#if you saw me post this earlier no you didn't

[ella-and-the-ocean]

I felt compelled to write a small interpretation of what happened to our favorite OCs. I hope you'll enjoy.

🖋 1214 words

⚠️ blood and injury, violence, murder, brief violence against children

starts under the cut

“Vincent, watch out!”

But Vincent was still occupied taking down two men who were attacking him with all they got, their heavy armor making it harder to land a final blow. He didn't notice the third man approaching him with a knife.

Quinn was still on his sniper post, but had run out of bullets.

“Vince! Do you copy?”

But Vincent gave no indication that he had heard him or noticed the approaching foe.

Quinn swore as he abandoned his rifle and made his way to Vincent in a mad dash to get to him before the third man could knife him down. He had no plan of action, no strategy for self defense, he just needed to get there first. 

And he did. He threw his body between Vincent and the blade, but he had no time to block the blow. Instead he felt the knife slice through his skin and fat and organ tissue. He drew his own blade and buried it deep in his opponent's jugular. They went down together. 

Quinn's vision was swimming. When everything came back into focus, Vincent's face was hovering above him, worried and angry in equal measure.

“You goddamn idiot. I had it under control.”

His hands were pressed to Quinn's abdomen, it hurt like a bitch.

Quinn closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a groan.

“Don't you dare die on me. Medevac is on its way.”

“Not dying,” Quinn mumbled, “no visions.”

"Good. Keep it that way.” He still sounded angry.

“Yessir.” 

“Look at me.” Now he sounded more desperate than angry, so Quinn opened his eyes. They were bloody heavy. Black dots danced in front of his vision as he tried to focus on Vincent's face.

“What were you thinking?”

His eyes looked wet. Like the blood that was oozing out between the fingers he pressed to the ugly gash in his abdomen. Quinn had always wondered how he dealt with the bloodshed in the field. If it had gotten easier to resist over all those years. He had never asked.

“Couldn't– let your pretty mug get ruined.” he slurred, tongue as heavy as his eyes.

Vincent's next words got drowned out by a familiar rush of blood roaring up in his ears accompanied by a wave of nausea.

Seemed like his earlier health assessment might not have been as stellar as he had thought.

The world in front of his eyes started to flimmer like a broken display, black dots growing until they left him numb and blind in the darkness.

He tried to brace himself, but there was no bracing for what his visions showed him.

He saw women getting shot down in what looked like a school. Blood splashing over colorful children's paintings and textbooks. Girls were screaming and crying while they got dragged out by their hair and thrown into the dirt, forced to watch as their remaining teachers were executed before black hoods were pulled over their heads and they were abducted into an uncertain future.

When he came to, all the pain and nausea was still there. He couldn’t see properly, didn’t know where he was, but instinctively, he tried to roll over in an attempt not to choke on his own vomit, but someone was holding him back.

“Shh, I got you, it’s okay.” A familiar voice said, cool hands gently pressing down on his chest to keep him down. Hearing that voice soothed some of the mental agony, but didn’t alleviate the urge to empty his stomach. Quinn gagged helplessly; gastric acid burning in his throat, filling his mouth. The voice above him sweared.

“Hands off, I’ll put him in recovery position,” an unfamiliar voice commanded. The cool hands disappeared and rough hands were manhandling him onto his side.

“What about his wound?”

“He’ll live.” 

“You say that five minutes after we had to resuscitate him?!” Quinn finally recognized the voice; had heard that angry, disbelieving shade of it more often than he could count, every time he’d “done something stupid”. 

“Vince,” he garbled around another gush of acid leaving his agitated stomach.

“I’m here.” The cool hands were back, brushing some strands of hair from his sweaty forehead, then settled against his overheated skin.

“We’ll give him another minute, then we have to move. The fibrin glue and compression bandage will do until we’re on base,” said the unfamiliar voice, and a foreign pair of hands briefly tinkered with the part of his torso that felt numb and afire alike.

Somewhere between being hauled into the helo and flying back to base, Quinn lost consciousness again. 

When he woke up for good, he was lying in a hospital bed. The incessant beeping of a nearby heart monitor worsened the migraine that made his head swim, but at least the aggressive neon lights were dimmed down. 

