really like Final Fantasy XII, I'm actually really interested to hear why. If you read this and disagree, and want to point out things you really liked, please do. My opinion is not going to change, but it might help me appreciate an element of the game I had disregarded.

[griim]

Seeing Lance turn his back, her heart sank. Once again, someone did not believe her. Or, more than likely, they did not want to help her. Gemma started to think there was something she had done, even though she was a child, to deserve all of this. Biting the inside of her cheek, she made no noise, even though everything inside her screamed. ‘All I want is to get out, be free… And no one ever listens. Am I even real?’ Maybe, she was in a dream, or this was some imprint. Gemma still had some hope that not everyone around her ignored her screams.

This place. All of it seemed too b l a n d to be any place in the world, not that Gemma had fully seen the world. But in brief photos, she had seen the doctors and her father described it, she knew there were more colors than white and fluorescent lights. There had to be. Or maybe it was that why they were creating her? They were trying to escape the world they found bland. ‘Am I helping people?’ Her head cocked to the side at the thought. It certainly did not make sense then why they brought her here. Was this man here to help? Had he been in the same place she had? Was this where they went before they got to see the world? Many questions circled in her mind, but nothing seemed to make sense, especially with how Lance was acting.

‘Maybe I could make this man my friend. That was what people did, right? Make friends?’ Glancing around, she thought she heard someone. However, it turned out to be a patient who got a little too rowdy and was working off energy in his room. Gemma seemed to believe that none of the doctors here actually cared. Most, if not all of them, were here for a paycheck.

As the man muttered and seemed mad, eyes quickly glanced away. Gemma’s head hurt, and the later it got, the worse it seemed. She was confused and needed guidance. Yet, when she asked for it, people seemed rude and unhelpful. Or, in some cases, ignored her. Gulping back a sob, she began tapping her index finger and thumb, almost like a nervous tick, “You didn’t have to be mean. I was talking. All of this is n e w to me.” The woman softly spoke, keeping her gaze away from him, trying to hide the tears. She figured this was like the other place. If she cried, people laughed or got mad.

‘Psychiatric hospital?’ The words sounded funny to her. However, to Lance, it did not seem that funny, so she decided not to laugh about it. “Crazy? I am not crazy. I don’t think I am. People just aren’t listening to what I am saying to them.” Gemma sighed, “And, well, I don’t think you are crazy… You were mean to me. But not crazy.” She paused, “what is crazy anyways?” All of these ‘words’ were new to her. Sure they might have been yelled at and passed around when she was being experimented on. But no one told her the meaning of them. So she typically guessed, and by the way the other talked. Being ‘crazy’ was a bad thing.

Looking hurt, Gemma did not want to believe that what he said was true. That she was broken. But when another person called it that. The words cut deep, deep enough that she began to cry. “I-I am not broken… I am trying to be my best!” The woman yelled and moved away from him, “Why did you call me broken…” Gemma did not know if this man was worth befriending no. Because, as of right now, he seemed more like a mean man than a patient.

“I never meant to snap at them, but they made me that way. I was trying to be my best, but it was never good enough.” Pausing, she closed her eyes as the bright lights above were getting to Gemma. Everything was upsetting her. Gemma did not like this room much anymore. “I don’t like these lights. Do they ever turn them off?” Gemma only seemed to ask so many questions because he was the first person to talk to her.

As the man takes her wrist, she tenses, memories of the doctor grabbing her small wrist and leading her to her ‘treatments’. Shaking her head, she tried moving away, but it did not work. Lance was much stronger than she was, which was no surprise. “No, I am not losing my mind… I am trying to keep hold of it, but there is so much in there. I- I struggle to keep track sometimes and when no one believes me or hears me. I sometimes wonder if I am not real or making this up.” Freehand quickly tries to remove the hand around her wrist, but his last words before letting go. Catch her off guard. “We can decide? But how can I do that when…” The woman paused, looking down. “I’ve never been allowed to decide anything for myself?”

Nodding, Gemma stood slowly up, wobbling a little. “So-So you and I-” She smiled, “we will get out together? As friends?” As childish as it may have seemed, Gemma was desperate for a friend. Someone in this world that she could trust. “I will sleep and be better tomorrow. But, uh, can you help me find my room? They all look the same, and these lights are confusing me.” A small smile twitched to her lips. Even if he was mean with those words before, this was nice of him. “Thank you for believing me. And I am just afraid of it continuing to be there. I feel like it's always there in my mind.”

@demcnsinmymind

[intrulogical]

not a compact analysis but i wanted to talk about remus' character because he's so!!! interesting!!! in a sense that he's super mysterious in terms of motive and purpose.

because yes we know remus has "no rhyme or reason for what he does" but after wtit, it does seem like he HAS a purpose. typically, as much as sides have functions as sides, they also have their own personalities and aspirations (logan blurs the line with both, but i digress). in wtit, logan gets mad at remus for redirecting thomas from logan, and if remus really didn't care about thomas listening to him, he would simply just shrug. bother thomas more.

but he IS bothered. he's bothered that none of his pranks worked. when he said "you're pretending that i don't exist, so i'm pretending you don't exist" to logan, he's showing that he IS disturbed by being ignored. he wants to be listened to.

but there's that mystery of. is remus aware that his suggestions are hurting thomas? because in dwit, he seems to relent pretty easily, if you think about it. in wtit he throws a hissy fit, but in wtit, after logan calms thomas down, remus is still jovial and seemed to just be Alright that logan made thomas believe remus is unhelpful. he even assists logan's argument by affirming that his suggestions have no depth to them, that he has no reason as to why he suggests them in the first place. so like. is he aware of the repercussions of his role as intrusive thoughts or does he not.

and also. what does he MEAN by "now you're speaking my language," to logan? like, he's showing preference towards logan being angry. but remus is not... angry. he's not an angry person. perhaps he's enticed by logan being unhinged and unrestricting himself? so in a way he still HAS motive in a sense that he wants to be a nuisance, but he also... is fine if he doesn't succeed? but also not find if he... doesn't succeed...?

the intrigue in remus is that he's contradictory. secretive. he acted fine and even appreciative that he got to spend time with the others in dwit despite the failure, but in wtit he's absolutely petty at logan for shutting him down. i'll give him this, maybe he IS being petty for pettiness' sake. that IS his character. but i still do not know how he recognizes his role has intrusive thoughts VS how he views himself as his own person. this part is still so blurry to me. and i know a lot of this post is SUPER messy, pardon me, but remus is just such a mysterious guy that i can't really help the messiness of this post.

there's just so much to him that i'm so excited to learn about. i do wanna say that the intricacy of his pranks in wtit kind of hints that he is a very precise and deliberate person. the fact that he KNOWS what makes thomas afraid also proves he's perceptive as hell. if it turns out that remus sports a façade 90% of the time and is more serious in reality, i will lose my shit.

