#i want to study him like a bug. maybe dissect him a little bit

[goldpilot22]

new babygirl stockphoto

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Art of Hospitality (yan!Nanami x fem!Reader)

Nanami comes home to his favorite roommate. He is hurt and tired...but he knows who will instantly make him feel better. Tags and CW: Yandere, mild dub-con, non-consensual masturbation, Nanami is a panty stealer, light age difference, power imbalance, housewife kink, groping, praise kink AO3

You accidentally took his shirt from the laundry. Nanami thinks it’s an accident – he isn’t sure that you’re dumb enough to genuinely not realize that you were wearing a man’s clothes for a while already, but he doesn’t think you’re brave enough to flirt with him like this either. You’re stuck between being dumb and being too abrasive in your act – and honestly, Kento can deal with the dumb ones. Always a pleasure to spend some time with a person who knows when to shut up. 

You look simply divine like this – tugging a shirt that is too big for you in your tiny shorts, carefully rolling the sleeves up so they won’t get splashed while you are doing the dishes. Nanami never asked you to pull up with so many domestic responsibilities – but it was expected. He already allows you to live here without paying rent, so…only natural you’d be his housewife in everything besides affection. He knows how careful he must be – you’re innocent, as some college dropout can be, and you don’t really think of him like that. At least, he thinks you aren’t – he is sure that were you a bit braver, you’d already sleep in his bed instead of a tiny guest bedroom. If you’d wear his shirt on any other day of the week, he would simply note this in his head and proceed with his day. Maybe stare a bit, imagining your curves hidden by the baggy fabric, catching glimpses of skin whenever you roll it up a bit too high. If it was on any other day, he’d just smile and proceed to go to his study.

But you had to pull his shirt out of the laundry on the exact day when he dragged his body home from a particularly nasty fight with a curse. The thing was defeated – something about fear of bug larvae, the sound it made while being dissected by his knife was something that Nanami wouldn’t forget for a long time, even with an ample amount of alcohol. You just had to be cute and adorable and domestic and wear his clothes on a day when he wanted it most. Where all of his desires of retirement amplified, pushing for a fantasy that was just out of reach. 

Until he saw you cleaning the dishes with the tenacity of a proper housewife. Nanami knew he had to keep himself in check – knew how much he’d scare you with this. Still, at that moment, he wanted nothing more but to push you on that kitchen counter, roll his shirt even higher on your body, and use you like a proper domestic wifey you are. 

— You did the laundry? 

He slips right behind you, hands on your waist. It’s a gesture that cannot be mistaken for anything other than affection – and you get stiff immediately, not sure of what to do. He hopes you’d be a smart girl and won’t defy him. He doesn’t have patience for brats right now – no matter how adorable they might look. You take a deep breath and release it, relaxing in his hold. He squints, a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. What a boedient thing you are. 

— I did the dark ones, yes. I wanted to do the whites as well, but there wasn’t enough, so… You trail off, your hands shaking just a little bit. Nanami notices and leans on you a bit, pressing you against his chest. Your breath hitches again, panic evident in your body. He wants you to relax – and so he slips one of his hands across your waist, pressing you even closer to him. You have to get used to the heat of his body eventually. Nanami isn’t known for charity work and you’d have to pay him back one way or another – and currently, you only have one way of achieving this. 

Nanami pressed his hand more firmly against your waist, squishing you between his body and the counter. You are forced to relax into his touch – with no way of getting out, it’s only obvious why you’d be this scared. Poor, dumb girl. No idea what is coming to her. — You washed my things as well? You put the dishes on the drying stand, wiping your hands with the nearest towel. There is a certain clumsiness in your actions – like you were trying to remember how to act properly on the go. Like you tried your hardest to be a perfect housekeeper without looking too desperate. Although he likes that air of eagerness around you. 

— I wanted to do something for you, sir. While I can’t get a proper job. The little snag didn’t go unnoticed. Every time you try to convince him that you finally got some part-time position, something minimal wage and extra working hours, he will always say that working like this would be useless – that you need a real job if you truly want to build up your experience. After some time, you stopped even looking for openings, instead marinading yourself in your meager savings and looking after the house. Sometimes you wondered if he just wanted to get a free house worker – but then again, he let you live in this big house without paying rent or even groceries. The only reason you’re still here is because he is generous…and you don’t want to think about the reasons behind it.

Spending time around so many people with loud personalities, Nanami craved someone simple. Easy. Nice and quiet – and a girl who is too helpless to survive on her own is just that. Some people are not meant to survive on their own, and there is a certain dignity in relying solely on help from others. 

He caresses your hands – you don’t understand why is he suddenly so affectionate after spending months not even bothering to learn your last name, but then you notice the smell of blood. Scratches on his hands. Something that smelled like wet dirt and metal. 

You turn away, bumping your nose into his chest. Kento looks…disheveled. With his tie lost, a few buttons were torn off from his perfectly ironed – you ironed it just a few days ago – shirt that was now covered in soil and blood. He looks like he just got into a fight – with no indications of who was on the winning side. You weren’t sure where he worked exactly – something corporate, you think, some cushy position that allowed him to escape overtime and get home at 6 PM sharp every day. Corporate people usually don’t return home looking like something tried to chew on them. 

— N…nanami, what…what happened? He sighs, rubbing his forehead. It seems like your question somehow irritated him – you don’t want to be like this, don’t want him to hate you. Yet, it’s almost like your worry is making him insanely angry somehow. You bite your lips, face scrunched in a worried expression. You don’t want him to die – or even just get slightly more injured. 

— Got into an accident. There is nothing to worry about. 

You’re definitely not buying it. Kento likes seeing you gushing over him – but knowing how anxious his little roommate can be, you’re certainly not going to let it go so easily. And he has no intentions of showing you the secrets of the world of jujutsu right now. If ever. 

— You got run over?! — No. 

— A dog attacked you?! — No. 

— Oh. You were robbed..? He sighs, thinking of how he still hasn’t come up with an excuse. He should have – but the fight was hard already, and the energy he spent working overtime on that curse didn’t make anything better. He loves your worry and your kindness, but he can’t deal with it right now. Somehow, he has to divert your attention. Somehow, he has to take this comfort he wanted from you and your body. 

— You’re wearing my shirt. 

Your eyes widened, heat spreading across your face. He sees that he has successfully distracted you – your hands are coming to cover yourself immediately, tugging on the wrist of the shirt as if trying to see if he is right. Seems like you really didn’t notice you were wearing something that belonged to him. God, what a dumb thing you are. What did he do to deserve such a blessing? You take a step to the side, trying to escape the trap of his hands – but Nanami is not having it. With a grunt, he is forcing you in front of him again, making sure you’re set here, nice and comfortable. Trapped close to him – like he’d ever let go of someone as precious as you. He might be a lot of things – a workaholic, an extremely tired individual with love for useless and dumb sunshine girls, but he is not stupid. Letting you go now will only increase the gap between the two of you – and not even in a sense of age. 

— I’m…oh. I’m really sorry, sir, it must have been mixed in the laundry and… He snorts. The sound is weird, alien to someone like him – you look up, surprised he even bothered to listen to you. You really got him acting so weird…it’s almost an achievement. Somehow, you don’t feel like you won something. 

— You didn’t even notice it was too big? 

— I have some oversized clothes. — Something that your ex left you? 

You find yourself wordless at the accusation. It doesn’t sound too weird at first – but the harshness in his voice is making you shiver. His hands are on your waist again, holding you in a gesture that can’t be platonic – and this is the first time he paid so much attention to you. You feel uncomfortable. You feel desired, somehow. Nanami smells of blood and you find yourself aroused at it. Are you really that weird of a person? Fighting the urge to press your nose in his shoulder and breathe in his musk, mixed with blood, sweat, and that wonderful perfume he is using? The scent of which was traveling with you the whole morning ever since you took the shirt out of the laundry. Did you truly not know it was his? Somehow, you aren’t so sure now. 

— I…I guess I just wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry, sir, I will…

You insist on calling him “sir” despite your age gap being not that terrible. He couldn’t be your father – yet he has this aura about him that makes you a bit afraid. Just a little nervous whenever he raises his voice or hums disarmingly. You don’t want to disappoint him, anxiety filling every bit of your existence when you think about this – he is doing so much, he has serious work and all you do is gush over housework and trying to play a role you were not made for. Never thinking how hard being a housewife might be. 

— You’re going to just take off it now? 

You freeze in place, not sure of how to answer. Nanami chuckles. You don’t want him so close to you, touching you like you’re in love – but he is hurt, stressed and covered in blood. He is  lonely man, you can understand this – who else would invite a girl to live with him because he spends so much time working outside of the house, he’d disappear for days on end and someone had to take care of the house? if he had a partner then, surely, you wouldn’t be here. It must be hard, for someone like him – but he seems so nice, so hardworking, despite the initial strictness…why is he single? 

You don’t feel comfortable with his chin resting on your shoulder, but you’re forcing yourself to relax. He had such a hard day, and he is still hurt. You might as well indulge him a little. 

— I don’t think it would be polite.

— Why not?

His hands slowly unbutton the lowest part of the shirt, the one that is hanging way below your stomach. He is not revealing any skin – but the feeling of his calloused fingers even through the fabric is a bit much to handle. 

— I’m a guest at this house. Wouldn’t want to embarrass the owner, right? His hand goes to grasp a few more buttons, making you stiffen. You don’t…don’t particularly want his hands in that area – almost under your chest, with a single brush of fingers enough to make you feel hot. Throbbing. Enough to make you question everything you know about him and…other things. You want to be a good guest, to not overstay your welcome – but it seems like the lines are getting more and more blurry each time. — I wouldn’t mind seeing you without it. — I’m really sorry I took it without asking you…

— You can get punished for it later. But…

Nanami presses his mouth on your neck, inhaling your scent. You smell like him – his cologne, his shower gel, the fabric softener he uses for his shirts, all the expensive things he knows you don’t have money for. You’re relying on his kindness and, well, he can be kind…if you’re willing to be good to him, of course. Good, obedient, and pretty girls deserve their rewards, after all. He has the perfect idea for just the one right now. You whimper when you feel his lips on your skin, when he nibbles on the sweet spot at the back of your neck. It can’t be mistaken for normal affection now – not with the way he keeps unbuttoning your shirt until there is barely enough to cover your breasts. His hand lays on your stomach, warmness spreading across the skin…there isn’t a lot you can do now. Your thoughts are mixed now, not sure of what to do to make him stop or to let him keep going. — Nana…no, Kento, I’m not really sure about… — Quiet, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes, okay? 

You sigh, allowing him to just…touch you. Get sated with the feeling of your body in his arms – you don’t know how much time had passed, but he just rubs soothing circles into your stomach and breathes, occasionally peppering your neck with kisses. 

You want him to go further. 

You want him to stop. Maybe, it was just a few more minutes. Maybe, he took his time – you on;y woke up from that hazy, dream-like state when he suddenly yanked the rest of your shirt off, revealing your braless chest to the cold air of the house. You wanted to cover yourself – but your slow motions didn’t do you enough justice, as he easily grabbed your wrist in one of his hands. 

He kisses you again, and you move your head to the side to meet his lips. You don’t know what you want – you want to help him, to make his worries go away, but he is still smelling of blood and rust and you’d like to draw him a bath first. Maybe take care of him there. Maybe grab your things and run even though it would mean you’d be homeless. You can feel his erection pressing to the curve of your ass and you move involuntarily, sliding up and down – maybe in an attempt to escape, maybe in an attempt to allure. You want for him to say something, to command you to do something – be more forceful, be more kind, make everything better, and then do it much, much worse. You sigh, trying to just…

The phone is ringing. 

You manage to read the name. You wonder who the hell is Gojo Satoru. — I apologize for this. �� Nanami whispers in your ear, getting away from you. Still keeping a hand on your waist, holding you down as firmly as possible. Not that you have any strength left in your legs to go anywhere. You’re waiting for Nanami to finish the call. Something is telling you that he just found a way to make you pay for staying with him for so long.

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

do you have any shiera seastar headcanons? i hate how little we know about what part she played in westerosi politics even though she's supposed to be one of the great bastards.

Omg for real though!! Let her have some of that evil advisor slay I think she’s earned it 😭

- For starterssss though!! I think I’ve talked about this a lot but I do like to think she was raised in Daeron’s household because there was no one to really take care of her since her mom (Hightower plant) died and her dad kinda sucks. She was most likely primarily raised by a nurse but…. Idk. I like to think Myriah would braid her hair and she’d play with the other kids, as a treat <3

- Also, I think she should absolutely be a Weird Kid™️ like, making mud potions and catching bugs and putting them in her pockets to show people, for no other reason than that’s kinda fun lol

- I think I did see an art piece of Shiera a while ago with a pet parrot or smth like that……. I like that idea tbh, so she gets a parrot his name’s Sunfyre II and he regularly picks fights with Brynden’s ravens :)

- This headcanon might be a bit weird but I mean….. I kinda want her to have a passion for a very early sort of marine biology? Like yes witchcraft is also really cool but I have no idea why her last name is Seastar so….. idk, let her dissect starfish and other sea creatures or smth!! She can make cool graphs about their biology! Let her study the migration patterns of salmon whenever Brynden brings her up to the riverlands!!! And idk maybe this weirdo obsession with the sea can add to her witchcraft allegations!!

- Likely did sleep with both Aegor and Brynden but liked Brynden better because he’s goth. Don’t have many headcanons on their relationship but I like the idea of him proposing marriage in increasingly convoluted ways to try and trick her into saying yes and her pulling even more convoluted ways of saying no. It just kinda became their lil game, as a little haha silly <3

- Lived for a long time. Like, an absurdly long while. She might still be alive now, even, who knows it’s a ~mystery~ wheeee!!

[bookandcranny]

SAUSAGE SIMULATOR 2000

A single short burst of light, sound, movement. A rhythmic throbbing of the arteries. A dry edible seed, rich in protein, belonging to the legume family. A palpitation of the neck or wrist. A common feature on a blender.