Quinn forced his eyes to focus and took stock of himself. Unsurprisingly, the nearby heart monitor was hooked up to himself, and he had two infusions, one seemed to be blood – again, unsurprisingly – the other probably a cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers. The lack of pain in his abdomen was a strong indicator. 

Also unsurprising, was Vincent’s looming presence in a chair next to his bed, pulled up as close as possible. His expression was a potent mix of relief, anger and worry, his red eyes sparkling like livewires. 

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” Quinn asked.

“Are you?” Ah, so he was stuck with anger for the moment.

“Not really.”

“What you did was–” Vincent swelled in his seat, and Quinn prepared for a lengthy lecture that didn’t come, “so incredibly stupid.” 

“Well, you might be dead if I hadn’t done it.”

“You were dead!” Suddenly, Vincent was on his feet and hauled his chair across the room. “Three agonizing minutes long, your heart was not beating. I could hear your body shutting down, could hear your blood stopping to circulate, could smell it starting to coagulate, and each chest compression only made more blood spurt from your wound. I– You have no goddamn idea–” His chest was heaving as he looked Quinn dead in the eye. “Never. Never do that again.” He tried to take a steadying breath, but it caught halfway in his throat and came out sounding an awful lot like a sob, “Please.” 

Quinn looked away from the open vulnerability displayed on Vincent’s face. His blanket was suddenly much more interesting as he absently twirled the hem between his fingers.

“Why weren’t you responding to comms?” He asked to disperse the tense silence. 

Thankfully Vincent knew him better than to force a conversation about their feelings onto him. 

“One of the perps dislodged it when we were fighting.” Vincent went over to the chair and brought it back to the bed, it was still intact. He sank back into it, and silence filled the room again.

After a while, Vincent broke it.

“Do you want to talk about the vision?”

Quinn sighed and closed his eyes, trying not to relive the images.

“Not really.” He admitted, hoping Vincent would leave it at that.

Instead of pushing the issue, a cold hand wrapped around his restless one and squeezed it gently. Quinn took a shuddering breath, and squeezed it back. 

s h o c k 🔴

[quitealotofsodapop]

Surprise Marbled Egg

"You're working for the Lady Bone Demon!?"

The roar of rage filled the air as Macaque winced, ears flattening at the sight of his angry... well, he isn't sure what Wukong is to him anymore but he knows what he wants to be. MK, the poor kid, was staring up at him with tear filled eyes as he clung to Wukong's back and the reborn Pilgrims flanked him, the dragon is particularly spitting fire.

"W-Wukong! Listen-" Macaque stammered, pleading with the golden monkey, trying to explain himself only for Wukong to scoff.

"Why should I!? What reason do I have to Listen. To anything you have to say after this betrayal, Macaque!"

"I swear! I didn't- I wouldn't..." Macaque's words died in his throat as he remembered. That wasn't true. Had it not been for that chance encounter in the market, had he not seen his former mate pregnant and with his young child, he very well could have enacted his plans for revenge and helped the Lady Bone Demon without a second thought so long as it meant Wukong would suffer. "I'm sorry!"

"..." Wukong is silent, rage and fury burning his eyes red as his hold on century old glamours slipped from the sheer strength of his emotions, "Sorry doesn't cut it. Not this time."

"Peaches-"

"Don't you dare call me that!" The m9nkey king hissed, fangs bared as his free arm went to his neck, digging beneath hsi ever present scarf, "You don't have the right! Not after putting MK in danger, not when you betray me like this right when I only just started to trust it! You are a terrible beast, Liu'er Mihou, and I no longer can hold onto any part of you!"

With that, he gave a decisive pull, snapping something from his neck and throwing it to the ground. It was if everything stopped as soon as Macaque laid eyes upon it. A simple necklace, made with a shard of amethyst and intricately woven in a braid of black fur. Instinctively, his hand went to where it's matching citrine and ginger colored pendant, this one with stones of topaz, ruby, and jade added to the braid in addition to the main citrine, rest beneath his shirt.

"You... kept that?" Macaque's voice sounded distant, pained even to his own ears as Wukong turned his back to him, failing to hide his own tears as they welled up.