[calinaannehart]

time is shortening (down to the bone)

Four months after the breakup Buck gets a text message from Lucy.

He’s just woken up after a 24-hour shift, the haze of sleep still clouding him when his phone chimes. He doesn’t read it straight away, a habit he’s gotten into to stop him from rushing to see if Tommy had finally texted him.

Buck has spent hours at a time staring at his phone screen and his and Tommy’s message history. Occasionally, the white bubble would bounce, the three dots telling him that Tommy was typing something out and Buck’s heart rate would spike, nerves and anticipation clogging his throat as he waited, and waited, and waited until the bubble would vanish altogether.

Tommy never messaged. But it told Buck that the man was still thinking about him, that had to mean something, right?

He’s called Tommy a handful of times, giving in to the deep-down urge to hear the man’s voice again, usually in the middle of the night when he’s been wallowing in the bottom of a liquor bottle. The ones that he didn’t end before the call connected had gone unanswered just the same as every call and text in the first few weeks following the break-up.

All he’d wanted was to talk to Tommy, try and make some sense out of what had happened for things to have derailed in the blink of an eye. One minute they’d been celebrating their sixth month anniversary, Buck looking forward to another six months with Tommy by his side, and the next Tommy had been calling him Buck and walking out of his life.

Now they’d been apart almost as long as they’d been together.

A box of Tommy’s things, his toothbrush, a spare phone charger, a harbor hoodie that Buck had claimed as his, the fluffy socks Tommy wore when his feet got cold which Buck found so fucking sweet and endearing it made his teeth hurt, still sat by the door waiting to be collected. Eddie and Chim have both offered to drop it off at Tommy’s but Buck shrugged them off.

If he’s being honest with himself he just couldn’t let them go.

It wasn’t just him who Tommy has been ghosting, Bobby, Hen, and Chim, they’ve all tried reaching out to no avail. Eddie is the only one who’s had any success, a couple of messages in the early days asking Eddie to keep an eye on Buck, and an odd one now and then replying to Eddie’s attempts to get him to meet for a pick-up game or sparing session.

“He always says he’s working,” Eddie had told him with a shrug. “I guess he’s just picking up some extra shifts to keep himself busy.”

They never see him on calls, however, not on the 217 truck or on the chopper when they’re joined by air ops, and Lucy just shrugs when anyone asks saying he’s off that day.

Buck’s starting to think Tommy’s either avoiding the 118 or he’s taken a transfer altogether.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, staring at his phone while he waits for his coffee to brew. The screen lights up again, another text coming in with a chime before falling dark again and Buck figures he’s delayed it long enough.

There’s still a spark of hope as he taps the screen to wake it, but it extinguishes in a flash when it’s Lucy’s contact that’s revealed instead.

If you have any plans today cancel them.

I know you’re off shift today so you have no excuse.

Answer your damn texts Buckley!

I’m not in the mood Lucy.

I don’t care. Clear your schedule for today.

Why?

I need you to go somewhere.

Again, why?

Just do it Buckley. Call it a favor.

How do I know there’s not gonna be a man with an axe waiting to try and murder me?

If that happens I’m haunting you for the rest of your life.

No axe. Scout’s honour.

Fine. Where?

Presbyterian.

Buck hits the call button. Thankfully, Lucy answers after the first ring. “Why are you sending me to the hospital?” He asks. “What’s…wait, are you hurt? Did something happen on a call?”

Lucy doesn’t answer straight away. “Nothing happened on a call.” She says eventually in her usual evasive and unhelpful way.

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

The inflection to her words, whether intentional or subconscious tells Buck what he needs to know. “But someone is?”

Lucy sighs again but doesn’t offer any further explanation. “Third floor. Preferably before two this afternoon.”

“But who—”

“Please, Buck?” The desperation in her voice is enough to sway him. Lucy never sounds desperate.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go. Who am I—”

“Thanks, Buckley. Third floor. Before two.” She repeats then hangs up.

Stepping out of the elevator Buck blinks when he realizes he’s on the oncology floor. He looks around, mind reeling with who could possibly be getting treatment on this floor out of every possible department. It can’t be one of the 118, he would know.

He texts Lucy, asking who he’s there to see, and she leaves him on read. She ignores his call, too.

“Hey, excuse me,” Buck says to the nurse behind the desk. “Um, I’m not sure who I’m—”

The words die in his throat as his eyes land on a familiar form in a large wingback chair, the leg rest raised so he’s reclined with his head tipped back and eyes closed. He’s thinner than he was when Buck last saw him, deep shadows sit under his eyes and his hair, patchy in places, has been shaved short. There’s a port-a-cath in his upper arm and hanging on the drip stand above is a bag of fluid, the bright red chemotherapy label visible even at this distance.

“Sir?” The nurse says, but Buck can’t look away from the man.

“Tommy.”

Read on AO3

If you like please reblog!

[yandere-sins]

Hiii, it's my first time here !! I wonder if you could ask my question, if possible of course of Yandere Geralt of Rivia...

Imagine a scenario where the reader is from our world and went to Geralt's world, then the reader find him at him and tells his story and asks for help to return to his home... Of course, as time goes by, Geralt becomes "sick with love " for the reader to the point of becoming Yandere.

Note: the reader sees Geralt as best friend or older brother.

