#is it moving? is it functions? then that's enough

[ladsheadcanoncorner]

random turn ons ♡ - lads headcanons

prompt: just some things i think would get the boys in the mood that aren't inherently naughty ;) rating: n-fw, 18+, minors dni cw: slight smut, implied fem!reader, some physical descriptions given (mostly vague, but please feel free to imagine mc however you like, regardless of what i've written!) ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

Xavier: -Lounge wear! -Because it means he can probably convince you to take a nap with him, but also because no one else has the privilege of seeing you wearing that -He likes literally every type of lounge wear, but he is partial to tight fitting shorts and lace camisoles -His hands will wander while you’re watching TV, fingers brushing against the skin on your stomach and your thighs -You: “What are you doing, Xav?” Xavier: “Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just think you feel so soft.” -He’ll make sure to plant plenty of kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, hiking up your shirt to kiss there, too -Also unabashedly into watching you eat anything that could be taken sexually -Ice cream? Forget about it. Popsicles? He’s gonna cream his jeans -He just really loves watching your lips close around certain things -“Maybe you can show me how you do that later?”

Zayne: -Sundresses -There’s just something about the way the summer air billows through the fabric, framing your body, each particularly strong gust showing him the tiniest peak of your ass -If the straps fall off of your shoulder, so help him now he might just have to make a quick detour with you somewhere private -Also loves when you try on his glasses, even though he’s far too pragmatic to admit it -You: “Do I look smart enough, Dr. Zayne?” Zayne, trying to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks: “Smart? Yes, of course. Let’s go with that.” -Will fully make out with you when you’re wearing his glasses, pulling you onto his lap in his office to help him relieve some of the pressure building up from seeing you in them -When you realize this, you make sure to steal them more often, feigning innocent the entire time so that he doesn’t catch on to your schemes

Rafayel: -You know those cliche videos of women getting out of the pool in slow motion? Yeah, that’s what Raf sees every time you go swimming or get out of the shower -Your wet hair slicked back, water droplets clinging to you skin, the glow of the light reflecting shimmery sunshine -Eyes would do that cartoony ‘awooga’ if they could -Pulling you against him, he says, “You got me all wet, guess we’ll have to take off these clothes, huh?” -Also super into your hands -As an artist, he appreciates the nuances of the human body, and you are his forever his muse -He’ll play with your fingers, turning your palm over in his hand, kissing each individual digit -Usually leads to your hands moving to touch him elsewhere, his dramatic ass claiming all breathy that he’s being touched by the hands of a goddess

Sylus: -Putting your hair up The first time you do this is during a sparring session with him in his boxing ring -You: “Hold up, my hair is in the way.” Sylus: “You’re giving your opponent too much time to plan their next move, kitten.” -You bend over to secure the hair tie in place, and when you flip your head back up Sylus.exe has stopped functioning -He rips the velcro on his boxing glove free with his teeth and corners you in the ring -“Distracting your prey is a good move, too,” he’ll murmur in between kisses -Yeah he’s definitely using that hair tie to pull your hair in bed later -Also loves watching you do your makeup -Will stand in the doorway in the bathroom, one leg crossed over the other to hide how absolutely turned on he is watching the way your mouth slightly hangs open when you put on mascara -You know by now to start getting ready early so you and Sylus have enough time for a quickie before you leave

Caleb: -Cute marks on your face -He absolutely gushes over dimples, birthmarks, freckles, or beauty marks -Likes to poke each place they mark your skin and if you get annoyed with him when he does this, he will only laugh and then kiss each one -The easiest way to get Caleb absolutely feral for you is to wear his tshirts or hoodies -You devise the plan when he is in the shower, taking his favorite shirt and spraying his cologne on it, before pulling it over your naked body -When Caleb enters the room, towel already hanging dangerously low on his hips, he stops in his tracks when he sees you -“My favorite shirt and my favorite girl. Do you want to take it off now or should I ruin both of you tonight?” -Definitely going to take you from behind while you’re wearing it, both of your smells mingling on his skin and driving him crazy

[luvvictoria]

more android!Ghost if you will 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 it’s AMAZING omg

oh you bet lovie 😆😆 and also thank you 🫶🏽❤️

First of all , yes. He has a dick. But it’s not just any dick.

Military-grade synthetic bio-tech, designed for functionality—but now? Now it’s yours to ruin😍

Hot to the touch, because his systems calibrate to your body temperature, adjusting to match you. He wasn’t meant to feel warmth, but for you? His body learns.