If one day you happen to find someone lying prone and unconscious, the first thing you’ll do is check for a pulse. But even when that signal, that faint tickle of motion is gone, the brain may yet live on for minutes. It may live on even longer.

summary: A surreal scifi horror set In Another Time, Another Place, in which the narrator reminisces on some events, real and dreamed, whole and fragmented, that occurred during their time attending high school alongside their best friend.

word count: 4.3k

content warnings: Insects, parental abandonment, descriptions of gore and body horror

🦗🦗🦗

We give thanks for the grain, for without it we would have no bread. We give thanks for the vermin, for without them we would have no meat. We give thanks for the machine, for without it we would have no work.

The work is to preserve the law. Without the law, the vermin would devour the grain. Without the law, the machine would devour the vermin. Without the law, man would devour the machine.

-----

Sive dissects his sandwiches layer by layer. He’s probably my best friend, but the guy is so weird sometimes. Regardless, these are the moments I remember the most.

We’re on a field trip, our entire grade; it’s one of the few times we get to hang out during school hours, since Sive is in Class C this year and I’m in A. When we break for lunch, he comes over to sit with me on the crumbling stone wall without either of us asking. I take two sandwiches out of my bag and hand him one. He peels it apart and starts licking mustard off a pallet of pink Bugmeat©️.

Maybe it’s now, maybe it’s later. The moments blend together in my recollection, blurred by the years and the medication. I seem to recall a couple of other friends from my class sitting with us, talking and laughing, but whenever Sive is around the world seems to narrow to a single point of focus. He has a way of commanding the room’s attention, with the oscillating pitch and volume of his voice and his swinging hands, illustrating the latest gossip with all the fervor of a street preacher.

In theory, I understand why some of the other kids are afraid of him. He’s taller than maybe anyone I’ve met and the way he hunches his shoulders makes him look sort of looming. The way he talks and the way he smiles, lip curling back into something more like a sneer, doesn’t help. But he’s my friend, has been since we were small, and I know he’s no more frightening than a field mouse. Besides, while he may be tall he’s also rail thin, skin sucking on his joints when he moves, now more than ever. He inhales his sandwich in seconds, even with the picking and fussing that proceeds it, so I give him half of mine too.

I kick my legs over the side of the wall, looking down at the sloping gray-green mountainside. There are a few masses of rock hovering alone, pushed and pulled by rich natural deposits of magnetic ore. I know this place, the sight of it if not the significance. My dad must have brought me once when I was little. He likes these old ruins, but I never got the appeal and can’t really be bothered to listen as the chaperoning teachers drone on and on about its history. I’ll just take some scans and make a recording to study for the test that’s sure to ensue and call it a day. Better yet, glom some notes off of Elege-- she’s got the good pods, and I know she likes me. Then Sive will glom it off of me. Circle of life.

A boy to my left, Tez Walker, unthinkingly wipes his sticky hands off on his uniform shirt. I watch him with a sort of morbid fascination and when I turn back around Sive’s looking at me like he’s waiting for my input on something.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

He rolls his eyes, big gray eyes. “My mom wired me some more money so we can go to the video park after school. You in?”

“If you’ve got money to see shows, how come I’m buying your lunch?”

“Come on, I don’t have enough for food and streams and rent.”

I hum a non-answer. “When’s your mom gonna come back anyway? Did she say anything this time?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. I like living on my own anyway.” So long as nobody knows. It’s not technically legal, even though we’re both almost of age. I’m not even sure how he’s managed to keep it a secret thus far, big-mouth that he is. I might tease but I really don’t want to see him relocated to another district. It feels somewhat inevitable, with this being our last year and all, but I’m not ready to let go just yet.

“I’ll pay for the park if you use some of that money to get an exterminator,” I say, pointing at the reddened welt peaking out above his hip.

He pulls down his shirt with an almost guilty expression and laughs through his teeth. “Stop overreacting, it’s probably just acne.”

I give him a dubious look, and he meets it with another shrug.

“We eat bugs, bugs eat us. It’s only fair.” He flaps around the limp half-sandwich for emphasis.

I growl around a mouthful of my own. “Bugmeat©️ isn’t made of bugs. That’s crazy.”

“Uh huh, I think I see a leg in your teeth.”

I swing around and kick his ankle. “I’ll put a leg in your teeth.”

He laughs. He’s laughing. There’s mustard on the corner of his mouth. Yeah, these are the things I remember.

-----

A single short burst of light, sound, movement. A rhythmic throbbing of the arteries. A dry edible seed, rich in protein, belonging to the legume family. A palpitation of the neck or wrist. A common feature on a blender.

If one day you happen to find someone lying prone and unconscious, the first thing you’ll do is check for a pulse. But even when that signal, that faint tickle of motion is gone, the brain may yet live on for minutes. It may live on even longer.

-----

I’m in study hall going over vocab with Elege when I hear the news. One of the first to know and the last to believe it, and even then I don’t trust the way the others tell it. Sive has been in fights before, I know, but only because some kids go out of their way to pick on him. They see his face and his towering stature and it makes them think there’s something to prove there. But while you wouldn’t know it to look at the two of us, I’ve always been the one to squash ticks and spiders for him while he squirms. I can’t imagine him breaking anyone’s nose, especially not without a good reason.

I want to talk to him, to get the truth, but he’s sent home on the spot and when I try to call him after class all he gives me are these curt half-answers and a warning.

“Don’t come over,” he says. He tells me I was right. There’s something in his apartment, roaches or rats or maybe some crossbred mutation of the two. Whatever they are, they're big and they’re bloodthirsty and he doesn’t want me to risk getting bit.

“If your apartment is infested you need to tell someone,” I urge him.

“If I do that, they’ll realize I’ve been living alone and try to move me. This place might be a shithole, but it’s my home.”

“What are you gonna do then?”

There’s a sound in the background of the call, like something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Over the days that follow I keep trying to reach Sive and eventually he agrees to meet me somewhere, just not the apartment. He hasn’t finished taking care of it, I guess.

We’ve been scoping out some of the abandoned buildings in the area for a while now, looking for a suitable lair. I first had the idea after we saw this show about urban explorers and modern treasure hunters scouring the skeletons of infested districts in their glimmering kevlar. One night at the park I even manage to glom a few episodes when no one’s looking and save them to my pod.

There’s this one part: One of the crew is walking in a precarious spot when the plates shift suddenly and clamp down around his ankle, crushing it until it more resembles sausage wrung out of its casing than anything human. The man screams and one of his teammates quickly cauterizes the flowering stump with a hot blade. He cleans and binds it and they keep moving, because staying put is more dangerous than pushing on with a missing limb. Sometimes when I’m restless at night, I mute that episode and play it on loop until I fall asleep.

All this to say, it’s not such a surprise when Sive tells me to meet him at the old annex attached to the east wing of the school. Supposedly they used to hold art classes and things like that over there before it got too expensive for them to keep it up. The few remaining cameras are in poor repair and the back entrance is mangled and rusty, making for easy entry. Sometimes the local pests will try to bite you there, but things will try to bite you everywhere and a thick pair of socks resolves the issue well enough. That’s the place where we’ll meet.

But that’s not how it happens. I push past the broken lock with ease and call his name, to no answer. There’s a pink twilight settling over the campus, refracting through tall tinted panes of stained glass. I walk from one end of the building to the other until I come upon the old music room, nothing left inside it but a dusty grand piano and shards of crystalline debris that crunch under my feet. The classroom is/was built like a fishbowl, windows all along the hallway so visitors could look in on the students without letting out the music.

I pick up one big piece of glass and hold it up to the light, but when I turn it around I only see myself, staring darkly. I wait and I wander, but it’s always just me. I leave when it begins to grow dark and I hear something moving in the empty halls.

-----

That’s one thing I remember. Here’s another:

I’m walking from the bus stop with Sive, just Sive. Just us. His eyes are bright and bruised with red. There’s a new cluster of those little bumps crawling up the far side of his neck, but he keeps that side of himself turned away from me. My parents aren’t home yet and I don’t have any plans so I walk with him all the way to his building.

It’s a squat concrete cube with littler cubes inside it, just like any of them. There’s some moss or lichen or something growing in the cracks, and at this time of night it looks almost like mold.

“Do you want to go inside?” I ask, when he lingers on the steps.

He shakes his head, silent in the way he never is. Something's clearly weighing on him. We go around the back to the parking garage and climb up onto the overhang. Sitting here, on a clear night like tonight, you can see everything from the Bug Burger to the distant radio tower. The moon sits bloated and bulging against the city skyline, an egg sac fit for bursting. Sive scratches the back of his knee. Our twin breaths turn to ghosts in the February air.

Sive turns and asks me, “Do you know what you’re going to do after graduation?”

“I guess.” My parents both went to the same college when they were my age, so I’ll be going there too. No reason not to turn down any advantage I can get. My grades aren’t bad, but they aren’t great either, and neither is our area code. “Did you pick a school?”

He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in and of itself. I try to change the subject and wind up spitting out the first thing I can think of.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

“No.” He won’t elaborate.

“When are you coming back to school?”

“Soon.”

“Did you really fight those guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sive looks at me annoyed and instead of answering he says, “A counselor talked to me the day I got suspended. Did you know that?”

I  don't. I didn’t.

“I was leaving the principal’s office and she took me aside and told me that with my record I might want to consider a future in security.”

My breath seizes in my chest. Suddenly I feel like I’m the one who was punched. “But you’re not gonna do it, right?”

The pause that follows feels like an eternity. “Nah, of course not,” he lies.

This isn’t actually the first time we’ve spoken about this, I recall. One night, after a particularly rough exam, he says something like, “At this rate I should just volunteer for security.” It’s a careless sentence, a tactless joke, but I laugh or pretend to laugh, assured he means nothing by it.

“It’ll turn around,” I tell him, and in the moment, I mean it with all my heart.

-----

On the day Sive returns to school, he gets written up for a uniform violation. I never know for sure why. Could be anything, an untucked shirt or an ink stain seeping through his pocket. Laundry and mending costs money, money that I know he doesn’t have since he stopped letting me buy him lunch. I try, but when I bring it up he says he hasn’t been hungry, and as improbable as it sounds I don’t think it’s a lie, at least not entirely. He must have found something else to eat.

We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it at all.

-----

“I don’t love you, not like a partner, maybe like a brother. I’ve never had a brother, or any siblings for that matter. It’s always been just me. Except not really. No one is ever really alone. All you have to do is look around, look inside. Inside, there’s all this movement, all this warmth. And you see? That’s the cause of it all. It was in us from the start. It’s not even just the food we eat or the shows we watch, it has always been there.

“Did you know? I returned to our meeting place, that great vestigial organ, but I don’t think you could see me. You only saw your own reflection. It almost made me doubt that you were ever there at all. I don’t love you, but if you asked, I’d do just about anything for you. We didn’t used to need to ask, but right now, I really wish you would.”

-----

I don’t see my friend much these days. Weeks pass, then months. Sometimes he comes to school, enough to keep the threat of investigation at bay, but-- and I don’t know how to explain this, but even when he’s here he’s also not. Or maybe he is, and he’s just hiding from me.

I keep looking for him right up until the final day, but even then we’re divided by class and I can’t pick out his face in the crowd of all our classmates. We file into the gymnasium where someone’s set up a little wooden stage with a scuffed red carpet draped over the frame and opened all the doors, filtering out some of the stifling, sweaty air and letting in the summer scents of hot asphalt mingling with freshly laid turf.

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit I don’t remember much of my highschool graduation. It seems like one of those things you’re supposed to remember, to hold and cherish years down the line, but in the moment all I know is it’s hot and crowded and I am painfully bored. The principal and vice principal stand up and give some speech while the students fiddle impatiently with their heavy, itchy robes. A girl standing in front of me quickly applies another layer of makeup to a bubbling red patch of acne on her chin. I watch her for longer than I like to admit before tearing my eyes away to search for Sive again.

He’s nowhere to be seen, but he has to be here. No one misses graduation because no one doesn’t graduate, no matter what other infractions they may have committed. My name is called, I receive my diploma, and that’s all. I return to my place and wait. I wait for one thing even as I tumble blindly towards another.

As the ceremony crawls to a close, the principal returns to the lectern at the center stage. He says,

“Before we wrap things up, I have one final announcement. This year a number of our graduates will honor their community by volunteering for the city security tract. Will the following students please come to the stage.”

My heart pounds. I know before I know, still I don’t start screaming until I hear his name get called. The animal grief punctures my lungs and bleeds out my throat in a rushing torrent, clawing and scraping. My classmates and their families all around me barely seem to react. At most they exchange some fleeting glances of pity and annoyance as I fall to my knees.

Someone touches my shoulders, to comfort or to quiet, then I’m being dragged away. Someone or many someones; I don’t know but I like to think I put up a fight. If I try hard enough, it might turn out different this time.

-----

I have this recurring nightmare sometimes. In it, I see myself, or the figment of myself projected into my own mind by an outside eye. Through that narrow watery lens, I see it/me standing in a beam of light. I’m hosting one of those nighttime shows where they used to read the lotto numbers. There’s a big lottery spinner made up of opaque, milky polygons and it tumbles with a sound like chattering teeth.

I turn the crank around and around and when the device finally spins to a stop it flails in my direction a sort of wet nozzle appendage whose shape reminds me of a shower head. I wrap my hands around its vermiform neck and wring a number from the puckered opening, but when I hold up the little white ball to call the winner, the number begins to morph and multiply into a string of numbers, and letters, and symbols I don’t recognize. I can’t divine the meaning and so I start to cry.

The ball splits open.

-----

NO NO NO NO STOP STOP IT NO NO NO STOP NO

-----

Ears ringing, vision swimming, I can barely make out my friend’s face as he steps out onto the stage. I writhe, I howl. I try to make him change his mind. Surely it’s not too late, I think. And I’m sure he hears me. He turns toward the crowd and as I’m pulled through the double doors I desperately will him to see me. He never meets my gaze.

