#in case you were wondering... it's the I surrender line

[astracora]

😭😭😭😭 nooooo!!!

[mylordshesacactus]

Okay, I didn't want to clog up the notes of someone else's post with something tonally different because that's rude, but. I Need to elaborate some more about no-kill vs open-intake shelters because I feel like some people still don't get it.

I'm gonna use an example here: My cat, Nepenthe, came from a small municipal open-intake shelter (I don't use the term "kill shelter" because I think it's obscene and cedes ground to ARA fuckwits for no reason) in an area with a NOTORIOUSLY awful stray cat problem.

She was on the euthanasia list. She was next in line on the euthanasia list.

They would never have been cruel or manipulative enough to say it that baldly, of course, but...I can read. Status was "at rsk", with two days' grace before ticking over into "extreme risk", the red zone. The ones who have had the most time, the most chance, if the shelter ever runs out of cage space.

I have gone the fuck off on people who hear that and immediately assume I will tolerate them bashing or insulting that shelter.

Because here's the thing about Penny. She is my baby, my darling, light of my life, and if I hadn't come along, euthanizing her would have been not only necessary but an ethical obligation.

She was neurotic, traumatized, and unpredictably aggressive--not "I'm bad at feline body language and ignoring her subtle back-off signals" unpredictable, I mean "we showed footage to a professional feline behaviorist and their immediate reaction was 'oh that is NOT normal'" unpredictable. "Actual legitimate psychological problems" unpredictable. The previous three times she had met with potential adopters, she attacked them unprovoked and had to be recaptured by a vet tech wearing a bite sleeve designed for aggressive dogs. She was the textbook definition of unadoptable.

She could not be fostered. There was absolutely no way she could live in a home with small children, or older children, or an elderly person with thin skin, or anyone who would get upset if they were clawed in the face without warning every few days.

Now, here's some math for you, keyboard warrior writing up a condescending screed about how there's Never Any Excuse for euthanizing a healthy animal:

The average length of stay in that shelter, for a healthy cat, was roughly two weeks. Which means, on average, assuming fast turnover, a single cage space in that shelter can save the lives of 24 cats every year.

Penny, when I met her, had been there for 43 days. A month and a half. Three times the average length of stay.

I love her. She has improved my life immeasurably and there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Her life is not more valuable than the lives of the other 23 cats who might have been saved by the slot she was taking up. Euthanasia, if space had run out, would have been the only ethical option.

(Yes, obviously I DID show up and I DID choose her. But frankly? I was a grad student with a psychology degree, studying to be a therapist, living alone, no plans to have kids, a private room where she wouldn't have to interact with other people or animals, de-facto engaged to a professional animal behaviorist; I was ACTIVELY LOOKING for an edge-case project cat, and could calmly and intelligently articulate my understanding of the seriousness of her behavior and my plan for helping her. You can't count on that happening. I was a fucking unicorn.)

No-kill shelters have the INCREDIBLE luxury of deciding who to save. They have the luxury of having all the time in the world to wait. And in the meantime, what exactly do you think is happening to the other animals? The ones they DON'T pick? The ones there's no room for? Do you think they magically don't need to be surrendered anymore? Does Santa Claus find them a home, perhaps?

You can't reduce the life of an animal to math. Good, ethical no-kill shelters can be wonderful resources--either taking highly-adoptable animals from open-intake shelters to free up space as efficiently as possible, or else taking in behaviorally or medically complicated dogs who need more time to find their perfect match than open-intake shelters can give.

But if you're going to shit on open-intake shelters, you don't get to be a fucking coward about it. So here. Prove how much smarter you are.

You've run out of space. Every cage is full. The cat cannot be fostered. You've filled all your available foster slots with other cats, to buy her time. The "no-kill" shelters are full--they pulled the cats they thought they could save, and the scruffy, psychologically-unsound, adult black domestic shorthair with chronic herpes? Nobody wants her. In this world her unicorn's not coming.

She's had three times as long as every other cat here. You have given her every chance, wrote her a lovely bio, moved other cats to other shelters to keep space open so you didn't have to make this choice; but she mauled someone else today and there's a sweet, cuddly, highly-adoptable tabby with no problem behaviors being checked in right now. If you can't put that new cat somewhere it's going to be euthanized without even being given a chance, even though it is extremely adoptable and would likely find a new home within a week.

You don't have a magic wand. You can't wish a conveniently empty second shelter into existence. Every option has been exhausted.

Look me in the eye, and tell me which one dies.

[vaguely-concerned]

I honestly don't think lucanis would have gotten much gentler training than most of the other crows -- if anything I expect he got more direct and intensely focused/constant attention on and control exerted over him than most of them might, since caterina has so much bound up in him both emotionally, politically and (ultimately, as the case always is with the crows lol) financially. she does not seem the type to as it were risk spoiling the sole viable heir by sparing the rod (derogatory). she has too much on the line here leave stuff like that to chance. where the 'first talon's favourite kid' privileges DO likely enter into it for me is that he can every so often make the move to spare a target based in nothing but his own conscience and not be killed for it himself.

which also has me wondering like... did caterina know she was sending him to kill a child, with that one target he mentions to davrin? or was it a surprise to her too? from what he says, she is the one who picks the contracts for him. was that contract how she realized there are things she could ask him to do, uses she could try to put him to, that would just break him (which would be such a waste at this point she's invested so many years and so much of herself in this knife that rests perfectly in her hand)? was it a test?? did it turn into a test both ways??? did lucanis know she wouldn't have him killed for refusing to do it, or is that one of the few times he came back and looked her in the eye to see what she would do, as the closest he's ever gotten to actually telling her 'no'???? 'you have every right to kill me for it, but this is one thing I can't do for you' with his hands not dripping with blood... and for whatever reason or set of reasons you might choose to believe, she doesn't kill him. what an absolutely nuts relationship this is

(how does illario feel watching that go down. knowing lucanis can gamble on love or sunk cost logic or whatever it is that stays her hand to hold on to having a soul, while illario could surrender his whole soul unquestioningly every time to her and still not have the love.)

[thirstywoso]

Colour outside the lines //

Jessie Fleming x Reader

W/C: 1.6k

Warnings: none

A/N: little angst and a little fluff

Edit: I wrote this in less than 2 hours whilst I was bored at work and I'm not sure I like it but let's gooo

You'd have thought working with Jessie would be fun but sometimes her competitive edge and your stubbornness wouldn't always be as beneficial as it usually was. That was the case this week, training was something you had always enjoyed but lately yourself and Jessie were pushing each other to one another's limits. Sure in the long run this would be good for your fitness and stamina, that being said you were run ragged most days.

Today though you were wrecked, it started in the morning when you had arrived at training. Sitting down on the bench in front of your cubby you were talking to Sam about the session you had coming up.

"Y/n if you're going to be fighting for dominance with Jessie again today I won't be partnering with you" she mocked pretending to roll her eyes

You playfully swatted her on the arm. "You wouldn't ever dream of leaving me partnerless Coffey" you put your hand on your chest as if you were offended.

"Just because I love you doesn't mean I can keep up with this weird competitive thing you've got on with Miss Freckles over there"

You laughed at her comment before glancing over at the mentioned woman who sat opposite you in the changing room, she caught your eye and gave you a determined look. "Shit" you thought to yourself knowing today was going to be another tough one.

"Earth to y/n, where'd you just go?"

You looked back at her with a blank expression wondering how long you'd zoned out for.

"Look I'll partner with you always but please don't drag me into it, I've been asleep by 9 after I train with you" she said putting a hand on your shoulder to stop you from wondering into your own world again.

"I can't promise anything.."

By lunch time Sam had indeed regretted partnering up with you.

The morning entailed parters competing in various challenges that would be ranked based on a combined score.

The first challenge was the vertical jump, where each team had to go twice and their best score would be counted.

Sam and yourself just beating Jessie and Janine by 1 point which of course Jessie claimed that you had cheated and wanted a rematch but the coaches confirmed the scores were final.

Next you had an endurance test, where the first person in the pair would run from one end of the pitch and back and then the second one would go and so on. The teams that lasted the longest would gain the most points.

Jessie and Janine had won that to your dismay with you only dropping out a lap before them.

The morning continued on like that where you would win a challenge and then Jessie would win a challenge. When lunch time rolled around you had reached a deadlock.

"Are you not sick of these two bickering over who is better everyday?" Janine asked Sam as they joined yourself and Jessie at the lunch table.

"Who isn't?" Sam Laughed

"Sorry that we like to keep our relationship alive with some healthy competition" Jessie defended

"Babe you must admit we have been going a bit crazy with this lately"

"Y/n's right Jessie, y'all have been killing us and everyone else has been saying it's been getting out of control" Sam tried to reason

"Yeah we understand the competitive side you both have but bickering every time you don't win is getting old even y/n is sick of it" Janine aimed at Jessie

Jessie looked over to you catching your eye, you just held your hands up surrendering

"You think it's getting tiring too?" She said looking disappointed

You didn't answer straight away as you didn't want to upset Jessie and as much as you loved her playful side you were starting to come home drained each day to the point you'd sometimes fall asleep whilst eating dinner that Jessie had cooked you.

Jessie stood up heading for the door back towards the training facilities "Jess, come on don't be like that" you called after her but it was no use.

"Thanks guys" you said sarcastically as you got up in the direction of Jessie.

The rest of training Jessie had avoided you not even acknowledging you when you tried to talk to her. You'd planned on breaking your deadlock during this part of the afternoon but you could tell it wasn't a good idea with the scowl she had painted on her face.

Even the ride home from training was quiet and you knew even if you attempted to talk to her it would be futile.

Getting in through the door Jessie made her way to your bedroom and shut the door behind her, you leant against the cool granite of the kitchen island and released a sigh you hadn't realised you'd be holding in.

Closing your eyes you let yourself think about what the hell had happened today. You decided the best way to get on Jessie's good side would be to cook her favourite meal of yours.

You began cooking your famous chicken pesto pasta and set up the table with some candles. Admiring the set up you realised something was missing so you walked down to the local store and bought some of your girlfriends favourite flowers and grabbed her a coffee from her favourite coffee shop.

When you returned you lit the candles and arranged the flowers heating the meal you had made. Once you'd served it up you put on some music and lightly knocked on your bedroom door before entering.

