#i'm supposed to work on my research report right now

[a-crystalclearsquid]

Always an angel, never a god.

Jon, on his brightest, could make Damian feel anything and everything like no other. He would simply smile and Damian would breathe easier. Jon could simply express his kindness as he always does and the latter would fall a little more in love. It would be that Jon would immediately stop whatever it was that he was doing in favor of comforting a homeless guy in the street. Jon, who would be patient with a child who refuses to listen to the mother out in public.

It was always the little things- the smallest gestures that caught Damian off guard on how easy it was to fall in love again when he thought that he was completely taken over.

But even on Jon’s darkest days, it would not deter Damian.

It would be that a bully would wear out Jon’s patience and throw the first hit or even when he would completely avoid talking or making contact with anyone else just because the day is not going his way. Or even being irritated at his friends’ tiniest movements because he has an assignment due and he could not concentrate.

All those things simply meant that Jon was also human (as he was) and had his flaws. It made Damian appreciate his partner more.

The fact that Jon has his own human struggles as the rest of them had Damian be comforted but also annoyed as he could not ease it away.

So what he does is to be a better partner more in the battlefield. That way, he knows he could prevent Jon from experiencing the harsher wounds.

It comes in many forms as it is displayed through thousands, millions even, ways: Love.

It’s so hard to put it into words.

Especially for Damian, who was taught that actions proved better evidence to one’s thoughts and feelings. While he simple does not disagree, there are times when one has to use words where one’s actions are not sufficient or is the most appropriate way to let somebody know just how much you care about them.

An example would be right now, where Damian is helpless besides Jon, who is recovering inside a kryptonian pod in the Fortress of Solitude.

Where, even to the best of Damian’s medicine and surgical knowledge, is unable to assist in any way to the recovery of a comatosed Jon Kent.

All that knowledge and practice and for what? To be told that the best he could do as of now is to converse one-sidedly to Jon in hopes they would get a reaction out of him.

So here he is, the grandson of the Demon, proclaimed assassin by the age of 8, Robin to two Batman by the age of 10, has died at least three times by the age of 14, and completely helpless to by the bedside of the love of his life at 21, struggling to form words to bring back his lover from the depths of his own subconscious.

“Jonathan,“ he says his name as how one might start a prayer. “Habibi,“

my love, my life,

He grips the wrist of Jon, to feel the faint pulse, assuring himself that Jon is still here.

“I miss your warmth,

and I miss your presence.

I miss you in every waking hour, knowing you’re barely within my reach.

And I’m tempted,

oh, so tempted to bring you to the waters where I was born.

Yet, I am not so desperate as to turn my back on everything that I have fought for -that we have fought for- just for you to be disappointed in me when you return.

I have yet to lose faith that you’d never wake.

And it was because you have made me promise to by your side and never lose hope.

So here I am,

Barely holding on to hope,

Always on the edge on doing the drastic measures.

The only thing stopping me?

That would be you,

My most and dearest beloved.

All these years, and all the doubts everyone in my life has given me, save for you.

You had never given up on me, you’ve always been by my side, and you’ve always rooted for me even in times I don’t deserve,

You have made me felt no safer than in your arms.

So please,”

Damian begged,

“Return to me and make me feel safe within your comfort again.

As you have been by my side, I am also here, Jonathan.

Return to me and I will show you my devotion.

My faith wavers not as I wait for you, no matter how impatient I might seem.

Please come back to me,“

With nothing to do but sit and wait by Jon’s bedside, barely sleeping in case of missing something, his brothers bring him his books and his sketchpad.

They also bring him Alfred the cat for company, who was now sleeping by Jon.

He appreciates the little distractions, though it does no good as he keeps on looking over Jon every few minutes.

So he inclines to bring out his sketchpad and starts imitating the sleeping form of his little feline friend, and when he’s done with that, he sketches everything else he could see within his sights.

And when he also exhausts those within his peripheral vision, his hand finally gets the courage to draw Jon.

It wasn’t like the other portraits of Jon sleeping he has done so far.

It’s different, but also the same.

The way that it’s so peaceful gives out a nice scene. The way that Jon’s bruises and cuts are now mostly gone relieves Damian. The way Alfred the cat is calmly rested on top of Jon’s chest, comforting both pet and owner of the repeated rise and fall movement.

He finishes the sketch and Damian wishes he had paint with him, so that he may properly bring the art to life.

He was tired now.

Though trained by the best to function for weeks with limited to no amount of sleep, Damian couldn’t help his tired eyes and his tired mind, grudingly succumbing to slumber, but not before taking in Jon’s hand in his.

He yearns for the hour Jonathan wakes again.

To be able to recieve and exchange smiles with his beloved again.

Damian rests his eyes, knowing he will easily wake at the slightest movement of his beloved.

Even for just a simple twitch of the finger, or on the skipped heartbeat of the monitor, Damian is most confident he will be able to detect it.

For now, he simply escapes to the plains of his dreams, hoping his subconscious grants his wish. Even though knowing that it would not be real, he would at least get to spend a second reliving on a far-away memory or to experience a new one.

For whatever can emphasize his hopes and faiths, Damian will always be waiting in the land amongst mortals.

[phoenix-eclipses]

Casting Love 0.15 -- Studying Alone

Focusing on your studying wasn't an easy task to do at your place, so you had gone to the library instead. You weren't unfamiliar with the space, but most of your studying time had been working beside Hajime in your place. The few times you had gone to the library had been for group projects, so the silence of working alone was unusual. Sitting too close to anyone else felt awkward, so you placed yourself at a table alone, hoping your concentration would be better than it had been before.

Music playing in your ears as you kept tracing your eyes over the same sentence, over and over. None of the words seeming to fully process. You let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair while trying to decide what to do. Your thoughts were broken by a familiar voice calling out your name. You adjust your headphones to uncover one of your ears as you glance around. Your eyes land on Kenma's roommate, waving at you as he walks up to where you're sitting.

"YN! Nice to see you again!" he plops himself down on the chair beside you, placing his bag down as he grins at you.

"Hi Kuroo!" you fully take off your headphones, pausing your music as you turn to properly talk to him. "What are you here to work on?"

"I've been here for a bit, working on a group project," he lets out a sigh. "They ended up needing to leave for different things."

"You don't sound too upset about them needing to leave, that bad?" you let out a small laugh at the pout he gives you.

"Don't even get me started! The professor was supposed to place us in groups with people with similar interests so we can agree all work on something we care about, but no one in my class wanted to talk about football so now I'm stuck in a group of people who are focused on golfing! Like good for them, but that's just not exactly what I want to spend my time researching."

"Golfing??" you let out a small, shocked chuckle. "How did your professor decide that was the best group to place you in? Like you'd think they would pick some group that was reporting on a similar sport or something."

"He was worried this group would be too small compared to the others, or at least that was his excuse. I just hope this goes by quickly," he lets out a sigh as you nod your head.

"I hope for your sake too. I've had my fair share of horrible group projects."

"Enough about my suffering, what are you working on?" he moves closer to you to glance at what was displayed on your laptop.

"Well... I was hoping to study more because I have an exam next week... but I honestly haven't been able to focus that much."

"Hm, have you eaten anything?"

"Er... no?"

"Let's go get something to eat! Or I can finally make you something. Eating, or just getting away from staring at the screen for a bit, always helps. Clearly sitting here isn't helping you very much," he sits up, closing your laptop for you. "And after we eat, then you can continue trying, sound good?"

"Yea... that would probably help. Thanks, Kuroo."

"No problem! C'mon, let's go back to my place."

The walk back to Kuroo's place went by quickly as he chatted with you. Conversations with Kuroo seemed to flow by easily, he did pretty well at making sure to keep it engaging without making any awkward beats. Though, he did have a fair share of interesting jokes that make you give him questioning glances which he'd only return with a grin.

Once you guys entered, Kuroo tossed his bag off to the side and headed into the kitchen which you followed him into.

"Oh, and Kenma isn't here right now, he's out with Bokuto and Akaashi. Not sure when he'll be back."

"That's alright, no harm in spending time with his amazing roommate," you joke while taking a seat.

"Actually, it's Kenma's awesome roommate," he sends you a wink before turning to the fridge and pulling a few things out.

"Of course, of course, how could I forget," you roll your eyes. He sends you a grin before he starts working on making the food.

The whole time, Kuroo keeps up the conversation, multitasking perfectly well. You both enjoy the food and even manage to get some more time to study before realizing it was getting dark out.

"Kenma's definitely out late," you let out a hum.

"He rarely sees Akaashi, he doesn't go here. He just happened to be visiting, so while he might not say it out loud, he wants to spend some extra time with him. If it was just Bokuto, he would've been back by now," Kuroo laughs. "Though, I suppose it is getting quite late. Do you want me to walk you back to your place?"

"Hm... if you don't mind?"

"Sure! Let me grab my sweater and we can get going."

You give a small nod and he walks away, giving you a chance to gather your stuff before you both headed out of the building and started your trek to your dorm.

The moment the two of you entered your dorm building, Kuroo happened to pull out his phone and frown.

"Sorry, Kenma is calling, but I'll walk wait here till you text me to let me know you got back to your room."

You gave him a nod before heading to the elevator. Without any of the fancy protections, all you have to do is hit the button for the elevator to head to the lobby and open to take you up to your room.

Kuroo watches as the door close and talks quietly to Kenma, who was demanding for him to return back as soon as possible. He almost turns around after a few minutes, assuming you simply forgot to message him when the elevator doors open again and you come running out, looking around in a panic before your eyes land on him and running over immediately.

"Kuroo, can I stay the night at your place? Please? Like can we leave now?"

He raises a brow at your urgency but nods his head, walking with you quickly out the building, just missing as the elevator doors open once again and a man walks out, looking around the lobby in a hurry but not spotting whatever he was looking for.

0.14 -- Masterlist -- 0.16

Notes

Things are starting to pick up eee

Sorry for how long this took to come out, I've had a few exams so I put my focus on those

Kuroo is obviously not a love interest here but it's kind of like he's an important step to be able to understand Kenma so you guys are becoming besties, that is how it works

ALSO if I started actually posting/working on an Oikawa SMAU would people want it? Because I am debating if I wanna work on them at the same time or not because that SMAU like infects my brain tbh lol

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[hooked-on-elvis]

𝗜 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥-𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛 "𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗧" 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗬... It's not really anything from our business but Elvis' personal life is very, very entertaining - plus, knowing those things fans can always choose to live vicariously through the King's enormous list of love affairs.

From The News Examiner by author Trina Young — whom I love, btw... she really does an incredible job researching on Elvis' life and career — watch the video above on Elvis' romances on set of Change Of Habit (1969). Below, an excerpt from a book mentioned there:

While on set, Elvis and Mary, during breaks would "lie on a big blanket out in sunshine of the park, surrounded by extras and other actors, making out like teenagers. I don't mean affectionate pecks on the lips either. I'm talking about arms wrapped around each other during lip-locks that lasted fifteen minutes or half an hour. No one else on the set paid any attention to this behavior." From reporter Ann Moses' memoir book, released in 2017, "MEOW! My Groovy Life with Tiger Beat's Teen Idols":

Can you even look at these pictures the same way now?

PERSONAL COMMENT: Man, Mary Tyler Moore AND Jane Elliot? Seriously? Elvis had no shame at all, if that is true. Well, he certainly didn't - just thinking about the fact that he was married and had a tiny little baby at the time - but which actor or musician does? Very few. I always see things like this from a perspective of real life... If people in real life cheat all the time then how could we expect that stunning people, with money and fame and all the temptations surrounding them 24/7, don't do it? I mean, it doesn't make things right but it's not something only Elvis and Mary did - and at least concerning E we all know his wife cheated on him too, at given point - so we can drop the judgmental comments on marital status here because that's old news.