Anyway, that’s all I remember. That, and one other thing but I promise, it will not bring you satisfaction.

-----

After I complete my first semester, I catch a train and vow to spend at least a few days pretending to enjoy my winter break back home before I ultimately retreat into the cradle of my studies. It’s strangely nostalgic to be here, even though chronologically speaking I haven’t actually been gone for very long. Time holds no dominion over feeling, however, no matter what people might tell you.

I am changed. I know that, I think I do. It’s all subjective I guess but the way I speak, the way I carry myself, even the way I dress has changed-- more pale patterned shirts, less muddy sneakers. My mom says I’m just in the process of acclimating myself to college life, that she went through the same thing when she was my age, and I don’t really have much choice but to believe her. Call it growing pains, I guess. Call it a new chapter, a fresh start. Call it anything that keeps you comfortable while you roll around in bed at night.

As I walk around the place I’ve known all my life, I find myself mesmerized by the sight of my white breath dissolving against the cornflower blue sky. I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky so clear. Maybe it’s that succoring sense of reminiscence that draws me back to the grounds of my old highschool. More realistically, it’s probably something to do with my recent change in medication. I’m technically not supposed to be walking alone like this yet; my head gets all fuzzy and I’m liable to get confused. The past bleeds into the present and back and forth and back again like a swinging pendulum, although that analogy, I realize, attaches an impression of consistency to the idea that the reality rarely lives up to.

It’s not all bad though. My focus has improved, and I’m sleeping less but I don’t feel as tired. My math scores have gone up by an average of seven points.

The path is still so familiar to me I could walk it blind, and I don’t realize just where I’ve come until I’m standing outside the front gate. It’s locked, for obvious reasons. Upon a second glance I notice that the school buildings themselves look quite different than I remember them. The dilapidated annex has finally been torn down for one thing. Disappointing. I linger regardless, tracing the perimeter, trying to put a name to this distant feeling of unease.

A shadow passes over my eyes and I smell rot. Rounding a corner I see a cluster of massive, chittering vermin gnawing on the fence where it’s gone red from oxidation. From a distance, from the right angle, their undulating black backs make it look as though the pavement is breathing.

Distantly, I know I should be afraid, but the fear doesn’t quite make it through the veil. One insectoid catches sight of me and rears back, flaring its rear wings and giving me a gurgling hiss of warning.

Before I can react, a security drone-- one of the Angel series, if I’m not mistaken-- descends upon the vermin and carves through them a gory swath of bright pink gristle. Their scattered serrated bits stay twitching where they lay. Some other dispatch from city security will be by in time to clean up the remains.

The bugs are getting so much bigger than they used to be. I have a theory about that actually, but there’s no one I feel like telling it to. It’s sad. This used to be a nice neighborhood.

The Angel series are still a pretty new breed, a hot commodity, recently introduced to the district in the wake of some new hives popping up. It’s honestly fascinating to see one up close like this, and more than a little frightening. At least eight feet of perfect patented genes, of muscle and metal, circuits like the most delicate seams running up the length of its thick fibrous limbs.

It starts to walk away, its work complete, and suddenly I feel this pressing need to stop it. It’s indescribable, the need, an emotion so strong after blank, dreamlike months that it's like a physical probing in my lower stomach. I stagger and trip in my haste, scraping the palm of my hand where I catch myself. The scent of blood emboldens some more common pests, tiny slug-like masses that poke up their pulsing head through the cracks and wriggle from the ground to get a taste. The drone exterminates them with ease as well. All the while I am searching the impassive Angel’s face for some sign of emotion, of recognition.

Bioengineering isn't exactly my field, but I’m not stupid. No, stupid's not the word-- naive. I know it may likely be only a small part of him in there, if anything at all, split into individual strands and laced throughout the makeup of a dozen distinct living machines. Security is very efficient, threshing away the superfluous husk of personality and, like a pot of simmering fat, rendering their creations down to the most basic, most useful parts. Only then are the fresh-cooked soldiers that come out the other side of this procedure truly ready to protect us.

There’s no reason to believe whatever shred of him that remains should know me. Still, selfish creature that I am, I stare into his/its featureless not-face and I search for my friend one more time. I search for big lip-curling smiles, patchy teenage stubble, gray eyes bright with laughter or tears. I would have him any way. I would have him on the worst days: dirty and hungry, bruised and bloodied and bug-bitten. I could even love him, I think. I could love him.

“Sive?” I ask. There’s a quiet rasp to my voice, a wavering uncertainty that shames me even now.

The Angel does not respond, but neither does it turn away.

“Look at me,” I beg, staring into my own reflection in the darkened visor. “Look at me.”

Another few drones drop down across the green, summoned by a signal from their kin. There’s a distressed civilian in need of escort. Of course, of course. These chimerical android creatures are almost completely identical, masses of matching sinew growing like vines around the mass-produced metal hulls, and nothing throbbing inside them but a singular purpose. I realize, abruptly, my foolishness and allow myself to be herded off the premises.

I’d like to say I looked back. Someone like me, forever sick with sentiment? Of course I would look back. That’s not what this is though. This is not closure. This is not an ending, not an exit or an epilogue. The food chain we worshiped back then was as immutable as it was self-serving, a rare form of autocannibalism that feeds everyone and nourishes no one. These still-twitching remains are, as I well know, just a memory.

[renaxwrites]

Eleven

.04  -  18

synopsis: the number Eleven had always appeared in milestones of your life. it was a constant, and you didn’t know why. but you would soon find out when you study abroad in japan and meet Him.

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

warnings: none!

masterlist: here :)

a/n: more introductions! English will be in bold. Hope you enjoy this one <3

      previous || next

We made a start. Be it a false one, I know.

“Oh. It’s you.”

You turn to see the one and only Tsukishima towering over you. But that didn’t shock you.

His jersey number was Eleven?

Why the hell did he have that number? Is this supposed to mean something? I could be safe to call it a coincidence, but there was no way. Your whole life that number had appeared, so it should be a sign of something, right?

But what?

Millions of questions dashed through your mind as you stare each other down. The split second of intense eye contact felt like an eternity of wavelengths flowing between the two of you. That split second was all it took for everyone in the gym to dissect this interaction.

Hinata, always being the one brave enough in awkward situations, spoke up. “Uh...so you guys know each other?”

His inquiry broke the tiny trace between you and Tsukishima. You glance at your feet, the team, the net. Anything but him right now.

“I guess you can say that,” you admit shyly.

Tsukishima grunts. “She’s staying at my house for the time being. Not a big deal.”

Gee, he’s so nonchalant about it. You weren’t sure how to feel about that, but seeing at the confused looks being exchanged between the players, you felt the need to give a quick rundown of what the deal was. Better to prevent any wrong ideas.

You pipe up after Tsukishima, “It’s really not. I’m originally from the United States, but I’m studying over here now. Mizuki, Tsukishima’s mother, generously offered hospitality while I was over here in the country. Nothing more than that.” You smile assuredly, trying to avoid the need for any more pressing questions.

Too bad that didn’t work.

The two boys that high-fived, who you discovered to be Nishinoya and Tanaka, burst out, “So if you’re from America, you know English, right? Say something in that language!”

Not surprised, you ask, “What do you want me to say?”

A dark-haired boy, who quickly introduced himself as Kageyama, had been quietly observing the entire time. However, he was lightning-fast to give his suggestion:

“How do you say, ‘Hinata, you dumbass’ in English?”

“HEY!”

You pivot toward Hinata’s voice and find him staring daggers in Kageyama’s direction.

“Sorry Hinata, but Kageyama thinks you’re a dumbass. Sorry Hinata, but Kageyama thinks you’re a dumbass.”

Nishinoya and Tanaka whisper to themselves, and you only catch phrases like, “Who knew foreign languages could sound hot” “The way she could flawlessly switch between them bro oh my gosh”. You felt like a bug under a microscope. Especially with Tsukishima’s negative vibes rubbing onto you. It’s so weird how just his presence has been taking a toll on you.

A blonde man, probably in his twenties, strides up to the huddle, redirecting the team’s focus to him. He seems a little intimidating, but not too much. This must be the coach then.

He announces, “Alright guys, the ride to Tokyo is in a MONTH. Just some food for thought, so I would suggest you guys get cracking on your drills sooner than later.”

Daichi claps twice. “Alright! Starting with dives! Let’s go!” And with that, the team narrows their attention to the court.

The coach hums and finally acknowledges you, in a warmer tone opposite to the stern voice he just served his team. “Hey there, seems I missed introduction time. I’m Ukai Keishin, coach of this team. You’ll meet our team advisor too. He should be coming in soon, he just went to get something real quick. So, what brings you here?”

You explain the same spiel you gave the team, and he gives a curt nod. “I see. This might actually be perfect timing then. We were actually going to begin to evaluate each player to find their strengths and weaknesses, so we know what to tweak before Tokyo. You know what, think of today as a trial. Maybe you’ll be able to give us a new perspective we could miss.”

Your eyes glisten at the thought of being legitimately helpful for the team. You felt you were meant to be here.

The doors burst open, and in scurries what looks to be the advisor with multiple packets in his arms. You sense his distress, and you dash over to help him, managing to catch one as it fell off the pile.

“Why thank you! Can’t lose that at a time like this!” he smiles in appreciation.

The two of you carry the papers over to the rest of the staff. More introductions were made on your behalf, and soon Ukai and Takeda, the advisor, catch you up on their latest tactic of evaluating the team. They give you an extra copy of their packet, which lists every player’s strength and weakness.

“Your job, (y/n), is to capture their weaknesses in action. This way, they can physically see what they’re doing, and go from there. You can throw in some cool ones of them too, if you want. So their egos can get a little lift,” explains the coach.

You get to work.

                                    ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You only have the essentials of your photography setup with you wherever you went, while your more professional add ons were in your room. This meant you had to get a bit closer to capture the range of certain angles, but you didn’t mind. You’ve been on a football field, basketball court, and a whole bunch of other arenas where you were drowning in a sea of giants. You’ve definitely seen worse situations.

Practice ran pretty smoothly. You were surprisingly able to shoot everything needed within the players’ packet, so once the team was officially done, Ukai had them all line up. One by one, each player would be able to look at their action shots, and the coach would explain to them what was working, or what can be improved. The players were, to say the least, super hyped at seeing themselves in action. (Nishinoya: “SHE GOT MY ROLLING THUNDAAA!” Your ears rang for a couple minutes after how closed he yelled) You weren’t too familiar with the sport itself, but you made sure to slide in a compliment for every player. It really made all the difference in the world to see their face light up, knowing someone else is motivating their hard work.

But a certain someone has been very difficult to read so far.

Tsukishima approaches you for his turn. What if he doesn’t like his photos? What if the angle you shot his blocking wasn’t good enough?

Why are you suddenly self-conscious?

You show him the first photo burst. A simple serve. Shouldn’t be too much.

Ukai begins explaining volleyball gibberish to Tsukishima, and you’re just trying to focus on not doing anything irrational. Just stand. Breathe. Click through photos. Repeat.

Usually, you’re able to tell what a player is thinking once they see their plays in action. But man, this guy was just so monotone! The only ounce of emotion you were able to detect was the tiniest glimmer of awe in his eye when you clicked through one particular block of his. This was the best from his series in your opinion. At least he recognized it. Your chest felt warm for some reason.

Before Tsukishima was dismissed, you slip him a quick confidence booster. “You’re really good at blocking. You look like you manage to catch anything, it’s awesome!”

He half-heartedly turns your way, looks at you dead in the eyes, and hums as a thanks.

So much for interaction.

                                    ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Practice ends, and the gym gets locked up, much to Hinayana and Kageyama’s dismay.

Everyone begins to go their separate ways. Tsukishima was still conversing with Yamaguchi, so you weren’t sure if you should wait for him or not. Playing it safe, you start to walk, but slowly. Eventually, you hear footsteps crunching behind you, signaling him catching up.

“You shouldn’t walk alone in the dark. Can’t have mom’s favorite getting hurt or lost now, can you?”

It seemed more like a rhetorical question than one you should answer, given the way he has his headphones on. You decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, by trying to keep up with his pace. Metaphorically, anyway. Man, he sure walks fast!

“I know the way back! Plus, there’s streetlights, so it’s not that dark,” you muster out.

He sighs, then takes off his headphones. “You’ve been here one day and you know you’re way around? Seems like a stretch.”

You bounce back, “I mean, it’s literally down the street. The only way I would get lost at this point is trying to keep up with your long ass stride. Chill dude!”

He finally looks at you in the eyes.

He smirks.

Then slips his headphones back on.

You couldn’t tell whether or not this was his way of playful banter, or if he was genuinely trying to get a rise out of you. Either way, he had you feel a certain way. Good or bad, who knows?

The rest of the way continues in silence. And all too soon you both arrive at the house.

At dinner, Mizuki is excited to hear how your first day played out. “You came home along with Kei, so is it safe to assume you’ve already found a club or some sort to be in?” she innocently inquires.

You animatedly nod in response. “Actually, I was with his team. Hinata has shown me around the school, so he’s the one who invited me to their practice! One thing led to another, and basically I’m the team’s official photographer!”

Mizuki smiles and grasps your hand in exhilaration. “That’s great (y/n)! It’s a good thing Hinata was your guide then. Maybe it’s fate! I feel good knowing you and Kei will be around each other often. Isn’t this great, Kei?”

He looks up from his bowl. “As long as I don’t have to carry her from a concussion or something.”  He goes back to his dinner.

Even though you retort, “I’ve been surrounded by pleasures of almost every high school sport, including volleyball. So I’ll be fine,” it still didn’t stop the evident blush that was resting on your cheeks. Why were you blushing? Stop blushing!

Once the kitchen was cleaned and you all were in bed, that’s when your thoughts started to stir. What exactly was the universe trying to tell you with his jersey number? Why did everything he did make you feel a certain way? How was he attractive without even trying? He wanted nothing to do with you, so why him?