"It was all I had left of you when you left."

With that, Wukong walked away, pausing at the frame of the door to glance back, "I could never bear to part with it, not the most precious gift you have ever given me. But MK comes first, always. K can't stand by you knowing what the bone demon would do to my child."

With that Macaque's beloved wcaskngthe closing of the door casting Macaque and the forgotten pendant into shadow. His friends followed soon after, peering and spitting upon him as they passed.

OOOOooooooo! (earlier post describing this exact scenario). We discussed this a bit in dms!

Macaque done f'd up.

Even if he's genuine about not helping LBD, he still accepted a deal from her, and dragged his feet on telling Wukong about it. Now LBD is back, MK is traumatised, the world is in danger, and Wukong can't tell if the last few months have been even real between them as a family unit.

Throwing his marriage pendant back at his mate is the clearest statement of "You've f'cked up" that Wukong can say without bursting into tears.

Macaque still has his own pendant - he wore it the day he was dragged into the Underworld. Now he hides the one he gifted Wukong so many centuries ago beneath his scarf.

Most of S3 is Macaque in a fugue state, responding robotically to LBD's words. LBD sends the Not-Mayor along to ensure that her champion doesn't grow a backbone again.

Macaque still finds ways to sabotage the Thrall - deliberately splitting up the van to separate the gang as in canon, though for different reasons.

LBD and the Not-Mayor's frustration rises to a boil when Macaque allows Tang to claim the Ring of Samadhi from Lantern City. The scholar had some choice words to give the shadow monkey, but stoppered when he saw the exhausted, depressed look in his eyes (and a familiar black-cord pendant on his neck).

Tang: "You... you really did care about him, didn't you?" Macaque, icy curse already in effect: "Every single day. MK too." Tang: "You should probably tell them that for yourself. I swear you two are terrible for talking things out."

The talent show is quickly interrupted by a beefed-up bone demon thrall wrecking the stage - having finally given up on expecting the Macaque to do his job.

Wukong finally sees a glimpse of his mate's true self when he tackles the Thrall from grabbing MK - screaming at the stunned king and cub to run!

The gang makes it to the Ritual Site, where Nezha and Red Son are there to greet them.

There's chaos in the snow behind them as the Six Eared Macaque has reclaimed his will to fight. LBD's Thrall laughs at his predictability.

MK still embraces his best friend engulfed in True Fire.

Wukong is so overridden with guilt - not only hiding the last ring from everyone until it was too late, but also severely misjudging his own mate as having betrayed him.

Wukong flies off to confront the bone demon on his own.

Wukong is still captured and possessed - the Bone Demon preying upon his parental nature with her young host. The Not-Mayor becomes a limp noodle as his lady's power leaves him. Mei is stolen to power the Bone Mech's heart with her true fire.

Macaque is found half-dead in the snow. Nezha uses his own True Fire to melt the demon's icy curse from his body.

Macaque, shocked to be alive: "Nezha...? Thank-" Nezha, stern: "This isn't for you. It's for him." (*Macaque leans up painfully to see MK nearby, crying into the other three adults' arms. The cub is injured from Mei's fire, but doesn't care for his own injuries.*) Macaque: "Bud..." Nezha: "It is only because he requested that I dare drag you back from the brink. The Lady Bone Demon's geas upon you is null and void with your refusal, but mine is not. So I give you these instructions, Liu'er Mihou; Do not disappoint him." Macaque: "I won't. Promise." Nezha: "Good. Also, small side effect; your ears are stuck like that." Macaque, reaching to feel: "What do you- ehh!?" (*Macaque jumps up to look at his reflection in the sheen of the temple walls - seeing six lotus-petal-shaped ears on permanent display. He hasn't much time to ponder this when the full force of a baby stone monkey slams into him.*) MK, sobbing with relief: "MR LIU'ER, YOU'RE OKAY!!! (*Macaque sighs and hugs the child back. He can fret about any lotus-revival side effects later*) Macaque: "Hey bud. Sorry I messed this all up. I thought the Lady Bone Demon could help me get revenge on your Baba for a fight that happened a long time ago but... turns out revenge wasn't really the thing I wanted. I just wanted Wukong by my side again. But I still led her to you, and I am so sorry. I'm not a hero like your Baba..." MK, sniffling: "Can you be the Warrior instead? And help me get Baba back from the Lady Bone Demon?" Macaque, smiling: "I'll try my best, bud." Pigsy, interrupting: "Good! 'Cus if you hide something as big as, oh I don't know; Making a deal with a world-ending bone demon, again - I'll personally hand you over to King Yama myself!!!" Macaque: (*flinches, gives an intimidated thumbs up*)