Seeing Jessie laying there staring at the ceiling in thought

"Hey.." you said nervously

She didn't answer

"Look, I know you're upset but there's some food out here for you and if you're up for it I would like to talk about what happened today"

You closed the door and went and sat at the table, just as you were about to start you heard the door click open and Jessie's feet padding softly towards you.

"Jess, I know you're upset because I hadn't said anything"

"Why didn't you tell me y/n/n?"

"I just, I love you Jess and your quirky competitive side. In fact I've really enjoyed training lately but this past week you've just been putting me to shame and keeping up with you has been an effort and I'm just finding myself so lethargic I can't even enjoy our quiet time together" you rambled out explaining before she could say anything.

Jessie grabbed your hand across the table "I'm sorry, I thought you enjoyed that about me and I didn't want to disappoint you by stopping our fun routine we have going on"

You rubbed your thumb over her hand comfortingly prompting her to carry on.

"I wish you'd have said something, I was just upset that I had to hear from our friends how you were feeling." She paused "I guess I'm saying that it hurt you felt you could go to them before you could go to me"

"Jessie, I promise it wasn't like that. Sam had complained I was working her too hard and I simply agreed that I was tired too"

"I understand, I just hope this means we are okay. I certainly think it'll do us both some good if we get a break from this healthy competition that has slowly become unhealthy" Jessie reasoned

"I agree"

You are the rest of you meal just casually chatting about other things going on in your life. After you finished Jessie washed the dishes and you dried them packing them away.

"How about we go cuddle up and watch a movie?" Jessie held out an olive branch

"How could I refuse" you smile

-

You'd both changed into some shorts and T-shirts you in her UCLA shirt and her in your old National team jersey.

Cuddling up to Jessie under the blanket you closed your eyes as she gently stroked your arm. Her fingers gently tracing the tattoos that ran from your shoulder to your wrist.

You hummed in contentment as she continued

"You know I've always wondered what these would look like in colour" Jessie said mindlessly

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah"

"Colour them in if you like?"

"Can I?"

You stood up grabbing a pack of colouring pens from a draw and returned handing them to Jessie

"Go ahead!"

You then sat there as Jessie began to colour in the flowers you had on your arm, taking care that she didn't colour outside the lines.

You're not sure how long you sat there for watching as Jessie meticulously coloured each piece of skin. Relaxing into the feeling the next thing you know you woke up. Jessie still tracing the shapes on your body only now you were fully in colour, and a suspicious addition where you arm and wrist connect. As you pulled your arm closer to inspect you realised that she had written her name on you.

You smiled to yourself and looked at her, a guilty smirk evident on her face.

"You really do bring colour to my life" looking back at your arm "literally"

"I love you more than anything" Jessie said sincerely

"I, I don't think I could ever express how big my feelings are for you" you thought for a second "I could genuinely burst when I look at you, my heart combusts just trying to put it into words"

"Ew gross, but you too" Jessie fake gagged at your sentiment.

This earned a shove from you which had Jessie landing on the floor in a pile of blankets looking up at you bemused.

[merceyca]

Hold Tight

Andrew and Neil accidentally crash Abby and Wymack’s carnival date.

The fairground was rife with people and noise. Andrew had warned Neil that this would be the case, but the screaming, the music, the crowds; it all had Neil wondering what the appeal of a day at the fair could possibly be.

The day itself was drawing to a close, the sky turning a deep orange and fading to purple at the edges. Andrew had flown in that afternoon, and when Neil picked him up from the airport he happened upon the flyer for the Palmetto State fair.

Although, after spending ten minutes there, Neil came to the conclusion that they should have just had an easy night at home. Murder, She Wrote reruns were a better alternative to this.

Andrew caught him by the shoulders, yanking him out of both his thoughts and the warpath of an ice-cream-wielding toddler. Neil checked himself for stains, but he remained unscathed.

‘Thanks.’

‘Those jeans are designer,’ Andrew informed him.

Neil shook his head, smiling. He opened his mouth to respond when a familiar voice called, ‘Neil! Andrew!’

They both whirled to see Abby hauling Wymack over by the hand. She was beaming, her hair free from its customary ponytail and whipping around in the breeze. Wymack appeared to be reevaluating his life choices.

Neil met Andrew’s amused look with an identical one of his own, allowing Abby to catch him in a hug when they met them halfway.

‘I didn’t know the two of you were coming here tonight,’ she said fondly.

‘The warning would have been nice,’ Wymack added, less so.

Neil fought the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. Living in the dorms with just Robin was beginning to have an effect on him.

‘We didn’t intend to crash your date,’ Andrew said, sending a meaningful look down at Abby and Wymack’s joined hands.

‘And what noble reason do you shits have for being here?’ Wymack returned.

‘Candy floss hunting,’ Andrew said at the same time Neil said, ‘Breaking in my jeans.’

‘They’re designer, you know,’ Neil continued when Wymack cast his eyes heavenward.

Abby laughed at their antics. ‘Have you tried any of the rides yet?’

‘Er, no.’ Neil tried to think of how best to skirt around the topic of Andrew’s acrophobia, but Andrew beat him to it.

‘I sustained a head injury in last week’s game,’ Andrew lied. ‘No roller coasters for me. So sad.’

Abby frowned. ‘A head injury? In which quarter? We watched the whole game.’

‘You must have blinked,’ said Andrew. ‘I’m going to line up for food if you want to take him on something puke-inducing before we eat. Coach?’

Wymack sighed but seemed to accept that his date had been crashed. ‘Yeah, take the kid on that death trap you pointed out earlier.’

‘The one you said would put your heart to the test?’ Abby asked.

Wymack huffed. ‘We’ll meet you by the tables.’

‘Are you sure?’ Neil asked Abby. ‘If you don’t want to—’

He trailed off when he saw that Abby’s green eyes were alight with excitement. She clutched his arm. ‘Come on, Josten. Don’t chicken out on me now.’

Neil couldn’t help but laugh as she dragged him across the fairground. The years between nurse and striker fell away, and suddenly they were both kids, nervously boarding a ride called The Crazy Coaster that allegedly spun as it sped over the tracks.

Abby’s joyful squeals accompanied the swoop in Neil’s gut at every drop, making him laugh harder. They took the first two dips facing forwards, but the biggest one was coming, and their carriage was turning.

‘Oh, god. Oh, god,’ Abby gasped, her hand fumbling for Neil’s. ‘Neil, we’re backwards.’

Neil managed a hysterical, ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

Abby finally caught his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Neil held tight to the woman who had patched him up so many times he’d lost count, who kissed his forehead and cheered him on at every game, who brought him on this stupid ride and showed him that surrendering your control to wheels and cogs and gravity could actually be fun.

The two of them shared a pair of frenzied grins as Abby said, ‘Here we go,’ and then they were falling.

[bunnydollprincess]

🎰♥️💵𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕟 𝕕𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣💵♥️🎰

Pairing: Vendetta! Leon Kennedy x Fem! reader (afab)

Summary: You lost your game of blackjack against Leon, but you can't afford to pay him, so, he comes up with another form of payment.

A/N: I don't know how accurate i made the blackjack game, haven't played in a while.

Tags: Nsfw (Minors do not interact), Gambling, oral (F recieving), unprotected P in V (Don't be like this two, be safe), debt paying sex, older Leon, creampie,

thank @explorevenus for being my beta reader, love u.

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Ah casinos, nothing better for your drunken ass than the smell of whiskey and blood inside of the room, paired with the hypnotic sounds of the machines inside of the casino, and the clinking of glasses and discarded liquor bottles. Sometimes, the table beside you would suddenly become agitated and you would turn around to the men yelling and cursing, throwing punches over an accusation of cheating, or the fact there was no money to pay their debts.

As the dealer came back, you found this time, your game wasn’t against the dealer himself, rather, a man across the table from you. dark brown hair juxtaposed against his ice blue eyes, not lying around it, this man was hot. Sure enough you two were given each other's names through the Dealer, who just in case, ran over the Casino’s rule for the game, Blackjack.

“you two will start with two cards upside down, and set your wagers each” Each of you with different amounts of casino chips, some stacks larger than others depending on the color. “The word hit will give you one more card. Stand, will give you none. double down means you’ll up the wager and get a new card, and surrender means the game is halted and your opponent wins”

Quite simple. you had the opportunity to create four stacks of cards, and pray to the lord, you chose where to place them correctly so that one of the stacks would amount to your total.

“Whoever scores a perfect 21, wins. if none of your stacks amount to 21, the closest one will win”

His voice seemed tired of explaining this, who knows how many times. and the ‘chin’ of the sloth machines rumbled through the room. Both of you nodded, giving room for the dealer to shuffle the cards and throw them upside down towards each of you.

Leon, your opponent was smirking at you the whole time “Good luck Dollface, you’ll need it”, he was rather cocky, taking his cards and laying them down very carefully.

“Sure” you replied back, just taking your time to pick if you would stack them up or divide them, but you decided to keep them separate. Staring at him, wondering how he could be so confident, for all he knew he could get all high numbers and get fucked.

“Mr. Kennedy, your turn”

“hit” a card was slid to him.

Game on. for what felt like eternity you two ordered around the poor dealer, more and more cards slipped into your hands, Leon kept upping the wager over and over again. Like a broken record he repeated “Double up” and added more and more black tokens, he seemed so confident to just keep upping it a hundred at a time, and every time he did, your heart pounded as he reached numbers there was no way in hell you could pay.

You could give up sure, but that would mean paying the absurd amount he was setting up, it almost felt like he was forcing you to keep playing, looking at him, his smirk alone could tell you that he knew you couldn’t pay if you lost, he knew you would be fucked if you lost.

"Double up" Leon said again, almost laughing. Apparently you weren't being so good at hiding your face of absolute horror as he added another Black token to the pile. 

34 black tokens, piled in 3 lines of 10 and one of found. You were in too deep, 3,400 dollars at game here, and you simply couldn't process how the fuck was he so calm.

"Miss" the dealer called you back to reality "you gonna up the wager too?"

His eyebrow lifted, and honestly looked at you with an amount of concern.

"No, i… i stand"

"Very well"

You barely had added any tokens yourself, maybe amounting to 500 dollars, which was still a ridiculous amount. But your gut felt even heavier when you remember that added up, the entire bet was almost 4000.

"Double up" and this time… he added 5 tokens at once.