Little did you know that he was thinking the same about you.

Why you? With the dumb way your face looks, all cute when it’s flustered? How you were able to flawlessly match his sarcasm and comebacks? He hasn’t even known you that long, so why are you making him feel something he hasn’t felt before?

While you both were drowning in each other’s thoughts, you both were staring at the same wall. The one wall separating your rooms.

It was Eleven o’ clock.

Let's split the night wide open. We'll see everything. We can live in love, in slow motion.

taglist: @jiminslonglostjams @fantasymirror @shewastheriot @lukes-princess @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @its-bnha-babe @desi-studys​ @shootooooo​ @noya-senpai-imagines​ @animefan7420 @anpancari​ @tsukkx​

[shadowofthelamp]

I cleaned up a swap au writing from... geez, two and a half years ago. I tried to make it a bit more accurate to the one we’re writing now. Zim is about 12/13 here.

Wordcount: 1275

Zim didn't like the new kid. 

Which wasn't surprising; Zim didn't like a lot of people. He could probably count even loose friends on one hand. (The one with the scar on the back- the other one had a finger missing from an accident when he was seven.)

However, he didn't like the new kid for a different reason than he didn't like most people.

Most people, they refused to pay attention to his greatness, mocking him as weird and a loner and 'had set them on fire'. Feh. Ridiculous stuff. 

Dib, however? 

He wouldn't leave Zim alone. 

Normally, Zim would bask in the attention, but Dib never gave him a break. He followed him from a distance after skool, he pestered him with constant questions during recess, and he'd actually stolen one of Zim's inventions!

Granted, the invention was a laser pistol and Dib got into trouble for having it about two minutes later, which was undeniably funny, but the point still stood. 

Despite all this, Dib still treated him like he was... a pet or something. He'd click his tongue when Zim snarled and would wave off any prying questions. It was like the guy had dropped out of outer space, with his house that had sprung up overnight and his creepy sister that never looked up from her... game? Phone? Whatever it was, Zim wanted to get his hands on it- it looked really advanced. (Dib had something similar, but he was always writing in it with a stylus thing that looked both ten years old and from the future. It was bulky and weird.) 

"Hey, Zim? How are you today?" Dib whistled lightly, hands in his pocket and a grin on his face. (Man, his teeth were weird. And Zim thought his cousin Pur needed braces.)

"I'm fine, stink-brain." Zim turned back to rummaging through his backpack. 

"Why do you keep calling me that? I don't smell bad."

"It's an insult." Zim rolled his eyes. "Are you going to help me today?"

"With what?"

"Robot hamster." Zim pulled out the little wriggling rodent. "It'll make Mr. Spork flip when it grows to three feet tall. It's going to try and eat his desk."

"That seems like it would be disruptive."

"That's the point. He's afraid of hamsters, you know." The hamster wriggled around and squeaked, probably because Zim was squeezing it kind of hard.

"Well, it seems useless to use your technical prowess for silly pranks."

"Pfft, says you." Zim stood up, brushing off his pants and slinging his pack over his back. 