Red Son has a brief moment of disgust at seeing Macaque alive again, but calms down when MK assures him that "Mr Liu'er is good now!". The fire demon still shoots his sworn uncle a glare, threatening to let PIF and DBK know about any future wrongdoing.

The gang confront LBD and her possessed champion. Macaque and Wukong are forced to fight once more.

The shadow monkey manages to break the King's trance by tying a certain familar pendant around his neck.

Possessed!Wukong: (*hand slowly reaches to touch the black cord and amethyst pendant. Is quiet, as if trying to calculate whether or not to rip it away.*) Macaque: "I'm so sorry, Wukong. Had I known you still thought of me so strongly, I wouldn't have accepted her offer. But..." (*Macaque pulls another pendant from his scarf; this one with an orange-fur cord and large sunset-like stone in the middle, flanked by smaller multicoloured shards. Even while possessed, the King seems to startle at the sight of it*) Macaque: "I really should have known that, seeing how I couldn't part with the one you proposed to me with..." Wukong, eyes flickering: "Mihou..." Macaque: "I haven't been the best mate. Or friend. But I want a chance to make it up to you and the cub. Even if you never forgive me, I want to be there for both of you. For all of you." (*Macaque takes Wukong's cool hands into his own*) Macaque: "If you will have me again, peaches." Wukong, crying: "Plums!" (*LBD's hold on the Monkey King breaks as Wukong pulls Macaque into his arms.*) MK: "YAY!" Red Son: "Noodle boy! The bone mech?" MK: "Oh yeah! Sorry!"

The Lady Bone Demon is defeated - MK feels multiple pairs of hands covering his ears and eyes as she tries to leave him a final warning...

Macaque still has a long way to go in making up to his mate and their cub. But he's got time.

[dykedvonte]

I saw your earlier post and you mentioned how people say things like "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" and you're so right cuz it drives me insane the way people want to hate Curly as much as Jimmy so they start saying really concerning stuff. Like is that not just victim blaming? Is saying "Curly is a grown ass man" not just rephrasing "why didn't she fight back?" It feels like the fandom think they can just say vile shit because his abuse wasn't physical (at first, and don't even get me started on anyone saying he deserved to be abused as if any kind of abuse can be justified) and he's a guy. Makes me wonder if people would bother seeing Curly as another victim if he was a woman or if discussion would be equally as insufferable because he's still not the "perfect victim" compared to Anya

It's crazy the way people say "I would've fixed everything unlike Curly" and then continue brushing off a victim and saying they deserved it. Even Curly acknowledged Anya's suffering even if he failed to help her in the end, and yet the fandom acts like this without any self-awareness (sorry for ranting like this but I'm just very tired of the fandom recently)

What worse about those comments and the sentiments is it’s often used when people are discussing him as a victim. Like acknowledging the abuse he also faced with Jimmy and that it shouldn’t matter or have an effect because he needed to “man up” and deal with it due to his position.

He needed to deal with it more effectively yes, but it is really victim blamey in the sense he should’ve just been able to. I talked about if Curly was a girl people would probably still judge her on the basis of being more experienced and accomplished and also needing to know better. The problem is that every is trying to treat what Anya and Curly went through on a comparative level. The game does not try to do that but instead tries to have their abuse parallel each other and be metaphorical, along with show the subtle and explicit ways abusers treat their victims.

People see how Jimmy and Curly parallel each other and create the idea “they deserved each other” in some weird ironic penance stance on both their parts. It’s just so odd because the game clearly shows that not a single person was deserving of their situation and especially the treatment under Jimmy at any point for any reason. The game centers around everyone paying for callous actions he commits and refuses to take responsibility for and yet the conversation center around one of his most tormented victims being questioned on how deserving he was of it/how it shouldn’t have effected him that badly.