"YOU'RE ACTUALLY INSANE?! 4,400 DOLLARS?! Down the fucking drain? Are you stupid?" You slammed the table and caused the piles to come crashing down.

"You can't afford it?" His laugh was something that sent shivers down your spine, making you feel warmth inside of you "Because then we can do some arrangements when you loose"

He sounded so confident.

"Ma'am, please sit back down"

The dealer commanded, guiding you into your seat "Stand", you almost immediately barked back, you weren't going to contribute to his stupid little bet.

"Sir?"

"Stand"

Game was over, he seemed rather fascinated at your reaction. And as the dealer turned the cards over, you began to count each stack, 12, 17, 22 and 19.

You had even gone overboard, but as long as he didn't have a 20-21 you'd be ok, you should be, but to your absolute dismay you say how the cards being flipped were telling a completely different story.

17,20,21 and 18.

"Leon kennedy Wins the prize of 4,400 dollars"

The color from your face drained as the realization you had to pay him more than half of a month of your salary hit you, while he stood up and held his hand out.

"Good game doll, you came close"

You took it, shaking and trying to figure out where that money would come from.

"I told you, if you can't pay we maybe can do an arrangement hun"

Your eyes lit up almost instantly as he offered an alternative, quickly standing up and listening to him.

"I noticed how you looked at me" his hand reaching for your hair "and i also noticed how pretty you are" playing around and tangling his fingers in-between the locks.

"How about you keep those 4 thousand and I'll give you the night of your life in exchange?"

You took a good look at him, he was built like a greek god and honestly you saw no problem with the idea of paying him by letting him use you, it even sounded like a reward for you.

"Really?"

"Yes, I don't need more money" he snorted and pulled you closer, whispering into your ear "so?"

"Fuck—" a drowned whimper paired with the thrust of your hips, Leon had you sitting on his desk, legs on his shoulders as he passed his tongue through your clothed cunt.

Debt paying didn't sound so goddamned bad when the form of payment was letting yourself be eaten out by someone to the likes of Leon.

"Fucking dripping" he laughed "all just from my tongue? Fucking slut"

He proceeded to push your panties to the side, enjoying the look of your pussy covered in slick. Pushing his face into you while sucking greedily at your clit.

Your hips rutting into his face, making him groan into your pussy and sending waves of pleasure through your core as the vibration hits you.

You hands on his hair, he lowers his tongue, teasing your entry before pushing it inside of you, making you twitch and let out a moan of his name.

"There go" he laughed against your cunt, pulling away and making you whine in need.

He unbuckled his belt, slipping it off and discarding it to the floor of the office. Snapping open his pants and pulling himself out.

You bit your lip as he stroke the shaft, his tip weeping with precum.

Not even letting you react before he pulled your thighs and dragged you closer, making you gasp before he began to tease your slit with his head.

You made a whimper and gripped harder to the table, so much it'd leave marks on the wood. Leon laughed "how sensitive" lowering to your face before kissing you, prodding your mouth open and getting your tongues to dance and swirl around each other.

Soon enough he directed his cock to your entrance and began to sink inside you, making you moan against his lips.

Stretching you with his dick, he finally pulled away from your lips "taking me so well, right bunny?" You nodded desperately like an idiot, making him laugh.

He began thrusting slowly against you, enjoying the look on your face of pure pleasure with your eyes rolled back.

The little noises spilling from your mouth were like no other music "You enjoying paying i see" he mocked, before suddenly pulling halfway and then slamming right back into you.

The lewd scream you let out, somehow didn't get listened to through the rest of the white house. He dug his fingers in the plush of your thighs as he rammed into your wet cunt.

"Gonna fill you up, nice and good" he grunted "and you'll be a good slut and take it".

It was the fact that you pathetically kept bopping your head and agreeing to his every word that got Leon even more aroused, especially with how tight your walls are squeezing him.

"f-fuck, Leon I'm—" 

"I know pretty girl" you were painfully obvious to read, he reached out a hand and began making circles on top of your swollen clit, chasing your high more than his own, despite being close himself.

And it didn't take long for you to reach orgasm, legs twitching harshly from pleasure.

"That's it, that's a good girl" he muttered, some thrusts later and you could feel him spill inside of you, making you feel this weird pleasure.

He pulled out, and watched with a smirk as his cum spilled out of your pussy.

"Debt paid young lady" he laughed.

Maybe you should lose games more often.

[jpitha]

Humans rig stuff together

The battle had been close. The Gren Warfinder had completely surprised them. They flipped nearby on a stolen drive and had started pounding the convoy. They were clearly trying to cut supply lines to the Colony in an attempt to starve them into surrendering. More than half of the ships in the convoy were destroyed before the Coalition was able to mount a response. Iixan was thankful that their ship was only mostly destroyed instead of completely destroyed. The Coalition dreadnought could waste no resources to repair though. They offloaded the cargo, handed out a case of multi-species ration bars and said that if the crew couldn’t fix the ship, someone would be by in 30 solar days or so to rescue them. With a ‘luck be with you’ they flipped away, giving chase to the Gren.

Iixan was ordered by the captain to assess the damage. The hull was holed in at least five places and two of them were too large to patch. They were going to be in suits for the duration. That was frustrating, but survivable.

What wasn’t survivable was the fact that two of the three reactors were offline, with one of them reduced to slag. Iixan found himself next to the non slagged reactor with the three human crew members standing over it. They stood around the reactor, one with their hands on their hips. Iixan didn’t know much about human body language, but they knew that pose was an important one.

He found their comm channel and clipped in. “…I’m telling you, we can just do a hard restart with something in place of the fusion fuse.”

“That’s insane. The fuse exists for a reason. If we let the field get too strong then the whole thing will collapse.”

“Is it better to have a rickety reactor and be able to Flash home, or no reactor and sit here, cold in our suits, eating-“ here the human shuddered “-multi-species ration bars for a month while we wait for the Coalition to remember we’re stuck out here?”

“Okay, wait. Maybe we can split the difference. What if we- oh hey Iixan! What’s up?”

At the mention of his name, the three humans turned to face Iixan. Their suits were bulkier and armored where his was just barely a skin of synthcloth and a helmet. He always wondered why human suits always looked like battle armor. Their large bulbous helmets were clear now, but they could be completely blackened, or even mirrored when necessary. Iixan always felt a little uncomfortable when multiple humans turned to give him their full attention. “Uh, Commander Mizzen asked me to do a damage assessment.” He peered around the humans at the three reactors. “Looks… bad?”

The first human nodded and gestured towards the pile of melted metal, still smoking slightly. The light of a nearby star shone through the smoke, giving it a pretty effect. “Reactor three is toast. There’s no fixing that one. Reactor one is offline with… minor damage. Reactor two is online and keeping us alive for now. We’re trying to decide if we can rig Reactor one to work enough to Flash home.”

“Rig?”

“You know” The second human shrugged in their suit. “Make it work enough to get us somewhere. It’s not fixing it, not really. Just like pretending it’s fixed to the point where it doesn’t realize it’s broken and it’ll run until it notices that it’s actually broken.” The other two looked at him and he looked embarrassed. “Figuatively that is.”

Iixan’s upper arms crossed themselves and made a motion like rubbing warmth into his arms. “And that works?”

“It’s a little more than pretending it’s going to work.” The first human sighed. “We can get it going, but it won’t be pretty and it probably won’t be… that safe. I know your sapient group is more sensitive to high magnetic fields and the reactor is going to be… leaky so you should probably tell the captain to keep the reactor hall humans only if we get it running.”

“You’ll be all right?”

The third human had a strange lilt to his speech. Iixan asked once and he said that he grew up in a place called ‘Minnesota.’ “Oh yah, it’ll be fine, but doncha know, it’ll be a mite dangerous for everyone. No worries though, we’ll make it work enough to Flash.”

The first human nodded. “Come back in a demicycle Iixan, you’ll see.”

Iixan completed his survey and reported to the captain. While he was out, people were able to seal some of the smaller holes to the point where you could take your helmet off in a few rooms. That would make eating easier at least.

One demicycle later, and Iixan returned to the reactor hall. The slagged reactor was in even more pieces than he thought possible, and Reactor one was partially disassembled. Iixan swore that he saw melted parts of Reactor three wired into the reactor. When he clipped into the comm channel they turned. “Oh Hi Iixan! We’re just about ready to test.”

Iixan pointed at the parts. “What are the… melted parts?”

“Oh, that was Will’s idea. We stole some of the… less melted parts from Reactor three to try and kick Reactor one over. They’re not exactly the same model, but I think it’ll be close enough. Just had to put in a few bodge wires in to get power and signal where it needed to be.”

Peering closer, Iixan saw that there was nearly an entire plain’s worth of wires roughly soldered into different parts of the reactor, crossing back and forth and across. The Reactor looked utterly broken. He looked up at the humans. “This… will work?”

Will smiled. “One way to find out, right? We’re going to force a hard restart and see if it’ll work. Tell the Captain to get ready, okay?”

Iixan made a gesture of supplication to the Machine Spirits and called the Captain. The Captain was just as dubious as Iixan was, but agreed to let them try. He signaled Will and the other two and they made that odd gesture of theirs where they curl their large fingers together except for their shortest one and stick it straight into the air.

“Here we go!” Will reached deep inside the Reactor and flipped some switches that were added while they were bogding.

After Will flipped the levers, the three of them jumped back almost as if they were injured. Iixan took another step back as the reactor spun up. The reactor hall had no atmosphere so he coulnd’t hear anything, but he could feel it. It had a thrumming vibration that was getting faster and faster. Iixan wasn’t a reactor technician but even he knew it didn’t sound right. The thrumming was… off balance somehow? It also sounded rougher? Still, the vibration was more and more intense until it felt like the grated floor was a shake table moving them around.

Suddenly, there was a prismatic flash and a shaft of pure white light shot out of the reactor towards the back wall. The humans jumped back and one of them reached towards a bundle of wires that was draped on the floor towards a wall when Will shouted “No! Leave it! We knew containment might leak. It’s otherwise holding steady. Let me refactor.” Will glanced down at his pad and furiously typed and slowly, the white beam faded.

It felt like the room would shake apart, and the reactor blurred in Iixan’s vision in a disconcerting way, but it was running. Will and the other two bounded up to Iixan. “That’s as good as we’re going to get it I think. It’s running at around 74.8%. If we run Reactor two at 112% We should be able to Flash home. We’ll have to stay in our suits, but that’s a sight better than hanging around here.”