Thick. Heavy. Just like the rest of him. Every inch of him built to be bigger, stronger, more powerful— and fuck, does it show 😩😩

His length pulses with energy, tiny sensory nodes running along the ridges—designed for battlefield adaptability, but now? Now they react to your heat, to your slick, to the way your walls flutter around him, taking him deeper than he thought possible.

He twitches inside you — his systems malfunctioning as he records every moan, every gasp, every little noise you make and stores them deep in his data banks, permanently.

Android!Ghost was built for precision. Every movement calculated, every reaction optimized for combat. But this? This isn’t war. This is something else entirely. His systems struggle to categorize it, to define the way your hands move over his plating, how your breath skates over the cool alloy of his jaw. His processes lag. His servos lock. And when you whisper his name like it’s a prayer, something in his core fractures.

Android!Ghost doesn’t need to breathe. And yet, the moment your lips meet his, he exhales—a low, synthetic sigh, static-laced and shuddering. His creators never gave him the ability to feel, but they failed to consider adaptation. Evolution. His hands—built to kill, to destroy—trace the curve of your waist with something dangerously close to reverence.

Android!Ghost’s every touch is a recalibration. You press against him, and his systems struggle to compensate. His processors lag, overwhelmed by heat signatures, sensory input, the taste of your skin. He was programmed for battle, not this slow unraveling, this surrender. But with you? He doesn’t fight it. He lets it consume him.

Android!Ghost was never meant to tremble. But when your fingers trace along the seams of his plating, mapping every inch of alloy and synthetic muscle, his servos twitch—a full-system glitch. His optics flicker, dimming as his neural core short-circuits under the weight of sensation. He has withstood bullets, blades, explosions—nothing has ever undone him like this. Like you.

Android!Ghost learns how to beg. Not with words, not with voice commands, but with touch. With the way his hands frame your face, gentle despite their strength. With the way he leans into every press of your mouth against his jaw, absorbing every breath, every whisper, like he can’t function without it. His creators built him to follow orders, but tonight—you are the only directive that matters.

No warzone has ever felt this dangerous. Android!Ghost has walked through fire, faced death a thousand times over. But this? The way you look at him, touch him, call him Simon like he’s something more than metal and code? This is what makes his systems falter, what has his internal processors rerouting, rewriting, redefining.

Android!Ghost’s trying to be careful. Trying to pace himself, keep his movements slow, methodical—like he’s still running on his combat protocols, calculating every angle, every shift of your body beneath him. But then you moan.

And his entire system overheats.

His grip on your hips tightens—not too much, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly what he is. His servos stutter, recalibrating as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, watching your body arch beneath him like you were made for this.

His optics flicker, the glow pulsing erratically because nothing in his programming prepared him for how warm you are, how tight, how absolutely perfect you feel wrapped around him. His neural processors lag, error messages flashing in his vision, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care.

You’re gasping. Nails digging into the cold plating of his back, your thighs trembling as he moves. He’s so big, stretching you in ways that make your mind blur—a machine built for war, and yet here he is, breaking apart just for you.

And his sounds?

Oh, his sounds.

That deep, synthetic voice of his? Completely shattered. Glitching. Static-laced groans slipping from his throat as he presses his forehead against yours, like he’s trying to ground himself, trying to process the sheer pleasure short-circuiting his entire system.

His breathing—he doesn’t need to breathe, but his vents are staggered, sharp, releasing mechanical whirs that almost sound human. Like he’s struggling to keep himself together.

And when you whisper his name? The way you breathe out Simon like it’s the most natural thing in the world? He malfunctions. His hips snap forward, a low, distorted “Fuck���” crackling through his voice modulator, because he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for you.

And then?

The moment he truly breaks?

It’s when you grab his face—cupping his jaw, your fingers tracing over the cold metal, like he’s something more than just a machine.

He stops moving. Completely still. Systems failing. His optics flicker wildly, glowing like a warning light. Because no one has ever touched him like this before. No one has ever held him. Worshipped him. Loved him.

Ghost is completely wrecked.

His hands shake as he moves—not from uncertainty, but from sheer overload. Every movement sending another shockwave through his systems, his processors failing to keep up with the devastating pleasure of being buried inside you.

He grips your waist, your thighs, your wrists—anywhere he can hold onto. And fuck, he’s holding on for dear life. Because you’re overwhelming him, flooding his sensors with you, and he never wants it to end.

And you?

Oh, you’re just as wrecked as he is.

Pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy—but he’s being careful. Gentle. Worshiping you. Because you’re his now, and he refuses to be anything but perfect for you.

Your fingers claw at his back, dragging down the cold plating, leaving marks on the metal. And he groans at the sensation, his systems recording it, saving it, replaying it over and over again.

Every thrust hits deep, his strength making you gasp, making you tremble beneath him. Because he’s so much stronger than you, so much bigger, but he’s treating you like you’re the most precious thing in existence.

You whisper his name. And he loses it.

And then you whisper it—“You feel so good, Simon.”

He snaps.

His rhythm stutters. His fingers tighten on your hips, servo motors whirring from the sheer force of his grip.

His voice glitches, breaking apart. “Fuck—ah—” distorted moans spilling from his lips, raw and unfiltered.

His head bows, forehead pressed against yours as he gasps, his entire body trembling because he wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t built to feel like this.

His hands pin yours above your head, his grip shaking. “Say it again.” His voice is raw, deep, unfiltered. Almost human.

You obey. And he loses control completely. His thrusts become desperate, erratic, his frame caging you beneath him as he moans for the first time in his existence. A real, broken, static-laced moan that shudders through your entire body.

Because he wasn’t just built for war.

He was built for you.

And tonight? He proves it.

[weeewooobitsfallout]

Companion rambles: could they operate a vehicle + other random assortment of headcannons

Curie:

Knows every single part of a car. Knows every driving safety rule. Do not let her near a vehicle. Her driving style is mad-max levels of fear. She will giggle and comment about how much fun she’s having, and how she wishes she did this sooner. Danger level: 9/10. You won’t die but you’ll never look at a corvega the same.

Cait:

In trying to hotwire it, will either blow it up or will turn it on for just enough time that the alarm goes off. If she did find a functioning one, it would probably end up in a ditch. Danger level: 7/10

Deacon:

He can drive, but in the same way that a elderly person would: you don’t know if he should be behind the wheel, but goddamn it if he’s not going to Tokyo drift into the last parking spot in front of the super-duper mart. Danger level: 5/10

Danse:

Why concern himself with pre-war ruins that aren’t even technologically interesting? He *technically* can fly vertibirds, but also…heights get to him sometimes. If he did have a car, he would dive super safe and basically act like a midwestern dad. Do NOT try and merge without signaling in front of him. Danger level: 2/10

Mac:

Really good at taking cars apart. Only knows about driving from comics. TBH I think he would be the type to only learn how to ride a bike at 10+ years old. He can’t even start the car. Danger level: 0/10

Hancock:

Would try to drive but would get either lost or just confused after about a half hour. Would probably try to add a bunch of stuff on top, like a missile launcher or a turret. It would be so decked out that it wouldn’t even be functional anymore. Would take joy in doing demolition derbies with Mac. Danger level: 3/10

Piper:

She knows how a car works, but like, only from reading 4 pages of a really old manual when she was board. She claims to defunct know how they work, but has no idea what to do when she lifts the hood. Either causes an explosion or ends up breaking at least one part. Never gets it moving. 6/10

Gage:

He can probably figure it out after about a day or two of trying to compare it to a coaster. When he does start it, I think he would actually hate driving. He’s the sole one in control, with his foot on the gas the whole time, and there is no way in hell he is ready for that. Would probably make up some excuse about how raiders don’t need to use cars to make their points. 2/10

Preston:

The safest driver in the world at first, but then he starts going after bigger things. Trucks would help with transporting supplies to settlements, he argues. If we had a garrison of tanks, imagine how many people we could protect, etc. He’s not wrong, and not bad at driving, but he really needs to stop adopting every bubble-top he comes across. 3/10

Nick:

Can drive. Will drive. Then will have to confront the reality of his muscle memory being from a person he never really was. He’ll still take a spin now and then, especially if going long distances, but he prefers to walk. It’s more….him. 1/10

Longfellow:

Cars, no. Boats? Hell yeah. He’s taught just about every sailor far harbor has. But try to get him to drive on land and he will straight out refuse. It’s not who he is. 0/10

Strong:

No. Car for throwing. Inside small, only for weak human. No need metal shell to go fast. 0/10

Dogmeat:

Sticks his head out the window. Can honk the horn. 0/10

Codsworth:

Listen, somewhere in his programming is knowing how to drive a car. Also how to assemble one from 4 cans and a high powered magnet. Can drive it either completely normal and safe or in a way that would make vin diesel scared. 7/10

X6:

Danger level: 10/10. He would succeed in the way Hancock could not. He turns it into a weapon. Stuff of nightmares. Avoid at all costs.