What shocks me is the suspicion he was having a thing with two of his co-stars from the same movie. Okay, supposedly it wasn't at the exact same time - apparently Mary was "inaccessible", according to Jane Elliot, so Elvis and Mary didn't get along very well compared to his relationship with other actors that worked on COH, and for that we can suppose she and Jane weren't actually friends either. Trina supposes his romance with Mary was very short-lived... and then (or prior to him and Mary happening) him and Jane happened. At least E (supposedly) wasn't having a thing with two girls who were friends with each other, behind their backs and at the same time but still... co-workers! Surreal. To me this is shocking. I always believed Mary when she said she didn't have a thing with E... Jane I had my suspicious but it's still not confirmed as far as I know. But now that I learn Mary was (apparently) lying, from a reliable source, eye-witness, adding this to the rumors (some gossip from the director based on situational "proof") that E and Jane had an affair during the making of COH... this got even funnier (to be kind).

I personally believe Ann Moses when she shares many, many years later what she saw between E and Mary in 1969 - and based on pictures I also believe him and Jane had a thing going on at the same period. I'm not judging any of them here. Even if it was all true, we don't know the real situation (how that happened, why it happened, the mood between the actors…) Still, c'mon, isn't that weird to imagine that Jane might could've seen Elvis and Mary and afterwards (or at the same time, who knows?) she got together with him even so? In other situation, isn't that weird to imagine, on the worst case scenario, that E got together with Jane and then he moved on to Mary right on Jane's face? Now, they were all grown-ups, all of them knew what they were getting themselves into (hopefully). I'm just sharing my thoughts, not for a sec intending to create any kind of morality shame on those people. Just like everything about Elvis, his love life is something we have fun (?) speculating about. Anyhow, one thing is true... ELVIS AND MARY TYLER MOORE DID HAVE A THING GOING ON IN 1969.

Oh, and about Mary saying Elvis said he slept with all of his co-stars except one, meaning it was her? I've read somewhere that Marlyn Mason said the same thing. I guess she was really the only one. Okay, making out and "getting into bed with each other" are two different things but still... things point more to Marlyn being the one than Mary. Again, who knows?

[welcome-back-to-hoimycraf]

SO EXCITED TO BE POSTING THIS EEEEEEEEEE

this is my gift for @bigb-enthusiast for the @mcyt-yaoi-exchange! i know there's not enough skizzb in the world so i decided to deliver >:) based on my friend's fic, the boogey!! it's SO good, go check it out, but doesn't have to be read to read this fic! (it helps and gives context, but other than that this can totally be standalone!) thank you to rain @deityoftherain, kai @kaihuntrr, and kai @Kaije224 from the yaoi event server for betaing! ALSO. I FUCKING GOT HIT BY THE AO3 WRITER'S CURSE. A FUCKING ONCE IN A LIFETIME HURRICANE DEVASTATED MY STATE WHILE WRITING THIS????? EVEN AS I'M WRITING THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE, I DON'T HAVE ELECTRICITY OR AC LMAOOOO BUT WE STAY SILLY!!!!! THE YAOI GRIND STOPS FOR NOTHING, NOT EVEN A HISTORICALLY DAMAGING HURRICANE

BigB sat at his desk, numbly staring at the unmoving red dot on his computer- the dot that represented Skizz. 

Skizz had sacrificed himself- gotten attacked by that thing that had been downing heroes left and right. It wasn’t safe to be patrolling right now, not with the Boogey on the loose. The thing, that mass of purple goop that’d been causing so many missing people and infection cases, was still roaming the city. No one knew what it was, where it came from, or what it could do. He’d told Skizz not to go on this mission! He slammed his fist down on the table, ripping off the headset that still had Phoenix's panicked voice coming through. It was of no use to him anymore. Skizz was unconscious. Skizz had tranquilized himself…. 

And now there was no telling what would happen to his husband. 

B slumped back into his uncomfortable swivel chair, rubbing his hands too harshly into his eyes to stop the tears from spilling. Vague, muffled shouting leaked from the headphone’s speakers that BigB couldn’t exactly make out. He knew Phoenix was trying to talk to him, to get him to help, but the words were all jumbled together. Everything felt floaty. B could barely think through the fog plaguing his mind.   

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real. 

…What was he supposed to do now?

—----

BigB had rushed to the hospital as soon as he was told where Skizz had been admitted. The nurse at the front desk had notified him of Skizz’s condition. Her words still echoed in his mind.

“Comatose,” she’d said. Medically induced. It was the best way to deal with the Boogey’s infected patients that had been admitted, she explained. There was no cure. B had known that long before this. Something in him had still hoped that fact would have changed in the half-hour drive to the hospital. He still felt the numbness washing over him as he was informed.

On top of that, he wasn’t even allowed to see his husband. The nurse had told him that no one was to enter infected patients’ rooms besides permitted staff. That the risk of contagion was too great for visitors. That didn’t make him want to bust down the door to Skizz’s room any less. 

The best solution he could come up with was throwing himself into his work. At least working at the Traffic City Hero Agency gave him a way to actually help Skizz. He couldn’t imagine being a civilian who’d lost a loved one to the infection, unable to do anything useful- or even know what happened to them. B was never more grateful to be privy to top secret information than he was now.  

His workload was mentally exhausting, but that was preferred. Anything to keep his thoughts from straying to Skizz…. 

It mostly consisted of desperate research. Double and triple-checking databases of wanted criminals, missing persons’ reports, and infection cases. Something had to lead him to the Boogey. If not… he wasn’t sure what he would do with himself. 

The smaller portion of his work was helping Lizzie. 

Her and Joel had recently lost their spouse, Etho, to the Boogey as well- which B could grimly relate to. Joel channeled his grief into anger, taking any excuse he could find for field work. Any excuse to get his fists dirty and feel something- even if that usually translated into the sting of wounds and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. While his methods seemed extreme, it was clear that Lizzie was taking the loss harder. 

Etho had been defending her when they were downed. They’d lost themself to the infection for her. B remembered the aftermath, when she had returned from the mission essentially hysterical. He couldn’t blame her.

Etho’s spouses didn’t even have the comfort of knowing they were safe in a hospital bed, asleep and blissfully unaware. They were still out there, somewhere. No one knew if they were hurt- or hurting someone through the influence of the Boogey.

Skizz was out of B’s expertise, but Etho was out of his grasp completely. It wasn’t like he- or the agency, even- could do much to help them. Even if they did somehow find and incapacitate them, what was the point? It’d prevent further harm, yes, but they’d still be infected. B couldn’t do anything to save either of them.

BigB did his best to lighten the burden on Lizzie’s shoulders, but there was only so much he could do. He didn’t do field work like her, which only left the half of her job she did at the agency- and even then, she didn’t let him take on too much. 

Lizzie insisted he was working himself to the bone, that Skizz would want him to take breaks. 

BigB told her she should worry more about her bloodied and battered husband and her missing spouse than her overburdened coworker. He only half regretted it. 

—----

Life was hard, without Skizz. 

BigB wasn’t aware of how much Skizz’s ever-cheerful energy truly got him through each and every day. Each evening when he arrived home, the house felt… cold. Empty. There was no life behind the front door. Not anymore. 

Everything felt broken. 

B fell into the familiar motions of making dinner. Pasta. Skizz’s favorite. He always loved alfredo- loves alfredo. 

He made enough for the both of them, purely on instinct. He used to make them at least one meal every day. 

The familiarity was nice. 

Skizz would always mention loving coming home to the smell of something delicious cooking, and B was happy to give him that. Cooking was a big thing in his family, a show of love and care for those closest to you, and he’d always be more than glad that Skizz loved what he made. The man did his fair share, though, chopping vegetables and washing dishes with nothing but a content smile.

He didn’t realize when his tears sizzled into the pan where the garlic was sauteing. 

Skizz’s arms never wrap around his waist. Skizz’s cheek never rubs up against BigB’s neck to tease him with his stubble. Skizz’s mischievous fingers never pluck a noodle straight from the pot for “testing”. 

BigB’s dinner tasted rancid on his tongue.

—----

Two weeks in, B had given up breaks. 

B’s eyes burned from both the restless nights of sleep and the too-bright screen of the laptop he’d been staring at for far too long. The all-too-familiar ache in his back had returned with a fierce passion because of his near-constant hunch over his keyboard. The dull pain was a welcome change from the numbness.

He couldn’t remember Lizzie coming in, but the sandwich sitting on his desk proved his memory wrong. A turkey club. From his favorite café. B didn’t have to wonder how she knew that information for long- it was the last thing he’d eaten with Skizz.

His husband had barged into the meeting room with a dopey smile on his face, holding a paper bag above his head triumphantly. Skizz’s expression had quickly transformed from accomplished to sheepish when he noticed the debriefing he’d clearly interrupted. Lizzie had giggled at Skizz’s attempt at a peace offering, which consisted of handing BigB one of the contents from the bag.

They had ended up pausing the meeting for a lunch break. Skizz chatted with Lizzie and Zomblaze about their favorite restaurants. B could still see the way Skizz’s eyes lit up when given the opportunity to talk about his husband’s interests. He still remembered the feeling of Skizz’s lips pressed to his temple as he said his goodbyes.  

And he still remembered Skizz wearing his hero outfit when he left the conference room- a nasty gash on the pleasant memory, reminding BigB of what would happen next.

The sandwich still sat on his desk, untouched. It had long gone stale at this point. He wasn’t hungry, anyway. He hadn’t been for days.

—----

Lizzie asked him, unprompted , if he was alright when he entered the agency that morning, stopping him in his tracks. It took B a moment to process her question, and even longer to notice her furrowed brow. He followed her gaze to the long scratch along his bicep, dried blood flaking across his skin and closing the wound. B had completely forgotten about it.

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten it exactly. His memory from last night was hazy, blurry. All he could remember was the scarlet running down his arm and dripping onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor. A clumsy injury while cleaning, perhaps?

He had never ended up bandaging it, too tired to even give it a second glance. 

Lizzie snapped BigB out of his thoughts as she took his hand, gently turning his arm over for a better look and taking in the streaks running down it. There were dried drips on his pants. He supposed he hadn’t bothered to change before heading to bed last night- or leaving the house that morning. 

“This isn’t healthy , B,” she whispered out. He could hear the way her voice trembled. 

He didn't have the strength to meet her eyes. 

“...What’s new?” He couldn’t help but scoff. 

B was glad they were alone in the small breakroom, he did not want to have this conversation in front of their coworkers. 

Lizzie’s pinched expression quickly transformed from worried to determined. “You can’t work in this state, BigB,” she sighed. “I’m taking you home to patch you up, and then you’re resting- whether you like it or not!”

The man barely had time to open his mouth in protest before being literally dragged back out the door. His objections fell on deaf ears, though he didn’t know what else he expected. He knew Lizzie well enough to know that once she was set on a goal, she’d never stop until it was achieved. 

Her and her spouses’ home wasn’t far, it was much closer than his and Skizz’s. B vaguely remembered overhearing a conversation in the break room a few years ago- something about when the Honeybees were buying their first home together. It’d been not long after the three got married, if he recalled correctly. They’d picked the house for its proximity to the Agency, apparently. 

…He couldn’t remember where he was going with that.

Their house was almost as suffocatingly empty as his, now, though. Lizzie had lost Joel as well, almost a week after B had lost Skizz, and about two weeks after Etho. Heroes were dropping like flies all around the city due to the Boogey. No progress had been made to find them. 

He felt bad, of course, but it wasn’t like there was much he could even do. He didn’t do field work, and Lizzie’s spouses’ trackers had been destroyed soon after they’d gotten infected. They’d left little to no evidence as to their current location.

He couldn’t help them- just like how he couldn’t help Skizz...

Lizzie led BigB up the stairs, mentioning something about a med kit. He didn’t hear it over the anger bubbling in his ears. 

He couldn’t save any of them.