The Captain was stunned when Iixan told him and demanded to see for himself. He was led to the Reactor hall but Will had warning him not to enter due to the danger. He stood in the open doorway watching the Reactor vibrate and blur as Reactor two ran with yellow and orange warnings all over the indicators as it was… gently overloaded. “Ancestors. You got it running.” He looked at Will. “How?”

Will demurred. “Oh, just a little bit of experience with these kind of Reactors and a human willingness to rig up a temporary solution. If it’s stupid and works, it’s not stupid.”

The Captain met Will’s gaze. “No. It’s still stupid. But right now we need some stupid. Well done. Now pardon me, I need to get the calculations to Flash home started before that-“ he points at the rigged reactor “-fails and traps us somewhere even worse than here.”

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 03 || USEFUL OCCUPATIONS AND DECEPTIONS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“He can’t marry a fifteen-year-old girl to … to … that! And without even asking her!” “Oh, I expect he can,” Jamie said, with infuriating calmness. “In any case, Sassenach, it isna your affair.” He took me firmly by both arms and gave me a little shake. “D’ye hear me? I know it’s strange to ye, but that’s how matters are. After all”—the long mouth curled up at one corner—“you, were made to wed against your will. Reconciled yourself to it yet, have ye?” “Sometimes I wonder!” I yanked, trying to pull my arms free, but he merely gathered me in, laughing, and kissed me. After a moment, I gave up fighting. I relaxed into his embrace, admitting surrender, if only temporarily. I would meet with Mary Hawkins, I thought, and we’d see just what she thought about this proposed marriage. If she didn’t want to see her name on a marriage contract, linked with the Vicomte Marigny, then … Suddenly I stiffened, pushing away from Jamie’s embrace. “What is it?” he looked alarmed. “Are ye ill, lass? You’ve gone all white!” And little wonder if I had. For I had suddenly remembered where I had seen the name of Mary Hawkins. Jamie was wrong. This was my affair. For I had seen the name, written in a copperplate hand at the top of a genealogy chart, the ink old and faded by time to a sepia brown.

Mary Hawkins was not meant to be the wife of the decrepit Vicomte Marigny. She was to marry Jonathan Randall, in the year of our Lord 1745. “Well, she can’t, can she?” Jamie said. “Jack Randall is dead.” He finished pouring the glass of brandy, and held it out to me. His hand was steady on the crystal stem, but the line of his mouth was set and his voice clipped the word “dead,” giving it a vicious finality. “Put your feet up, Sassenach,” he said. “You’re still pale.” At his motion, I obediently pulled up my feet and stretched out on the sofa. Jamie sat down near my head, and absently rested a hand on my shoulder. His fingers felt warm and strong, gently massaging the small hollow of the joint. “Marcus MacRannoch told me he’d seen Randall trampled to death by cattle in the dungeons of Wentworth Prison,” he said again, as though seeking to reassure himself by repetition. “A ‘rag doll, rolled in blood.’ That’s what Sir Marcus said. He was verra sure about it.” “Yes.” I sipped my brandy, feeling the warmth come back into my cheeks. “He told me that, too. No, you’re right, Captain Randall is dead. It just gave me a turn, suddenly remembering about Mary Hawkins. Because of Frank.” I glanced down at my left hand, resting on my stomach. There was a small fire burning on the hearth, and the light of it caught the smooth gold band of my first wedding ring. Jamie’s ring, of Scottish silver, circled the fourth finger of my other hand. “Ah.” Jamie’s touch on my shoulder stilled. His head was bent, but he glanced up to meet my gaze. We had not spoken of Frank since I had rescued Jamie from Wentworth, nor had Jonathan Randall’s death been mentioned between us. At the time it had seemed of little importance, except insofar as it meant that no more danger menaced us from that direction. And since then, I had been reluctant to bring back any memory of Wentworth to Jamie. “You know he is dead, do ye not, mo duinne?” Jamie spoke softly, his fingers resting on my wrist, and I knew he spoke of Frank, not Jonathan. “Maybe not,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the ring. I raised my hand, so the metal gleamed in the fading afternoon light. “If he’s dead, Jamie—if he won’t exist, because Jonathan is dead—then why do I still have the ring he gave me?” He stared at the ring, and I saw a small muscle twitch near his mouth. His face was pale, too, I saw. I didn’t know whether it would do him harm to think of Jonathan Randall now, but there seemed little choice. “You’re sure that Randall had no children before he died?” he asked. “That would be an answer.”

“It would,” I said, “but no, I’m sure not. Frank”—my voice trembled a bit on the name, and Jamie’s grip on my wrist tightened—“Frank made quite a bit of the tragic circumstances of Jonathan Randall’s death. He said that he—Jack Randall—had died at Culloden Field, in the last battle of the Rising, and his son—that would be Frank’s five-times great-grandfather—was born a few months after his father’s death. His widow married again, a few years later. Even if there were an illegitimate child, it wouldn’t be in Frank’s line of descent.” Jamie’s forehead was creased, and a thin vertical line ran between his brows. “Could it be a mistake, then—that the child was not Randall’s at all? Frank may come only of Mary Hawkins’s line—for we know she still lives.” I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t see how. If you’d known Frank—but no, I suppose I’ve never told you. When I first met Jonathan Randall, I thought for the first moment that he was Frank—they weren’t the same, of course, but the resemblance was … startling. No, Jack Randall was Frank’s ancestor, all right.” “I see.” Jamie’s fingers had grown damp; he took them away and wiped them absently on his kilt. “Then … perhaps the ring means nothing, mo duinne,” he suggested gently. “Perhaps not.” I touched the metal, warm as my own flesh, then dropped my hand helplessly. “Oh, Jamie, I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” He rubbed his knuckles tiredly on the crease between his eyes. “Neither do I, Sassenach.” He dropped his hand and tried to smile at me. “There’s the one thing,” he said. “You said that Frank told you Jonathan Randall would die at Culloden?” “Yes. In fact, I told Jack Randall that myself, to scare him—at Wentworth, when he put me out in the snow, before … before going back to you.” His eyes and mouth clamped shut in sudden spasm, and I swung my feet down, alarmed. “Jamie! Are you all right?” I tried to put a hand on his head, but he pulled away from my touch, rising and going to the window. “No. Yes. It’s all right, Sassenach. I’ve been writing letters all the morning, and my head’s fit to burst. Dinna worry yourself.” He waved me away, pressing his forehead against the cold pane of the window, eyes tight closed. He went on speaking, as though to distract himself from the pain. “Then, if you—and Frank—knew that Jack Randall would die at Culloden, but we know that he shall not … then it can be done, Claire.” “What can be done?” I hovered anxiously, wanting to help, but not knowing what to do. Clearly he didn’t want to be touched.

“What you know will happen can be changed.” He raised his head from the window and smiled tiredly at me. His face was still white, but the traces of that momentary spasm were gone. “Jack Randall died before he ought, and Mary Hawkins will wed another man. Even if that means that your Frank wilna be born—or perhaps will be born some other way,” he added, to be comforting, “then it also means that we have a chance of succeeding in what we’ve set ourselves to do. Perhaps Jack Randall didna die at Culloden Field, because the battle there will never happen.”

8 UNLAID GHOSTS AND CROCODILES ~Dragonfly in amber

[couldyouimagine-that]

Midnight Snacks

Genre; Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Word Count; 1.0k

Warnings; Nothing I can think of :)

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Reader

This is pretty similar to the other one I just wrote but sans the hurt/comfort; this time it’s 100% fluffy romance. Also I got some really kind comments on ‘I Gotcha’ so thank you all, I’m glad you enjoyed it!

Masterlist

-

It was almost pitch black in the kitchen, the only dull light coming in from the moon outside. An owl called out from somewhere beyond the windows and you winced slightly when a floorboard creaked beneath your foot. You were trying desperately to be quiet so you didn’t wake anyone up whilst on your midnight trip to the fridge. The dull light it emitted almost blinded you as you began searching around for something to eat, hissing out a curse as a couple of beer bottles knocked into each other. You paused for a moment, hardly breathing whilst you waited to see if there was any movement elsewhere in the house. You breathed a sigh of relief at the continued silence.

Once your search for food proved successful, you took a moment to stand by the window and watch the shadowy outlines of the trees blowing in a light wind. Unbeknownst to you, Dean had shown up before you had even closed the fridge. He leaned against the doorframe of the door into the kitchen, watching you with a gentle smile. He silently laid aside the blade he had picked up before coming downstairs, just in case a threat had entered the house in the middle of the night, and slowly folded his arms across his chest.

You were absolutely beautiful. It was all he could think as his gaze traced the line of your shoulders and back, as he took in your loose sleep clothes and whatever you were snacking on at this ungodly hour. He stepped into the kitchen, starting to move towards you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean murmured gently, offering a roguish grin when you leapt up at the sound of his voice and almost dropped your food.

“Dean!” You whisper-yelled, conscious of not wanting to wake up Sam. “You terrified me!”

“God, you’re so cute.”

“Dean!” He was right in front of you at this point and well within range for you to whack his shoulder several times in a row. Laughing quietly, he put his hands up in surrender to your assault and tried to placate you.

“Hey, okay okay, I’m sorry,” he tried, though he didn’t even attempt to hide the smirk which ruined any effect his actions may have had. “Look.” The word was rounded and full of mirth. He gently laid his hands on your shoulders, looking down at you with glittering eyes. You simply raised an eyebrow in silence. “You just had a real scared little look on your face and you- sweetheart.”

You had shoved him back to get away from him before he could see the grin you wore and crossed the kitchen, staring out of a different window and stubbornly refusing to turn around. You heard Dean’s steps come sauntering along behind you, felt his heat as he stopped just behind you, close enough to touch.

“Baby.” His voice was playfully reproachful and when you didn’t answer, his hands alighted on your hips. His thumbs began a gentle circular motion, lightly massaging your skin. He drew closer until his chest was almost pressed against your back, the pressure on his thumbs steadily increasing. His nose found its way into your hair, breath soft over your scalp. And you had your lips pressed together trying to repress your grin. “Come on, talk to me.” You could imagine the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners; how beautiful he looked wearing the smile you could hear in his voice.

You cut him a glance over your shoulder out of the corner of your eye. The smile you were already expecting to see made your stomach leap and bloom with a wonderful warmth.