Thanks for your request ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

You were simply relieved you weren’t alone. 

There were a lot of terrible things that could happen to you, reaching from being mauled by a monster to cut down by a sword, and so, so many gruesome things more. Whatever Geralt saw in you, you were glad it didn’t make him leave you alone to your misery, no matter how strange you were.

Truthfully, you weren’t even a good choice as a squire, but aside from grumbling about your unhelpfulness when it came to battle, Geralt hadn’t driven you away. Despite being rough around the edges, he truly was the hero you needed in your predicament, and for that, you were thankful. 

Whatever you could do, you did, may it be fetching water or helping set up a tent. While the life of a traveling witcher was nothing you wished to pursue forever, you put up with everything you could so that you wouldn’t end up on your own again. The first week spent stumbling through the wild and running from monsters had been enough bad experience in this world for you. Now, your mind was only on one thing: Getting home.

It probably was a luxury to have Geralt’s help in not dying and achieving your goal, but all the more, you were relieved that whatever power made you fall into this strange world had enough mercy to send you this angel of a man. No matter how many dirty, uncomfortable looks you got for being with him whenever you two came into a town, you would endure them, knowing Geralt was the key to make this situation just a memory and send you back home to your family.

Home. It sounded heavenly. 

You sighed deeply, slowly awaking from your slumber. It couldn’t have been long that you fell asleep, the campfire still burning lively next to you. You still felt tired, but something was different than usual. Heavy even.

Pulling down the blanket you had wrapped yourself with, you saw the big arm laying around you, making you realized the heat of a second body in your back. Geralt never slept closer than necessary to you, but without the need to guess, he was definitely sleeping right beside you, spooning you from behind. 

With a flushing heat rising to your face, you were too embarrassed to say anything, even though his arm alone was too heavy to fall asleep with again. He might have accidentally fallen asleep next to you after having some drinks before bed and mistaken you for someone to cuddle up to. But waking him wasn’t an option. Geralt struggled with his sleep enough as it is; you wouldn’t dare to interrupt him and cause a scene. But the reality was very different from what you assumed. 

You heard him take a deep breath as he buried his face into the nape of your neck, not shy to pull away the fabric covering you and pushing his face into your skin. As you listened to him mutter your name, you felt a cold shudder run down your spine, but you tried not to make him notice you were awake. “[Name], [Name], [Name]...” he mumbled, and you bit your lip. The way he said your name always made it sound reproachful, despite you not remembering what you did wrong that day. 

“Look at you, letting your guard down. Don’t you know that I...”

His voice trailed off as you felt him shift suddenly. You reacted quickly, pretending to be fast asleep with your eyes closed and lips slightly parted innocently. Geralt let out a small chuckle before you felt him reach over you, dragging his thumb over your lip. “What are you dreaming about? Your heart is racing.”

Realizing you forgot the first thing about Witcher - their heightened senses - you didn’t know how to help yourself other than stirring a little in your sleep, putting on a frown. Sure enough, that made him halt in his tracks and back away a little, as if he feared you waking up. Only when you settled down again did Geralt relax as well, returning to his spooning position. 

“Seriously...” he kept muttering. “How am I supposed to go on like this? Every time we meet a Sorceress, I am afraid she will have a way to send you home.”

Something about his words gave you a sad impression. Almost as if parting would hurt him, but you weren’t sure if this was just your impression or if the tiny bit of his past that he told you about actually gave him this fear. In your eyes, Geralt was fearless and kept his composure no matter what, but what if you had misjudged him?

“I’d like to keep you all to myself. Lock you up and never let you go. Maybe when we get to Kaer Morhen, I could--”

This time, his voice halted suddenly, and he rose again from behind you. “Are you awake?” he asked, quiet still as if he was hoping you were asleep after all. You simply remained in your pretend sleep, taking an audible breather and hoping it would fool him. He remained in this careful stiffness for a while before he finally drew back. Immediately, you were surrounded by the chilly air of the night as his body disappeared, but before you dared to attempt to move around, you heard more of his mumbles.

“No, I can’t. I shouldn’t... It’s not right...”

What couldn’t he do?

You were ready to blame all the gibberish you had just heard on the mead you two had before bed, but the questions didn’t seem to stop circling your mind. Geralt seemed to fall asleep somewhere a bit further away, while you felt wide awake now. You couldn’t believe that Geralt - of all people! - could have developed any kind of feelings for you. But why else would he be worried about your return? Why would he say those things about locking you up?

Way too freaked out, you tried to make sense of what you had witnessed. Certainly, he didn’t want you to be awake as it went down, but now that you knew, you were left conflicted. Part of you kept getting goosebumps as you remembered the feeling of his face pressed into your shoulder and his words echoing in your ear. The other part tried to justify it with any and all reasons like the alcohol, loneliness maybe. There was no sleep for you after all, and Geralt kept stealing irritated glances at you the following day until he finally asked, “Are you okay?” 

You flinched after being suddenly addressed, not even your exhaustion able to tear you out of your thoughts that still pondered about the last night. “Oh, yeah! I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, and he contemplated your response for a bit before replying, “There’s this place we should go to next. Maybe we can find some books on portals there.”

“Sounds good,” you chuckled. Nervosity spread inside of you as you hoped he didn’t mean the place that he was talking about last night. 

“I grew up there. You might even be able to sleep in a bed for a change. Kaer Morhen is also safe and...”

After that part, your mind simply shut off as the word kept repeating over and over in your head. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen. Kaer Morhen.

Kaer Morhen, lock up, never let go.

“...and it isn’t far from here,” he finished his explanation, looking at you as he waited for an answer while you could feel the horror showing in your expression. The red flags were so abundantly clear by now, but you absolutely refused to think this way about him. He wasn’t a bad man, he would never... or?

There were a lot of terrible things that could have happened to you on this journey, but you had put all your trust into Geralt to keep you safe. To help you. To be a companion so you wouldn’t be lonely. And until the end, you hoped Geralt wouldn’t turn out to be the monster or the sword you feared so much.