I know you can be mad at Curly but making it out that if he was a real good man than he just would’ve had the balls to stand up to what was likely years of emotional and mental degradation still perpetuates the idea if a victim really didn’t like the treatment they would’ve just fought back harder or not put themselves into that position in the first place.

It goes back to the idea that there’s always a way to stop it and it’s on you if it happens. It’s again taking focus off the perpetrator and putting it on other aspects than the ever present source. Idk man but it’s like people are trying to make so many slightly different think pieces on MW that some just loop back to harmful rhetoric we were just moving away from.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 14

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/Mentions of past Suicidal ideations

First - Prev - Next

CH.14

“You’re just going to give him free reign of the house?”

“I did not think you of all people would have a problem with this, you were the one who expressed the most disapproval with keeping him in the containment unit.”

“Yes, but wasn’t your main concern that he would leave?”

“Fiddleford, he was homeless. Where else is he going to go?”

“Well there is that Rick character he keeps mentioning…”

“You sound a bit on edge, do you remember him from Backupsmore?”

“Remember him?”

“Do you remember Diane Sanchez? He’s her husband- well, he was her husband.”

“I’m afraid the name doesn’t ring a bell…”

“Hmm, I’m not surprised, engineering wasn’t her major. Regardless, you’re better off having not met him. I don’t believe we have to worry about him. He is… very far away.”

“And Stan has no hard feelings towards you?”

“On one hand, he tells me he believes I’m only keeping here as part of an elaborate, delusional grieving process, and he will ‘play along’ however long that process takes. On the other hand, he wrote ‘Look what I did to your other hand’ on my hand in marker while I was asleep, and on quite literally the other hand he drew a turkey. Fiddleford, stop laughing.”

“I wouldn’t call that malicious, but it certainly explains why you decided to keep your gloves on outside of the lab. And he agreed we could continue to study his memory loss?”

“Yes, he did - I assume that’s what you two were discussing earlier?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were up in the attic with him for at least an hour this morning, I assume you were conducting another interview? Locking the door was a bit excessive but without a neurology or psychology degree myself I am in no place to question your methods.”

“Interview-? Oh, um, yes. Interviewing. That’s exactly what we were doing. And nothing else.”

“Of course. Now- do you know where he is? I need to talk to him about an upcoming Cryptid Hunt.”

“You’re going to take him with you?”

“I was hoping both of you would accompany me actually. But if he will not, I’d need you to stay back here with him if you wouldn’t-”

“I wouldn’t mind none.”

“Thank you for your patience and understanding Fiddleford, I’m glad I was correct in my assumption that you’d be the best suited to assist me.”

“Any of our other colleagues woulda called the cops on your presumptuous behind.”

“...I know, and I am grateful you didn’t. Now, where is he?”

“Last I saw him was in the attic trying to cover up the window with a sheet - some type of paranoia? And I heard him come downstairs a few minutes ago but I haven’t seen him. If I were to take a guess though, he most likely went through that hatch leading to the platform on your roof - it’s still open.”

“What? Stanley can’t be on the roof, he’s afraid of heights.”

*Stan abruptly drops from the hatch, landing on his feet*

“Guys you won’t believe this but some dude in a giant moth costume just flew by- woah, you alright there PhD? You look like you already saw a ghost.”

(...)

*a series of clicking noises and hoots*

“Antenna curling! That's his tell! I fold.”

“Sorry, Stanley, but it appears Mothman was bluffing.”

“What? I had 4 aces! That moth is a wizard! Guess it’s up to you to win this for us, Doc.”

*Mothman takes a bite out of a wool cardigan, Fiddleford nearby with no chips angrily crosses his arms*

“...He's mocking me.”

“I was cheating the last 8 turns, too.”

“Stanley, for shame.”

“What? I already folded. This cheater didn’t prosper.”

(...)

“Good on you for winning, Stanford.”

“Of course, I’m just sorry that I couldn’t win before he took more bites out of your cardigan.”

“Good thing I had this flashlight to distract him, he really is a moth.”

“...Did you steal that from my coat closet?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you steal?”