Of course he couldn’t.

"I don't need your help, Lizzie," he couldn't keep from sneering out, ripping his hand from her grasp. Latent rage boiled in his chest. He was a grown man, he could handle himself! He didn’t need Lizzie to take him home and clean him up like she was his mother!

She gripped the bannister, turning to face him with the same stubborn expression he'd seen on her countless times in front of her spouses. "Yes, you do need my help, BigB." He could feel her eyes falling to the long cut along his arm. He quickly moved to cover it. "We both need help. We need all the help we can get." 

B suddenly found the stairs beneath his feet extremely interesting. 

Lizzie sighed, her tone softening. "...Listen," she stepped down to his level, gently taking his hands in hers. He still couldn’t meet her eye. He didn’t want to. "We're both going through a hard time right now. It’s not good for us to push people away in our states- especially each other.” B’s heart broke slightly at the small crack in her usually strong, if a little uncertain, voice.

He surprised himself when a watery laugh escaped his lips. "You may be right, but that doesn't mean I like to admit it." 

“I’m usually right.” 

B could hear the weak grin in her tone.

The rest of the walk to the bathroom was draped in a slightly awkward silence, neither one able to look the other in the face. B couldn’t think of anything to say. What exactly would he say? ‘Yeah, sorry about your spouses possibly being gone forever- my husband is, too!’

That didn’t seem like a good conversation starter, did it?

“...Do you want to talk about it?” Lizzie asked quietly as she bandaged his wound. He couldn’t remember sitting on the toilet lid, nor his coworker pulling out the medical supplies. The world had started to blur out a long, long time ago. 

“No.” Even though BigB knew she would understand, he couldn't. He couldn't talk about it without breaking down. He had a mask to hold up, even if she'd already seen it crack. 

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to put it back up if it came down. 

She seemed to let the subject drop. 

Lizzie ended up leading him to her room and forcing him to sit on her bed once he was all bandaged up, demanding he finally get some sleep. He was too mentally weak to protest. 

She turned to leave the room when given no response, but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm. She struggled to slip out, but B’s grip on her elbow didn't waver, though he did loosen it so as to not hurt. "If I’ve gotta take a sick day, you do too," he grumbled, and Lizzie could already see his eyes drooping. 

Her eyebrows furrowed together. He’d seen that too many times today. "No, B, I can't. I've got to make progress on this case, I-" Before she could let out another half-baked, hypocritical excuse, Lizzie was dragged forward onto her own sheets. 

"Nope!" 

She sat up quickly, her fists balled into the honeybee-embroidered blankets. “If I find this monster, I can bring our spouses back-“ 

BigB finally sighed, looking her in the eye for the first time since that morning. Her rambling, uncontrolled train of thought was way too similar to his own. He’d spent days convincing himself that he should give up his needs in favor of doing anything he could to help Skizz, but he knew it wasn’t good for him. He knew, yet he couldn’t gather the courage to stop. At least, not on his own. “We can’t help them if we’re exhausted… no matter how much I don't like to admit it... we've gotta take breaks, Liz." 

She giggled wetly after a moment, relaxing back into the pillows. "Are we gonna ignore this advice and go right back to the unhealthy habits once we wake up?" 

BigB's smile was strained as he responded. "I expect nothing less."

—----

B jumped at the loud bang sounding throughout the empty conference room. His head shot up to find Lizzie standing across the large table from him. She’d dropped a large stack of papers on the wood, looking pretty proud of herself. 

It was pretty weird that he hadn’t noticed her come in- he must’ve been caught up in his work. Where the heck did she come from?

“This is all the info I’ve found on the Boogey so far,” she explained, rolling a chair back and plopping down. The hero kicked her feet up on the table confidently, which put a slight smile on B’s face. He didn’t realize how much he missed Lizzie’s big ego. 

“Seems like a good place to start,” he hummed, leaning over to drag the pile to his side. “Though, most of this will probably be stuff I’ve already looked over- no offense,” he sighed, twirling the end of his pen between his teeth in concentration.

Lizzie shrugged. “None taken. You’re probably the nicest supervisor I’ve ever had,” she snickered. 

BigB let out a bit of a half-laugh to let her know he’d heard her quip, though most of his attention was absorbed by the information he’d been given. He was right about it being a good chunk of stuff he’d already seen, either from looking over other people’s research or from doing his own. One did catch his eye, though.

“There’s been more sightings?” B raised an eyebrow at the police report detailing some civilian’s story about purple sludge and a suspicious figure. Seemed to be in some part of town that had been abandoned a long time ago. If he remembered correctly, it had been evacuated due to a gas leak and never fully recovered. Most of the buildings had been left to rot.

Lizzie nodded vigorously. “I’ve been triangulating sightings to try and pin down a possible headquarters of the Boogey- or wherever it may have come from. If it’s a lab experiment like some are theorizing, it could be returning to where it was made after its prowls!” 

B’s eyebrows raised. “I… never thought of doing it that way before….” Gears were already turning in his head, half-formed ideas of how to use this information surfacing in his mind. He tapped his pen against the table rapidly with his success. “Lizzie, you’re a genius!”

The hero grinned with a faux confidence, though he found a hint of genuine pride in herself at his words. “You know me- genius of the agency!” She giggled. 

He stood up quickly, shutting his laptop and grabbing the documents he needed. “Do you mind if I take some of these?” He looked back up to his coworker, holding up a few of the papers he planned on snatching. 

Lizzie shook her head, though her eyes were slightly wide. “Take all you need.”

“Thanks-” B barely got the word out between his racing thoughts. He gathered all of his items and headed out the door, making a beeline straight to his office. This could be a breakthrough.  

—----

He woke up in the hero agency. 

It was way too warm in the small, cramped room he was given years ago. Something about a "promotion" that gave him no better pay and a shit load more to add to his plate. Light streamed in between the closed blinds from the sole, tiny window at just the right angle to hit his eyes. 

B didn't remember falling asleep. 

His laptop had been closed at some point, which he assumed was done by someone else. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a water bottle left on his desk. The sticky note on it read, ‘Hydrate or Diedrate! -Z’ 

B wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth, a smile creeping across his lips. Zomblaze must’ve stopped by after he’d fallen asleep. She didn’t like to admit it, but she cared about the people at the agency- Well, some people at the agency. BigB supposed he’d been added to their list. 

He ran his fingers along the fabric falling from his sides. That was new. 

A blanket had been draped over his shoulders while he slept. It was covered in embroidered honeybees.

—----

BigB’s heart was beating out of his chest.

His leg bounced up and down furiously with his pent up anxiety. Lizzie, Zomblaze, and that vigilante, Phoenix, they’d recruited had just left the conference room- leaving him with the biggest breakthrough of his career.

They’d identified the Boogey. A young girl named Gem, the profile had said. She was, quite possibly- very possibly, his way of getting Skizz cured. 

The idea seemed too good to be true. 

Zomblaze and Lizzie had gone out to track down Gem’s brother, Scott, and get any information they could about helping her. From what the trio had recounted, it sounded like she had been infected herself rather than being the cause of the infection. 

B’s mind was racing with possibilities.

Having Skizz back might be closer than he thought. 

—----

Zomblaze had burst into the conference room, making BigB shoot up from his chair. “Do you have any information?” He couldn’t help but shout. Volume control was the last thing on his mind at this point. 

She nodded quickly. “I have terms for a compromise.”

B’s memories blurred after that. 

He’d agreed to Scott’s terms with barely a second thought. They seemed reasonable enough, and he was desperate- anything to see Skizz again- hell, he’d probably risk his own life if that meant Skizz would be safe. His thoughts were racing. He hadn’t been this close to having his husband back in weeks- he’d begun to lose hope. 

Hours of paperwork, discussions, and frantic texts with Zomblaze turned into one big blend of moments BigB had already started to forget while he was experiencing them. Only one thing remained a constant in his thoughts. 

Skizz.

He drove to the hospital Gem had been admitted to the next day (Was it the next day? He wasn’t sure anymore). B was sure that driving in his weird, trance-like state definitely wasn’t safe, but he ignored it. Skizz was so, so close- He couldn’t give up now. 

Flashes of front desk nurses and sterile, white walls swam through his head before finally becoming a clear image of the door to the room Skizz was being kept in. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the handle, hesitating for a brief moment as it hovered over the doorknob. Why was he nervous? Scratch that- he knew exactly why he was nervous. 

What if they couldn’t cure him?

What if they couldn’t save him?

What if he–

Gem being admitted to help with the infection came with no guarantee that any of her victims could be saved. That any of them could survive. There was always the possibility that attempting to cure them could just as well kill them. It was all up in the air. 

B took a deep breath, the nurse’s gaze on his back burning into his very being, and opened the door. 

The room was dim, barely any light besides the faint blinking and screens of machinery. The distinct rumble of a ventilator filled the room, accompanied by the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. 

And there, in the middle of it all, laid his husband. 

It was hard to recognize him beneath the large amount of purple goop pulsing over his skin, but it was definitely Skizz. BigB could recognize that tousled hair and unkempt beard anywhere. The familiarity almost buckled his knees, but he held strong. He had to be strong. 

He wasn’t sure what else he could be.

—----

It had taken a few hours for news to arrive, but B had never been more relieved.

Gem had been brought to a stable enough condition to start ridding patients of infection. The nurse had said that they were prioritizing healing heroes first, and B almost cried with the weight that lifted itself from his chest. 

Skizz would be okay. Just a bit longer. 

BigB got his first look at Gem besides her outdated profile when she entered the room. She looked awful, which he couldn’t blame her for. Being the main infected for so long had practically turned her into a walking corpse. Her cheeks were pale and sullen, and her orange hair was so brittle it looked like it could be snapped in half. B’s heart went out to the poor girl. 

Skizz’s healing process was… horrific. But when it was over… there he was. His husband, conscious and breathing and alive, sat right in front of him. It took everything in B’s power to keep himself from trembling with relief in front of the love of his life. 

He was able to keep his mask intact when Skizz panicked over the IV, his fear of needles kicking in as strong as ever- even after almost dying. He was able to keep his mask intact when the two were left to reunite and just be together after so long. He was able to keep his mask intact when they picked up their usual banter on the way to the parking lot only an hour and a half later, thanks to Skizz’s inhumanly-fast immune system. 

He had to stay strong for Skizz. 

Skizz was the one who had gone through this, not him. If anyone should break down, it would be his husband. He had to be there to support him if needed. 

They kept up idle conversation on the drive home, B catching Skizz up on all he missed while hospitalized. It was so familiar, yet so unfamiliar all the same. Skizz’s crooked smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, even the stupid, loveable way he talked- it was all too much. The moment didn’t seem real. The casual domesticity he’d missed so much had just been… returned to him so nonchalantly. 

He almost expected the universe to be pulling a trick on him- that he’d look to his right and find Skizz gone again. 

But he was right there with him the whole drive home.

—----

Skizz was still there when he woke up in the morning. 

Having him back was... weird. 

BigB hated to admit to himself how used to living without his second half he’d gotten. Waking up every day to an empty bed and a cold home became his new normal, after a while. 

Skizz did his best to hide how he felt, but BigB could always see right through him. Skizz felt guilty. Guilty for leaving his husband behind to pick up the pieces. Guilty for not being there when B needed him most. He'd always put too much on himself, his heart too big for his own good. 

B could tell that Skizz was still tired, despite what he said about his powers making it better. He'd been home for a few days, and his recovery was still in the early stages. He couldn’t walk long distances, and manual labor was out of the question. Skizz insisted he was fine, but the deep eyebags he fostered said otherwise. 

B didn’t blame him for being practically bed-ridden, but something in him was… resentful. He longed for normalcy. He wasn’t bitter at Skizz, gods no, just at their situation. He prayed for his husband to have a fast recovery.