But who could tell what he’d do when he finally had a taste of living out the things he desired?

[lilflowerpot]

Wait I saw an old post where you talked about alteans ability to shapeshift and said that they were both strong and heavy. Which makes perfect sense with the rubber band thing. Which is my long lead up to that one episode where keith and allura run away for a bit but not before she literally drops into his arms and he doesnt seem struggling in the slightest. Sooo how strong is Keith?? Is there maybe a possibility of him being able to carry lotor as well??

((it’s another v. long post my loves))

So I had fun with this one! But getting precise values was not an easy task (owing to genetic factors, diet, exercise regime, and individual differences on such a broad scale), so consider my numbers a rough estimate at best.

Allura is (according to my height chart) approximately 5'7" / 170cm, and of a slim but reasonably athletic build, the latter of which is presumably owed to her having been been trained in altean martial arts since childhood. In terms of age, I previously put her at around 21% of the way through her natural life span, which in human terms would make her ~17 years old. Now, using this WHO growth chart we can give ourselves a rough estimate of her weight on the basis of her height if she were human: 170cm at 17 years old places her at just about the 85th percentile, which if directly translated to weight, would means she weighs approximately 66kg / 10st 6lb.

But Allura is, of course, not human.

The above image is from s01ep10, wherein Allura showcases her metamorphic abilities: in this scene she is, by my estimate, approximately 7 inches taller than Shiro, who himself (as per my height chart) is 6′2″,,,, meaning that in this moment Allura stands at a whopping 6′9″. Why is this important, you ask? Because, my darlings, even after redistributing her mass into a larger and therefore less-dense state, Allura is still able to yeet Shiro by the collar of his armour a good 20ft across the landing bay later this same episode, meaning she’s strong as hell.

Now the really fun thing about weight, is that it changes depending upon the gravitational field strength exerted upon it, which is supremely unhelpful when the narrative is set in outer space, and said gravitational field strength can vary wildly depending where in the universe we are... so what we really need to begin with is Shiro’s mass, but let’s start with his weight.

If you want specifics, Shiro is extremely physically fit, and we’re talking damn-near the pinnacle of health here. He’s a fully trained astronaut for one (the human body needs to be of a certain level of health to withstand the duress of space travel), and for another his time as an Imperial gladiator was one of intensive physical training (after which he’s ripped, so galra prison slop must be high in nutrients so as to keep their gladiator fights entertaining). For the numbers, I looked into wrestlers - the most comparable sport, and therefore musculature, with the most widely available figures - and compiled a list of all 56 of the same height as Shiro, finding their weights to range between 169-332lbs. The mean average landed at ~248lbs / 17st 10lbs, which I think is a fair enough assumption for Shiro’s build - particularly when you consider he has a metal arm - as his physique matches up pretty comparably against the wrestlers Gunner (6′2″ / 247lbs) and Big Vito (6′2″ / 249lbs).

Jumping from weight to gravity, in the very first post ever to grace this blog I mentioned both that Daibazaal was larger than Altea, and that a single Imperial quintent (ie. one planetary rotation) equated to approximately 1.4 Altean quintents. These facts are important because the strength of a planet’s gravity is dictated by its size and mass, but in addition to this, how quickly a planet spins serves to reduce the gravitational pull experienced by an object placed on the surface of that planet (centrifugal force). Altea spins slightly faster than Daibazaal, so its centrifugal force is slightly greater, meaning that its gravity is a little weaker. In addition, Altea is smaller than Daibazaal, meaning that its mass is less, and so - again - its gravity is weaker. Earth, on the other hand, is closer to Altea in terms of size (lower gravitational field strength), but rotates on its axis only fractionally slower than Daibazaal once did (higher gravitational field strength), ergo our gravity lands firmly somewhere between the two (at 9.80665m/s²). We know the difference in gravitational field strength can’t be too dramatic either way, because the paladins do not float off into the aether when on the Castle of Lions, nor do they end up crushed under their own weight when on Imperial vessels; this matters because we can safely assume that the artificial gravity on all ships would have been configured to match their respective homeworlds, and so the gravity in which Allura threw Shiro was greater than that which she’s used to.

So to clarify: Altea had a lower gravitational field strength than Earth, and Earth lower than Daibazaal, but none of these values can differ too drastically because the paladins do not notably react to these differing gravitational environments. For simplicity’s sake, I’m going to declare that Altea’s gravitational field strength stood at 9m/s², while Daibazaal’s was closer to 11 m/s².

Now while on Earth, mass and weight mean functionally the same thing to us, so if Shiro weighs 248lbs, then this is also his mass. This, however, is no longer true when we change our planetary location, because the gravitational field strength is different (ie. when Allura yeets Shiro across a galra landing bay, she is contending with galra gravity). Using this handy dandy calculator for all my mathematical needs, I discovered that in the aforementioned s01ep10, Shiro’s weight in galra gravity is increased to 278lbs, or 19st 12lbs! Meaning that Allura, even in a form of reduced strength, tossed almost 20st like it was nothing!! For comparison, and also the joy of the mental image, that’s an over indulgent panda.

Taking all this into consideration, I’d say that alteans as a species have a strength comparable to that of silverback gorillas, who themselves have a muscle mass density four times higher than that of a heavily muscled human, and as such have equally densely calcified bones so as to withstand their own strength: all in all, healthy adult silverbacks (weighing between 300-400lbs) are thought to be capable of lifting as much as ten times their own body weight, meaning the strongest among them can possibly dead-lift up to 1814kg / 4000lbs... As I said originally, Allura is physically fit, but she’s hardly an altean bodybuilder, and still a teenager besides. For her to have so easily thrown Shiro so far, however, I’d have to say that he (in galra gravity) weighs perhaps an eighth of what she’s capable of lifting when in her “galra” form (a whopping 2224lbs total!!) and so she herself weighs a tenth of that: 222lbs, or 15st 12lbs.

So with Allura’s weight in galra gravity, and galra gravity itself, we can once again use the calculator linked above to learn that her mass is 198lbs; this does not change irrespective of how she uses her altean abilities. Her mass is absolute. But to  f i n a l l y  answer your question: in altean gravity - and, importantly, when Keith held her in his arms without breaking a sweat - Allura weighed approximately 182lbs, or 13st on the dot.