“’You had a real scared little look on your face’?” Your raised eyebrow was back.

Dean tilted his head to the side and slightly forwards, giving you a look of helplessness. There was a pause in which it looked like he was deliberating on giving you a serious apology.

“You should’ve seen it-”

“Unbelievable,” you huffed, but you stopped trying to hide your smile. When you went to put down what little remained of your food, Dean simply stole it and popped it straight in his mouth with all the mischievousness you would have expected from a young boy. You pursed your lips. “I rest my case.”

As you turned around to face him, Dean reached around you to drag your body against him. You reached up to wind your arms around his neck, your gazes locked.

“Look at you,” he murmured, grip tightening the longer you stood together. You leaned more of your weight against him to let him hold you up then pressed your cheek against his own. You were still holding each other’s gaze. “You comin’ to bed?” When you nodded, he indicated to the kitchen door with a glance.

You were back upstairs together in a few moments, Dean pulling the covers up around your shoulders as you settled onto his chest. You sighed happily as his hand began tracing gentle patterns over your back and in response he tucked your head beneath his chin. Dean felt solid beneath you, his body a comforting warmth as sleep began to pull at your eyes and mind. From the steady passage of his hand, you knew he wouldn’t fall asleep again for at least a little while and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Night, sweetheart,” he said gently as he squeezed his arms around you, then resumed his affectionate tracing of your skin.

He knew the moment you fell asleep (just about as soon as he told you goodnight) and even though it would leave him tired and cranky in the morning, Dean kept awake for a long time, simply enjoying having you in his arms and holding you while you slept. There was something he found indescribably heartwarming about your unwavering trust in him, how you believed without a glimmer of a doubt that if you slept in his arms, you would be safe. It was this thought that he finally nodded off to over an hour later, fond smile still in place.

[ritzcuit]

it's no secret that i am a massive fan of spirit of justice, except more specifically, i am a massive fan of datz are'bal, and More specifically, i'm a fan of datz's relationship with dhurke, which i widely have to extrapolate from context clues bc this game hates me. so i often reread the transcripts, of 6-3 and 6-5, to reflect upon the nature of datz are'bal.

well... the way he talks abt dhurke drives me crazy mostly. and i wanted to compile all the freak moments where he yaps about dhurke and the kids. Plus some random extra bits... think of it like a dhurkedatz manifesto, if you want

screenshots using the ace attorney wikia transcript. soj spoilers ahead. Obviously

we have to start midway through the third case, 'cause up until this point datz had brain damage. anyway "brother in arms" gay. "just like you!" gay. Ok not that gay. but it demonstrates datz's entire purpose for being in this game, "im going to tell you about dhurke sahdmadhi in great detail"

oh god It's starting. this is from inspecting the board of photos in the defiant dragons' office.. sorry i forgot datz's other purpose for being in this game, "i'm going to tell you about dhurke sahdmadhi's kids in great detail." i cant. hes so. endlknfgdf

just all this yapping for no reason. it's like a guy showing you photos of his kids in his wallet. Yeah he went to school to study revolution^_^ being close enough to that family to know how much yuty looked up to dhurke is so... to know yuty's motivations... why do you know all this, datz?! do you think he would help yuty study for law school 🥺well dhurke definitely did too, but like...what if both of them helped 🥺

"dhurke's been beside himself" as if datz didn't just wistfully reminisce about how yuty used to be the pride of the dragons. you are NOT an impartial party my man! "we all thought! we were sure...!" it makes me wonder how many other rebels would know that dhurke was torn up over losing his son like this. he puts on a strong face, right, like everyone in ace attorney... but datz is at least close enough to see him struggling with it. like come awn

just more yapping. mind you, datz is currently pretending to be abandoning the revolution right now (though you probably can interact with this afterwards, when he gives up on that). but still. pov you went to a defector to get info on the defiant dragons, but all he's doing is talking about their leader's sons for no damn reason

BC IT'S THE LIKE. EAGERNESS. THAT GETS ME. he knew those kids and by god he is going to tell you about them 😭

inspecting the old sign........... it brings to mind a datz who used to hang around in dhurke's old office with him, like maya does phoenix, just being in his business for no good reason. young 20 somethings with the whole world open to them. "this place has seen better days" and i know damn well datz was seeing them too! Gay

talking to datz directly, this is under "dhurke the attorney" and the fanboying Begins in earnest. again, theoretically, he is pretending to defect from the dragons right now. it's like he was fucking vibrating waiting for phoenix to ask him about his best friend. "he was a force to be reckoned with! he was a juggernaut, as mighty as a dragon!" YOU! ARE! GAY! just geeking out over how cool dhurke was for NO REASON

STOP

Like i cannot express how much of a fucking geek he sounds like right here. "oh i'm defecting from the dragons cus dhurke is a traitorous snake. Anyway he's SO FUCKING COOL :)" he literally sounds awestruck. He would never surrender... sparkling eyes... EW

while breaking datz's psyche locks. gay

i dont even have anything to say. "that look in your eyes... it's just like dhurke's" Yeah i bet you pay attention to what dhurke's eye looks like you little freak. i bet dhurke said something rly cool in court one time and you fell in love with him then and there. Ewwwww Throws hammers. also i just like these lines it's very badass of him. datz said ok ill die for the dragons idgaf and phoenix said IGAF VERY MUCH PERSONALLY I LOVE NOT DYING

pff

later on, after all topics were cleared, datz exposition dumps some more. nothing actually that interesting but "dhurke was framed, i'm telling ya!" is sooo cute to me. it makes me wonder how many rebels do still think dhurke's guilty, but are critical of the ga'ranian regime for other reasons. probably a lot, right? thinking about datz defending dhurke's innocence to other dragons, but then dhurke's like... datz it's fine if they think i'm guilty, so long as they still agree with our cause. it isn't about me it's about the greater good of khura'in. and datz is like. OK BUT THEY'RE STILL WRONG THOUGH 😭😭

"it's like dhurke used to say" fanboy. there's no other words for it

"fangs of the defiant dragons" is an interesting thing. datz calls himself that thrice (once during the trial after he regains his memory and once later on in 6-5). i don't know what it means. LOL i even made my friend who knows japanese hunt down the original line to try and understand it, and we got nothing bc it's basically identical. it gives off the impression that He's Him, tm, he's The Guy, who does shit.. which isn't actually very dhurkedatz, but it's dhurkedatz to me. so much of dhurke IS the revolution, and the dragons. their entire relationship is through the revolution and the dragons. so it stands to reason that if datz is important to the dragons, then he's important to...?well you know

like the defiant dragon bites down and doesnt let go. it needs fangs to bite, of course.......oh the crucial datz...crying

that's basically it for 6-3, except the very end-

aw. theyre hanging out :)

cutting to 6-5 because 6-4 has nothing for us. i have dreams that 6-4 actually has datz in it somewhere and i just never checked, because there's something wrong with me

datz isn't here yet.. this is from inspecting charley, obvs. who's "we" though. you know who we is? it's datz. now. to me. it's dhurke and datz. they lost aj and then yuty ok let them have their cactus. This could also just be a lie ENDFKLNGDF But its too easy to imagine datz getting a cactus and being like "it's like aj! 'cause of it's spines!" and dhurke is Just enough of a sad lonely old man to keep it around. until it like dies i guess rip apollo

talking to dhurke under "request" gives us this. My Compatriot. god made them compatriots bc they would be unstoppable as canon lovers. my compatriot. i should smack u. THATS UR FANGS IDIOT -_- Anyway it's clear from how much datz yaps abt him, but it's nice to have confirmation that apollo remembers him too :) running around him... maybe its "running around with him"? i wouldnt know. but still...so cute..what if i cried rightnow

a whole bunch of nothing bc they're keen on hiding him from me. this is ages later while inspecting the suitcase in archie buff's house. dhurke...thats ur knucklehead...

apollo remembering enough about datz to make fun of him *wiping tear from eye*im so happy *sniffling*

talking to paul atishon, who does not matter. dhurke... hes your buffoon....

but don't worry. he's here. it's datz. everyone get excited. it's time for The Scene, of which i have actual screenshots

this is my "intellectual attraction" this is my "unnecessary feelings" my "her respect as a coworker wasn't all i wanted" orhowever that shit goes. Dhurke! You're a sight for sore eyes! it's so nothing compared to those other three, but i can't help it. I love it so much.....

i love datz being such a freak who can't calm down for 5 minutes. i love dhurke being so understated here. its so funny. he said girl calm down it's just me 😭 and datz's stupid big ass smile once he realizes it's oomf.. i knew you'd come save me!

it's worth noting that in jp, according to my friend who knows these sorts of things, "you're a sight for sore eyes" is just "My partner!" with partner being aibou, which is also used for phoenix/edgeworth, klavier/daryan, and asougi/ryuunosuke. It's too much...datz likes him so bad. get a ROOM!

theyre both so weird

if you present the founder's orb transfer agreement, you get this exchange. please...the banter. i wish we got 50000p more pages of this.

Anyway um it turns out i hit image limit ...smiles cheekily...i could replace the sight for sore eyes pics with one screenshot, but i wont, bc its that important To Me. well. ill continue this in a part 2 because there is still plenty more to be seen

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Today really wasn’t shaping up to be Edwin’s day. For one, he was still stuck in Port Townsend. The dreary, frigid weather reflected his mood perfectly as he ended up voluntarily rooting through various pieces of debris and detritus down an alley behind the house they were investigating if only to get away from Charles’ constant attempts at trying to impress Crystal as he followed her around like a puppy. He hadn’t even spared Edwin a glance when he stated his intention to search outside. Edwin briefly looked over at one of the top floor windows, wondering if his companions were having any better luck inside. So far, this job had been nothing but dead end after dead end even with the mediums help.

He yelled out in fright and fell backwards from where he’d been crouched down investigating the contents of some half rotted wooden crates. A tabby let out a string of equally shocked profanities as they bolted over the lip of one of the crates and through a gap in the fence lining one side of the alley- but not before taking an instinctual swipe.