“Well it’s a good thing Mothman didn’t have any money on him ‘cause you wouldn’t have anywhere to put it.”

“Give me back my wallet, Stanley.”

“Poor sport.”

(...)

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C”

“Now use both eyes, what’s the smallest line you can read?”

“Line ten. L-E-F-O-D-P-C-T.”

“Oculus dexter and oculus sinister are both 20/20, but your oculus uterque is 20/15.”

“Look we’ve been at this snail chart-”

“Snellen chart.”

“Whatever, we’ve done this like five times. What’s the point? I already told you I don’t need glasses.”

“It just doesn’t make sense… We’re identical, your visual acuity should be 20/40 or above because years of straining would make your vision even worse than mine.”

“I dunno what you want me to tell you PhD, my eyes are fine.”

“...Did Sanchez have something to do with this?”

“Sanc-.”

“Rick Sanchez. I know that’s the Rick you’ve off-handedly mentioned several times.”

“How can you be so sure? It’s a pretty common name.”

“Because you would be familiar with that egotistical, destructive, jaded, cynical-”

“Okay so you do know Rick. And yeah, we ran in the same circle for a bit, what about it?”

“He was always doing morally questionable experiments-”

“That’s funny coming from you.”

“-but altering physiology was something he had a special interest in. Did he give you some form of eye surgery or technological implant?”

“You think I’d let that nihilistic asshole near my eyes while I was passed out… or awake? Hell no. I don’t remember ever having vision problems. The closest he ever came to ‘altering’ me or whatever the fuck you’re tweaking about was help me steal a bunch of pills from the Galac-the government.”

“You- Why did you steal pills?”

“I couldn’t get decent sleep, and after getting my stomach pumped it’s not like any doctor was ever going to give me ambien or anything stronger ever again. Also, to stick it to the man.”

“... Stanley, did you- did you overdose on ambien?”

“Twice.”

“... Was it on purpose?”

“... Once. Only once. Don’t-. Don’t look at me like I’m a kicked puppy. I know it’s messed up. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I did it to myself, it isn’t anyone else’s fault. And I dunno what the fallout of your separation ten years ago was like, but no matter what happened this definitely wasn't your fault.

Look, if it makes you feel better, whatever you and specs have been spiking into my food and water has been working pretty great. I’m getting way better sleep here than I have in years.”

“We have not been putting drugs into your food or water.”

“If you say so, Doc.”

To be continued…

[anyroads]

I'm thinking about that post I saw recently that was about a guy who adopted a stray dog and had all these puppies he couldn't take care of and then OP's mom finally stepped in and helped get their adoptions sorted out and the point was that you can't just think "someone will take care of it" because you are also someone. It's been really cold here this week (freezing temperatures) and last night on my way home I saw a man lying on the sidewalk and everyone just... walked past him. Walked right past him. Most of them avoided looking at him. So I stopped and asked him if he was OK and it seemed like he was probably just really drunk and passing out but it was so cold he was going to be lucky to get away with hypothermia and frostbite and not actually freeze to death. (I also had no way of knowing whether he'd had a seizure or a cardiac episode etc. because he wasn't speaking clearly or coherently.) So I called an ambulance and as I was on the phone and waiting next to this man, people began to stop and try to help. At one point someone walked past and stopped to tell us they'd called an ambulance half an hour earlier. Once there were a few of us standing there and there was someone people could ask "what's going on?" from, one of the people who stopped to do so ran to the gym down the street and got a towel which we put under his head as a pillow as per the ambulance service's recommendation.

I waited as long as I could, laid my thick wide flannel scarf over him like a blanket for lack of anything better, and then left him with another person who had stopped (and was a social worker who had worked with people on the streets), went home which was around the corner, and came back with the spouse and a blanket. When we got back to the man's side there were three other people there also calling an ambulance because as it turned out, the social worker had entrusted someone else to stay with the passed out man when they had to go, and that person had entrusted one of the people now standing there, so in all that time someone had always been there with him. So now three people had called an ambulance, half an hour apart each, and the ETA was 1hr20min for an ambulance so we were expecting one to arrive soon. One of the people who was there lived in the building next to us so they ran upstairs to get more blankets and a hot water bottle. While they did, someone else showed up out of nowhere who had walked past a few minutes earlier and brought a blanket from home. When the ambulance finally showed up another person came running up and said they worked down the street and had called an ambulance TWO HOURS earlier and they were so glad it finally arrived.