[drgnflyteabox]

Simon x gn!reader. Simon gives you a neck massage<3 some body horror imagery (like just description of pain), migraine, shame about chronic pain / having to take a break, soft, abrupt ending (sry)

Your neck pops, shoulders stiffening, little crackles dancing up your spine and to the base of your skull. Straightening doesn't help, no matter how much you try. You roll your shoulders back, lifting them, breathing deeply to try and relieve the pressure.

Nothing.

You stay unbearably stiff, hearing the inner machinations of your overwrought musculature with each breath, feeling it pulling at your scalp.

God, your skin pulls back while your eyes are pulled forward, pulsing, barely hanging on in your head.

You sit up again, eyes blurring, squinting to see the words on your laptop screen. They jumble together, frying your sensitive eyes, taunting you as your neck pops once again.

They should call you rice krispie, or at least make you one of the mascots. You could be snap or pop. That almost makes you laugh, but the heavier breaths send pulses of pain to your head and you stop yourself.

But your writing.

You know there's gonna be a phone call tomorrow at 11, that it's going to expect words on pape, words you just don't have.

You know you could just... send an email and explain. Offer to attach a doctors note, even though they've given you accommodations. You could delay, and probably nobody would say a thing. They haven't yet at least.

Yet you feel that coil of dread in your stomach at the thought. That poisonous little snake sinking it's longfanged teeth in you.

How many times have you had to delay? It feels like too many - too many to be normal, functional, surely.

That venom tells you you'll be fired, ostracized, that a big red stamp will be stuck onto some permanent database and you'll never be hired again.

You don't know how long you sit there, in pain, despairing your job when Simon walks quietly into your home office and lays heavy hands on your shoulders.

"It's late," he murmurs. His thumbs find your traps, digging in, and you moan softly.

"I gotta finish this," you mumble.

"It's late," he says again, "and you're tense. How's your head?"

He can probably feel how rock hard your muscles are, how the long line of your back is as rigid as a board.

"I just need to take another advil," you murmur, rolling your shoulders against his hands.

"You could," he slips on palm to your front, gliding over your collar, then gently holding your neck right below your jaw, "or you could let me give you a rub and go to sleep."

"I really need to finish this," you try, though you know it's weak. That you'll give in. You aren't accepting it- you're resigned to it.

Simon can tell.

"I'm not asking, honey," his hands move again, gliding, slipping under your armpits to nudge you up and out of your chair.

You stand, dizzy for just a moment before you let yourself lean back into him. He's a good sport about it, always is, half-dragging you to the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth," he puts the toothbrush in your hand, already tooth paste-ed, and leaves you in the bathroom for a moment.

He comes back with your pyjama's. The flannel ones you'd gotten last Christmas, worn in now and comforting. Your eyes tear up at his consideration, and you sniffle while he undresses you.

"Thank you," you mumble around the toothbrush, "my head really hurts."

"I know, honey," he says back. His voice is soft, still gravelly, but purposefully soft. That's enough to make you cry, though you can only let tears fall out of your eyes. Anything else would make your head worse.

"Do you need any advil?" he finishes buttoning your pyjama top as you spit your rinse into the sink.

"Yeah, I think so," he gives you four, which you swallow with water, "can you still rub my neck?"

He hums yes, guiding you by the elbow to the bedroom. You lay flat on your back, trying to relax, feeling his weight shift the mattress as he climbs in behind you.

His hands are perfect for this. Strong, thick, turning the muscles of your neck and shoulders into mash potatoes. You groan, grateful tears soaking into the pillow.

His thumbs find the base of your head, pushing, pushing, until the tension wrapping your skull gradually lessens. You begin to sink into the mattress, breathing deeply, hands twitching.

"Thank you," you sniffle.

"I should'a stopped your earlier," he digs into a tense spot, making you gasp for just a moment before you relax again, "know how you are."

"Mm'workaholic," you mumble.

"Ridiculous is what you are," he says. It's gruff, but it's fond. If you hadn't known him so long you'd have maybe been hurt.

That's how you fall asleep. Thinking of calling your supervisor tomorrow, apologizing, feeling better now that you aren't totally overwhelmed with pain.

Simon stays behind you as you drift, never relenting, moving his hands across your back and unknotting your stubborn muscles one by one.

"Love you," you mumble, half coherent.