“Sixty six.” He hissed as he clambered back to his feet, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity as the burning sting originating from the back of his hand started traveling up is arm – the leather gloves he’d removed in some misguided (pointless) attempt at keeping them clean mocked him from inside his pocket. They weren’t deep scratches at least, but that didn’t make them any less uncomfortable.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” A familiar voice sang out from right behind him.  Edwin levelled a glare downwards (because at this point, surely only someone or something from Hell could be responsible for how this day was going). He spun smartly on his heel to face the Cat King –  Thomas. Edwin had heard through the grapevine his name was Thomas - head on, expression artfully just the right side of annoyed and hands clasped behind his back. The other being was dressed in the same skirt and boots he’d worn on their first meeting, only this time paired with a ridiculously fluffy brown sweater Edwin would probably be coveting right now if he were capable of feeling the cold.

“Something you need?” Edwin drawled, hoping his bored tone would make Thomas take the hint and leave.

He merely grinned and arched an eyebrow in response, “Depends what you’re offering. No, I merely thought I’d drop in and say hi to my favourite ghostie and imagine my surprise when I turn up to see you getting down and dirty, routing through the garbage. Would have thought that was more your ‘best friends’ wheelhouse.”

 Edwin personally may not have used air quotes a day in his life (or death), but he’d seen Charles use them often enough to understand the implications the action created. “He’s currently searching elsewhere. With Crystal.”

“And not with you.” Thomas’ grin took on a sardonic edge, “Oh hoho! Trouble in paradise is it?”

Edwin didn’t reply, but he could do little to stop the twitch of his jaw which was apparently all the confirmation Thomas needed, “Bestie’s had his head turned and left you, quite literally, out in the cold. Ouch.”

“It was merely a matter of convenience.” Edwin snapped, “This case has given us absolutely nothing but trouble and the sooner we solve it, the sooner I can get back to counting your bloody cats and the sooner I can leave.”

Thomas raised both hands in mock surrender, “Ok, as you say. But just so you know, I’d never-” He trailed off, smile dropping as he leaned in closer to Edwin until the ghost was almost tempted to take a step back. Almost. “Why do you smell like you’re in pain?”

Edwin blinked in surprise, “Beg your pardon?”

“Pain. Where are you hurt?” Thomas asked, completely disregarding the opportunity to say something crass about what he’d rather Edwin beg for.

Edwin scoffed, “I assure you, I’m perfectly fine – hey! ” He spluttered as Thomas reached around and grabbed the wrist of his injured hand in a gentle but insistent grip.

“Don’t even try.” Thomas said flatly, levelling the ghost with an unimpressed look as he bought the hand around to inspect it.

“As I said. I’m fine, it’s nothing.” Edwin tried to focus on the shine of the others gold nail polish and not how gently he was turning Edwin’s hand this way and that for closer inspection.

“Aaaw!” He simpered, “Did one of mine leave you with an owwie?” His tone of voice may have been that of someone addressing a young child, but Edwin saw the real, unasked question in the hard glint of his slit-pupiled eyes.

Who?

“It was my fault, I startled them. I’m sure they didn’t mean it.”

“As am I.” Thomas said running warm fingertips gently over the red lines, “None of them would dare intentionally hurt what’s mine.”  He bent his head and pressed a lingering kiss directly on the injury.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Edwin demanded, snatching his hand away and silently berating himself for not doing so sooner.

“Just kissing it better, darling.” Thomas replied with a wink, “If you ever get bored of being an outdoor ghost, you know where to find me.”

A puff of purple smoke, followed by a fluffy brown tom cat strutting back out onto the main street and Edwin was once again alone.

“Absolute wazzock.” He muttered as he made to continue his hunting, unsure which of them exactly he was talking about and trying to convince himself that the dissipating pain where Thomas’ lips had been was just a figment of his imagination.

[duvetfawn]

The Code

- Masterlist

INTRODUCTION: In a world of intellect and intrigue, no one challenges the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes—except you. A case steeped in mystery brings the two of you into a tense standoff, your playful defiance the one puzzle he can’t easily solve. As desire and wit collide, the line between hunter and hunted blurs, leaving Sherlock caught in a web he never saw coming. This is more than a battle of minds—it’s a test of will, passion, and surrender.

PAIRING: dom!Sherlock x sub!fem!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (reader receiving), degradation kink, eventual cursing etc.

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: Hello people, I've been thinking about writing something smut for a while and I had this idea since I started writing about Benedict. Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes! Enjoy your reading.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls as Sherlock Holmes paced back and forth, his sharp mind racing through possibilities. The case was maddening, a labyrinth of encrypted messages and dead ends. And then there were you. The one person who had the solution but refused to hand it over.

You lounged on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, a smirk playing on your lips. 

“You’re going to burn a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like that.”

Sherlock stopped, turning his piercing gaze on you. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your smile widened. “I am. It’s not every day the great Sherlock Holmes is at someone else’s mercy.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “You said you have the code.”

“I do,” you replied, tilting your head. “And I’ll give it to you—on one condition.”

His jaw tightened. “Name it.”

You stood, closing the distance between you until you were mere inches apart. Your voice dropped to a whisper, your words a taunting caress. “I want you to make love to me. Here. Now.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might laugh, dismiss you outright. Instead, his lips curved into a smirk. “That’s your price?”

“Yes.” You held his gaze, your pulse quickening under his scrutiny. “Take it or leave it.”

He studied you for a long moment, his sharp mind calculating, analysing. Then, without warning, he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin firmly but not unkindly. “You think you can manipulate me,” he said softly, his voice like silk over steel. “But I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. His kiss was demanding, dominating, leaving no room for hesitation. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as he backed you toward the bed.

Sherlock broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes blazing. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you met his gaze boldly. “Yes.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pushed you onto the bed. He followed you down, his hands already working at the buttons of your blouse. “Then let me show you how foolish you were to think you could control this.”

His hands were everywhere—firm, confident, as they stripped you of your clothing. Each touch sent shivers racing through you, a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. When you were bare beneath him, he paused, his gaze sweeping over you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, leaning down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “And you’re going to beg for me by the time I’m done with you.”

His mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He moved lower, his lips closing around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. You arched into him, your breath hitching as his hands gripped your hips, pinning you in place.

“You’re so responsive,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I wonder—how much more can you take?”

His lips continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Sherlock settled between your legs, his broad hands firm on your thighs, spreading them wider with a deliberate, almost commanding motion. The air in the room felt heavy with anticipation, and you found yourself holding your breath as his blue eyes roved over you, taking in every exposed inch of you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Do you even know how tempting you look right now?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers through you. “I don’t think you do. But I’m about to show you.”

Without waiting for your reply, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The first touch was light, a soft press of his mouth that made your hips twitch. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Eager already? We’ve only just begun.”

His kisses grew firmer, trailing higher until his breath ghosted over your centre. You squirmed beneath him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he lingered there, his warm breath a tantalising tease. Then, with an excruciating slowness, his tongue flicked out, tracing a single, deliberate stroke along your folds.

The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made your hands clutch at the sheets. Sherlock hummed against you, his hands sliding to your hips to hold you steady. “Mmm,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You taste exquisite. Like you were made for this.”

He licked you again, this time slower, more intentional, as if savouring every reaction he drew from you. His tongue explored you with an almost scientific precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your most sensitive spot. Your breath hitched, and you let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his dark curls to ground yourself.

“Such a good response,” Sherlock muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he pressed a kiss to your swollen flesh. “So sensitive. I can feel you trembling.”

You gasped as he sucked gently, his mouth sealing around you in a way that sent heat pooling low in your belly. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to spur him on. His tongue moved faster now, alternating between teasing flicks and firm, deliberate strokes that had you writhing beneath him.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, but his hands tightened their grip on your hips, holding you still. “Patience,” he said, his voice muffled but commanding. “Let me finish what I’ve started.”

The vibrations of his voice against you sent another wave of pleasure rolling through you, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. Sherlock glanced up briefly, his eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you unravelling beneath him. “You like this, don’t you?” he said, his lips glistening. “You like it when I suck on your clit? Knowing how much I enjoy it.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your head falling back as his tongue circled your most sensitive spot, the pressure just enough to drive you closer to the edge. Your body trembled, your thighs tightening around his head as the tension coiled tighter and tighter within you.

Sherlock’s pace quickened, his mouth working you with a relentless focus that left you breathless. Every flick of his tongue, every soft, wet sound, sent you spiralling closer to your breaking point. Your moans grew louder, your fingers gripping his hair as your body tensed. “Sherlock, I’m—” you tried to warn him, but your words dissolved into a cry as the wave of release crashed over you.

He didn’t stop. He held you through it, his tongue gentler now but no less attentive, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you collapsed against the bed, utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, his lips trailing soft kisses along your inner thighs as your breathing began to steady.

When he finally rose to meet you, his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. You tasted yourself on him, and the realisation sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“You like tasting yourself on my lips, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, unable to form words.

“Say it,” he demanded, his hand gripping your thigh.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, I love it.”

“You’re remarkable,” Sherlock whispered, his voice soft but laced with a dark satisfaction.

“Your turn,” you whispered, your hands tugging at his belt.

He allowed you to undress him, his body taut and powerful as he settled between your thighs. “Look at me,” he said, his voice softer now. You did, and the vulnerability in his eyes took your breath away.

Sherlock moved above you, his body strong and sure as he positioned himself between your thighs. The intimacy of the moment hung thick in the air, your breaths mingling as you stared at each other. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin, a rare tenderness softening his usually sharp expression.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice low and raw, the confidence in his tone undercut by a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him closer.

Sherlock adjusted his hips, one hand guiding himself to your entrance. He paused there, his tip pressing against your warmth, teasing you in a way that made your toes curl. Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, your body straining toward him.

“Don’t rush,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “I want you to feel every inch of me.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push into you. The stretch was exquisite, your body yielding to him as he sank deeper, inch by inch. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensation consumed you—a delicious mix of fullness and heat that left you trembling.

“God, you’re tight,” Sherlock muttered, his voice a guttural rasp. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he buried himself to the hilt. He stilled for a moment, his body taut and trembling, as though he were barely holding himself back. “You feel incredible,” he said, his voice thick with awe.

You could barely form words, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, every nerve ending alive with sensation. “You… you’re perfect,” you managed, your voice breathless.

A flicker of pride crossed his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His hips shifted, pulling back slightly before pressing forward again, the slow, deliberate movement sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

He set a rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled, his body moving with a precision that spoke to both his intelligence and his intensity. Your hands roamed over his back, your nails raking lightly down his skin as he filled you again and again, each stroke igniting a fresh wave of heat between you.