When he looked back when reaching the door, Dib had something metal poking out of his backpack, but when Zim blinked, Dib was just writing in his PDA.

~~~~~~~~

Dib had left his PDA on his desk. 

Dib never let that thing out of his sight. It was as much a part of Zim's image of him as his stupid backpack and his even stupider hair. 

So Zim stole it. 

What else was he supposed to do, give it back? Maybe it had information on why Dib was stalking him- or maybe it was a diary and held blackmail-worthy material. 

It had a firewall, but it wasn't Zim-proof, and within half an hour, he was in. 

The home screen looked weirdly similar to a regular desktop, except there were weird symbols under the file icons. Foreign letters maybe? Only two were in English- 'Language notes' and 'Study Notes'. 

Language notes first, but Zim discarded it almost immediately- it was just some kind of dictionary. Boring. 

So, Study Notes it was. Zim scrolled through a few pages of the same weird language as on the home screen before it switched to English. 

Day 20. Today Gaz said she had fun chasing a human around for his game device. I still don't get why she finds human games so fascinating- they're not as good as the Arcade on Flagtrep-7, and she knows it. Well, they distract her. Would that be treason, liking that an Invader isn't doing her job? Eh. My Tallest says we can take as long as we like, since this place is newly discovered. 

What the hell...? Was Dib some kind of author, writing in a diary like he was an alien or something?

That, or he actually was an alien. Pfft, it would explain a lot.

Day 21. Zim continues to be fascinating. For a member of a species so inferior, he surprises me.

Zim's hands tightened around the device as he read on. 

He seems almost irken, due to his lack of parental units and love for destruction. He doesn't appear to like my study of him, but I can't help it- of all the specimens here, he's my favorite. He cares for his cyborg pet, but can't stand most of our classmates. A psychological marvel, intense and angry but with a capacity for boundless enthusiasm. I feel if any human would understand our work, it's him. 

Of course, I cannot tell him. Law dictates I'd have to dispose of him then, and he's much more interesting alive. 

I wonder if he'd be different from the others I've dissected. He's started mixing chemicals to change his body composition- it's less efficient than a Pak distribution system, but I look forward to seeing if they do anything interesting. I'll have to get samples to compare.

There were more entries, but Zim just thumbed past them, only catching occasional words. Dib seemed to like 'inferior' and 'useful' a lot. 

Either he was totally nuts (possible) or this was real, he was an alien, and the only thing stopping Dib from taking him apart was a creepy fascination. 

Zim had always wanted an admirer, someone to praise him for being so good at what he did. (Well, one besides Skoodge, anyways.) Dib had come close before, but he had no boundaries at all- Zim had spotted him trying to watch him go to the bathroom once. This? It knotted up his stomach.

He tried to imagine Dib with big bug eyes, hands deep inside a corpse, and it came a little too easily-

"There it is!" Dib's voice shook Zim out of his thoughts. "I've been looking all over for it. You didn't look, did you?" His voice had a tinny undertone, both of fear and anger.

"Who needs fifteen passwords? I couldn't get in." Zim said, and Dib snatched it back

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Zim said, even as he scanned Dib up and down. He looked the same as ever- but then, Zim had never really looked. His skin was slightly off, but everyone in their town had some kind of mutation, so he'd simply brushed it off at the time as being born too close to the City Cesspool. He mostly looked normal, but there was a slight shimmer near one of his ears. Zim reached for it, but Dib slapped him away before he even got close.

"What was that for?"

"I saw a big hornet about to sting you."

"Where?" Dib's vision darted around, swatting at the air, and Zim took the chance to slip away.

He needed to find out what was really going on. If Dib was just weird, then he was just weird, Zim already knew that. But if he was an alien? Well, that was another can of worms entirely, one Zim fully intended to dig into with both hands.

He couldn't skip last period for the next few weeks or the tracker under his ribs would start electoshocking him again, but at 3:15, he was going to find out the truth, one way or another.

[kirkstanbulstrode]

Ravenclaw.

It had been days, weeks since his conversation with Gilderoy Lockhart in the bar area of his casino, and it hadn’t left his mind since. They’d had plenty of conversations since then, of course, because the man couldn’t go a day without bugging him in his own lobby, but Stan kept going back to how odd Gilderoy had been acting that afternoon. Their banter had turned into a guessing game, because while Gilderoy knew a bit about Stan, he in turn hardly knew anything about his resident author, and it was frustrating to say the least. He prided himself on knowing everyone to at least some degree, but despite the man’s carefully crafted About the Author section of his books, Stan knew jack shit about the person underneath the author.

He’d thought he’d made headway when dissecting him to find his Hogwarts house, but he was only left with more mysteries. 

Ravenclaw, he was in Ravenclaw with me. That could be so many people, but Stan wasn’t a Ravenclaw for no reason: he knew how to research, how to narrow down what he was given to come to the proper conclusions. People seemed to forget there was a brain behind the casino owner; it worked in his favor normally, but it was endlessly frustrating when people were shocked by his smarts. The next logical step, at least to him, was to look into the Hogwarts archives, maybe for a yearbook of each graduating class. No one could just visit Hogwarts for no reason, though; it would take a bit of writing and gaining permissions so he could get into the library and scour the shelves under the watchful eye of the school librarian.

Walking through the halls, even with an escort, decades after graduation didn’t make his return to his alma mater any less weird.

“Is there a reason you want to look through the yearbooks?” his escort asked, and Stan put on a charming smile as he answered,

“Just need to check something, that’s all.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I’m feeling nostalgic. Either way I won’t be long.”

The escort accepted the vague explanation and pulled out the yearbooks he’d requested--his graduating class (1961) and what he assumed Gilderoy’s was (1966)--before giving him a bit of privacy, which he was thankful for. Stan brought the books over to a table and cracked them open, a bit taken aback by everyone he saw and recognized. They were so young, he thought fondly, and when he saw his own picture he snorted at the full head of hair that he’d meticulously styled like his father used to teach him. He didn’t talk to anyone from his year anymore, which was sad to realize--they’d been his best friends, people he thought he’d know for the rest of his life. 

They didn’t understand why he’d leave magic behind, though, and refused to learn muggle technology to stay in touch, so there went that friendship. Stan frowned and quickly looked away, looking down to the third years and examining the photo carefully. His eyes went over a few of them, those like Arissa McElroy who were snobbish know-it-alls and Gerald Hartley, a particular third year who seemed to have a knack for theatrics and seemed less thrilled in studying like the Ravenclaw stereotype called them to do. No Gilderoy Lockhart, though, and his frown deepened. 

There was always the possibility that Gilderoy hadn’t been lying, that he genuinely hadn’t gone to Hogwarts after all, and with that he moved onto the second yearbook. 

People didn’t change much from when they graduated to their present self, save for some wrinkles and general signs of age. Arissa had changed drastically between third and seventh year, but he had been able to recognize her on the streets of Diagon Alley after a moment of wait I know you that had him pausing in the middle of the street. Most of the other students were the same, and his face fell slightly as it passed by Gerald Hartley’s photograph in the yearbook, his hair fluffy and full of wayward curls and his general appearance ordinary in the Hogwarts uniform. He sighed and stared at the plain boy, head tilting to the side as he thought. Would he recognize him on the streets? His eyes examined his features again, and Stan was picturing him in far more stylish clothes and meticulously slicked over hair, head tilted up so he could look down on those no matter how much shorter (or taller) they were than him.

Stan froze when he connected the dots, looking at the photo far too intently. If he stared any harder, the page would likely catch fire. 

“Is everything alright?” the escort asked, and Stan looked up quickly, coughing to recover himself as he nodded.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said a bit hoarsely, handing the books back to them and watching as they were slotted back into the archive’s shelves. He waited a beat before venturing, “Did Gilderoy Lockhart go to Hogwarts by any chance?”

The escort laughed. “Don’t be silly. Everyone would know if he’d come here. Besides, last I heard he’d attended Beauxbaton, out in France. Why?”

“No reason. Do you know what happened to Gerald Hartley?”

The escort frowned. “Only once, right after his graduation. I always figured he’d gone off to do something in theatre, given how he acted in school, but I suppose not everyone is meant for fame. I saw his name in the Prophet a few times, though, but not for years.” They shook their head and put a smile back on their face. “Was there anything else we can do for you?”

Stan chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his own head, glancing back at the shelf. “No, I don’t think so. Thank you.”

He was led back off the grounds with a quick stop to say hi to Mercy, who’d been walking to class (and very surprised to see her father willingly in Hogwarts), and Stan pondered what he’d discovered once he got to Hogsmeade over a cup of coffee at the Three Broomsticks. 

Gerald Hartley. 

He looked far too similar to Gilderoy Lockhart to be a coincidence, but not so much that anyone would realize it off the street. If Gilderoy were trying to distance himself from the little farmer boy he’d noticed a few times in the Ravenclaw common room, he’d done a good job of it. The thing was, Stan didn’t understand why he would go to such lengths to ensure that Gerald Hartley was essentially dead to the world. Hell, lack of studiousness aside, he recalled Gerald being a relatively smart kid, one who knew what he deserved and had the determination to get there. It was admirable, really; maybe he should have talked to him more while in school, but why would Stan have talked to a kid five years his junior?

Besides, it was all a theory. 

Why would Gerald Hartley be Gilderoy Lockhart? Similarities aside, they could be two different people for all Stan knew--but there was one way to find out. He finished his coffee and disapparated to Diagon Alley, once again scouring archives after convincing the receptionist at the Daily Prophet that he needed to look through older editions of the paper. His Hogwarts escort had said soon after Gerald’s graduation, but how soon?

It took about two hours to find a few articles penned under Gerald Hartley--his name was small print, but the articles themselves were on various topics and of various lengths. What stood out the most was the flair that Gerald wrote with, and Stan had seen that flair before. Several times before, in fact, particularly when Mercy had first brought the name Gilderoy Lockhart into his mind and insisted she have her own copy of Break with a Banshee. 

Gilderoy Lockhart was, in fact, Gerald Hartley. 

Stan was frozen in surprise, rather than shock, when he confirmed his suspicion. If anyone had enough information to go off of, they could easily connect the two together, and maybe that was why Gilderoy was so elusive in giving out information about himself. If it was this easy for Stan to find out, imagine his image if the general public figured out. Not that he’d ever give Gilderoy away, of course, but it made a bit more sense as to why he acted as aloof as he was.

That, and it was likely just part of his personality. 

Stan thanked the receptionist for her time and left for home, the Century being run smoothly by his manager in his absence. He was distinctly aware that, not many rooms away, Gilderoy was likely basking in his melancholy over Gadding with Ghouls not cooperating with his vision, living a life that he deemed suitable for himself rather than the life of Gerald Hartley. Despite his revelations, Stan wanted to hear someone address Gilderoy as Gerald, or perhaps hear it from Gilderoy himself, as if hearing it from someone else’s lips would solidify what he already knew.

Likely, going up to Gilderoy with anything but speculation would end very poorly, and he wrote down what he’d found on some loose leaf paper, his short-hand indecipherable to anyone save for himself. Stan wouldn’t give away Gilderoy’s secrets, but he did have questions.

He just had to bide his time to get them answered. 

Until then, Stan would sit idly by, entertain Gilderoy like he did every day… and wait.

@gillockhart

[ask-svt-hearteu]

Hogwarts! Jun

Anon requested: "I love the hogwarts au!! Please continue with other members, maybe Jun or Woozi?????"

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 2219

Junhui has a reputation around Hogwarts 

he's the Gryffindor house's seeker 

make that star seeker 

as in the kid is good 

like always winning good 

and he knows it too 

he's never actually practicing on the quidditch field if he can escape Seungcheol's sharp supervision 

he's too busy perfecting broomstick flying tricks 

whether that be jumping up over the goal posts and landing perfectly back on his broomstick again 

or zooming past the girls in the stands and shooting them winks 

he never fails to catch the snitch 

all the teams playing against Gryffindor always have to come up with a strategy knowing they'll be 150 points behind once Jun catches the snitch 

as he always does 

he never really has any trouble doing it 

he's only ever missed the snitch once 

and that was because the beater from the Slytherin team, Minghao, hit the bludger right into Jun's broom 

and everyone was shook thinking that Jun would hate Minghao forever for it 

but Minghao ended up visiting Jun in the infirmary right after, really worried

and ever since that they've been best friends everyone is always in shock seeing the best friends from Gryffindor and Slytherin 

but the two get along so well 

pranking the others in their friend group 

no one can tell that Jun's a year older than Minghao 

they practice their flying tricks on brooms together 

and they are often breaking the sitting at your own house table rule

though honestly their entire group does it, all 13 of them

and anyone else who has the guts really

and no one ever says anything cause who want to be that person

everyone who doesn't know Jun very well might assume Jun's a bit of an arrogant prick 

though ask any of his close friend group 

"Jun hyung? I mean Jun hyung is very confident in appearance but he's probably one of the shyest of the group in reality." 

Mingyu tells you and your friend who's in the third year like Mingyu 

you're a fourth year Gryffindor like Jun 

and although you know him because everyone else in Gryffindor knows him 

and share plenty of classes 

you can't really believe he's the shy type 

he's a bit intimidating, always surrounded by his friend group 

good luck trying to squeeze past his friend group if they're all packed in the hallway 

and a bunch of girls are after him just because he's a great seeker 

and he knows and is aware of these facts too 

which is why you felt iffy with how Jun's personality was 

granted, you haven't talked to him much 

but maybe you shouldn't judge a book by its cover? 

you don't know when exactly 

but you started paying a lot of attention to Jun 

surprisingly, Jun's best classes were transfiguration and potions, but especially care of magical creatures 

and he never really seemed to study for those classes 

the only time he went to the library was to bug Wonwoo about something 

sometimes he just wonders around the school grounds walking with Joshua, or Minghao, or someone else, just talking 

despite never going to the library to actually research and study

his papers were always done well and his exam scores high 

it kind of made you wonder why he was in Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw

besides his confidence in his own skills that is 

no one knew exactly if he were a half-blood or pure-blood either, besides his friends 

if he were from a pure-blood wizard family, it could answer why he was in Gryffindor if all the rest of his family were in Gryffindor 

he was still a mystery to you though 

that is until one day in care of magical creatures 

the professor brings in a hippogriff 

and Jun fearlessly steps forward, making eye contact with the hippogriff, not blinking as he bows 

the professor is kind of taken aback when the hippogriff quickly bows back 

faster than it has ever done for any other student 

and is even more surprised when Jun starts petting it as if they've known each other forever 

it's legit just Jun the hippogriff does this with 

everyone else has to wait a few additional minutes before gaining the hippogriff's trust 

and Jun just sits on the ground next to Minghao and Jihoon watching everyone else struggle a bit 

you've also heard he leads a few younger kids out at night to raid the kitchen for desserts past curfew 

and you point this out to your friend when you're sitting with her and Mingyu at lunch 

"Ok but a late night dessert raid is so impractical." 

"I agree but it's Jun." she says laughing at you 

"Oh you mean that night? Well it was Hansol's birthday, we went to get cake." Mingyu says shrugging and giving you a chuckle 

"Jun may seem a bit arrogant, but trust me, he sometimes acts like our mom. Refused to let Hansol's birthday just pass without cake, he was dead-set, couldn't stop him so you had to join him." 

Mingyu then got called over to the Ravenclaw table by Seokmin about some assignment 

"What's your sudden obsession with dissecting what kind of person Jun is?" your friend says pointing her fork accusingly at you before proceeding to stab her steak aggressively 

"No way!!!! Do you like Jun?" she says nearly choking after seeing you turn pink at her accusation 

"What the heck of course not! He probably doesn't even know I exist!"

"Mhmm..." your friend says nodding and waving her fork in circles

"Maybe I'll believe you." she finally decides 

sighing in relief you tell her you're going to get some air and try to finish that potions paper you've been sleeping on 

you walk along the path, thinking sitting by the lake might be nice when you spot a figure standing on the edge of the forbidden forest 

"Hey! You might not want to be there-" you say running up to them when you see it's Jun 

and he's carrying a snow white owl with a crooked wing in his arm 

"Oh." you say slowing down 

the owl starts flapping its wings in a panic surprising you 

but what's more surprising is when Jun grabs your arm 

"Don't move y/n, I think something attacked it and it's really scared now." he tells you softly in a whisper 

lowering your voice you slowly raise a finger to pet the owl, who then begins to calm down a bit 

"Wait how did you know my name?" you asked Jun in a quiet tone 

"I've been in your classes for years now, y/n, I'm not stupid." he says giving a shy laugh and letting go of your arm 

wait a shy laugh? 