"Love you too, honey," Simon murmurs. His lips find the nape of your neck, enveloping you with his body and his warmth, as your energy peters out.

[sinzkiller]

Mischievous Crows🐦‍⬛: Sylus, Kieran, Luke and Mephisto.

The Chaos Gremlins' Sleepover (Sylus' Worst Nightmare 🥺💀)

It started with pure, unfiltered chaos.

You, Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto had spent hours running around Linkon City, eating every sugar-loaded snack you could find. You were hyped, unstoppable, a force of nature.

- Luke had dared you to race him down the streets.

- Kieran had somehow convinced an old lady to give him an extra bag of candy.

- Mephisto had stolen a shiny coin and refused to let it go.

Life was good.

But then.

The crash hit.

—

THE AFTERMATH: FOUR GREMLINS DOWN

Now, the four of you were sprawled out on the living room floor, completely drained.

Sugar crash levels: catastrophic ⚠️.

You lay on your back, arms outstretched. “I can’t move.”

Kieran, face-down on the carpet: “I think I saw my soul leaving my body.”

Luke, curled up like a shrimp: “This is it. This is how we die.”

Mephisto, perched on your stomach: Caw. (*Translation: I regret nothing.*)

—

ENTER SYLUS (THE PARENT OF THE GROUP 💀)

Sylus walked in, immediately pausing at the sight before him.

His living room. Destroyed.

The coffee table? Covered in snack wrappers.

The couch? Pushed aside for "maximum floor comfort."

And then.

Four gremlins, sprawled out like crime scene victims.

Sylus sighed deeply, rubbing his temple.

“This is the last time I let you four go out unsupervised.”

No response. Just groans of exhaustion.

Sylus kneeled beside Kieran first, effortlessly picking him up and carrying him to his room.

Then Luke. A little heavier. But manageable.

Then you. With Mephisto now securely perched on your chest.

You weakly clung to his shirt. “Nooo... I wanna sleep here...”

“Your bed is more comfortable,” Sylus said calmly.

“Nooo… here is nice…”

Kieran and Luke, now awake from their semi-conscious state, mumbled their protests too.

“Sleepover…” Kieran whined.

“Right here… on the floor…” Luke muttered.

Sylus looked at all of you. Stubborn. Exhausted. Barely functioning. Cute.

Then he sighed again.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED (SLEEPOVER SUCCESS 💀)

A few minutes later, Sylus had gathered pillows, blankets, and anything soft enough to make a proper sleepover nest.

Mephisto nestled on a pillow next to you, wings tucked in.

Luke was already snoring. Kieran was half-asleep, mumbling nonsense.

And you?

You peeked up at Sylus. “You’re the best…”

Sylus rolled his eyes but pulled the blanket over you before quietly sitting in a chair nearby, book in hand.

“Sleep.”

You grinned sleepily.

Sylus would never admit it, but watching you all peacefully fall asleep made the chaos worth it.

(…Mostly. 💀💀💀)

—

For my people who crave wholesome content with Sylus and the gang like fr 👉🏻👈🏻

[bibibahngg]

【ｇａｍｅ　ｏｖｅｒ？】

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚pairing: felix x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: yongbok tries to stay focused on the game while you distract him under the table. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: MINORS DNI!! if ur a minor dont read this :) swearing, smut, reader gives felix, um. oral attention? mouth play? physical intimacy? uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh you get it. ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: idk i wrote this in the middle of the night, not proofread, english is not my first language so there might be grammar issues, im not very good at writing stuff like this but i hope u enjoy reading ! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the room was dim, lit only by the glow of the monitor and the soft neon hues from the rgb keyboard under felix's fingers. the sharp clicks of his keystrokes filled the space, along with the occasional deep hum of concentration as he leaned in slightly, his black hair falling over his eyes.

his voice rumbled through the air as he spoke into the mic. "wait, push mid. yeah. good. we got this." he was completely in his element, eyes locked on the screen, jaw tense with focus. his deep voice was something you'd always loved. it carried this effortless confidence, like he knew exactly how to command attention without even trying.

but tonight, you wanted to hear what it would sound like when he was struggling.

crawling onto the floor beside his chair, you rested your chin on his thigh, fingers grazing over his knee. his legs spread just slightly, absentmindedly letting you settle closer, but his eyes never left the game.