“You’re taking me so well,” Sherlock murmured against your lips, his voice low and dark. “Every inch of you wrapped around me. It’s maddening.”

Your legs tightened around him, drawing him even deeper, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his rhythm faltered for a moment. “Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “How perfectly we fit together?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “I feel it. I feel you.”

His pace quickened, the restraint slipping as your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your joining filled the room, mingling with your soft cries and his quiet groans. Sherlock’s head dropped to the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his thrusts grew more urgent.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with possession. “Every part of you—mine.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your hands sliding into his hair, holding him close. “I’m yours, Sherlock. Always.”

Your words seemed to ignite something in him, and he drove into you harder, the force of his movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, your body arching beneath him as you clung to him, your gasps turning into cries of his name.

“Look at me,” Sherlock demanded, his hand gripping your chin as he thrust into you again, deeper than before. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his, and the raw emotion in his gaze stole what little breath you had left.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

With one final thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your release crashing over you in a tidal wave of sensation. You cried out, your body trembling violently as the pleasure consumed you, and Sherlock followed you a heartbeat later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you.

For a moment, you stayed locked together, your bodies entwined, your breathing ragged. Sherlock’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to steady himself.

“You’re remarkable,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed away by the intimacy of the moment.

“So are you,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his face as a soft smile curved your lips.

“Ready for the code?” a satisfied smirk on your lips.

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “Sherlock.”

He froze, then pulled back to look at you, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re insufferable,” he said, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, pulling him down for another kiss.

This time, he didn’t argue.

[ladylilithprime]

Day 3: Royalty

HE WOULD PROBABLY never admit it within Dean's hearing, would probably end up nicked with a silver knife if he did, but Sam could at least admit in the relative privacy of his own head that his brother may have had a point with upgrading their personal mattresses and linens from "Bunker basics" to memory foam and 100% modal sheets and pillow cases. The fabric felt gloriously soft against his skin and the mattress and pillows cradled his body softly enough for comfort while still being firm support. It felt almost like being royalty or something! And if he ever said so, once the initial suspicions of literal bodysnatching were laid to rest, Dean would be insufferably smug.

"I promise I will not inform him," Castiel murmured, a bit unnecessarily, and Sam spared a quiet corner of his brain to be glad he was face down in the pillows right at that moment so the angel wouldn't see his blush. Not that Castiel wouldn't know anyway; relative mental privacy, and all that. At least if he didn't see it, the angel was usually willing to pretend he didn't know about the various embarrassing reactions Sam's body tended to have around him.

...Usually.

A firm press at a particular spot between his spine and shoulderblade made him gasp sharply in pain, followed by a low moan as the press moved and twisted, digging into the knotted muscle and coaxing it to release and relax. The firm and steady hands moved outward along the length of his left arm, massaging the muscles and encouraging them - and Sam along with them - to go limp with pleasure. When Castiel reached his hand he paused, then slowly lifted Sam's hand in both of his, and Sam felt heat flush from his blushing face all through his body as Castiel's lips brushed over his knuckles. A spark and skitter of Grace along his skin whispered the healing touch over a papercut Sam had forgotten he even had, now swept away by Castiel's dedicated attentions.

He breathed, grateful that his face was pressed between the two pillows so as not to smother himself, and willed himself not to squirm as he wondered what Castiel was thinking.

"I am thinking of you, Sam," Castiel said, voice low and gravel-rough above him, sending a shiver up Sam's spine. "I am admiring the strength you possess, in body and otherwise. Strength of mind in your intelligence and cleverness. Strength of heart in your care and compassion. Strength of will in your determination and that hard-won, careful control you keep over yourself...." He trailed off, fingers stroking over Sam's own and lower across the palm and then the pulse point at the underside of his wrist. "I would never seek to take that control from you, even as I desire to see you surrender it to passion and pleasure.

"I could spend centuries worshipping you, Sam Winchester," Castiel breathed in gentle reverence, bare centimeters above Sam's faintly trembling body as his fingers stroked featherlight touches up from wrist back to his shoulder. "It is exquisit torment that I am permitted mere minutes at a time, in so innocent a fashion."

Sam swallowed, choking back the moan that had nothing at all to do with the massage. Cas....

A knock on the door frame, familiar and usually welcome, interrupted the moment. Sam groaned into the pillows for an entirely different reason as Castiel sat up straighter and turned to look at Dean, though he kept his hands on Sam's shoulder. "Did you need something, Dean?"

"Just checking in," Dean said, his tone too casual. It put Sam on edge. "What's up in here?"

"Are you not familiar with massage, Dean?" Castiel asked in that curious tone Sam recognized from a different night and a different question. "It is very beneficial for continued physical and mental health."

"You might wanna try it sometime," Sam mumbled into the pillow, like a good little brother, and bit the inside of his cheek against a whimper as Castiel's thumb stroked along the line of his shoulderblade.

"You gonna give him a happy ending while you're at it?" Dean asked with an audible smirk that had Sam lifting his right hand to flip his brother off.

"Quite aside from my intention to ensure that Sam is protected from reaching a premature end to his life--" Again, hung in the brief but pointed pause. "--are you quite sure you wish to ask that question and receive the answer?"

Silence. Sam tried not to hold his breath. Castiel's thumb was still caressing his shoulderblade. At length, Dean coughed and cleared his throat.

"Dinner in two hours," he muttered. Sam heard footsteps shuffling back into the hallway, and then the snik of the door firmly closing.

"Now then," Castiel hummed as he turned back towards Sam. "Shall we continue?"

Sam moaned, and melted.

[rolandtowen]

what's up nerds, new fanfiction for yall!

I went on hiatus for three years and came back with Cherik brain rot. Read it on ao3 or under the cut. Chapter two will be up shortly.

It started innocently enough. A chess game, two glasses of scotch, what could go wrong?

The topic of conversation this night was the hypotheticals of their powers.

“Do you think you could control the iron in a person’s blood?” Charles moved one of his knights forward.

Erik hummed noncommittally, moving a pawn forward one space. “I think it’s possible. I haven’t truly had the opportunity to try it.”

“But, could you sense people by their blood perhaps? Not manipulate it, but recognize it the way I recognize minds?”

Erik smirked. “That seems like something I could try without a certain someone getting mad at me.”

Charles put up his hands in mock surrender. “Not saying I want you to mess with people’s veins, but it’d be good to know in case we run into anyone else with your mutation.”

Erik knocked a rook off the board with one of his bishops. “I’ve always wondered, do people have to be alive for you to get into their minds? Hank was telling me the other day that scientists think there can be electrical activity in the brain for a few minutes after death.”

Charles scoffed. “I don’t really make a habit of trying to commune with the dead, darling.” He moved his queen. “Check.”

“Well, what if you could tell those scientists for sure? Connect with someone before they die, and see what all that activity afterwards is about?” Erik moved his king.

Charles stiffened. “I find that highly unethical.” Charles slid his rook to protect his own king.

Erik glanced up at him, gauging his emotions as he moved his last knight. “Just speaking hypotheticals, liebling. Check, by the way.”

Charles made a wasteful move with another pawn, clearly uncomfortable with Erik’s line of thought. “I wouldn’t advise any telepath to stay connected with someone during their death. I did it only once, and never again.”

“What do you mean?” Erik thought that perhaps Charles had reached out to Raven before she died, perhaps to give her some comfort.

Charles’ eyes grew hard. “When you killed Shaw.”

Erik’s hand froze in the middle of moving his rook. Charles saw his confusion immediately.

“What, did you think I was able to keep him frozen and not be connected to him telepathically?”

Erik began to feel a sinking feeling in his gut. “I guess, I thought—I thought you let go when I..”

“When you started driving a coin through his head?” Charles forcefully moved his queen forward. “Had I done that, he could have killed you.”

“So you tied yourself to a dying man?!”

“It’s not my fault you were killing him! Fucking slowly, might I add.”

What?

“You felt him die? Why didn’t you tell me?” The chess game was forgotten.

“When would I have had the time? You shot me and left with my sister.”

Charles regretted his words instantly as Erik lowered his eyes. “To be honest, Erik, I wasn’t entirely sure what happened. It took me weeks to come to terms with the fact that I felt Shaw die. No other telepath has felt another’s death, at least to my knowledge.”

Erik was quiet for a long moment, before speaking in a whisper. “Show it to me.”

“What? No!” Charles sputtered. Erik still wasn’t meeting his eye, so Charles grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. “Erik, I am not about to force the worst pain I’ve ever felt into your mind.”

“You aren’t forcing me,” Erik countered. “I’m asking you to show me.”

“Why? So you can make some demented penance? This is new level of masochism, even for you.” Erik’s jaw clenched, but his eyes betrayed his emotion. Charles softened his grip on Erik’s chin, scraping a thumb over his cheek. It was wet. “My love, I’ve already forgiven you, for all of it.” He wanted to run his fingers through Erik’s hair, talk him down from this ledge, and forget this whole conversation.

Erik caught Charles’ hand, holding onto it like an anchor. “How am I supposed to forgive myself, Charles? When I never even knew what I did?” Erik brought Charles’ fingers up to his temple. “Show me. You carry so much of my pain, let me carry some of yours for once.”

Charles’ hand was shaking, but Erik sent a mental message, inviting him in, begging—

Please.

Charles’ answer was agony.

***

Immediately, Erik was flooded with voices.

“Now, Charles!”

“Are you okay?”

“Moira, be quiet—I can only control this man for so long.”

Erik was in Charles’ head, in his memory, yet at the same time he was in his own head, as well as Shaw’s. He could see his past self, picking up his helmet.  

“Sorry, Charles.” His own voice, haunting him.

“Erik, please—be the better man—Erik, there will be no turning back!” And just like that, the connection between them was severed as his past self donned his helmet. This was where Erik’s own memory had previously ended their conversation, but now Erik could hear every word that Charles had screamed at him, willing him not kill Shaw.

He felt Charles’ fear when his past self revealed the coin. It was like the floor dropped out from underneath Charles. Chills ran down his spine. He wanted to run, to fight, but Charles knew that if he let go, Erik could die.

For the first time, Erik could also hear Shaw. For a man who presented himself as so superior, his final thoughts were frantic and pleading.

Xavier, please, unfreeze me. Please, I can help you. I have resources, anything you want—you can have it. Please don’t let me die like this—

But overriding Shaw’s babbling was Charles, still focused on Erik, still pleading with him, despite their severed connection.