The best guess I can give you in regard to Lotor, would be found by taking Allura’s mass (198lbs) and multiplying it by the percentage increase (+24%) between her height (5′7″) and Lotor’s (6′11″), giving us a mass of ~246lbs... almost identical to Shiro, though with much more of a basketball player’s physique (Giannis Antetokounmpo is a reasonably good comparison). Like I said, this is a rough estimate at best because just scaling Allura’s mass up doesn’t account for the fact that Lotor is of a different physical build, nor that he’s only half altean, but I’m going to say that those two things roughly cancel each other out—ie. Lotor’s fully grown and more obviously muscled, increasing his mass, but he’s not fully altean, decreasing it—so it’s a ballpark figure.

Tldr; for Keith to not so much as fumble when a wholeass woman dropped into his arms is pretty indicative of good core and upper-body strength, yes! He likely would be able to lift Lotor,,, though not quite so effortlessly as he held Allura, because in altean gravity our favourite purple prince weighs a solid 226lbs, or 16st 2lbs.

[nat-20s]

fill of @jonmartinweek day 6 prompt- flirting AND jealousy, though much heavier on the jealousy than the flirting. Set in a classic “season 5 jmart time travel bac to season 1″ au

~*~

“Mr. Blackwood-Sims, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re trying to proposition me.”

“Mr. Sims-Blackwood, I would never. For one, neither of us are inclined towards those sorts of activities, for second, we’re both married men. What would my husband say?”

“I believe your husband would say he never specified exactly what you were propositioning, and he would be more than amenable to kissing, preferably sometime in the next few seconds.”

“Mmm, suppose I’ll have to find him and take him up on that, then. If that’s really how he feels.”

“Trust me, it most certainly is.”

Christ, would those two shut up already? Granted, it’s late enough that they probably think they’re alone in the archives, but, still. This is, technically, a work place, and Jon would’ve preferred not to have accidentally gotten an eyeful as he made his way past the open door in the breakroom. Now, the image of (supposedly) a future version of himself sitting on the couch, with (supposedly) a future version of Martin straddling his legs, using one hand to cup his face, and the other to run his hands through that Jon’s longer hair, was seared into his mind, and he hated it. Look, contrary to what people who don’t know him very well seemed to believe, he’s hardly a prude. He’s more than fine with descriptions of physical intimacy, as well as public displays of affection. If he’s being honest with himself, deep down, he doesn’t even care all that much about professionalism, especially considering it is after hours.

But of course, he’s not being honest with himself, because then he’d have to admit that it bothers him that it’s them. He doesn’t know what to call the acrid burning in the pit of his stomach, the too tight ache in his chest, that’s present whenever the fun house mirror versions of himself and Martin are besotted with each other, but he knows it’s there. It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that seems to be bothered by it, the only one that frowns at the flash of wedding rings or the orbit those two always seem to occupy around each other.

Or, no, he’s not the only one. Occasionally, while witnessing the two of them being...the Two of Them, he can’t help glancing over to Martin. Lo and behold, Martin also doesn’t look thrilled about all of this, usually skewing more towards confusion or, oddly enough, resignation. At least, that’s what Jon thinks he sees there, it’s one of the few times where he can’t fully get a read on Martin.

Still, as much as Martin might share in being somewhat perturbed, as anyone who meets their “future selves” should be, Martin doesn’t seem nearly as upset as Jon is. That brings him back to his current predicament of feeling that level of upset, but not being able to determine the root cause of it.

It is not that he’s jealous. It’s not! He does not feel a pang of envy at seeing someone who looks extremely similar to himself loving openly, and being openly loved in return. He doesn’t find his thoughts drifting to the imagined feeling of lips pressed to his temple or arms around his waist or fingers running through his hair. He certainly hasn’t looked down at his left hand and been disappointed by the fact that its bare. He doesn’t even want those things, as he’s been telling himself for a number of many lonely years. One of these days he might even believe it.

Fine. Fine. Maybe, but only maybe, there’s a part of him that’s jealous. Maybe there’s even a part of him that despairs, because try as he might he can’t connect point A to point B, can’t see the steps he would have to take to be like that other version of himself, and he knows his Martin (well, not his Martin, but..) will never look at him like that, will never see him in that light. And, damn it all, it hurts, so if they could kindly stop ru-

Oh. Wait. He can’t hear them outside his office door anymore. Huh, perhaps they-

“Knock knock.”

Startled out of his...contemplation, Jon looks up to find himself looking back. Sims is leaning against the door-frame, with mussed hair, swollen lips, and pupils blown wide. Jon loathes him and wishes to be him in equal measure. In a move he usually would’ve thought more characteristic of Tim, Sims doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting himself across from Jon and saying, “Figured you’d still be here.”

Trying not to sound too much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, Jon asks, “Did you now?”

Sims gives a lackadaisical shrug. “With any luck, you’re not going to become me. I not sure you can become me, at this point, diverging paths and all that. However, we do share the first 28 years of our lives, and I certainly didn’t believe in the concept of a work life balance, so why would you?”

“Is there something you wanted?”

“Yes, actually. I want you to ask out Martin, your moping is getting insufferable, and considering how much of our misery has been entirely outside of our control, you shouldn’t put up with what is in your power to fix.”

Jon blinks. Jon processes. Jon stammers. “I-what?! I am not, you can’t just-. Martin doesn’t even like me, and if you really were the same person as me, you know I’m not all that keen on him either.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you can’t stop thinking about his hands?”

“I do no-”

Sims puts a hand up in surrender, though the smirk doesn’t entirely drop. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s rather unhelpful. What I mean is, you’re already loved, right now, as you are. No, that love is not coming from Martin, but it could be,t because he doesn’t dislike you.  He doesn’t know you, because you have done everything in your power to make sure he doesn’t. You also don’t know him, even though you’re interested in him, because you’ve been trying not to be. It’s stupid. Get to know each other. It’ll probably work out.”