—----

The sweet, chocolatey scent of BigB’s favorite cookies, a fragrance he could always pinpoint, was a nice surprise when he walked in the door after a long day at the agency. Something seemed… off about it, though. Almost… sour? He quickly shrugged his shoes off by the door, padding over to the kitchen to peak inside.

Skizz sat on a bar stool in front of the counter, facing away from the doorway. He was hunched over something B couldn’t quite make out, muttering to himself. Both he and the kitchen were dusted in a thin layer of debris from what BigB assumed was a baking fiasco. A tray of misshapen, over-cooked “cookies” sat on a tray atop the oven, still steaming (or smoking, rather).

“Skizz?” B asked softly.

The man in question jumped, swearing in shock, and turned to face his husband. “B- Boppers! When’d you get here? I didn’t hear you come in,” Skizz rambled out, frozen like a deer in headlights. It was obvious he’d been trying to surprise B with his favorite cookies, but it hadn’t worked out. He found it strange, though. Skizz had perfected that recipe years ago, hadn’t he?

BigB made his way over, placing a hand on Skizz’s shoulder to rub circles into the skin there. “Just got home,” he hummed, twitching the corners of his lips up into a soft, if not tired, smile. “Whatcha makin’?”

At his question, Skizz visibly deflated. “Well, I tried to do something nice for you and make your favorite cookies,” he nodded toward the open cookbook he’d been scanning. “Thought I couldn’t screw it up,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, “but it all fell through,” Skizz admitted in a mutter, hanging his head. “Had to resort to pulling out the recipe book to remember how to do it right. Turns out I just made you charcoal!” 

B got a good chuckle out of that remark, at least. “I don’t mind, hun,” he promised, running his fingers through Skizz’s untamed, wild mess of hair. “We can just make more- together this time.” 

“Back hurts,” his husband whined, pressing his head into BigB’s chest. 

B’s eyebrows furrowed. “When did that start?” This was new- part of Skizz’s recovery journey after being comatose for so long. It was concerning to say the least, considering Skizz’s powers, but neither of them had yet to bring up their worries. 

“After I’d been in here cooking for an hour,” Skizz mumbled, letting out a mirthless chuckle. “M’ back and feet still hurt, even after I sat down.”

“That's okay, baby, the thought was enough.” BigB leaned down to press a kiss against Skizz’s crown, smoothing out his flyaway hairs. “How about we just get cleaned up, yeah? I’ll deal with the kitchen, you go take a shower.”

Skizz hesitated for a moment. “I-....” He paused, sighing. “I took my ring off to bake, but I can’t find it anymore,” he admitted. It sounded like he was almost worried, as if BigB would be mad at him for losing his ring. 

That was concerning. 

B hummed to himself for a moment. “That’s alright- wanna look for it while I start cleaning up?”

With Skizz’s nod as confirmation, the two split to do their parts. BigB took to dumping the unsalvageable lumps of borderline ash that were supposed to be cookies. He was tempted to make a joke about the state of them, but decided now wasn’t the time. Skizz was obviously upset, and there was no need to make it worse. 

He’d just started to get the water going for doing the dishes when Skizz’s frustrated muttering emanated from the other side of the kitchen. B glanced over to his husband. “You alright?”

The man groaned in annoyance. “I can’t find this stupid thing!” He stood up from his hunched position where he’d been checking under the counters, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. 

B set the dirty mixing bowl in the sink, turning off the water. “Want me to help look for it? You can go-”

“I don't need help- I can do this myself, I'm not an idiot!" Skizz snapped, his hands splayed against his face in the way that told BigB that the situation had really upset him. 

Almost as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, his husband was already apologizing. “...I’m sorry, B, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Through his shame, Skizz made his way over so he could wrap his arms around his partner’s waist and bury his head into the nape of B’s neck. 

BigB squeezed Skizz tight around the shoulders, making sure not to touch him with his hands, still dirty from the dishes, and rest his chin atop Skizz’s head. “It’s alright, baby, you’re frustrated. You’ve been upset with your recovery, you’re not used to it. I understand.”

Skizz took a deep breath, pulling back to look BigB in the eye, even through the tears he was trying to blink away. “I…” His words faltered for a moment before he took a deep breath and picked back up where he’d left off. “I felt bad for not even being able to do something simple for my husband after all you’d done for me. I know this recipe is important to you, and I wanted to make it as… as an apology for being gone.” 

A silence settled over the kitchen with the admittance. If B’s heart hadn’t shattered before, it definitely had now. 

BigB blinked away tears of his own. He cupped Skizz’s face, ignoring his dirty, wet hands, and pulled the man into a fierce kiss he hoped conveyed all the reassurances he could muster. It was sweet and chaste, and when he pulled back he ran his thumb along Skizz’s cheekbone. “You’re too sweet,” B whispered, a watery laugh escaping his lips. “Now, let’s go start that bath, ‘kay?”

—----

Their bed had never been more comfortable. Something about not noticing things until they were gone, something BigB was far too bad at poetry to explain. He didn’t need poetry to simply bask in the love spilling from every part of his being, though. 

He and Skizz were sat up beneath the covers, B rubbing his husband’s shoulders. Skizz had mentioned something about them being sore from his cooking earlier as they crawled into bed, and BigB happily suggested to help. Skizz had always said he gave the best massages, anyway. 

“...I missed this,” he murmured, half asleep, into the back of Skizz’s neck. He hadn’t even realized he’d started talking before the words came out of his mouth. 

Skizz was silent for a moment, probably expecting that B would continue, but decided that wasn’t the case. “Wanna elaborate, hun?” He asked, and BigB could hear the smile in his tone. 

B hummed to himself for a second, trying to form his words in his foggy, sleep-clouded brain. “I… I missed just this- this domesticity,” he sighed, struggling to come up with the right phrasing. “Something simple, like this quiet night where we’re just… together.”

Skizz shifted to face him, taking BigB’s hands from his shoulders to hold in his own. “Aw, I missed you too, sweetheart,” he cooed, cupping B’s face and pressing their foreheads together. His tone was light, yet his words brought a heaviness to the air that hadn’t been present before. A heaviness that held all the unspoken apologies, explanations, and conversations too hard to bring up between them. 

Now that the topic had been broached, BigB was urged to keep going. There was an opening he could finally fill.  "I-I missed hearing your voice... it would get so lonely hearing nothing but my own lungs-" His voice wavered, and he could feel Skizz’s arms moving to embrace him in one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. “You weren’t there to- to pick me up after bad days, or make me smile. Everything was so empty without you- Just- gods, I missed you so much, Skizz.” B surged forward, wrapping Skizz as tight as he could around his middle, almost as if he was scared of losing him again. He couldn’t lose him again- he couldn’t, he couldn't, he couldn’t- 

A moment of heavy silence passed between them before Skizz spoke again, "...I may have been the one infected, sweetheart, but you were the one who had to live with it. Your suffering isn’t negated because I'm struggling too.” 

Something in BigB broke at that, the tears finally flowing freely. Years worth of effort to build up a perfect mask of calm collectedness, broken with just a few kind phrases. Was it unfair, or had it been a long time coming?

“This isn’t my battle to fight, Skizz,” he choked out in reply, pulling back and taking in the man’s concerned expression. “You were the one who was injured, not me. You were the one affected by this. You still are.”

Skizz reached a hand up to wipe away some of the wetness from B’s face, blinking rapidly himself. “That’s not true.” His usually strong voice came out a whisper. “I was asleep the whole time, for goodness sake. If anyone’s taken this hard, it’s been you, B. I may be dealing with the after-effects, but you had to deal with the grief.”

B couldn’t even respond, his ability for speech taken over by heavy sobs. Skizz was right, though, wasn’t he? BigB had been denying himself the ability to grieve through his belief of not deserving it- all of his pent up emotions finally breaking through his carefully crafted dam. 

Skizz took his heaving as an acceptance, running a careful hand through BigB’s hair. “It'll be difficult, Boppers, I know it is, but I love you and I’m here for you. We can heal from this trauma together, okay love?" 

Together. 

They were together.

After all this time, maybe, maybe things would be alright. 

They had to be alright, after all.

They had each other.

And that’s all they needed.

[noturprobiem]

This is a part of a crossover fic I'm writing, a meeting between bingqiu

The fic will be mainly focused on hualian, but the idea is that Xie Lian, Shen Yuan and Lan Wangji are researchers and their men are supernatural entities

I will need a lot of time to finish the whole thing and this passage might change a bit, but I think it works on it's own right now. It's a bit spooky, too!

Report by: Shen Yuan

On: Entity A0518

I must start by asking you to not allow this information to leak. My report can not be seen by Shen Qingqiu, under any circumstances. If gege finds out, he will endanger himself or others in a misguided attempt to protect me, and there will be casualties. Thank you.

Several years ago I was forced to get rid of an entity, then known as F0518. It was a creature capable of creating illusions, but not trapping people inside. It used the form of a teenager and claimed to be fourteen years of age. However, it looked just like A0517, which gege spent years hunting and running from. They had some history I'm not aware of.

When the entity turned eighteen, gege became convinced that it was hiding its dangerous power and manipulating me to then use me in some nefarious plot. He had some odd ideas about its feelings for me which I won't repeat. He was going to destroy it, but I couldn't let him kill something that resembled a child so much. So I pretended to do it myself, wounding it, but making sure it can survive after a long healing process. I realize how irresponsible that was, but there is no use in disciplining me, as he found me already and will make sure that I know I made a mistake. 

Which I don't regret. He was a child.

Yesterday, I was going home late, and turned to a dark alley I know very well. I can avoid every obstacle there blindfolded, which is why I was very confused when I bumped into something. I thought it was a dog at first, but upon further inspection, it turned out to be a small child, standing in the middle of the road and crying. I crouched to ask him what happened, but the kid didn't answer, just grabbed my sleeve and started bawling. Children were always my weakness. I spent several minutes trying to calm him down. I tried sign language, but it didn't work, the kid just got scared that I was trying to shake his hand off my coat. So I scooped him up and left the alley, to at least get a good look at his face and check if he had anything to identify him by. As I walked, my heartbeat slowly gathered speed. The alley was too long. I knew it was supposed to end already, but blamed the fact that I now had a passenger for the tricks my mind played on me.

With a creeping suspicion, I turned left at the end of the alley, and I didn't know where I was anymore. I couldn't let the child feel that something went wrong, so I stubbornly kept going straight ahead. I've been through encounters like this before, they were usually just inconvenient, but not dangerous. The senior Luo Binghe made my paths to gege's house longer just to annoy him sometimes.

As you can guess, I was slowly realizing who caught me this time. It's been three years, after all. I didn't want to run, because it would scare the child, so when I saw the light, I just walked faster. I knew it was a trap, but hoped that I would at least be able to get the kid out before anything bad happened, and that could only be achieved by letting Luo Binghe have his way. He can't tolerate when things don't go as he wanted, and it might partially be my fault.

When I reached the light, the child turned his head to face me. There was something unnatural in the way he moved, in the speed and angle. He looked at me, unblinking, no expression on his face.

“Shizun,” he said. “I miss you.”

I dropped the child and made several steps back, but running was useless in the realm controlled by him. The child's body shifted, as if his bones were breaking and growing and rearranging under his skin. I took another step back, but tripped and fell. For some reason, Binghe put a blanket under me before I hit the ground.

He looked just like the senior one, standing in front of me. He was even taller than when I last saw him, which I didn't think was possible, dressed in several layers of a black old-fashioned hanfu, with long curly hair and a handsome face. Not sure if it's important. Entities aren't usually handsome, from my experience. 

The darkness around us turned into an interrogation room, which he sometimes used as a joke when I tried to ground him for something. Didn't expect this room to horrify me, but the gray walls made me feel trapped. The light was dirty and yellow, blinking from time to time, and it made my eyes hurt, the air was stuffed and dusty. The blanket stayed, though. I can't fully understand his actions, even now. 