And look, I could go off about the disaster the NHS currently is that it takes 2 hours for an ambulance to arrive for a case marked as high priority (which it was, as confirmed to me by the ambulance service). But my point here is this:

Two people had called for an ambulance in the hour before I did. That means this man was lying on the sidewalk for an hour in the freezing cold as most people kept walking past him, except for the few who called an ambulance and then left. And I don't expect anyone to be able to stay and wait for as long as it takes an ambulance to arrive when there's such a delay. But it's important that it was only when someone stopped and stood with him that others stopped too. Because like the OP of that other post said, most people don't realize they can be the someone who does something. But when they see another person be the someone, they feel more confident. It's reassuring knowing there's someone in charge who knows what to do and will tell you what to do and how to do it. And tbh I didn't know what to do. But I knew that emergency services would tell me. And I noticed immediately that as soon as I stood there with this man and became part of his situation, others started to do the same. Which is why I asked that social worker to stay with him and then pass the torch so someone was always with him.

And that's exactly my point: it's ok if you can't be the "someone" all by yourself but you can ask others to help too, and for them to do the same. By the time I came back with the spouse and the blanket, two more rounds of people had cycled through, but where most people walked past this man when I first saw him even though he'd been lying there for an hour, now there was a group of people around him even though its members kept changing - but because there was always someone there, someone else kept stopping and staying too. Where he was vulnerable and freezing when I first saw him, he now had almost half a dozen blankets over him and a hot water bottle. I honestly can't get over the thought that for a whole hour he was just lying there as he was, but as soon as people felt OK getting involved he was covered in multiple blankets.

Because most people need someone else to take the first step before they also do something. The person who brought down the hot water bottle asked me first whether or not they should. And for what it's worth, my answer was an enthusiastic "that's a great idea!" even though in my head I was thinking, "yeah no shit, how is that a question?" Because people are often uncertain or worry that their good intentions might backfire and they get wobbly in emergency situations or even just unfamiliar ones. And part of me wonders how much of the horrific online culture of dogpiling and assuming bad faith has conditioned people to worry, in real life situations, that their good intentions and attempts to help someone else will end up landing them in trouble. So even though in my head I was thinking that the question was crazy and this person should just DO the helpful thing, what came out of my mouth was encouragement and reassurance. Because that's what's actually helpful.

So this is just to say that after last night I've been thinking about that post about how anyone can be "someone" even you. Because it's not just about getting a job done - as soon as a person steps up to be the someone who does something about a situation, others follow much more easily. No one knew that at least two people had called an ambulance when this man had already been lying on the sidewalk for an hour in the freezing cold. But as soon as people got visibly involved, and stayed with him instead of walking away after calling the ambulance, more people did the same. As soon as one person covered him with a scarf and put a towel under his head, people started running to their homes around the corner to get him blankets. So the lesson of being "someone" is that it also helps other people be someone too.

[nereidprinc3ss]

like real people do

in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!

It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change. 

Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.

A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it. 

“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him. 

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear. 

“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”

“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering. 

“Are you sure?”

“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”

“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”

He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”

Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is. 

“Can I come?”

“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”

“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”

He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good. 

“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”

“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. “I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”

“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.

“Your lack of faith in me hurts."

Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”

Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object. 

“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”

“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed. 

“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”

“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible. 

“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty. 

“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”

And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave. 

[chalkrub]

my finished thing for the gigaphone! had so much fun taking part <:^)!