“I...is that how you did it? Because this seems like an objectively terrible idea.”

Sims snorts. “God, no. It took a coma before I was able to untangle my own feelings. The whole point is that you won’t have to take the same looping, painful path that I did.”

Jon wants to reject it outright, almost does, and yet. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really. Why?’

“Nothing, just. We’re usually a more stubborn on these sorts of things. I was expecting more of a fight.”

“Mm. Normally, I would be, but I’ve been forced to watch two rather obvious proof of concepts waltzing around in front of me, and agreeing will hopefully get you the hell out of my office.”

Sims studies him for a moment, then a surprised smile spreads on his face. “All right then.”

Jon makes a dismissive hand wave, and Sims obliges, and he spends the rest of the night trying not to think about what he’s agreed to.

~*~

The next day, about half an hour before the end of the work day, Jon calls Martin into his office. From his tight shoulders and carefully blank expression, it’s clear Martin very much does not want to be there. Great. This is going to go so well.

Jon gestures for him to sit, Martin does, and he dives in. “As we both now know, I don’t have the ability to fire you. In all reality, even though I am, on paper, your boss, I truly don’t have any power or authority over you.”

Martin leans back in his seat, letting a heavy pause fall between them before saying a stilted, “Okay?”

“So, I want you to know that I am about to ask you a question, and you have complete freedom and choice over your response, without fear of any negative consequences. Alright?”

“Um. Sure.”

Jon takes a breath, slowly lets it out, and bites the bullet. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?”

Martin stares. Then he squints. Then he studies. “Oh. Jon, you...we’re not them, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“So..why?”

Jon lets out a sigh, and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that makes sense to either of them. “Well, though I myself have some trouble with the concept, they’re not..entirely removed from who we are, and there’s enough foundation there that I have reason to believe we might...get on? Maybe we don’t, maybe we end up being friends, maybe we end up like them. That’s already enough to pique my own curiosity, but, alternate future versions of us aside, I mostly would just like to get to know more about you, and I’m hoping you might like to get to know me better as well.”

Martin’s shoulders relax, and he chews on his bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Okay. Yeah, why not?”

“Oh. Oh! Great! Does this Saturday work for you?”

“Works perfectly. Let’s give a shot.”

The first date is..fine. A Bit of a mess, but fine. The second date, however, is the best Jon’s ever been on. It’s so wonderful, in fact, that he doesn’t even mind when he catches Blackwood passing a fiver to Sims the day he can’t stop smiling at work.

[kookiessugababy]

Another Reason To Hate You (Kim Namjoon) // 18+ nsfw!!

Warnings 🚨- aggressive sex// no protection//edging//teasing//slut shaming kink

-> scenario: you have never gotten along with Namjoon, despite your close relationship with his band. With the boys apartment under refurbishment, you find them staying at your own place- where things become steamy between you and your foe in the shower room.

Hope you enjoy <3

*****************************************************

The previous night was sleepless, the muggy and warm nights creeping upon your Seoul apartment. Despite the discomfort it caused, you had spent the restless night watching movies with the boys; who you could currently now hear blasting music in the next room. They were stammering along loudly to Min Yoongis rap lyrics, Hoseoks voice yelling above them in blatant confidence - the others mixing up all the words in a cacophony of mutters. The seven were crashing at your apartment for a unchartered days with theirs under refurbishment and under the decision of not seeing you for a while, they invited themselves to reside. Nothing in you had a problem with this- you thoroughly loved their lively company and after all they were your closest friends. However, it did mean spending more time with Namjoon than you could handle- the one member who you had a questionable relationship with. Something about him had always frustrated you, the pair of you never flourished in the way you had with the rest. It was different at first; both of you trying to make the effort to amend your obvious differences after Jin introduced you to the band- but now it was left to settle in disinterest. Avoidance was key for both parties; snappy unpleasantness arising every time you engaged…so to the point he was barely an acquaintance to you. With no full understanding why you loathed him with the power you did, you always found yourself paradoxically attracted to him. There was something about acknowledging a mutual abhorrence for someone that makes them more desirable- more hungry for their attention. Alongside this tearing self conflict, you had a constant profusion of work to complete for your boss, alacritous deadlines prolonging your daily shifts. Almost making the company unbearable, relentless hours meant the boys made you stay up most of the evening to reconcile with them- and with the summer months glowing, sleep was rare anyway.

Wrapping yourself in a cream towel, your damp hair fell to your shoulders as you scanned yourself in the face of the mirror. Water droplets cascaded lines on your cheeks, eyelashes catching those stray from your forehead. Your skin looked soft and touchable in the white glow of the light- accenting your expression. With the silence shattering, the door creaked under the sound of knocks from the other side- shuffling echoing from under the small gap of the hinges. “Jin? Is that you?” You assumed- the only member who had a tendency to bother you at such inconvenient time- but you were met with silence as the seconds passed. Before you could question the sound again, the door flung open; presenting a rather flustered tall figure with muscular arms and broad shoulders. His hair was pushed back and neat, a small t shirt revealing his collar bones and comfortable lounging shorts fitting his toned thighs perfectly. Despite a familiar sense of hatred wash over you, you found yourself startled at the sudden entrance of Namjoon- your slightly exposed body causing your nerves to fire.