yea, you notice how Jun focuses on the owl and how he seems to sink lower into his scarf when talking to you, the slight flush of pink in his cheeks 

he was almost cuter than the owl 

'Did I just call Wen Junhui cute?!?!' you think to yourself 

he's too busy focusing on the owl to notice you blushing 

"I was supposed to collect the bludgers after practice because Seungcheol caught me goofing around again instead of practicing and when I came out of the field, this little guy fell out of the sky." he tells you

"Hmm seems like a broken wing." 

"Yes that's what I thought too, might bring him up to the professor later, get his wing checked out." 

he straightens up and you give him your scarf to wrap the owl's wing with 

"Are you sure? It's kind of cold." he says giving you a sideways glance  

"Yea it's fine I'm not cold at all." you say trying hard not to let Jun hear your teeth chattering 

and failing miserably 

Jun takes his scarf off and wraps it around your neck while still holding the owl 

"You don't have to give it back anytime soon, I'll just ask Mingyu to make me another one." 

you can feel your cheeks blushing as you cough and turn away quickly and start walking back to the castle 

Jun jogs lightly to catch up with you and you catch him hiding a smile

"You're pretty good with magical creatures." he compliments you while walking next to you back up the path 

“No, not really, I just don't like seeing things get hurt." you grimace awkwardly 

"No I think you have talent, lots of it, especially for care of magical creatures." he says nearly beaming 

"Says the person who sweeps every quidditch match easily without having practice." you say laughing 

Jun doesn't respond right away and you look at him 

he's blushing and trying really hard to keep the huge smile off his face 

"That's more luck than talent." he says nearly stuttering over his words 

you're trying really hard to resist thinking Jun's cute but damn, now you know what Mingyu means by saying Jun's shy 

"I mean, I think I'm pretty talented, especially if you think so too, but I'm worried people might not like me if I always say that." he says giving you an embarrassed look 

"Your self-confidence is beautiful Jun, everyone likes you don't worry." you say with a smile 

"Well..." he begins 

"Hm..?" 

"You should come to the last quidditch game next weekend, I never see you at the after-match celebration party anyway, so maybe we could just go grab a butter beer at Hogsmeade." 

"Are you asking me out on a date Jun?" you're reeling in surprise 

"Yes why? Am I not good looking enough for you?" he says laughing and raising an eyebrow at you 

"No, you're too good-looking, that's the problem." you tease him 

"I've actually sort of liked you ever since you hexed that bully who was picking on that first year in front of potions." 

you recall the kid who had been calling the first year "mudblood" and how you had thrown perfecticus totalus  

"He deserved it." you say shrugging 

"Yea but you stood up for that kid. I bet people would have called me that if they found out, if it weren't for my friends." 

"So you're muggle-born?" 

"Yup." 

"That's so cool though, you're good at so many things!" you laugh eyes lighting up 

you had always thought that Jun's confidence in himself was admirable if anything 

"You're just cool," he said laughing, "sorry if I sound like a dork now though." 

"No way, I- I've kinda low key been trying to figure out what kind of person you are for the past few weeks and it took me this long to realize, but it might be because I think you're pretty cool." 

he gives you the cutest smile ever 

"So is that a yes then?" 

"Only if you promise to get rid of all your fangirls by telling them you're mine." you say boldly 

"Deal." 

from then 

well, let's just say everyone freaked out 

with Jun holding your hand when walking into all your classes 

and Minghao just shaking his head at the both of you and looking at Jun like  

"About damn time." 

and you always wear his scarf he gave you 

Mingyu just glaring at you and laughing 

"So that's why he asked me to make him another one, could have just told me..." 

late night adventures sneaking out into the kitchen for cookies together -until Joshua catches the two of you giggling 

"Jun this is fifth time this month, I really don't want to give out detentions." Joshua says laughing and shooing the two of you away 

and since the both of you share so many classes, even the teachers give up and let you two sit together 

which ends up being a huge distraction for you because Jun's busy drawing circles or spelling your name out on your arm or hand with his finger while you're trying to concentrate 

"Hey just because you're smart doesn't mean I can magically transfer this info into my brain." you tease him smacking his arm away 

and on the weekends the two of you just walk around the school grounds

or in Hogsmeade 

with people pointing and staring 

"There goes Jun and his girlfriend."

"Honestly they're always together in classes, it's cute enough to make you want to jump out a window." 

him shooting you winks during quidditch matches or during practice, with girls looking at you jealously 

and every time Jun disappears from celebratory parties over a Gryffindor win 

everyone knows that you two are off together sitting by the lake and hanging out with the giant squid 

holding hands and teasing each other 

shoulders touching 

Jun trying his best to teach you how to fly on a broomstick, his arms around your waist  

"I kind of can't fly if you're holding me Jun." 

"What if you fall and scrape your pretty face, how will I live?" he jokes 

"Get over yourself." you laugh 

and when you finally get the hang of it, you both just fly around, him showing you his favorite places in school 

until the two of you land on the roof by the astronomy tower 

and sit there together watching the sun setting 

your head on his shoulder 

hand in his and the both of you just enjoying the beautiful view 

oh and there's the sunset too of course

The Seventeen Hogwarts AU Series:

| S.coups | Jeonghan | Joshua | Jun | Hoshi | Wonwoo | Woozi | DK | Mingyu | Minghao | Seungkwan | Vernon | Dino |

MASTERLIST

[dickie-gayson]

Hello! Request: one of the Batboys faking sick to get out of something (my first thought was a gala/party but anything you can come up with is fine). Bonus points if it spirals out of control a bit and everyone is worried so they're benched from patrol / forced to rest for several days.

Thank you for the request! Sorry for the wait, here it is! Idk which batboy you were hoping for but I chose Luke Fox bcus he never gets any love lmfao tho the others do pop up, specifically Jason and Tim.

Luke Fox hated galas. He hated damn near everything about them, from the boring music to the too-expensive food and the elitists and sycophants crawling all over the place. Bruce Wayne's galas? The Worst. There was never more an ostentatious and wasteful display of wealth than when Bruce decided to play up the 'Brucie Wayne' role. Luke knew Bruce hated galas just as much as he did and would much rather spend both his time and money on more useful endeavors, but he needed to keep the charade up. That was why Bruce was throwing some sort of event tonight. Luke was determined to get out of it.

Could any really blame him? He's had more than his fair share of galas growing up as the son of Lucius Fox, friend of Bruce Wayne himself. One would think the annoying patrons would overlook Luke in favor of Bruce, any of his wards, or Lucius, but one would be wrong. See, Luke was a world-famous boxer and mma fighter, not to mention an early graduate of MIT with double degrees. Anyone with working eyes and even half a brain cell could see the potential in the man. So, they all but attacked him with fervor only found in those looking to climb the social ladder and elevate their status. He hated that.

It was a real test of self-control not to knock them all out. Luke doubted Lucius or Bruce would appreciate that. Or Gordon, come to think of it. After all, Luke technically was considered a living weapon due to his extensive, and public, physical training. Hell, Alfred might even be disappointed, and that was something he couldn't stand to do to the aging butler. So, instead of resorting to suplexing someone through a table as he would like to, he figured he'd just not go. Only problem was, his father was expecting him to be there. His father and the various members of the bat-clan who were also forced into going to the hellish event. So, Luke would have to get crafty.

Coming up with a plan was simple enough. He'd just fake sick. Executing that plan was trickier, given the fact that he was surrounded by fucking super-geniuses and detectives. Luke was betting none of the other bats and birds were going to let him off the hook so easily. If one suffered, they were all suffering. He could think of it as a sort of training exercise. If he could fool them, then he was doing great. If he failed? Well, he'd be in for some shit. But hey, the reward outweighed the risk in this case.

Tampering with the thermometer was childs play. When it was to be used, it'd display a temperature between 100.3 to 101.4; sick but not hospital-worthy. The fluctuation in temperatures helped keep the act realistic. He made up a list of symptoms to keep him down and out without being too worrying. Once they all left, he was homefree. It was just a matter of making it all believable. His only real godsend was that he didn't spend too much time around the others for them to know how he acted when ill.

As the time ticked closer to the gala, he knew it was time to get the show on the road. Luke laid on his couch, just in case someone decided to spring through his window because no one knew how to use the damn door. He was forced to get up, however, when there was a knock on his door. With a drawn out groan, the hero shuffled his way to the door, already getting into the role.

When he swung the door open, he was met with the site of his father, dressed to the nines, and staring at him critically. That was definitely unnerving. The Bats weren't the only geniuses. Lucius was quick as a whip and observant as all hell. Not to mention, he raised Luke. Tricking him was a feat. A feat he's completed before, but a feat nonetheless.

"And why aren't you ready for the gala? Don't tell me, you're sick."

The arch of his brow and deadpan stare Luke was getting let him know just how little he was fooling his father. Well, he better amp up his game then. He's fought harder fights than this. Luke made sure to make it seem as if he were shivering despite the warm temperature. He swallowed thickly then winced as if in pain. When he spoke, he tried to make it scratchy and quiet to really sell the whole 'sore throat' bit. Damn, maybe he should have went to Juliard, he was a natural.

"Yeah, sorry dad. I woulda called but I was sleeping. This is one hell of a bug, I don't wanna get you sick."

Lucius just made a low 'mhm' sound as he looked Luke over head-to-toe. The hero kept his posture somewhat hunched. Before his father could interrogate him, Tim appeared next to the older man, dressed to impress. He too looked over the clearly underdressed vigilante with intense scrutiny. There was a sharp look in his blue eyes that said he was not letting Luke get away if he was lying. That made Luke gulp, but for an entirely different reason than faking a sore throat.

"Sick?"

Luke gave an affirmative noise, not wanting to talk more than necessary. Sometimes less was better and all that jazz. That dissecting look only intensified as Tim took in his posture, rumpled pajamas, and 'shivering'. The senior hero gave him an almost cocky tilt of the head as he spoke.

"We should take your temperature, just to be sure it's not too severe."

'Check and mate.' Luke moved slightly to let them into his apartment. Tim made a beeline for his medicine cabinet. The fact that he didn't need to tell Tim where his medical equipment was kept was only moderately unsettling. Luke shifted and then shuddered. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Fooling both Lucius and Tim would be worthy of a damn trophy in his opinion. Only a moment later, Tim was back, thermometer in hand.

It was the moment of truth as he stuck the thermometer in Luke's mouth. What Luke didn't count on was Tim checking his pulse as he waited for the readout on his temperature. Well, shit, that wasn't part of his plan. Tim only made an ambiguous hum before taking the thermometer and reading it.

"101.2, slightly elevated heart rate, a mild cold sweat. Alright, I guess you can sit this out."

Tim gave him another critical stare. Huh, for once his nervousness actually helped him out. No one pointed out that Tim was technically the youngest in the room and Luke didn't need to take orders from him. Luke could pay respect where respect was due, and Tim definitely earned it. Not to mention, he clocked more hero-time than Luke, giving him seniority in that field. Instead, he just gave a grunt.

"Great, thanks. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Both Lucius and Tim looked him over, as if searching for any hint that he was lying. Really, Luke couldn't blame them. One of them was always looking to get out of these events. It was like a competition to see who could bust the most and drag them to suffer with the rest. The two shared a silent look before saying their goodbyes. He gave them weak goodbyes as he made his way to his bedroom. It'd be at least half an hour before he was in the clear. No doubt someone was perched outside, watching like a creep, waiting for him to slip up by going about normally.

So, he laid down and mentally reviewed the new upgrades to his Batwing suit. In his personal opinion, the Batwing suit was sick as hell. Tights were not his thing, thank you. When he was relatively confident everyone else was gone, he got up, ready to have some actual fun.

 To say the night sucked would an understatement and a half. Dick had to separate Damian from the guests three times to keep him from making any of them cry. Jason was hiding in the study after he stole a full tray of hors d'oeuvres and two bottles of champagne for himself. He already made one person leave after 'accidentally' spilling a glass on their suit. Okay, maybe it was two glasses. Or three. Really, who keeps count of that sort of thing? The asshole deserved it, the way he ogled Cass. She was busy charming the socialites with her graceful way on the dancefloor, so Jason decided to defend her honor without actually shooting anyone.

Tim arrived at least thirty minutes late with a look on his face that said 'I would rather be in a ditch somewhere than here'. Maybe the guests were just idiots, because they definitely loved to flock him. Almost as much as they flocked to Dick, poor guy. If there was an award for most ass-grabs avoided, he'd win it, hands down. How he managed to laugh and act like he actually liked being there, none of them could fathom. They chalked it up to his natural showmanship, because he sure bitched about the event as much as the rest of them.

Steph and Harper got passes on the event as they weren't in the public spotlight like the others. Kate just straight up refused to come and no one wanted to try and force her otherwise. They liked their jaws intact. Jason was lucky and could get away with being seen as only a family friend. Sadly, there were too many pictures of him with the others not to be known to some degree. Duke seemed damn near overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom. This was certainly not something he was used to. Dick and Jason both remembered being in that position. None of the three were from any degree of wealth, so it was definitely a culture shock to some degree. Luke was nowhere to be found. According to Tim, he was out sick. The others called bullshit.

It was around the fourth hour when everything got even worse. Apparently Scarecrow and Poison Ivy decided to team up and combine their scientific minds to create a toxin to poison the citizens of Gotham with. Bruce figured one of the rogues would try and cause a problem that night. Why wouldn't they? Oracle was on standby, ready to call in the big guns in case things got too out of control. Thankfully, Batwoman, Spoiler, and Bluebird were on call and managed to control the situation before things got too crazy. Seeing as Jason had already snuck away, Red Hood managed to make an appearance in an attempt to help.

What made it particularly troublesome was the toxin. It presented itself as a fast-acting sickness akin to the flu. Only, it was highly communicable through the air as well as bodily fluids and if one attempted to take medication, it would react negatively, sending the victim into anaphylactic shock. It could cause serious damage or even death if handled improperly. Even worse, it caused vivid delusions and high energy in its most infectious stage, urging the host to run about and spread it further. This was going to be a long, long night. What none were expecting was the worried look Tim cast Bruce.

"Bruce, Luke was sick earlier. It's possible he was infected. Initial symptoms align with how the toxin presents itself in the early stages. Shakes, cold sweat, elevated pulse, lethargy, sore throat."

Well, that didn't sound good. As Bruce worked on an antidote to distribute, he sent Tim and Jason to swing by Luke's to see how he was now. It was still unknown if the host would turn volatile if confronted and it would be better to have back up against one of their own. Especially one of their own who was very well-known to punch really, really hard. The others were tasked with trying to quarantine the sick citizens and prevent further outbreak.

Tim made sure to wear a rebreather to prevent accidental infection. Jason had his helmet that naturally filtered the air he breathed. What they definitely didn't expect to see was Luke dancing around to Ariana Grande in nothing but his boxers, socks, and a button up shirt with a pair of sunglasses on. The two heroes paused in surprise as Luke continued to really get into the music. Jason made a mental note to add 'good dancer' to his hero biography. Who knows? It could come in handy. 'Good singer' could safely be left out, however. Without wasting any more time, they crept into the apartment to confront the man.

 Luke damn near had a heart attack when he turned around, mid-note, and noticed Jason and Tim in his apartment, staring at him. He made a mental note to ask Oracle to look over his security because what the fuck. He immediately resumed his sickly stature, even though it was way past obvious he was fine. What can he say? He's committed. It was the rebreather Tim was using that made him hesitate. Rebreathers usually meant bad stuff.

"Uh...I can explain?"

Instead of answering, Tim took out a small needle from his harness. They wanted to take a blood sample. Alright, something was definitely up. Jason edged toward him with caution. Both of their postures suggested they were waiting for an attack.

"Seriously, what's going on? Why do you have those masks?"

He was growing more and more nervous with each second. Jason finally spoke up.

"Ivy and Crane poisoned the city. You might have been infected."

Oh. That certainly explained things. Of all nights for Luke to fake sick, those two maniacs decide to attack like this. Great. He was going to get poked and prodded for hours now. Can't a guy enjoy music and dancing in his underwear anymore? Ariana Grande was his shit, and now he had to go to that dank, depressing cave because some people just can't let others live.

"Guys, listen, I'm fine. This? It was all a lie. I just didn't feel like going to the gala. If I was sick, I definitely wouldn't be dancing around."

He straightened his posture and took off the sunglasses. There was no trace of his 'illness' anymore. Neither Tim or Jason looked convinced. Instead, Tim shook his head slowly, clearly worried.

"Delusions and manic energy. We gotta get him to the cave, fast."