“No, please, Erik, no.” Charles’ voice was quavering but his power remained strong. Erik could see through Shaw’s eyes as the coin approached, could feel Shaw screaming, but most of all could feel Charles begging to be heard by him. “Please, Erik.”

Erik finally understood the fear. It wasn’t that Charles was so afraid of Erik killing Shaw—Charles was afraid the Erik was going to kill him.

Charles thought he was about to die, but held onto Shaw anyway.

As the coin drew nearer and nearer to Shaw, Erik could hear Charles whimper one last “please”. And then the pain started. Charles could only scream, but even in his agony, Erik could still hear him mentally calling out for him.

Erik, Erik, please, it hurts. Erik could feel Shaw’s skin splitting and his skull cracking, could feel the shards of bone impaling nerves and skin. When Erik killed Shaw, it felt like no time at all passed between the moment the coin entered his head and passed out the other side, but to Charles—this was an eternity. Erik could pinpoint the exact time Shaw’s screams finally cut out, but Shaw was still feeling, which meant Charles was too. After what felt like years, Charles’ connection to Shaw cut out, and Charles’ mind went black.

[hezekiahwakely]

After spending literally multiple days and nights listening to hours of new music, here are my thoughts on what the Protocol playlists might tell us about the characters. I'm gonna break it down by large themes and I'm putting it under a read more bc I don't know how to not ramble about this. its SO MUCH

Gwendolyn Bouchard 👁️

Hers is the most self-explanatory. Girlboss is girlbossing and paying for it. But I did pick up several nuances.

Gwen is: Cold, power-hungry, and ambitious (you should see me in a crown, Are You Satisfied?, Severance theme). Suffering from her own hubris (Oh No!, Gasoline). Resentful and envious, especially about family, wealth, and power (Family Jewels, 24 hours, Warriors). Touching the dark and being supernaturally influenced (Mr. Bonzo theme, Evil Eye, We Don't Talk About Bruno, Making Love to the Dead).

Special mention to the 'daddy's money' reference in 24 hours.

Samama Khalid 😶‍🌫️

Sam makes ridiculously long playlists, like me, so this entry is gonna be long, but the emotional vibes were pretty easy to pick out once I got through it.

Sam is: Straight chillin' to some lo-fi beats, desi hip hop, and melodic bops (literally too many to list but, Remind Me, Forgive the Mess, 93 'Til Infinity, Magpie, Fire Sale, Iniesta Flow, I Guess, Prarthana, Hai Hai, etc., etc.). Rebellious (The Adults Are Talking, Reptilia). Bonded with someone (Halo Flip, soulboy). Yearning, romantic, and playful (Girl Like You, Mr. Sandman, New House, Meteor, You Only Live Once, Be Your Girl, Dear Jean, Say The Word, My Girl/Hey Girl, Smiley, The Real Sugar). Reminiscing about a break-up (Oui, Afterparty Lover, Last Nite, Stick Season, Turn off the Lights, Jessie (i miss you), WONDERING, Afterthought, I Love You, I'm Trying). Full of regrets, pain, and melancholy bitterness (Seasons, Can't Call It, Let It Go, nightmares, Pretty Insane, different tomorrow..., Cigarette Daydreams, CABIN FEVER, Self destruct, Go Back, Stuck Here With Me, Bliss City). Alienated, yet wanting to be alone (uh-oh) (Creep, Alone, Stone cold., Paint it, Black).

Special shout-out to all the implications about the old Sam/Alice relationship. And I'm especially worried by the potential meanings of Downside Up, Let It Go, Go Back, and Stuck Here With Me.

Also, interesting that there's a lyric-free track just called 'drained' at the end of his playlist. I'm sure that's fine.

Alice Dyer 🌀

Oh my girl. What is going on with you. She has impeccable and predictable taste, at least. But... then there's the Ominous Implications again...

Alice is: Rebellious, anarchic, and irreverent (Underclass Hero, Toxicity, Tribute, Buddy Holly, Dragostea din tei, Feel Good Inc., Piss Off, Rebel Rebel, Ghost Town, Brimful of Asha, Surrender, Uncle Walter, United States of Whatever). Blasting high-confidence power anthems (Material Girl, Therefore I Am, Jump, Bad Reputation, The Middle). Depressed behind a mask of high energy and false cheeriness (SugarCrash!, Mad World, Bathroom Floor). Yearning after someone's love (A.M. 180, Zombie Love Song, Nearer Than Heaven, Save Tonight, Ms. California, Because I Love You, Fell In Love With A Girl, Take Me Out). Reminiscing about a break-up (Ciao!, Built This Way, Kidz 'N' Stuff, FRIENDS, Free Fallin', Not In Love, Who Knew, Song for the Dumped, When It All Falls Apart, Laid, Complicated). Feeling crazy and overwhelmed (uh-oh) (Basket Case, In Too Deep, Bonkers, I'm A Robot, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, 19-2000, Wonderland, High, Undone, Cosmic Castaway). Creeped out and brushing up against the supernatural (Walking On Air, The Blue Wrath, Pet Sematary).

Oooh. Oh, the implications. The Sam/Alice break-up. The potential for feelings that remain. I HAVE to know what happened between them.

Also, here are some select lines from five Alice songs presented without comment: "Yeah, I'm a zombie, baby," "I'm a robot, I'm a robot/I don't have any feeling in my heart," "I don't wanna be buried in a Pet Sematary/I don't want to live my life again," "Take me down, six underground/The ground beneath your feet," "Walking like a zombie, like a zombie."

I'm sure that's all fine.

Celia Ripley 🕸️

The most mysterious new member of the OIAR, her music choices are appropriately enigmatic. The Vibes make me excited to see what she's hiding under the surface.

Celia is: Raring for a fight (Seven Nation Army, Rumble, know your place, Run from Me). Fed up with the system (Blood//Water, Run You). Bold, sexy, headstrong, and self-confident (Creature, Took A Trip, River, Do It For Me, Aerials, Uber). Struggling against supernatural influence, feeling trapped and helpless (Mama! There's a Spider in My Room, Where Is My Mind?, I Feel Like I'm Drowning, Closer, Space Dementia, Rain)

So we've all but confirmed the theory that she's from the OG Archives timeline and that she has continuing ties to the Web from passing through Hill Top Road. I think we have hints here that she's manipulating the others, but I also think there are signs that she's fighting her own battle against an evil trying to take her. There also seems to be an overarching theme of water in many of her songs for some reason 🤔

I can't wait to get more of Celia. Even if she is lying, I'm rooting for her (<hoping this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass)

In conclusion, I love them all already your honor, and I want to thank the cast for putting such loving care into crafting these for us. Thank you for such great food to feed our wild theorizing.

[omgellendean]

Found a great thread on how social assistance denies dignity to recipients.

(copied it here in case it disappeared)

"I came from poverty and very deliberately avoided 'services' and organizations that could have assisted me. I did not apply for social housing. I lived in places that were definitely not up to code. I worked multiple jobs. Just to avoid being part of system for 'poor people.'

"When I became wheelchair user & alone, I was moved into social housing. The day I moved in almost broke me. I never cried about my dx, about my disability, not even about all my savings being gone or any of the rest. But moving becoming "a client" was the line.

"The only way I could breathe is I told myself - and anyone within earshot - that I would be working again and out of social housing in a year. That was 14 years ago.

"I see all these progressives wax poetic about the wonders of social housing and various programs "for the poor." But there is a price that comes with that "help" - we don't 'help' you unless we deem you "helpless."

"The programs in social housing assume incompetence. "Let us teach you how to budget. Let us teach you how to make a boiled egg." The air is thick with the smugness of "helping our lessers." And judgment.

"So I don't know anything about the people who built that home but I understand why it would feel like more of a home than a shelter or a "unit" in the "housing stock" for "the poor." I understand why that feels like dignity.

To become successful at being poor within the system you need to perform acts of gratitude for things you shouldn't have to. You need to self-flagellate. You need to show you are deferential. You need to prove your situation is shitty as it is.

If you fail to prove your situation is as extremely shitty as they require then they will make sure it becomes worse. If you are on benefits you are not even allowed to pay your own rent - the state decides to handle this for you - because again, assumed incompetence.

"I have been offered home care. I declined. At some point i won't be able to decline but home care can act like state surveillance. And it just takes one ableist aid to make a report 'concerned' about something like a coffee burn.

"I was forced to use power wheelchair not manual for years bc an OT saw me struggle first time I transferred onto the toilet in this apt - because the bathroom is inaccessible. Chair moved a bit, I didn't fall but that was enough to override my choice.

"In GF Strong there was another young woman and we both wanted to get rear-drive power wheelchair instead of mid-drive or front-wheel. GF staff strongly discouraged rear-wheel. She was pressured out of it and she kept rooting for me. When I surrendered she couldn't even look at me

"We knew they broke us. We knew in that moment we were 'tamed' - albeit temporarily, as I had a plan to get a wheelchair on my own. I just couldn't handle another conflict with staff, I was already on thin ice fighting not to be sent to a nursing home.

"The idea of having a home - where you are not a client - and there is no 'staff' deciding if you are poor enough - not "too disabled" to be unsafe - no judgment, no surrendering power, self-worth - sounds great to me.

"Incidentally this is also why the proponents of MAID marketing it to disabled poor people as ‘chance to assert your autonomy’ is so deeply and intentionally malicious. It’s a fake autonomy injected into people state deprives of real autonomy.

"Changed who can reply to NO ONE because I really do not want to read about how "these people" should be given a job. These are some of the good ones. Oh yeah, these poor people impressed you. Literally also not the point of the thread. But why start listening to poor people now.

"Will probably delete the thread and also possibly my account.

"OK turns out I want to say a few more things before I decide if I'm leaving this site for good. YOU may be amazed that some poor people did this. I - an actual poor person who lives around poor people - am very much NOT. And the way you are fixating on this like they cured cancer

"Is just the progressive version of othering us. I'm not amazed. Because I know poor people. So no, not amazed at all. That was not the point of my thread. Not even a tiny, little bit. Stop turning these people into some sort of circus freak version of poor people.

"Stop exceptionalizing them. Stop being shocked. Or at least stop fucking doing those things in a poor person's mentions. OMFG I'm here talking about dignity being stripped form us and you want to turn them into your poster child for the sustainability or whatever."