He stared at you in the heat of the room, the steam rising between the two of you as it entangled with the strange tension. ”Namjoon… what are you doing” you asked nonchalantly. Remaining silent you huffed, slamming your hairbrush onto the bench. “Get out” you snapped- but his reply concluded unhelpful as he suddenly pushed you to the shower wall, pinning your arms roughly to the wet tiles as the towel fell from your grip. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m sick of your bratty attitude.” Under his stare, you stood naked and exposed to him- your nipples hardening as he searched your curves in such an unexpected manner. You felt the need for obedience under his power- all sense of anger towards him washed with this new sense of frustration that mirrored lust you were sure you had felt for him before. “I hate you, y/n. You make me so fucking mad” he growled, his mouth close to yours. He tugs your lips with his teeth, nipping your bottom lip to cause a slight pain. Wincing at the sensation, you felt his hands grow tighter around your wrist- pushing his hips towards you to prove his hardened state. “Then get out if you hate me that much mm?” You teased- his anger obvious in his eyes. Intertwined with this, however, you sensed a blanket of lust wash over him- his intentions almost becoming obvious to you. “How do you not expect me to ruin you when I know your pretty ass is naked in the room next door? Mmm?” humming he pecks the sides of your neck, leading you to arch your back under the tingling marks he leaves behind. Snaking his arms down yours, which remain raised against the wall, his large palms make their way down to your breasts, fondling with them in a way nobody had before. He made you feel innocent with his dirty smirks, the frustration he felt towards you obviously preparing to be channelled in a way that would leave you breathless. You moaned slightly as he pinched your nipples, twisting them slightly in his fingers as he continued to kiss along your collarbones- teasing his tongue along them as he glanced up at you. You felt your heat grow wet as you gritted your teeth, avoiding contentment of knowing he was pleasuring you- but your desperation only grew with your confinement.

Evidently picking up on your behaviour, his fingers now snakes to your clit- slapping it harshly as you bucked your hips in return. “What a little slut mmm? Getting wet for someone you can’t even bare a conversation with. You must be desperate”. Degrading you only soaked your core as his fingers ran circles around your clit- chasing the feeling of your pussy as he pushed sped up to a painful pace. Stifled groans spilled from you; still in an attempt to silence yourself. Seeing your struggling state gave him permission to dig his fingers deep inside of your hole with a sudden movement- your body jolting under his forceful fingering. Only two fingers made it into your tight hole, moving rapidly between your thighs as your breath hitched. His stare was familiar, the way he looked at you in near disgust was showing- making you feel exposed and submissive to his annoyance with you. “You deserve to have that little pussy of yours throbbing y/n. How dare you get me hard like this.” His breathe easy just as unsteady as your own as he paced his fingers in and out, your juices dripping down his digits with every pulse. You couldn’t mutter a reply as you found yourself riding his hand in desperation- feeling so small under his touch and power.

Closing your eyes you felt his fingers leave you- the warm steam hitting your hole as he edged you from your high. Whining quietly, just in earshot of him he uttered a small laugh of success as he undid his pants. “Turn around, y/n. I’ll teach you how to be good for me” he sounded strain as he spoke, his dick now spilling with precum- yup swollen and sensitive. Spinning around on your heels you faced the tiles- your chest pressing against them as he lined himself up with your pussy. Rubbing his warm cock on your heat, he separated your lips with his tip- running himself up and down where you needed him most. “Namjoon i- need you” you finally cried, pushing back your hips as he adjusted his grip to your waist- thrusting into you with one sudden movement. The pace was unimaginable- your breasts clapping against the wall as his balls hit you again and again- the harshness of each movement sending you into a moaning mess. You could barely think straight as you could only focus on the throbbing of his cock inside of your tight hole- hitting spots you didn’t know existed with his length. He filled you up so well as he pounded you, his head tilted back as your ass slapped against him. Your heat was soaked with the feelings of frustration being taken out upon your bent body- your stomach turning at the simple thought of the man behind you. As your walls clenched yet again, you let out a cry while your stomach flipped to its side. Unable to hold yourself for longer, tears streamed from your eyes as your mouth fell open at the repetition of his tip hitting your g spot.

“C-cum!” You cried- desperate for a release of some sort. Despite you feeling Namjoons dick twitch inside of you, his warmth already spilling- he parted the friction from your walls as he pulled himself out. The absence was unbearable as he came all over your back- holding his cock with one hand as your ass now dripped with his stain. Cursing to himself he inspected your arched back- your ass sticking out and coated in his mess and you whined and cried pathetically as he edged you yet again. Gently, his hands ran to your ass, cupping the cheeks as he leaned over you- kissing your cheek softly. “You poor thing. Stop pretending you hate me and I’ll let you cum next time.” His voice almost sounded sinister, chuckling in your ear as he placed a few more welcomed kisses on your cheeks. “God Namjoon you gave me another reason to hate you”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[scribbly-dee]

Inspired by this post

I adore corruption arcs, so I graded how well the non-archivist characters would have damned humanity if they had been the archivist.

Sasha James 11/10, would be an ideal archivist, this plus her height is probably why the stranger monster targeted her before she could peak

I have a soft spot for any au that knows Sasha has never seen a brain cell in her life and that any unhinged!Sasha au is really just a regular Sasha au. Picture it with me. Sasha and Jon have parallel archivist tracks, until Sasha (my beloved show off) decides: you know what would make me more efficient at snooping? Becoming a Human Google. And things accelerate. The Web doesn't even need to bother with subtly magic lighters, it slaps all 14 marks on her at once by pulling up next to Sasha in a windowless van with "free secrets 👍" written on the side.

After the Unknowing, Sasha takes over the institute from Elias instead of Martin and Peter. With Tim dead, Jon in a coma, Martin lonely-snatched, Melanie compulsively homicidal, Daisy in the coffin, and Basira on autopilot, she quickly bonds with Rosie, the ultimate nosiness enabler. Sasha is a fully marked archivist for a good long while, but doesn't start the apocalypse right away because she's eager to read ALL the ominous notes Elias left, so the watcher's crown statement is in her to-be-read pile. When the apocalypse starts (Rosie: "Hey, Sasha, I just read something extra fucked up that Elias wrote, wanna see?" Sasha: "God yes."), she books it to become the pupil with Rosie as her anchor. Mayhapse an anchor-archivist polycule with Archivist Jon and Martin? Mayhapse Jon is just a normal eye avatar here and deeply invested in all of Sasha's eyepocalypse statements, so it's Sasha and her plus-three? Mayhapse it's a race across the eyepocalypse wasteland between Archivist Sasha and Archivist Jon to usurp Jonah and become the pupil?