[elssbethtascioni]

favorite c.c. babcock outfits -> season 3

[handofkings]

RHYS IFANS in THE BOAT THAT ROCKED | PIRATE RADIO (2009)

[smallnico]

esper doodle based on that one meme. trying to durge my way out of art block

[lizartgurl]

Happy Bad Batch Eve! Have Cadet Hunter painting the skull decal on his bunk because it's my treasured Headcanon ^_^~❤️

Two more treasured details--the tin of blaster polish he's using to decorate, and the bruise over his eye. That comes from a headcanon by morgorita_prime on tiktok where the blood vessels above Hunter's eye burst during the tests on his senses and that eventually led to him getting his tattoo ❤️

[doeinstinct]

Fake It 'Til You Make It | MadaTobi | Fake Engagement AU

Rating: E for later chapters

Chapter 1: 8.5k

Tobirama steps into the house with a distracted announcement of his presence. He doesn’t expect for anyone to be home yet, after all. So really, it’s only natural that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he gets a response. 

“Tobirama! Welcome home!” 

It’s just Hashirama, thankfully. Tobirama hasn’t mentally prepared himself to deal with their father just yet. He slips his shoes off and pokes his head into the living room. Hashirama is waving at him from where he’s sitting beside Mito at the low table. 

“You’re not usually home at this hour,” Tobirama replies, shifting his bag off his shoulder and setting it by the doorway carefully. He’s not going to be able to focus on his research until Hashirama is done with whatever he’s here for. 

Tobirama nods respectfully to Mito who smirks at him and nods back. They developed an unusual friendship before Hashirama started pursuing her, having met in an elective Civic Infrastructure course. 

“We’re planning our engagement party!” Hashirama replies, that dopey grin on his face bright as ever. That makes sense, then. Their father would certainly interfere with the guestlist otherwise. Tobirama eases himself down to sit at the table opposite the couple. 

He grabs the list from the table and looks it over. As expected, he sees a particular name there, right near the top. He looks over the paper to observe Hashirama carefully. His brother is as dense as he is caring at the best of times. 

“So, you told Madara already?” he asks. Mito’s face is carefully blank as Hashirama frowns, tilting his head. 

“No,” he says. “Not explicitly, anyway. That’s what the party is for, right?” 

Tobirama sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t have hoped. 

“Brother, you should tell him before that. Just the two of you,” he says. 

“What? But why?” He’s pouting now and it takes everything in Tobirama not to smack him.

“Because he’s–!” been in love with you since you were fourteen. But he can’t say that. He looks to Mito who also looks just as exasperated as Tobirama. “Because he’s your best friend,” He finishes smoothly. “You told Itama and me separately, so you should do the same for Madara. It’s…polite.” 

Truthfully, as much as Madara grates on Tobirama’s nerves, he doesn’t want to see the man’s face upon hearing about the engagement. He should get a bit of time to prepare himself at the very least. 

“I agree with Tobirama,” Mito says finally. “You should tell Madara, dear.” 

Hashirama slumps even as he nods. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” 

Surprise isn’t going to be difficult to elicit from Madara Uchiha, that’s for certain.

“This isn’t like a birthday party, Elder Brother,” Tobirama chides. “He would be…hurt if you waited to tell him with everyone else you know.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” Hashirama replies, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I do wish he would settle down with someone, too, though.” 

Tobirama can see his brain whirling, coming up with any number of harebrained schemes that will all certainly blow up in his face. He suppresses a groan because at least he isn’t the target of such thought for the moment. 

Still, he nearly chokes on the very air he breathes when Hashirama turns to Mito, eyes bright and mischievous. “Do you think any of your friends would be a good match for Madara? He always gets embarrassed when we talk about women, but I’m sure we could find someone, right?” 

Surely his brother isn’t that dense, right? Surely he knows. 

continue on ao3 !

[bladesofkyber]

God of War: Ragnar��k | Baby’s First X     Baby's First Bestie

[02/??]

[peonyblossom]

Bas's dossier says that his fanfic count is only rivaled by Trystan's. I'm (and probably everyone else) assuming this means the amount of fanfic written about them, but what if. what if they're both just really avid fanfic writers. another facet of their sibling rivalry, if you will.

[claycryptid]

What a kind and helpful mailman. I sure hope nothing bad happens to him

[suguwu]

jing yuan who—as all cloud knights do—carved his soulmark from his very flesh but still knows it by heart, who still knows it when he hears it fall from your lips centuries later

who considers defying the idea that soulmates are an abomination of the abundance

who realizes he can't because of who he is, because of what he's given the luofu, because of who he's become

and you, who never even knows that he's yours