They both moved, ready to knock him out if necessary. Rather than having to deal with that massive headache, he just sighed in defeat. There was no way he'd be able to take Jason and Tim in a fight. Hell, he was in his underwear. Jason pulled a surgical looking mask from one of his many pockets and shoved it toward him. Luke just groaned in slight aggravation as he put it on.

"I'm telling you, I'm not sick."

Instead of responding, Tim radioed to someone, probably Bruce, that they were bringing him in. Jason stood at the ready. What, did they think he was going to go ballistic and try to murder them? He wasn't suicidal, thanks. At least they let him put on pants before they dragged him to his impending doom. Either they'd find out he lied to get out of the gala or they were convinced he was sick and dying. No matter which way Luke looked, he was royally screwed. The worst part was being forced to sit in the quarantine cell for fourteen hours while they ran test after test and worked on a cure for the city. It was somewhere around the eleventh hour that Luke developed a cough. He just groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. Well, this was great. Next time, he was just going to go to the damn gala and let someone else lie.

[bushelofmuses]

bluesunsdusk​:

His ears twitched and eyes widened, though for but a second before returning to an almost complete neutral.

“So preoccupied with all the ways in which I could break them that I forgot to consider they could carry you…” He uttered a soft sigh and shook his head, eyes slightly closing. “Terrible first impression.”

And that sounded far less violent in his mind. Though, this did confirm the thought that her bones would be lighter, thus weaker. The moment he realized just how poorly the statement could be taken by anyone outside his tribe, his eyes flew open again. To any company close to him, he would note his embarrassment, but this was a perfect stranger. 

An apology never came, however. 

“I…”

He closed his mouth and relaxed his expression, then shook his head once more. She may have been no threat to him, but he was making it very clear that he could be one to her, albeit it not by his intent. He was simply far too honest regarding where his mind had been the moment his eyes met her form.

“I am used to being terrestrial, as you could imagine from my lack of wings,” he stated, to explain way his lapse in logic. “However…”

His gaze cast towards the tops of the tree, where no light broke through, casting the forest in a seeming night forged by thick branches and layers upon layers of leaves. What creatures lives up there, he couldn’t say, in all honesty. 

“With your frame, could you chance the fight against the trees?” He questioned, slowly raising one hand to gesture to the well-concealed treetops. “Unless you have magic that could cut your way through, it may be a rather perilous journey. I could observe your attempts, if you’d like.”

Angela's smile fell and she flitted back a foot or so, a little more cautious. It wasn't too surprising, she supposed, given rumors about orcs but...he'd lectured her on outside threats to orcs; assessing anyone that came near would be completely understandable, not barbaric or what have you.

However to hear it spoken aloud was a bit startling. Most kept such thoughts to themselves unless they were making a threat. He didn't attack her the moment he saw her, so she had hoped he'd be more reasonable, less violent, perhaps...

Then again, he did say something about a poor first impression. Speaking without thinking then? That eased her worries a touch, as everyone does it.

But these were her wings, her life, the way she could go home and enjoy freedom and defend and learn and be. To not have her wings would be to lose her ability to go home. One needed to fly up there, and besides, no wings would throw her into shame...any threat to them was severe.

She could try to...test the waters of his intentions, if any, or if it was mere instinctual strategy.

"Well, with the way you were looking at me a moment ago, I felt like a bug being studied before it’s to be dissected," she said lightly, and then gestured to all of him with her free hand, the other still loosely holding her staff. "I’m probably not much bigger than one to you either."

She wouldn't take offense if he didn't act on the observation, and he wouldn't act if she didn't do anything foolish. Although, perhaps for a show of her...sort of lack of offense...information trading, a cultural exchange, might be beneficial? And maybe ensure there's some...continued semblance of civility or trust. Oooor it’d get her or someone else killed down the road.

To lessen any potential aggressive body language, she lowered herself a foot in the air, but didn’t move further away from him. She didn’t want to break her neck trying to see him if she was standing on the ground. It would also make it harder for her to dodge out of the way if she did step on his toes, figuratively, of course.

"...you gave me a brief description of relations between orcs and humans, perhaps I can...offer...knowledge in turn?"

“Our bones are...a little more fragile than our cousins, but they're not glass. It ensures that we have speed on our side and it makes it easy to get away as well as outmaneuver an opponent. Our warriors see it as dishonorable to flee a fight, but the scholars value diplomacy more than a blade and we'd rather bow out to study our mistakes and try again. Avoiding conflict is preferable to us for...a lot of reasons.” At least historically, they had a good reason to not want to fight if they could avoid it. Their numbers were scarcer then. "Our population suffers enough, we can't afford to lose too many people, and the warrior sect can't argue it."

She stopped. He likely didn't want an earful, very likely wouldn't care as he was a total stranger. Besides, it was enough information to make it fair, maybe.

Angela finally dropped to the ground and glanced around at the forest, then him. "I'm perfectly capable of climbing trees, sir. And if need be, I can just politely ask them to let me up and out. However, I would like to ask for your assistance by circling the main area on my map to avoid, along with any nearby settlements that I should skirt around for this or that reason. It’d be a small update to it, but a valuable one nonetheless. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Well, maybe.” She grinned. “Since you insist on watching me fly off."

The expression fell into something a little more reserved and she held a hand out, "And I didn’t get your name, sir. That was rude of me and I apologize. I’m Angela."

A pause and then, "My parents had a terrible sense of humor and inflicted it upon me."

There was an underlying threat of: please don't make any jokes. I get enough of them and I will scream if one more person does it.

[transcendencenyu]

terrie//the guardian of her galaxy

The trip started out like any other: with kicking, screaming, crying--and that was just from Bucky. Two overly-crowded flights later, we were finally in Rio, and the place was overwhelmed with tourists and competitors swarming the streets and raiding all of the decent food trucks. Okay, there were like three, but they were all very busy and completely out of kibe balls. Street food vendors aside, the atmosphere was energetic, lively, and ready to kick some foreigner ass. We had never felt more united and yet divided in our lives, invigorated by the sensation of being in Rio to represent America and sharing that pure, innocent joy with other first-timers! But then the ones who had done this before would remind us that it wasn’t all fun and games--hell, Clint made sure to remind us by disappearing instantly. Training, practicing, getting ready: that man did it all. He dedicated himself those few days to his training and worked harder than I had in months with my studies. The man was a powerhouse, and definitely everyone’s hero. Sure, the man hated me and caused me constant misery, but we were here for him, and for once, we were just able to relax.

Everyone was here, or everyone I cared about, and Rio was no doubt the place to get my seduction on with Stephen. We’d had some good nights, some great nights, and I knew we just needed the right circumstance to bring our relationship to the next level. I would get that man to say he loved me. I mean, I definitely couldn’t be the one to say it first, and I don’t think I was even ready to, but wouldn’t it be something to finally hear someone say it to me, to actually have someone care like that? This summer in Rio was going to be a breeding ground for romance and passion, and I certainly didn’t waste any time getting into it.

When Steve or Bucky had Paisley occupied, I slipped away for a few hours to walk along the beachside, Stephen beside me to complain about how hot it was, how the women and men were scantily dressed, how dressing scantily was barely actually doing anything for their body temperature, and how wearing more clothing would actually protect their skin from harmful UV rays--the usual. Of course, Rio was too much of a melting pot for us Northerners, and Stephen would have to wear shorts (oh the humanity), but the man too concerned with his appearance refused to buy them with me or let me buy them (“Wouldn’t the lobster cargo shorts look amazing on you?” No, no they would not, he said, as my ability to buy anything for him was revoked indefinitely). I recruited as much help as I could, and it quickly became my obsession to get every single one of our friends to subtly recommend shorter pant wear. Natasha said she liked his legs, Bucky sported only the best snowman shorts in the middle of summer and strutted around like a warrior mid combat--we called him winter soldier for a reason--and he taught Stephen the true redeeming qualities of such diverse and fashionable trousers, and Clint just said, “Dude, you look weird in pants. It’s like a hundred degrees. That’s just not right.” While Stephen was not having any of it, I could see he was slowly cracking, and it brought me great joy to be the one breaking him.

When I wasn’t fighting Stephen over his leg fiasco, I was fighting Paisley. Of course, Peter came to Rio, and of course he was more than willing to spend his precious fucking time with his latest boo. I spent so much time scowling that Steve said my face had permanently melted into resting bitch face and stayed like that for days (okay, he didn’t say “bitch”, because he was too pure, but he meant it). Bucky said my face had cracked beneath the unforgiving sun, like old, dried mud, and I tried to send him the nastiest of glares despite him claiming my expression never changed. I’d nearly mastered tonal expression with Paisley, knowing she heard everything, and I would tell her I was excited Peter was into her (so excited), trying to play the supportive role of any best friend to a T. Well, I said “trying”. The problem was, any time I’d come back from spending time with Stephen, Paisley would be gone, because she wanted to spend time with Peter, and this took away from my time with her, and then he wouldn’t even have the balls to face me, but would rather just drop her off, make a fucking face at me, then peace out. As if his very presence wasn’t insulting enough, he genuinely excited Paisley, made her happy and comfortable, made her forget how dangerous it is to trust men, and that was something I could never forgive him for. I worked my ass off trying to protect her since the day I failed her, I kept my eyes on her, kept the boys at bay to watch her, woke up at night to make sure she was safe in her room, and I could tell my protectiveness was starting to get out of hand the more Peter showed up. He was the antithesis of safe, with his stupid jacket, his stupid car, his stupid charm and humor. He was nothing, and Paisley was just too blind to see that.

“Maybe we should give her a tracker,” is exactly what any normal person would have said in my situation, as I did, late one night after her previous date with him. She had apparently had such a good night that the fun was going to continue--at a dinner party, with all of her closest friends--and of course he would be there! That was fine, because she was happy, and it would surely be a great fucking fantastic night.

The boys stared for a while. Actually, it was a slow, dramatic turn, as if they’d clearly heard someone break in, and they weren’t quite sure if they should run and hide or face the intruder head on, and their eyes met one another before they ever reached mine. Their body language said it all in an instant, something like, “she’s finally lost it.. I’ll hold her down; you call the cops.”

Steve, naturally, was the bravest one and first to speak, and he spoke carefully, calmly, hoping he’d simply misunderstood: “What do you mean?”

“It’s the 21st century, almost everyone is tracking someone anyway. Why not just.. You know, track her phone? See where she is? Where he’s taking her? Get alerts any time she leaves this place? She’s blind; it’s not like it’d be hard to hide.” I tried to be rather nonchalant about invading one’s privacy, and I wasn’t exactly in the wrong. It wasn’t like I was suggesting surveillance cameras to track her every movement, or bugging her phone to hear every word that creep was whispering seductively to her. I just wanted to be able to sleep at night knowing she was okay.

Since Steve had already gone, it was Bucky’s turn to try something. He seemed a little more sympathetic, being a bit of an extremist himself, and he leaned forward to me, bending down enough so that our eyes were level. “Terrie..” He tried not to break eye contact, but he could dissect me in a second and see what was really going on. “You can’t take this away from her. She can make her own decisions. Besides, this is a good thing, isn’t it? She’s moving on. You should too.”

The cracked mask of a wreck I was crumbled back into place as I stared past both of them toward her room. “You don’t move on from something like that. Ever.” I had hoped the boys would understand, knowing they played a part in this. All of us let it happen, all of us were responsible, and yet it was just me carrying that responsibility and burden.

“She can move on from anything, and will,” Steve said. “She’s stronger than you give her credit for. But right now, she really needs her friend, and pushing her away isn’t going to help her situation.”

“I’m not pushing her away. I’m pushing him away,” I said defensively, looking back to glare at Steve--something I rarely did--and the way he saw the anger and hatred in my face did something to him that I couldn’t begin to describe. It was chilling, like the look he’d given the bully he stood up to for me (yeah, I remembered), and he couldn’t bear to look at me after that, instead standing and looking to Bucky to resolve my issues.

“I know you’ll make the right decision,” Steve said, making it hard to determine if he was speaking to me or Bucky, his eyes trained on him, but his hand giving a small wave in my direction before he himself retired for the night.

Bucky was still worried, having known more about the situation than Steve, and he’d spoken to me about it once before. With Steve gone, he looked to me again, leaning forward, eyes focused, eyebrows tensed, narrowed in on my face, the way he did when he thought for a solution to save the universe, or at least save his friends. “Alright, out with it. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

I’d learned quickly there was nothing to say to Bucky that could throw him off, not even a really good lie, when he was this centered on one moment. He cared so much about me, and I had appreciated it greatly, although I failed often to show it, and he knew more about me than Paisley did since the incident. “Yeah, it doesn’t look like nothing.”

It was hard to speak, feeling the humid air like a thick blanket wrapping itself around my body, my neck and back pulsing from the hot flashes I occasionally experienced. Each moment I thought of Peter, my head began pounding harder and harder, my body became more damp, and my blood pressure would raise. Bucky was patient, watching my silent screams from within, but he’d been patient with me for months now, and he was beginning to grow restless like the rest of us. “It wasn’t him, you know.”

“I don’t care if it wasn’t,” I shot back quickly. A quick glance in the direction of Paisley’s room, and I remembered to keep my voice lowered. She’d never say anything if she heard one of our arguments, but I knew she was sharp, perceptive, and would catch just about anything she was awake for. “It was someone, and we still don’t know who, and the police gave up the search, and I’m sick and tired of pretending it never happened. It fucking happened, Bucky.”

“Okay, okay. Look, no one is pretending it didn’t happen, okay? We’re just.. Trying to move past it. Start over.”

“I swear to God, if one more person says something about moving on, I’m going to shoot myself, and then I’m going to shoot them.” I was perched on the couch, balancing on the tips of my feet, squatted yet ready to pounce, and I’d only recently started doing this when our conversations would get heated like this, both amusing and worrying Bucky.

He put his hands out, trying to calm me, while also trying not to laugh at me. “Okay, well, shouldn’t you shoot them before you shoot yourself?”

Another glance, another crack in my foundation. “Alright, fine,” Bucky said. “I get it, really, and I know you said you wanted to deal with this alone, but I really think you need to talk to someone, you know? Someone who could help you cope--”

“I am not depressed.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just think.. It was a traumatic experience for all of us, Terrie..”

Just as quickly as he said the words, I could feel hot, thick tears pool in my eyes, the kind that left them stinging for hours, and I looked away to keep Bucky from noticing. “I wasn’t the one who was raped, Buck. Paisley was. She should be the one who needs therapy.”

Without any other option, he rubbed the back of his neck and stood, a bit more defeated than before. “Yeah,” he whispered, and he left it at that, retreating for the night.

Alone again, I glanced over at Paisley’s room, feeling the tears finally let go, and I curled up on the couch to cry and stay awake as long as I could, guarding her like heroes do.

[reginaidiotarum]

A GIRL

I see how silly it was for me to title my last piece, “A Girl In A Boy’s Bod,” It was always just *my* body. It was a piece I wrote in distress at coming to my mother in distress and having that turn in on me. Having the conversation yanked right out from underneath me and the desperation of just being a voice in pain. It has been a full ten years now, since I wrote that, and I still have not read it since that night. It is too painful for me.

I have come a long way since that night. My world torn from underneath my feet. It was as though reality had slipped away. I knew it was pain. Terrible pain, but I never knew the course, just the correlation with certain things. I had said three words, and that was that. How dangerous the notion? I felt considerable pain all the time, a deep, psychological pain that were *as* intense as one of those medieval torture devices could muster. And I knew what lessened that pressure, and I knew what intensified it.

But this what never the argument people wanted to hear. This was an affront to their world view. They were blinded by faith and lost all semblance of reality. They would make fun of me, stand in my way, question if I was insane. All sympathy was lost in a clinical language and I languished in pain for years waiting for people to care enough about me to understand why I had tossed my life away with three words.

Prove to me you are not mad they said. How can I prove a negative? It makes no goddamn sense.

But I tried.

Here are my results:

First, I needed to study philosophy. If I have to answer an impossible question, I might as well understand the science of asking questions.  Dan McCullough's “Out of the Cave” is my primary source for this stuff. He’s an amazing teacher and he distilled the arguments from many philosophical debates. Well, I came away from that knowing that using Synthetic *A Priori* (Assuming things) probably won’t get you very far to understanding something. Basically what I already knew, you can’t prove a negative.

But, what if you could?

Douglas Hofstadter wrote an amazing book about knowledge and understanding. He does this by analyzing human thought looking for all the little bugs. The mistakes we make, and understanding the code of the brain like that how you can watch that buggy Pokemon TAS to get a better understanding of how Nintendo games were made. His examples are MC Escher, famous for subverting the illusion of art to confuse human identification process, Bach, notable for playing with Shepard Tones and key stacks to leave different audio impressions.

(I tried to hear it myself, but I fear my partial childhood deafness left me with the inability to process music psychologically. I can hear it, but I am musically illiterate. But, I understood it through the descriptions of others. I looked at the patterns on the screen to see if I could understand it like that, but they just looked like mountains and valleys to me.

Kōsei Arima from Your Lie In April is a pretty good example of how I feel when trying to understand music, though his illiteracy is as a result of strong abuse associated with the process leading to pain whereas I just kinda hear key changes like they are blurry and indistinct.)

And Kurt Godel, who demolished the Principalia Mathematica by creating a little program using the logic therein to call for logic not contained inside.

Hofstadter uses these subjects to make a guess about human thought process so we can make artificial intelligences. He comes to the conclusion that knowledge is gained precisely by trying to assert a negative. He told the story about how all the mathematicians were super afraid of of testing Euclid’s Parallel Postulate and just kinda assumed there was proof of it. Like, two lines that are not parallel have to intersect somewhere, right? If it didn’t the entire system would fall apart.

Lewis Carrol, another influence of Hofstadter, dreams of a world of madness without this fifth postulate. In his ignorance of never trying Carrol’s imagination got the better of him. But, in the end, it was just hyperbola.

Two lines that never intersect, right there. A Hyperbola. Heck, it might even be one line, a parabola. Non-Euclidean isn’t nearly as scary as Lovecraft painted it out to be. In my experience treading into the unknown never reveals horrors, but the woefully mundane.

Assume you are wrong, and try yourself. It’s amazing. I had a lot of help trying my ideas against the nice people over at /r/GenderCritical. They were motivated by a fear of me that made them react to me with extreme rigor. I figured I’d entertain their debates long enough to feel them slip past the point of rationality or good faith, and give up. Here was the evidence I complied during this time.

If there is a heuristic approach to the universe, it’s science. Never assuming what is real, merely testing things, and recording the results. The scientists never sound confident, but when has confidence ever been a sign of wisdom? See, the scientists observe something. And, then they seek to understand it. They have a very pragmatic approach. They take a list of ideas as to what might be going on, and then arrange them based on what they have come up with as the most likely scenarios, and then they see if they can devise a test that they could iterate through to the point where it’d be improbable not to do.

Heck, sometimes you come up with a theory that can have a positive aspect to it. Zhou had a theory that “transsexuals” (Kind of an ugly word, makes it seem like we are motivated by sex), were experiencing a hormonal condition and neural biology. Early dissections of men’s brains and women’s brains showed slight differences. Things like longer dendrites on certain cells. The amount of neurons was fixed, but the structure of them was different. Zhou had decided to test various trans people, and he found that trans people had the structure of their gender identity, at least in some cases. Some people claimed that HRT spoiled the pot, so there have been experiments since then that have controlled for that.

“But that’s one person.” I only need one positive example to assert that it the possibility is true. And with the the GCers couldn’t touch me anymore, and they would have to deny empirical evidence itself. The continuity of the universe to continue arguing this point.

Well, I have an experiment that I could run. Well, it was not a good one because it would involve cutting open my head.

Maybe if I understood how this whole “brain” thing worked, I could see if I could find yet another test. So I studied neural networks. Mathematical simulations based on the neurons in the head.

So, we have known about the structure of the neuron for a while. Observed it under microscopes. We found that each neuron was structured in the same way. A bunch of fingers on one side, a pool in the middle, and a long tube on the other, sometimes with fat between them. (The layer of fat, an insulator layer, works like capacitors and allows the transfer of electrons through the space to shift the saline in the next segment of the cell into the next “drum” of fatty tissues. Makes for lightning fast transfer speed on those cabling neurons or input neurons)

They basically take data from the previous batch of cells, or in the case of certain cells, chemicals nearby. Convert that data into sodium or chlorine using pumps, and create a voltage level using the PH of the cell as a battery. These trigger a feedback function with another set of pumps to decimate the voltage and bring it to a normalized output for the next set of cells. Genius eh?

They use feedback loops, and the fingers, the dendrites, grow or shrink based on various forms of chemicals in the brain. Zhou’s work seemed to imply the the dendrites of these BSTc cells got seeded to their position during the third trimester of pregnancy, and laid dormant until puberty shifted them.

One neuron can provide the logic for AND, OR, NOT, ADD, SUBTRACT due to the pumps used. Two layers of neurons can give you an XOR, and after layers and layers of these, you have a heuristic sort program that can basically process any data.

So, we know there are cells there, and the are permanently affixed to one position. No amount of meditation or forced feedback can make those little suckers grow to my body, and I fear disrupting the processes of the neural network to try a hard-reset on them. It seems that my hormone levels are being reported in my brain through these cells, and the experience is pain.

Eureka, I had it.

I just needed to test it for myself.

This is where I’m going to say I engaged in a bit of mad science. I know how dangerous it is, but I’m dealing with finitude here, and if this is my one life, I’m going to make the best of it. I decided to see if changing my hormones took my pain away.

I also knew what the results of HRT would do to me, and so I asked for a new name and adopted pronouns of my new hormone levels. I knew not long into my treatment, significant changes would occur.

I could do it by taking a common diuretic that could suppress my natural testosterone count, and appending my estrogen levels with estridiol, a hormone already in use by many post-menopausal women and women taking birth control. Neither are radical or hard to get drugs. Neither are kept in pharmacies purely for my sole benefit to say the least.

I hunted around and selected my doctors. I didn’t want gatekeepers for this experiment, I wanted enablers. I knew that if my problem wasn’t hormonal, I’d have 6 months to cease treatment before any changes had occurred.

I didn’t last a week on the the treatment until I called it an amazing success. You know that video of the color blind guy wearing glasses that allow him to see color for the first time? It was like that for me for everything.

My pain was gone, and for the first time, I felt like I could see the world for how beautiful it was.

It was true then. I have been a girl this entire time. But, what did it all mean?

[tialovestelevision]

Quickening

We got a Darla! We got a Holtz! We could use a musical episode.

1. Looks like a flashback, probably. Holtz on a horse. Pretty horse. Riding and riding and riding. Yep. York, 1764. Old York. Somebody is showing him a torch. They found them. We get to a building, where someone knocks on the door. It’s Angelus and Darla. Angelus asks a little girl to take him to her mother. The girl says not to let strangers in, but Angelus knows her name is Sarah. Sarah invites them in. Well, she’s doomed. Darla calls her a darling girl and says to remind her to give her a special treat. Angelus locks the door. Holtz is still riding toward the place where they are. Angelus and Darla enter a bedroom where there’s an infant in a crip and a woman watching the infant. They’re doomed too, I expect. She greets them. Holtz and his friends are crossing a puddle. Holtz says to burn it down. That’s a bit of a ramshackle. Angelus tells the woman he has a message for her husband. The woman asks if they know her Daniel. Holtz and his men are approaching the ramshackle. Darla says she’ll give the message to Sarah. Holtz: “On my signal.” Darla tells Sarah to close her eyes. Darla is eating Sarah and Angelus is eating the woman. The woman is Holtz’s wife. Holtz is in the ramshackle... he rummages through the place and finds a note from Angelus. “How do you hope to save others when you cannot save your own?” Oops. Holtz got played. He knows they’re at his house. Angelus is going to eat the baby. Holtz is on his way home. He comes in to find his wife dead. I didn’t see corpses for Sarah or the baby there

2. Sun rising over the Hyperion. Darla is asleep in her room. Angel is going to Darla’s room. Angel is checking on the baby. He should ask Darla before he touches her. She takes his hand. Darla asks if he’s going to do it or if she is. Opening credits.

3. Holtz is sitting in his little underground shrine watching TV. Catching up on the twentieth century. The demon who woke him up is hanging out behind him. Talking about how long it’s been. What’s happened. Holtz asks about England; the demon says that it went through a rough patch about sixty years ago but it’s mostly unchanged. Warm beer, boiled meat, bad teeth. That’s why he moved to LA. He asks Holtz if Holtz has followed the American stuff in his videos; Holtz says he understands enough. Holtz asks how, with the weapons of the modern war, no one has killed Angelus or Darla. He’s wrong, there… people have in fact killed both of them. Angel killed Darla and Buffy killed Angel, and the Romani killed Angelus in a way, but Angel and Buffy resurrected him then Willow killed him before Buffy killed Angel and it’s all very confusing. And Darla came back but wasn’t really Darla again until Drusilla killed her. It’s all very confusing and I don’t blame the demon for skipping all that. Much easier to talk about the hydrogen bomb. The demon says that Holtz’s fate and their fate are entwined. The demon has been tracking them this whole time. The demon can visit dimensions where time works differently. He’s also had plastic surgery. He tells Holtz to get some rest.

4. Darla wants to know if Angel knows how to do it. Angel is thinking about the last time Darla was here. You know, with the sex? Darla says that was hard to forget. They’re talking about it. It’s very uncomfortable. The others come in… Wes and Fred had a breakthrough on the Nyassian scrolls. Some of the verbs were problematic when converted to ga-shundi. She gets into practicals. The tro-clon isn’t a person or a thing; it’s a confluence of events. So it means Angel, Darla, the child, and other stuff, like probably Holtz and maybe his demon friend and possibly Gavin’s building permits? There are phrases in the scrolls that refer to the thing being born. Darla knows something is protecting the fetus; Fred asks how she knows that and Darla says she can’t get rid of it. Fred says sorry she asked. Gunn wants to shoot Darla but Angel doesn’t want him to. The team is discussing how to kill it once it’s born - chopping its head off, or hitting it with a mallet if it has no head, or a net and a flamethrower if it skitters. They should have a flamethrower regardless. Angel says nobody’s throwing flames, and also that Darla can’t leave. Angel asks them to give the potential skittering thing a chance. Cordy asks if Angel wants her to help protect the vampire that bit her and her evil love child; Angel says yes. Cordy punches Darla in the nose then says she’ll do it, but Darla goes into labor. Jaw-punches! Medical marvel.

5. Wolfram & Hart. Lilah pokes herself in the finger and draws blood, then puts some blood in a bottle and starts signing documents in it. Her assistant comes in. She asks him to take the papers she was signing. His name is Cyril. Cyril has a miniDC. He’s leaving with the mail. It has creepy guy from Carpe Noctem in Angel’s body and Lilah making out on Wes’s desk. Cyril isn’t trying to blackmail Lilah - he respects her way too much to be attracted to her. But being in the mail room, he sees a lot, and he has to choose a side. Lilah wants to know who the other side is. Gavin is the other side. His exterminators planted bugs at the Hyperion. Lilah is going to Gavin’s office. Gavin is watching his bugs. There’s a tech guy. There’s a transcription. Lilah found them. Gavin knows about the creepy old dude. Cyril is on Gavin’s side. Lilah asks who the unidentified pregnant female is. Gavin doesn’t know. Tech guy is getting the tape out. Darla knows she’s Darla. Gavin needs her. She calls Linwood.

6. It’s been 20 minutes since the last contraction. They’re irregular. Darla wants the fetus out. Darla doesn’t want to be in labor. She wants to be done. Angel gets her lying down. The team wants to know what’s in Darla. Fred suggests a hospital. Cordy says they don’t admit vampires. Angel asks if they have to admit. Wes says they need the right equipment, not a doctor. I… wouldn’t trust these people to read an ultrasound unless the machine was calibrated to use hypersonic versions of dark ritual chanting. Which… would be hella awesome, actually.

7. Linwood doesn’t care how much it costs. He needs someone who can answer the bloody question. Heads are gonna roll if the Senior Partners find out. Linwood is telling us his life story. Cyril is eavesdropping on them both, and making a call. He’s called the Tittles. He presses three to speak to or worship Master Tarfall, Under-Lord of Pain. He tells Master Tarfall, Under-Lord of Pain about Darla. Wow, how many people is he going to double cross this episode?

8. York, nine years later. Holtz is at home. Drinking. There’s his demon friend, materializing. Holtz threatens him, so not friends yet. They posture. The demon is funny. He offers to get Holtz into position to kill Angelus and Darla if he swears to show them no mercy.

9. Hospital. Darla is in a bad mood. And in a wheelchair. It’s a teaching hospital. The contractions stopped. Wes says she might have been having false labor. Fred and Gunn come in with an ultrasound machine. Darla’s getting on the table.

10. Holtz has his videos and his underground shrine. He wants to go kill Angel and Darla. He tries to grab the demon but his hands go through him. He can’t stake Angelus himself. The demon says there are rules and timetables at work. The demon turns into a human form and gives Holtz a coat.

11. Wolfram & Hart. They have psychics and superheroes all gathered together. Linwood is chewing them out. He’s not without compassion. He’s giving them a chance to save their job and their skin. A psychic: “No, you’re not. You’re going to have me killed.” Linwood: “Now why couldn’t you have had that kind of foresight when we needed it?” He kills the guy. Lilah has found out that there’s a prophecy, but nobody knows where the scroll is. Berlin is on the phone for Linwood. If the Senior Partners look to place blame, Linwood’s going to step forward and blame Darla. Darla makes a phone call.

12. Someone’s doing mystical meditation. With fire. His cell rings. He answers it. He understands.He puts his candle out. He stands up. He uses the Force to get his katana.

13. Ultrasound goo! Wes is taking a look. He’s studied ultrasounds before. It might have two heads. Cordy sees it. Wes: “Oh, my.” Angel: “What is it?” Wes: “It’s human.” Gunn references CHUD. It’s actually human. A boy. Darla is not as excited as Angel is. Fred says they should look up. They’re surrounded by vampires. That’s a lot of vampires. Cordy wants to know who has a plan. The vampires call the fetus The Miracle Child. And praise him.

14. Holtz and the demon are walking around. The demon is telling him about modern life. The demon has hired ruthless bastards. His name is Sahjan. They're in a demon fight club to hire mercenaries. They’re grappler demons. Holtz is unimpressed. Holtz wants to know if there are other surprises.

15. The vampires want to protect the miracle child. The ninja jumps through the window. The vampires dogpile him and kill him. They’re serving Ul-thar. They also want to kill the humans and use their blood to nourish the mother.

16. Lilah, Gavin, and Linwood are planning. They have the blueprints for the Hyperion, care of Gavin. They have mercs. And a Balkan doctor named Fetvanovich who is an expert in paranormal births. He wants to dissect Darla and the child.

17. Darla is sitting the fight out. They talk about slicing Darla open and wearing her entrails before worshipping the miracle child. Darla’s in, now. Angel wants the others to get Darla to the car, but Fred takes a dagger and tells the vampires that if they move she’ll kill the fetus. The vampire leader calls his men off, but Fred blows the bluff. Now we get a fight. Wes kills a vampire. Darla throws one with her hyper-strength. Angel kills a vampire. They run.

18. Commandos at the hotel. So’s the doctor. They have separate cages for Darla and the fetus.

19. The team is back in the car. Darla is in a mood. Gunn wants to go to Vegas. Wes wants to go back to the hotel to get the Scrolls. Angel agrees to a quick stop. This is going to get messy.

20. Commandos. Doctor with wicked-looking tools. Holtz comes in. Holtz asks where Angelus is. Linwood doesn’t like this. Linwood needs better audio. Holtz asks them to hand over the vampires. Linwood orders his commandos to take Holtz out. Their picture goes dead. Nobody’s answering Linwood’s calls.

21. The car pulls up in an alley a few blocks from the hotel. Angel gets out to get the Scrolls. He tells them to leave without him if he’s not back in five minutes. Darla starts to say something then tells him to just get out of here. He crosses rooftops to get to the hotel. Wow, that’s a mess. Lots of dead commandos. Place is wrecked. The doctor’s been impaled. And Angel hears Holtz say his old name. “Angelus. I’ve been waiting for you.” And Darla’s screaming. Her water’s broken. Wes tells Gunn to get a blanket. Fred wants to know what’s keeping Angel. Episode end.

Overall: That was certainly the start of something, wasn’t it? Holtz remains the most interesting part of this arc, his mad quest for revenge simultaneously destructive and painfully sympathetic. Sahjan has style. The Darla pregnancy angle is still objectionable for all the reasons I’ve gotten to earlier.

I do love the thirty-plan pileup that we get here, with Cyril, Gavin, Lilah, Holtz, Sahjan, the vampire cult, and Angel and Darla all working different agendas. There’s nothing particularly deep to say about that. It just gives the episode an entertainment aspect that’s been a bit lacking from the rest of the Darla-pregnancy arc.

Next episode looks like it’ll have the baby be born. So we’ll at least be done with that.