Tim Stoker 2/10 dude's here for a good time, not a long time

The only way I see this working is if Elias disguises not-stranger clues as circus related so Tim is motivated to investigate. Otherwise, his archival assistants are way more curious than him and disobey his direct orders to 🍹chill🏝. Jon, Sasha, and Martin inadvertently bring marks home to him like cats bring home dead birds. He asserts his agency when he decides the best course of action? Actually? Just blow up the archives. This unfortunately puts him in a false sense of security, and Elias makes him read the watcher's crown statement by cat fishing him on grindr and sending the ritual as a dm mid conversation.

Daisy Tonner - 9/10 archivist, would have started doomsday before she was at the archivist job long enough to use her PTO

Daisy already had a lot of experience hunting down fear-entity-related people in sectioned cases, which means she possibly canonically already has all the marks from just hunting avatars who use their powers in self defense. The reason she lost one point is because she's too much of a jock to read, only nerds are culpable to watcher crown statements, so this would be the only delay but oh what a delay it will be.

Melanie King - 7/10 archivist, points awarded for achieving her breakthroughs by smashing her head against a wall until she literally breaks through, points deducted for doing so in full clown makeup.

If Jon got a handful of marks by just asking anoying questions in the same room as an avatar, imagine how much faster Melanie would get marks by bringing her trademark Chaotic Brat personality on fear entity investigations. The apocalypse would have started in like two seasons: one season to hire her off the streets and establish shakey, complex relationships with her new assistants (Jon and Sasha put in the time with the institute but were passed over on this promotion for some random YouTuber (plus they're tighter with Tim and Martin, so proletarian solidarity against the boss)).

Then a second season to stab every mark and get stabbed in return. Melanie would blitz through all 14 marks because what precious little impulse control she starts with is slowly replaced with slaughter juice. One fun moral ambiguity to explore could be if Melanie tries to use her new, dangerous Eye/Slaughter powers to revive her reputation and platform in the supernatural community now that she can, ya know, identify supernatural things for the first time ever. Does she acknowledge her entire career up to her hospital episode apparently only investigated fake sightings? A better question to ask is whether Basira, Tim, and Jon ever let her live down how Ghost Hunt UK's professional dignity was contingent on the legitimacy of her sCiEnTiFiC gHoSt eQuIpMeNt in those episodes, so the temperature spikes set to dramatic music were well and truly just temperature spikes and dramatic music. Sasha found a clip of that music playing as Melanie narrates "it's a message... from the other side..." and made it as her text tone.

Also, it would be hilarious if Melanie tried to kill Jonah on sight in the panopticon, once again botched assassination attempt number 1,963,538, and then Jon quietly snuck in to finish the job on his first try just like in canon.

Jon: "What, like it's hard?"

Basira Hussain 3/10 archivist, her eye alignment manifests as office gossip, like a normal person

Basira has the most formidable super power of all: the power to nope tf out of any conversation or plan she wants. She therefore would probably take 10x longer to start the apocalypse than any other archivist because her fatal flaw is refusal to directly engage with a lot of personally difficult things (like the slaughter bullet surgery she organized, Daisy In General, etc). The marks will be slow going if she resists putting her safety on the line or invests time in making good plans (which is smart, but unhelpful for dooming humanity). She would for sure still get marked and end the world because once she's convinced of a plan (aka Elias convinces her of a plan), she's ruthlessly efficient. So I'd stay out of her way that last year or two, she marks the entities right back at them.

Martin Blackwood 2/10 archivist, considering a prerequisite for creepy eye avatar staring is the ability to make eye contact.

S1 Archivist Martin would probably dote too much on the employees under him to be hugely susceptible to Elias' isolation-dependant manipulation. Any progress Martin inadvertently achieves toward the watcher's crown goal would have to be contingent on it helping his loved ones, which is perfect fuel for a "corrupted by good intentions" arc. This would be key because Martin has superb bullshit and manipulation detection, making the marks are tricky but not impossible to orchistrate considering Jon can't stay put in a safe corner for 10 minutes and Martin's mother would refuse to stay with him where she's safe from avatar threats.

Imagine the petty drama when Jon and Sasha learn he got the promotion they wanted because he lied on his CV.

Other than that, Martin would be even worse about pit stops on the apocalypse road trip than Jon because his Kill Bill mode would have no off switch. Does Archivist!Martin and his anchor Jon ever reach the panopticon? Eventually, but not until after they lose points for significantly reducing the apocalypse fear quantity. Would Annabelle survive to deliver her cryptic MaCHiNAtIoNs and achieve the Web's goal? Hard No, additional point reduction for neutralizing the multiverse invasion. Points potentially earned back if Martin's Web connection is strong enough to come up with the multiverse invasion plan on his own, though.

Georgie Barker 4/10, as a fearless coward, all the fear she feeds to the entities would be khaki flavored. They'd get their apocalypse, but they probably wouldn't enjoy the meal.

Similar to Basira, Georgie has the super power to Fuck This Shit I'm Out. She would overall be a subpar humanity damning archivist; a major archivist success factor of Jon's is that he has enough affective empathy to be afraid with every statement giver he reads, so when Jon archives a statement, he unintentionally contributes to the fear soup seasoning. Combined with how Georgie doesn't want anything to do with entity drama, so any corruption specific to the watcher's crown would stagnate. Even her casual exposition conversations would go like

Georgie: "I've connected no dots."

Melanie: "you've connected a lot of dots??"

Georgie: "I've connected shit all dots."

The reason she gets one more point than Basira is because Georgie's fatal flaw is the passive observer quality the Eye tried to stoke in Jon. Her level of engagement oscillates between two extremes, impulsive over commitment and judging from a distance. This would probably lead her to geting involved just long enough for her involvement to become irreversible, at which point she would try to cut that shit out of her life after it's trapped her. She'd linger, barricading herself on the margins of this problem as the marks that are targeted at her slowly tally up until boom. Apocalypse is on and she only half understands what's happening.

Georgie would wander around an apocalypse hellscape confused, but vibes and physical health fully intact. Anchor!Melanie would have quite the emotional journey starting with Georgie on that pedestal Melanie placed her, and ending with a slaughter avatar stabbing the person who convinced her to work on her slaughter inclination.