“Aren't going to run? Good,” Binghe chuckled, leaning on the table. “Let's talk like adults, then.”

I didn't have the energy for this. Walking this much wasn't very good for a chronically ill body like mine, and I was already tired after work. So I said:

“Just kill me and we can all move on."

He threw a chair at the wall, and it shattered into pieces.

“You were the one who tried to kill me!” He screamed.

Suddenly, the illusion was broken, and I was left standing in the middle of the alley, completely alone. Nothing odd happened since then.

If I disappear, I beg you to burn this paper before gege can find it and murder everyone involved.

[z909-voided]

Entry 01...

I stayed so they can leave.

Hadal Blacksite, post lock-down. I... I don't know the time. There's no way to tell time down here. But with any luck I can try to keep track of... something... with this tape recorder I found. I hope I can find enough tapes to last me...

This is Dr. Carrie.... Alena Carrie... it feels weird to say my name anymore, after so long being called Z-909. Maybe if I keep it here, I'll be able to remember it for later. Later when... when I...

When I am no longer me.

Right. Right why I'm down here. That would be important *nervous chuckles.* They sent me down here, me and another expendable. We were supposed to set up a bomb to wipe out the black site and the subjects located here. End the breach, once and for all. But....

But I couldn't. I've spent so long looking over these files, pouring my time and work into these projects. They're living things. They're just... living things, and they do not deserve to pay for the mistakes Urbanshade has made. I dismantled it. But now I'm stuck here, too. How fitting... now that I've been turned into one of them. With my own research too, no less.

There's so much to explain...

I can't let them know who I am.

(Tape Entry 1 is the pinned post - you are here!) ; TAPE ENTRY 2 ; TAPE ENTRY 3

JOURNAL ENTRY 1

Z-909 Report:

Status: Injured [asks/rps open]

Mutation: 25%

Mood: ‘how do I keep getting into these messes… ‘

==============

Baby Void Mass (BVM) Report:

Status: Healthy [presumably near CA] [asks/rps open]

Mood: wants to help!

==============

Osprey Report:

Status: Healthy [asks/rps open]

Mood: ‘Not ideal, but it is what it is.’

==============

Watch’r Report:

Status: ;) (with z-479 rn)

Mood: Let’s be entertained together~

OOC undercut and character ref(s) under the cut:

Hi! I'm Eli, 18+, he/him or they/them. This place looked cool... so what if... what if I threw some vague oc concepts at y'all? 👉👈

I follow from @mothkingeloth and if I am an anon I will likely use the crown emoji. (👑)

Any and all interactions (oc, ooc, canon, other fandoms, etc) are welcomed!

You do not need images to roleplay with me but I may doodle my characters (and/or yours!) as parts of responses.

I am still developing characters. There are currently two on this blog: my main one, Z-909, and a lil baby void mass puddle that I like to throw at people for the funsies. There may be more characters here in the future.

Please do not repost my art or use it to train AI without my permission. Please do not take credit for my art. If you would like to use my art for anything, please credit and link back to me.

More may be added to this post in the future!

REFERENCES

Z-909:

Baby Void Mass:

[flagellant]

lmao the obesity article from huffpo you reblogged is so insanely incorrect

First off, the whole "Your body is just doing what it's supposed to do, you're fat because you're MEANT to be fat!" while also saying "about 40 years ago, Americans started getting much larger" hmm... Why only Americans? Why only 40 years ago?

That seems odd, that Americans, specifically, would suddenly change to being naturally fat. Even today America has a much higher rate of obesity than other places like Japan. How is that? Wonder what would be discovered if we looked at when things like beet sugar, corn syrup, etc. started to be commonly added to foods 🤔

And then the "diets don't work!" spiel, along with emotionally charged reports of people starving themselves until they passed out.

What diets specifically doesn't work? Were the people getting enough calories? Did they stop the diet, and then the weight came back? Did they start with small, gradual changes or completely overhaul their entire meal plan right away?

They say "95% to 98% of research shows diets fail" what research? What studies? What was the sample size? What were people eating? Were they given any help to maintain their diet or encourage any other healthy habits, or were they just given a list of foods to eat and sent on their way?

It sounds like ALL the diets they talk about in the article are shitty. People starving themselves, people doing useless fad diets, etc. and presenting it as if weight loss is IMPOSSIBLE. Which is crazy, considering all the people I've seen who lose weight, maintain the loss, and feel insanely better than they did when they were obese.

Maybe it's not that "diets" don't work, but that the diet industry doesn't work? After all, what would happen if they encouraged people to change their relationship with food completely, starting with small, gradual changes, and work on fixing their gut microbiome and cutting out unnecessary things from their diet like processed sugars, corn syrup, etc? Then people would lose weight. Then they wouldn't need expensive diet plans anymore.

And then the industry has no more customers. Just like if Apple makes phones that actually work and aren't pieces of trash, then they wouldn't be making money from people buying new iPhones every other year. Same with the clothing industry, and the pharmaceutical industry, and every other industry.

For someone who always talks about people researching things and checking out the sources on information before automatically believing it ya'll don't seem very good at it lmao

I'd like to start off with saying that I definitely agree with you in that the way the diet industry is structured exists to predate upon invented insecurities, just like nearly any cosmetics aimed at body alteration to some degree (makeup included). We also agree that it is fundamentally built to ensure failure and ongoing failure as a norm, in the same way that we're never going to get a proper cure for cancer when the cancer industry is so insanely prevalent and profitable.

That said, I understand your...frustration, let's call it, sure, about the fact that no, I did not do any further digging into this and took it at its word. You have my apologies for that.

However. I'd like to use this as a tool for transparency and assuming best intent. Your tone and treatment of me in this is rather hostile and I don't see the purpose that it serves. If I'm someone who claims to find accuracy in reporting important, then yes, accuracy needs to be had. And it was as simple as just Googling "95% diets fail". First result is an article from the NYT debunking it and explaining why it's a myth and bad statistics.

But that same article gets me to the heart of why I'm writing things out this way: you brought it up yourself, in fact, though in deciding to get petty you probably missed the subtext. For over forty years now these numbers have been used and spread around to the point where countless literal professional doctors don't have any idea that it's false. After all, we live in a society where diet industries have for pretty much ever been able to operate with nearly no regulation, fat people aren't actually given a shit about from medical professionals and are just told to get GPS, etc...you could even say this is a systemic issue which started long before I and likely you (and most reading this) were born.

Nobody learns these things on accident. You're absolutely right that if I looked it up and researched the claims I could easily have found out their validity to be nonexistent. But why would I? This isn't new research. This isn't anything that goes against anything I was ever taught. It's just a fact of life, just the way things are. People thought the universe was geocentric.

So with that said, I have to admit that while I've done my best to not vent my irritation at you or anyone else, it is deeply frustating, sure, we'll call it, to have you walk up to me and act in this way. It would be one thing if this wasn't a case of unlearning systemic bias and normativity. That'd be on me, absolutely.

But instead of thinking things through like an emotionally mature individual and going "Hm, this dude who says it finds research/accuracy important posted some stuff which was wrong, which I'm aware has a history going back multiple decades and is still going strong. Maybe the reason they didn't do any followup research was because they've lived their entire life hearing this same statistic over and over again and therefore thought that their systemic biases were accurate and saw nothing wrong because they couldn't,"

you decided to be a cunt for no fucking reason and you knew it because you had to go on Anonymous to hide any possible consequences coming your way for your actions. So thanks for informing me about this, I'm genuinely grateful and we, again, completely fucking agree ideologically, but/so fuck you for thinking that acting like a fucking 10th grader with a gotcha was a better use of anyone's time than just typing out "Hey that diet thing you reblogged is actually completely false if you look it up" to which I would have gone "Oh shit you're right, here's some followup research I did about this thing and how it's a systemic bias that needs to be unlearned".

[givemea-dam-break]

Your Lockwood. Enemies to lover was sooooo good, please I need a part 2🥺

a/n: so glad you liked it! of course i’ll write a part 2 i am extremely emotionally attached to this series. also to the person who requested the lucy carlyle x reader, it is on its way i promise

warnings: language gn reader

full series collection: here

"You, again? I saw you last week. My eyes can't handle this pain anymore."

Lockwood grins in your doorway. "Come on, last week wasn't so bad. We made it out alive. How are your hands doing, by the way?"

"I almost fell out of a window because of an abusive old man," you grumble. "And they're fine, but they still smell like Savlon, thanks to you. I suppose you'll want to come in?"

"If that's alright," Lockwood says. "I've got more business for you."

Groaning quietly, you move out of the way and gesture for him to come inside. "Alice left for work not long ago, so you won't scare her away. Come on, I'll put some tea on. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

You direct Lockwood over to your sofa, bought second-hand from some old couple in north London. That much is evident from its less-than-appealing pattern, but it's comfortable enough. Lockwood sinks down onto it, smiling gratefully when you hand him a mug of tea.

"So, what is it this time?" you ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Haunted mansion out in Harrow. A bit of a trek away, but it's good pay. Type Two again, but Lucy will be coming along this time, so hopefully a repeat of last time doesn't happen. We just need an extra pair of hands. It's a big space to cover for three people."

You cross your arms. "Bold of you to assume I want to work with you again. I could've died last time."

"But you will come with us, won't you?"

"I might as well," you grumble. "Nothing else on. Rent's this week. Any information on the house, possible ideas of who the ghost is, or will Lucy and I have to find that out for you?"

Lockwood smiles and, surprisingly, it doesn't piss you off as much as it used to. "George is neck deep in newspapers right now - I've just come from the Archives - so I'm sure we'll have much more than we did last time."

"Alright," you say. "I'm in, but I'm going nowhere near a window again, okay? You can fall out of it this time."

"Deal." He stands, and you almost forgot how obnoxiously tall he is. It's infuriating having to tilt your head to look at him. "Meet us at the station at four."

Making your way to the door, you say, "Be on time, this time. In fact, be early. That would be preferable."

"We'll try." Something about his smile makes your stomach flip. "Thanks for the tea. See you later."

--

The train ride is relatively peaceful.

You sit next to Lucy, who smiles upon seeing you, and across from Lockwood, who wears a shit-eating grin the whole ride, saying something about 'feeling good about this case'. You'd stopped listening to him two seconds after his arrival. You only start paying attention again when George starts to explain his research.

"Apparently," George says, consulting his notebook, "there was a fire at this house in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The exterior of the house didn't burn down, being made out of sandstone, but the inside was wrecked. Most people managed to escape the blaze, but three died - the lord of the house and his two daughters. The interior has been rebuilt, since, but I managed to find the original plans for the house's layout."

Lucy leans over the architectural plan. "The rooms have all moved around. Where do you think the fire stemmed from?"

"Reports say the lounge, which is now the dining room," George explains. "Lord Ammenby and his daughters, Susanne and Marcella, had seemingly fallen asleep there during the evening, and the fire was left unchecked. It consumed them before anyone could save them."

"So the source could be where the fireplace was," Lockwood guesses.

"Or where they were," you say. "Maybe even where they are now. George, do your notes say anything about where their remains were buried?"

He takes a minute to scan through his notes, flipping through pages. "There's apparently a big sycamore on the estate where the girls had a swing. The servants buried the family there with the thought that they could play in the swing for the rest of eternity."

"Bit grim," Lucy says, "but sweet, I guess. So, are those our three main guesses?"

"They're possible sources," Lockwood says. "Vague, but the best we've got."

"Better than last time," you say, frowning. "So, plan of action?"

Lockwood sits forward. "Lucy and George, you guys scout out the house. Lucy's Listening is more powerful, so you're more likely to hear if anything is going on in the house. (name) and I will take our chance with the tree. If we get nothing from it, we'll join back up with you guys."

"Should we have a signal or something?" you ask. "To save us shouting for help, or running backwards and forwards and risk getting ghost-touched? Like adjusting the lantern light a few times, or flashing our torches."

Goerge nods. "Good idea. Seeing as that ghost last week prevented me from hearing you guys, that's probably our best bet."

"One flash means everything is clear," Lockwood says. "Two means potential finding. Three means -"

"Ah, shit, there's a ghost, come help," you finish.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Lucy says with a snort.

It doesn't take much longer to reach Harrow, and the taxi ride to the mansion passes in what feels like mere minutes. Before long, you're all crawling out of the car, duffle bags in hand, chains looped over your shoulders, and rapiers at your sides.

Wrought iron gates tower before you, towering over you and casting twisting shadows on the slowly darkening pavement. You all pass through it and begin the trek up to the mansion - a hulking beast of sandstone, pinpricked with large windows and balconies. It's shaped so that there's a large courtyard in front of the entrance, hosting a large fountain with some kind of statue in the middle.

"Everyone remember the code?" Lockwood asks, eyeing the large double doors just ahead.

"One is good, two is alright, three is bad," George says. "Yes, we remember. Now, go. That's the tree over there, I think."

The four of you turn to the right, where a massive tree looms, covered in bright green leaves. In the breeze, a few flutter down from the branches, and a small swing moves softly. A shadow hangs below it, so large it almost reaches the mansion.

"Not creepy at all," you murmur. "Are we ready to start this happy journey?"

With big sighs, George and Lucy make their way into the mansion, holding the old and new plans of the layout. You and Lockwood share a look, a mix of confidence and worry - more on your part than anything - before trudging over to the massive tree.

"At least there are no windows for us to fall out of," you say, staring up at the tree. Its roots are so large that you're still standing at least six feet away from the trunk.

Lockwood breathes a laugh, checking his temperature gun about fifteen feet from the tree. "Fifteen degrees over here."

"Ten here." You frown at the hulking mass of bark and leaves. "Should we signal Lucy and George? I don't think this is just a chill from standing in the shadow."

"Not yet," Lockwood says, turning on a few lanterns. "See if you can hear anything first. I'll keep a lookout and see if they signal us."

Nodding, you look up at the twisting branches. Sounds around you drain out until you're surrounded by silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of a rhythmic swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of a swing. Someone, a young girl, giggles, followed by the sound of a man's chuckle. You can feel a smile play on your lips. They're happy. So happy.

A hand closes over your arm, grip tight. "Lucy and George are signalling," Lockwood says, his tone urgent. "Three flashes. We need to go."

"Wait," you murmur. "There's something..."

"(name), we need to go now. They're in danger."

"No... I can hear something... A woman's voice. Did George mention anything about a Lady of the mansion? I can't remember."

Lockwood tugs your arm. "I don't know, but we need to go help -"

"Get away from the tree!" Lucy's voice shrieks. "It's a trap!"

And then you hear it, the words, the malicious tone of a woman speaking to nothing but tree roots. Your heart thunders in your chest, and a heavy wave of nausea hits you. You stumble backwards, falling into Lockwood's chest.

"His wife, the mother," you manage. "She started the fire. She -"

"Get away from the tree!"

Suddenly, there's a bright light directly in front of you and you can't move. A ghost hovers over the tree roots, but it doesn't appear as it once was. No, its skin is charred and burned, oozing with liquid - blood, maybe? Clothes have melted onto its skin, and the sight is enough to make you even more ill. You'd throw up if you weren't in a ghost lock.

"Snap out of it!" Lockwood yells. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the iron circle he must have made while you were using your Talent. "It's Lord Ammenby."

Your joints feel a little loose-jointed and disoriented, but you're no longer ghost-locked. "He's a Wraith. He was burned alive by his wife..."

"We can discuss the fate of his death later," Lockwood says. "For now, we need to get to the source."

"Did you manage to see where he appeared from?"

Lockwood points. "In between those roots, there, but we don't have shovels."

You swallow your fear down, watching the Visitor approach slowly. "Crowbar?"

He bends down and retrieves a crowbar from his duffle bag, handing it to you. "I'll distract him, you get the source. George and Lucy will be here soon, so we'll hold him off."

"Wonderful," you grumble. "Because that went swimmingly last time."

"Hey." His hand clutches your wrist gently, and a tingle runs up your arm at the contact. "You'll be fine. Lucy and George are almost here. And I'll keep you safe. I promise."

You glance back at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "Okay. Ready?"

His grin gives you confidence. "I was born ready."

Drawing his rapier, he leaps out of the iron circle, drawing the attention of the Wraith. Almost instantaneously, Lord Ammenby's ghost launches at him, wailing.

You take your chance and sprint for the tree's roots, crowbar in one hand and a silver net in the other. Stumbling across the thick, gnarled roots, you manage to reach the area Lockwood pointed to - a gap, no larger than your fist. With a grunt, you slam the crowbar into the ground and begin hacking away at the soil.

Behind you, the ghost wails again, followed by a chorus of salt bombs and shouting. By the sound of it, Lucy and George have joined the fight.

The ground is packed hard and laced with roots, thinner than the ones protruding from the ground, but still tough, and the crowbar is proving to hinder you more than anything. As much as you don't want to, you reach into the hole you've created with your hand, digging around as deep as you can.

"(name), look out!" Lucy cries.

Looking up, you can see the ghost racing towards you. As quickly as you can, you tear your arm out of the ground and throw a salt bomb, momentarily stopping the attack, but Lord Ammenby is back sooner than you have time to process.

"(name)!"

A rapier blade passes clean through the ghost, and as the other-light dissipates, Lockwood's face, splattered with a little soil, appears. "Hurry!" is all he says.

Once again, you shove your arm back into the ground, scratching around with your hand until you finally feel it - the rough, scratchy feel of bones under your nails. Screams overtake your mind, and you can feel heat on your skin, but you push through it, shimmying the small cluster around until you're able to pull them free of the hole.

As you wrap the charred remains in the silver net, the ghost vanishes, and the dark estate becomes silent.

Lockwood, standing just in front of you, is panting, still in a defensive stance. Lucy and George aren't too far off, hunched and holding onto their knees as they catch their breath.

Standing, you wipe as much dirt and soil from your arm as you can. "Well," you say. "It seems we have a thing for men murdered by their wives."

--

"Lockwood, if you'd told me sooner that your tea tasted this good, I would've forgiven you sooner and worked with you more."

The boy in question laughs, reclining in his seat in the living room. "At least I know now."

"As long as I get paid, I don't see any more mishaps occurring," you say, leaning your head back against the cushioned armrest.

Despite closing your eyes, you're well aware of Lockwood's gaze on your face. You can feel it, like little pinpricks on your face, but you're too tired to mock him for it.

"You know," he says, and something in his tone confuses you - caution. "We make a pretty good team, you and I."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "As much as I hate to admit it, we do. Thanks for having my back out there."

"That's what friends do."

Something in your chest tugs. Other than your flatmate, there hasn't been anyone you can call a friend for a while.

"As long as that notion is correct?"

"I suppose it's not entirely out the window," you murmur. "As long as I get more tea."

"As much as you want." You can hear the smile in his voice, and, funnily enough, it makes your smile grow. "Do you want me to walk you to the nearest night cab station? It's quite late."

Opening your eyes, you slowly sit up. "That's alright. I'm sure I can manage."

His smile has softened into something unfamiliar. It's not his usual cocky grin, or that one of triumph, but rather something more personal.

"As long as you're sure," he says, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "But know that you're welcome to stay here if you like."

You roll your eyes. "God, it's like you don't want me to leave! I'll be fine. Want me to call you when I get home, mum?"

He laughs, and the sound of it makes you feel inexplicably content. "Just get home safe, yeah? I know where to find you if we need your help again."

"I specialise in husband-murdered-by-wife cases, so you're aware," you inform him. "And I'm particularly adept at window removals and gardening."

"Come on," Lockwood says, standing. "Get home before it gets any later."

"You're a bossy one today, Lockwood. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Go on. Get out of my house, you twat."

"Anthony Lockwood! I never!"

As you leave his house, you swear that his laughter follows you into the night like a companion.

[judesmoonbeauty]

The Past Records: Ellis & Jude Chapter 3

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Also, feel free to ignore my random commentary.

Translation notes are marked with ***

Roger: A story I know, huh.

Harrison: I mean, why didn't you tell me you knew each other first?

Roger: You didn't ask.

Harrison: You......

Roger: Besides, we're not really close friends either.

Roger: As for whether those guys can be trusted, I can't say.

Harrison: So, how do you know each other?

Roger: Just as a doctor and a patient. Jude has weak bronchial tubes.

Roger: My dad's so good at what he does that sometimes he used to go over to my parent's house where he worked as a town doctor.

Roger: When he was a patient of my father's, well, I just knew him by his face.....

Roger: One night, he rolled in and said he'd been stabbed with a knife. Not to my dad, but to me.

Harrison: What were the details of the stabbing?

Roger: All he said was that, “I got stabbed because of a grudge.”

Flashback Begins -

Jude: I got what I deserved. I won't say anything more. Don't ask me again.

Roger: I see. I can't believe you're talking to me, and not my dad because you don't want this out in the open.

Jude: I thought you wanted a table to practice your techniques on.

Jude: You can practice without a medical license.

Jude: In return, I won't tell me how you treated me, so as not to ruin the reputation of your father's clinic.

Roger: Convenient for me and you, huh? Well, I suppose it is.

Ellis: Roger? Can you fix him?

Roger: Oh, don't worry. I'm quite skilled. I won't kill you.

Ellis: Thank God. I can't have him dying now.

Roger: What's with that talk? When can he die?

Ellis: Probably the happiest moment of his life......

Roger: Huh. With all this damage, it seems like that's going to be a long way off.

Jude: Hey, I'm pretty sure that's not where you should stick the needle, you Quack!

Flashback ends -

Harrison: You treated him before you got your medical license, huh?

Roger: Haha. It's too late for the statute of limitations now, right?

Harrison: What else do you know?

Roger: Oh? Yeah..... like how Jude gets up early in the morning, or how Ellis eats more than anything?

Harrison: Not about that.

Roger: Jude can drink at the same pace as me and not get crushed, but Ellis gets drunk rather easily.

Harrison: It's not like that either....I've got two more images in my head that I don't need to know.

Roger: As I said earlier, I'm not sure if they're trustworthy or not.

Roger: There's something those two are keeping from me too. It's like conducting research that costs a huge amount of money or something.

Roger: Well, regardless if you can trust them or not, I don't think they'll do anything halfheartedly.

Roger: Was that helpful? Harrison: Well, sort of. At least the information I got from you wasn't false.

Roger: Thank you.

Liam: I found you.

Harrison: Hmm...oh, Liam. How did you know I was here?

Liam: Will told me. Are you at the cafe to work on a review?

Harrison: If I'm in the castle, I'll be distracted by the report, so I had to change things up.

Liam: Haha, so if I report now, It'll just remind you.

Harrison: It's fine. I just lost my focus. Anyway, you called out to me didn't you?

Liam: So, what?

Liam: Well, then, be my guest. Let's see, first of all, the story I heard from Jude...

Liam: Is Jude a doctor? A scholar? He was enrolled in public school through the mediation of a doctor or a scholar!

Liam: Surprising, isn't it? It must have been absolutely hard to fit in with all those aristocratic kids. I'd like to see a little bit of that.

Liam: Next, what I heard from Ellis. Ellis said that he didn't go to school.

Liam: I heard his father was a church school teacher, but they split up a long time ago.

Liam: Oh, Ellis and I promised to go skating by the lake sometime.

Harrison: Heh, good for you.....I mean, how did you talk to those two? You haven't been at the castle for the last few days.

Liam: I followed them invisibly and followed them, investigating their actions and routes the last few days.

Liam: Or maybe we just happened to on the way home together? Harrison: I didn't realize you went that far....

Liam: I thought Harry would like it. The rest was simply my feline curiosity getting the better of me.

Liam: I followed them and talked to them directly, but I still can't trust them.

Liam: I feel like I'm missing something decisive here.

Harrison: That look on your face...you're up to something.

Liam: That's my bad friend! You're quick.

Liam: So, why don't we give the two of them a shot.

[Previous] [Next] [Master list]

[quillpokebiology]

Introduction Post

Hallo, Hola, Ciao, Bonjour, and all the other greetings, everyone 👋. My name is Arrowquill, but you can just call me Quill. I don't care for pronouns much, so you can call me whatever you like.

I'm a student who was born in Galar, but I'm currently studying at Naranja-Uva Academy in Paldea, where I'm studying biology. I want to be a pokemon professor when I graduate, so I will be sharing info and facts here! Extra stuff under the cut. Scroll to the very bottom to see blog rules.

More about me

I'm the kid of @historianofgalar and grew up in the wild area of Galar. Not much there really. I got my starter at 11, joined the Galar league at 12, made rivals, got a crush on one of my rivals, failed the Galar League at 13, had a mental breakdown and almost died on an ice mountain at Galar's research facility, realized the problem with the government, I think I might've made the Galarian government hate me, joined a new research facility that does more field work, and yeh :)

Main Team

I have a lot of pokemon, as I have to study a lot. But here is my main ones

Squirt the Inteleon

My sweet baby and first pokemon. I got her when she was a sobble as a gift from my dad when I turned 10, and I've cherished her ever since.

Flash the Cinderace

I got him from as a rescue from a not great research center shortly after I received Squirt. He's super energetic, and him and Squirt are quite close.

Joker the Orbeetle

First wild pokemon I caught. Caught him the old-fashioned way when he was a Blipbug. I named him Joker because I thought he looked really goofy, but seeing orbeetle, I see the irony of that.

Archer the Decidueye

Caught him on the Isle of Armor as a reward for finding a lot of diglett. I was supposed to get a Popplio, but the guy thought it was neat how I was named Arrowquill, and Rowlet evolves into the Arrowquill Pokemon, so he gave me a rowlet instead. Archer is really sweet, but a bit timid, so he tends to keep to himself a lot.

Jellybean the Goodra

Funny story on how I caught her. It was raining, and I was trying to catch a Pikachu, but I accidently threw it at a goomy that was just passing by. Long story short, she's a goodra now, and I love her.

Scarlet the Corviknight

Caught her as the second wild pokemon on my journey, right after Joker. She's shy, but also really great. She's one of the more serious members, and she's pulled my team through a lot.

Other

Bagels the Fidough

Caught him because he was following me when I was eating, and I caught him because it isn't a good idea to have wild fidough walking around a city. He's super cute and I love him a lot.

Caesar the Chestnaught

Technically, he has two names? I call him Caesar, as in See-ser, but my mom says it's pronounced "Hay-sar." Either way, I caught him as a Chespin in Paldea.

Ooc: Blog Rules

-While this blog is supposed to be made so everyone can view it, there might be some NSFW mentions regarding pokemon breeding (nothing too detailed). However, this blog does not accept nsfw asks, mentions, or submits other than light-hearted jokes

-Please keep in mind that Quill is older than irl me, and I am a minor. I won't roleplay anything sexual and will block/report anyone that tries to do that with me

-If your account has the default tumblr pfp, is untitled, has no description, has a pornographic name, or pornagraphic imagery, I'll assume that you are a bot and you will be blocked

-Quill is a character I am still developing, so a lot of stuff about them might change overtime

-While I might post some Fakemon, they will most likely be from the ancient past. The Fakemon that I do post who aren't variants or from the ancient past will not be mine, and I will give credit to the original creators. You can submit fakemon if you want, but there will not be fact posts about them. Just analysis.

-I do not allow hybrid Pokemon, but I WILL allow and talk about crossbreed pokemon. Like a Bounsweet, whose dad was a Roserade having traits of a Budew and stuff like that

-I awnser asks, but at my own pace. Some I might delete for multiple reasons (difficult, can't think of anything, or I just plain don't like the pokemon). But I try my best to awnser most asks, even if it takes a while

-My headcanons can be used by anyone, and you don't have to ask if you want to use them

Posts to see

This blog is completely made for fun and as a way for me to spit my headcanons and roleplay as my OC. I have a regular tumblr where I just post random stuff, @mintaikk . But, I'm not going to advertise it much bcuz the posts there can be NSFW, and this blog is PG.

Ooc Post

[sophieinwonderland]

Today We're Talking About Ethics and Dual Relationships!

One more thing that bothered me was an anecdote DIDadoseofreality mentioned where they engineered a scenario that allowed their student, who they were also the therapist of, to talk about trauma in front of the whole class.

Now, in this anecdote, they're sure to make it clear that they asked their student if he was okay participating in this exercise. And the student had allegedly expressed a desire before to be able to talk about his trauma in a way that wouldn't make him feel foolish. So they present this as doing the student a favor.

And maybe that is how the student perceived it.

But... this is also a really uncomfortable power dynamic where your therapist who you share privileged information with is using that privileged information in your classroom to pressure you into sharing traumatic events with all your classmates.

And while the student allegedly gave consent for his teacher/therapist to blog about it the incident later, his therapist is his teacher.

There is a huge power dynamic in play there for pressuring a patient into waiving their HIPAA rights.

And while I sure do hope the teacher/therapist had the presence of mind to at least use a pseudonym for their student/patient and that their student/patient's name isn't actually Zac, it really doesn't matter because anyone in that class or told what happened by people in the class could stumble upon the blog post and now know that Zac's in therapy with their teacher.

Because after describing this event in the class in detail they also thank Zac for letting them tell everyone what Zac did Monday. Which, for a post made 4 days ago, places this incident multiple people know about on October 30th.

Unless some of the details were falsified beyond the name of the students, I'm going to hazard a guess and say that there was only one class anywhere where a student participated in an exercise that followed the exact sequence of events described on that blog, including Zac's specific trauma, on October 30th 2023.

...

I tried doing further research to find out if this was common or if it was even ethical. What I found first was a Quora thread with a bunch of different opinions. Well, the same opinion mostly but from different people.

I wasn't clear on dual-relationships or how they worked, so I decided to do further reading and came across this article. (Since I'm not one to just trust Quora at its word when there are better sources to be had.) Here are some excerpts.

This is not a simple "all dual relationships are bad." There is clearly nuance to this.

But if this relationship could impair their objectivity or competence in their role as a therapist, then they're supposed to avoid that relationship.

Now, one answer in that Quora thread described an example of a therapist-professor relationship working well for them with proper precautions and going to extraordinary lengths to keep those lines separate.

This is clearly not how DIDadoseofreality behaved though.

They used privileged information to influence how they treat their student in the classroom, got their student to open up about a traumatic event in front of everyone, then while having power over their client in their dual relationship as a teacher, they got their client to waive their HIPAA rights and allow their story to be posted on the internet for all to see. And potentially reveal to their classmates that the student is seeing their teacher as a therapist.

These are massive ethical violations.

I frankly would not trust them as a therapist OR a teacher.

If I were Zac, I would be shopping for a new therapist because mine could clearly not be trusted to keep their dual relationships separate.

If I were DIDadoseofreality, I would be looking for a colleague I could recommend Zac to for the same reason. I would also promptly delete my post describing the events of October 30th before a student or someone connected to me in real life identifies me and reports me for what are obviously ethics violation as both a therapist and a teacher.

[dreamlandiasims]

knock knock, I'm hungry let me in

previous | next

Sigworth: What’s your name, ma’am?

Lori: Um, Lori. Mitchell. Is everything… ok?

Sigworth: Oh, nevermind Miss Diaz. She and I don’t always see eye to eye. Now, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mitchell. Like I mentioned, I happened to catch bits and pieces of your story — my apologies for listening in.

Sigworth: I believe I have an opportunity you just might be interested in. I work for a privately run research facility just outside of town, and we’re looking to bring on a temporary assistant to help us with our workload as we deal with some, er, turnover within the team. You’d be filing reports, doing simple research, busy work like that.

Lori: Okay…

Sigworth: Now, our current offer is a stipend of $3,000 for 3 weeks commitment. But, if you’re really interested, I could talk to my boss about $4,000. What do you say?

Lori: Uh, wow. I… I’m not sure what to say, honestly.

Sigworth: Ha, no need to decide right now! I’ll give you my card—take some time to think it over, and if you want in, come see me. No appointment nece—

Marisol: Okay, time’s up.

Sigworth: That’s my cue, I suppose. Take care, Miss Mitchell—I do hope to see you soon! Excellent service as always, Marisol. Roswell certainly appreciates your hospitality.

Lori: Wow. That was… something. Definitely feels too good to be true.

Marisol: Sounds about right. He gave you his research assistant pitch, I assume?

Lori: Yeah…

Marisol: I know the predicament you’re in, but I would be very wary of those folks, Lori. Couple years back their whole team of scientists rolled into town acting like they own the place, and they’ve been stirring up trouble ever since. Sigworth, he’s not even that high up on the totem pole, but boy does he like to pretend… Whatever, he’s a jerk. But there’s a reason he offered you the job, and I hardly imagine he has your best interest in mind.

Lori: Oh… noted.

Marisol: Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll find you something better here in town. In the meantime, welcome to your new home! Another round?

[aerkame]

Hello! I’d like to send in a request, I’m not picky about format so you can do headcannons, a one shot, etc. ^^

Takes place during Transformers Prime Season 2, Episodes 1-2.

Orion Pax coming across Optimus’ human charge on the Nemesis (said GN!human charge is a mercenary who needs energon to survive because they’re kinda part Predacon due to MECH fucking around with a funny looking fossil they found; this’ll be relevant in a bit. They were with Arcee when she got into the ship, they jumped off her and hid in the little side crevice under the main walkway [something like what Bulkhead is crawling through in S2 Ep10: Armada 11:57] when Soundwave opened a ground bridge) They kinda have to beg him not to report them to Megatron, and he agrees (albeit very reluctantly).

They hide behind/under his workspace and he brings them energon so they don’t die✨ (apparently he’s gone for a long while [a few weeks to a month] and not like, a few days like I originally thought-)

They converse, having nothing better to do to pass the time, and Orion has a strong and fond sense of familiarity lingering in the back of his mind.

Little does he know he was developing strong feelings for them, back then as Optimus and now once more as Orion.

(I’m so sorry about how long it is but I felt like it would make sense if I didn’t explain-)

If this seems like too much please feel free to delete my request ^^”

Sorry for the late post!

Also it's alright, It is a long explanation, but good for the headcanons so I know what I'm working with. I'll try leaving some details vague though, as the whole purpose of me being strict on backgrounds or OCs is so that any reader can immerse themselves in what I post as simply the reader.

________________________________________________________

Optimus...well, Orion knew that something was very off the second he laid his optics on you. He had done enough research behind Megatron's back to know what planet he was on and the inhabitants on it, and you were not supposed to be like that. He could tell there were Cybertronian metals in your body, his only guess was experimentation of sorts. Orion was taken aback by this when you came rushing in for a place to hide and in his spark he knew he couldn't let an innocent fall to harm on his watch, this encounter stored in his memories now had only made him further question Megatron's motives. Too many secrets, too many inconsistencies, and too much loss of life. With you here staying with him (albeit in secret), Orion felt more at ease, finally having someone there to ground him on stressful days. When you do eventually need to refuel just like him, he always lets you get your fill first, tipping his cube of energon just enough to let you take sips. During this time his mind wanders a bit, curious as to how exactly you're still functioning after all this time in a body like yours. What happened to you? Who did this to you? How are you able to process energon like him? Every time these thoughts come up he's tempted to ask you but shies away from the idea of pushing you on a sensitive subject such as that, a habit of his old self, not something Optimus would do. It's until after you bring it up after venting to him does he hear about what really happened. It saddens him really...what happened to you, how much it just reminds him of his own world where corruption is everywhere, even on this young planet. He wishes he could help you, he really does, but he's not sure where he would start. Both you and Orion grew closer and closer over the time spent on the Nemesis, each day you'd tell him something new about Earth and in exchange he'd tell you something about Cybertron. Orion wasn't like Optimus in many ways, him being more open like this as one reason and Orion being far more gentle in his aura as another reason. Eventually you did try bringing up that Orion WAS a Prime, but he struggled with explaining his hesitance to believe you. As far as he knew, he was Orion Pax, right before the war started, nothing made sense to him anymore. It did not mean he was ignorant of Megatron's suspicious behavior though nor did he not believe you outright, He could tell for himself that this was not the mech he once knew. If anything he wanted to speak with someone from team Prime to hear their side of the story. It was risky sure, but with everything you had discussed with each other, he was willing to take that risk once the opportunity arrived. When there was a long period of free time, Orion opted to lay down on his berth and have long chats with you. Something about you just felt familiar and warm, and you were his only comfort while stuck on that ship. Every time you smiled or laughed his spark would feel light and he'd slowly begin smiling himself. Maybe soon he'll find a safe way for you to leave the ship, and then you two could meet again, but for now, he would enjoy your presence with him. This growing relationship did not go unnoticed however...Megatron knew you could be a threat to his plans, but for now, you seemed to be keeping Orion's mind in tact, something he needed if he wanted the best work out of him. The warlord could not help but feel a pang of anger though when he saw how Orion looked at you, he knew that look all too well.

Note: Sorry if there are any errors, I'm still sick and I might not be thinking straight.

[lumenflowered]

[A video is attached, showing Maria with a hand on the doorknob of a fairly small building, considering that it's supposed to be the preeminent laboratory in the region. But a sign near the door reads "Oak Pokémon Research Lab" in faded lettering nevertheless, and it is that sign that Maria glances once more at, an unreadable expression upon her face, before turning the doorknob and entering.

The camera follows her into the building. She walks past a few people in lab coats, all busily working on something or another, though a couple nod to her or wave as she passes them.

At the back of the laboratory stands an old man wearing a lab coat, rather focused upon his work and turned away from the door. There does not seem to be any sign of Dee, or anyone who fits that description, within the building.

Maria takes one more silent look around, sweeping the visible areas of Oak's laboratory once more for any sign of another woman who fits that description. But no one bears even a faint resemblance to what she knows of Dee, and so she sighs and returns her attention to the professor.

"Pardon me. Professor Oak?"

The man in the lab coat turns, catches sigh of Maria, and visibly brightens. "Oh, hello, it's always good to see you! How is your Pokédex coming along? Here, here, let me take a look."

He holds out a hand for the device. Maria silently raises an eyebrow, but passes the Pokédex over nevertheless.

Oak examines it, humming to himself, before his face falls. "Hm. Well, that's odd..."

"What is?"

"If I am reading this right, it seems you have less Pokémon registered than you did the last time I checked in on this," Oak muses aloud. "That must be a glitch of some kind. This shouldn't be possible."

Maria's brow furrows. "I'm... sorry? When was the last time you checked my progress?"

"Why, the last time you paid me a visit here in Pallet Town, of course! When else?" Oak pauses, confusion now entering his gaze as well. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Something shifts in Maria's gaze. A sort of half-comprehension dawning.

"Professor," she says at last, "perhaps you should sit down."

"Why—"

"I have never visited Pallet Town before. Prior to today, I had only ever heard of you. Good things, to be entirely clear. Professor Elm speaks highly of you."

Oak nods, very slowly. He sits down.

"That can't be..." Oak pauses. "Oh. I'm very sorry, I'm afraid I mistook you for someone else. Who are you, then?"

"My name is Maria," she says. "Professor Elm might have mentioned me, but I must know—who did you believe me to be?"

"He has mentioned you, yes. All good things." Oak sighs. "I mistook you for my current research assistant, I'm afraid. Lovely girl, looks and sounds just like you, if you can believe that. Entirely different taste in attire, though—she favors lighter colors than you, clearly, and she always seems to be cold..."

"I see." Maria's expression remains neutral. Too neutral, as if she's desperately fighting with herself to keep it that way. "I don't suppose she happened to give you a name?"

"I, ah... well, yes, of course she did, but I can't recall..." Oak stands again, crossing his laboratory to a rather cluttered filing cabinet, pulling open a drawer to rifle through it. "Now, where did I—"

"Was it Dee?"

"Yes, that's right! Her name is Dee, thank you." Oak looks at her curiously. "You know her, then?"

"I suspect so," Maria says, but Oak is already barreling on.

"She never mentioned having any familial relations, I'd assumed she must have been involved in some tragedy from the way the poor girl acts, yet here you are!"

"Yes," Maria says, looking increasingly uncomfortable, "I suppose I am."

Oak doesn't seem to pick up on how uncomfortable she is. "You're... Maria, you said? Sorry, sorry, I've never been particularly good with names, this is why I keep... aha!"

He withdraws a rather thick folder from his filing cabinet, slamming the drawer shut, and opens it upon his table.

"This is mostly her reports—she writes very good reports, by the way, you should be proud—but I keep photocopies of the trainer cards of everyone who has been on staff here in case of an emergency, and this is the most recent one."

He pulls out a single sheet of paper, holding it out to Maria. She snatches it, eyes widening as she looks upon what is shown there.

"She truly does look... identical," Maria whispers, barely loud enough for the camera to pick up.

At last, Oak notices something. "Are you alright, Maria?"

"No," she says, "I am not."

The video ends.]

[pokeglitchden]

Okay, so that meeting was... possibly one of the most frustrating ones I've had in a long while. While I cannot reveal every detail of the conversation that ensued I feel the need to share what I can, simply because I must ensure I've not simply gone entirely mad as a result of this process.

First was the discussion about the Decamark Trials. Which, of course, needed to be brought up I suppose. Never mind all the hours I've spent meticulously cataloging every possible safety hazard brought up by attempting to make contact with Decamarks; the hours of first hand experience that led to my recommendations to cancel the project; the damage that both I, the pokemon I engaged the Decamark with and the Decamark itself endured.

These men still had the gall to ask me if I was SURE that the Decamark project was as unsafe as I was projecting it to be.

(I asked them if they'd read my reports. They said No. Of course. I asked them if they would like to see details of the hospital stays that resulted from contact with the Decamark. They declined this also.)

After this they asked me if there was anyone I would recommend to head the project if it was to be attempted again in the future and if I would release my methodology so that the process could be replicated.

This I also declined. I am simply not in the business of recommending which of my colleagues should next be asked to risk life, limb and sanity over a project that was nearly doomed to fail from the start. Every piece of evidence we have points to Decamarks simply not being a chatchable pokemon by conventional means, and that attempting to do so only results in danger for all parties involved. Plus there is the unexplored side effect of the strange compulsion one may feel during the summoning of a Decamark to reach out and attempt to touch it. An act that almost certainly would result in the death of both the pokemon and possibly the person who touched it as well.

So... if this had been all. I believe I would have been justifiably angry.

It was not.

The next thing they mentioned after discussion of the Decamark Project thankfully ceased, was a further discussion of the next project our lab is to take on.

I will admit. By this point I was more gruff than I likely should have been. They informed me that our proposal was being rejected, and their cited reason was that too much of the research already had been conducted at an off site, out of region, research lab, and that their credentials could not be verified.

(Which... I do need to point out, how could a lab in Glitch City of all places be lacking the proper credentials to STUDY GLITCHES)

BUT I digress. I asked if there was anything I could do to change their minds. They said no, but that there was interest in a project our lab had been conducting that they WERE interested in. Two in fact. Which baffled me because to my knowledge our lab had ZERO ongoing projects and just a metric ton of paperwork.

They referred to the documentation work that Jo had been doing with Tress on the Glitch pokemon, FF. And the anomaly that I had chosen not to document but that had none the less HAPPENED on the job, that produced Lord Helix the Omastar.

Apparently the ability to make pokemon appear out of thin air is more important than curbing the threat of an already wide spread invasive species. I pointed out that the research on the FF had almost ENTIRELY been conducted by the same out of region research lab they'd claimed to be unable to work with only moments ago.

They declined to acknowledge this.

So now that's where I'm left. They went as far as to ask me if I would like to publish the research Jo had done so far on the FF. I pointed out it was not my research and that I had no right to publish it. They seemed surprised I'd even commented on that and assured me it wouldn't be a problem.

No problem. To steal the work of my young colleague. Just the nerve of them.

Anyway, I've got a foul taste in my mouth from all that. Not sure how to proceed in this.

I guess I'll start doing some research on the Trainer Fly state.

-Simon

[arolesbianism]

Hello oni lore fans, I have been fighting for my life to solve a lil mystery and I decided to finally clean up one of the logs I copy and pasted from the code so I can hopefully find someone else who's seen it in game before. It's called "a seed is planted" and I'm pretty sure it was in the research notes section, but in the code it's placed alongside the story trait logs so I'm not 100% confident where it's supposed to be found. I first saw it in a save that I was using sandbox mode to hunt for lore with, and it stuck around for a lil while before disappearing, and then it randomly came back for a lil bit before all my lore logs got wiped with the recent update. I have no idea how I got it in the first place nor what made it disappear and come back, so I'm basically just wondering if anyone else has had this issue with this particular log (or any logs for that matter)

I have copy and pasted the log under the cut, although the formatting might be a bit off as this was cleaned up from a copy paste directly from the code itself

"A Seed is Planted"

[Voice Recognition Initialized]

[Subject Identified: B040]

[LOG BEGINS]

Three days ago, we completed our first non-fatal Duplicant trial of Nikola's comprehensive synapse microanalysis and mirroring process. Five hours from now, Subject #901 will make history as our first human test subject.

Even at the Vertex Institute, which is twice Gravitas's size, I could've spent half my career waiting for approval to advance to human trials for such an invasive process! But Director Stern is too invested in this work to let it stagnate.

My darling Bruce always said that when you're on the right path, the universe conspires to help you. He'd be so proud of the work we do here.

[LOG ENDS]

[LOG BEGINS]

My bio-printed multi-cerebral storage chambers (or "mega minds" as I've been calling them) are working! Just in time to save my job.

The Director's been getting increasingly impatient about our struggle to maintain the integrity of our growing datasets during extraction and processing. The other day, she held my report over a Bunsen burner until the flames reached her fingertips.

I can only imagine how much stress she's under.

The whole world is counting on us.

[LOG ENDS]

[LOG BEGINS]

On a hunch, I added dream content analysis to the data and...wow. Oneirology may be scientifically "fluffy", but integrating subconscious narratives has produced a new type of brainmap - one with more latent potential for complex processing.

If these results are replicable, we might be on the verge of unlocking the secret to creating synthetic life forms with the capacity to evolve beyond blindly following commands.

Nikola says that's irrelevant for our purposes. Surely Director Stern would disagree.

[LOG ENDS]

[LOG BEGINS]

Nikola gave me a dataset to plug into the mega minds. He wouldn't say where it came from, but even if he had...nothing could have prepared me for what it contained.

When he saw my face, he muttered something about how people should call me "Tremors," not "Nails" and sent me on my lunch break.

All I could think about was those poor souls.

Did they have souls?

...do we?

[LOG ENDS]

[LOG BEGINS]

It's done. My adjustments to the memory transfer protocol are hardcoded into the machine.

I finished just as Nikola stormed in.

I may be too much of a coward to stand up for those unfortunate creatures, but with these new parameters in place...someday, they might be able to stand up for themselves.

[LOG ENDS]

------------------