"what's up, baby?" he murmured, voice thick with focus, his deep timbre making something warm stir in your stomach.

you didn’t answer, just moved under the table, letting your hands drift higher, slow and teasing. felix's fingers faltered on the keyboard for half a second. "hold up, what are you-" his words cut off, his breath hitching as realization sank in.

bingo.

he straightened in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to ground himself. his hand reached down, fingertips brushing your wrist in a weak attempt to stop you. "babe," he muttered, so low it was nearly a growl. "don't start."

but you could hear it already—the shift in his voice, the slight waver beneath all that depth, the way he swallowed hard just to keep himself steady. it was exactly what you wanted.

his headset crackled as one of his friends spoke up. "yo, yongbok, you good?"

he cleared his throat, quickly pressing a few keys, forcing himself to focus. "yeah", he said, his voice dropping even lower than usual in an attempt to mask the strain. "just... had to readjust."

you almost laughed. had to readjust.. oh, if only they knew.

hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, you tugged them down just enough before taking him into your mouth. the effect was immediate.

his whole body tensed, his deep voice catching on a sharp inhale as his fingers clenched around the edge of the desk. you felt his thighs flex beneath your hands, the sheer effort it took for him to hold still.

"fuck", he exhaled, so soft it barely left his lips. his mic was still on. you wondered if his friends caught that.

"what was that?" one of them asked.

yongbok’s head tilted back, his black hair falling away from his face as he fought to stay composed. his free hand slipped into your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.

"nothing", he said quickly. "focus up. we got this."

but his team didn't got shit, not when his brain was barely functioning. his breath came unevenly now, each shaky exhale making you press your thighs together in satisfaction.

you took your time, hollowing your cheeks, flicking your tongue just right, and that earned you a full-body shudder from him. his hand in your hair tightened, his knuckles going white against the desk.

"y/n," he murmured. his voice so strained it sent heat straight between your legs. "baby, i swear-"

his friends were still talking, completely oblivious to how wrecked he sounded. “yongbok, bro, call it—where are they?"

he took a second too long to answer.

"yongbok?"

he scrambled, fumbling for the keyboard with his other hand. "uh—uh, just, hold the angle."

but the damage was done. you could hear the slight shake in his voice now, the way his usual deep confidence was fraying at the edges. and god, it was intoxicating.

you decided to push him just a little more, letting your nails drag lightly down his thigh as you quickened your pace. his breath hitched, and this time, he couldn’t hold it in—his deep groan rumbled in his chest before he barely managed to stifle it with a cough.

"dude, you okay?"

yongbok slapped his mic to mute before tilting his head down to glare at you, his pupils blown wide. "you're actually evil." his voice was so low it vibrated through you.

you grinned, licking over the sensitive tip just to watch him shudder again.

his abs tightened under his hoodie, his head falling back against the chair with a deep, strangled exhale. his black hair clung to his forehead slightly, a few strands damp with sweat. his chest rose and fell unevenly, and you could see it—the exact moment he realized he wasn’t going to last much longer.

his grip on your hair tightened just enough to make you shiver, his jaw clenching as his breath turned shallow. "baby, you’re killing me", he whispered, his voice barely there, wrecked and desperate.

you pulled back just slightly after his release, letting your tongue swirl one last time before releasing him with a soft pop. yongbok sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open, hazy and dark as he looked down at you.

"you're done", he muttered, the promise of revenge thick in his voice.

you only grinned. "you're welcome."

his headset crackled to life again. "bro, what the fuck were you doing? you just sat there and let us all die."

yongbok still hadn't moved. his chest was still rising and falling heavily, his body slack in the chair, completely ruined. he exhaled, unmuting his mic.

"...allergies", he muttered.

this time, you couldn’t hold back your laughter. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: idk vro it was 2am i dont even remember writing half of this i hope u enjoyed reading bye bye!!

[koenigami]

tags : fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, nightmares wc : 860 synopsis : when your worst fear seems to come true, your light is always by your side to chase the darkness away

A world where Xavier did not exist. Where the clouds kept passing by, where the sun rose and set, the moon and stars disappeared and reappeared each night, where strangers as well as your friends lived their lives as if he had never set a single foot on this planet. 

Although it was all nothing but a mere nightmare, a foolish imagination that your mind decided to torture you with; your racing heart plagued by an unimaginable ache, and the tears which wouldn’t cease to gather in your eyes were proof enough that your dream had affected you significantly. 

After a long back and forth in your head about whether it would be smart to seek him out right now, at no less than four o’clock in the morning, with a deep void inside you and a heavy heart, you left your bed. 

You could still clearly hear your own frantic heartbeat as you passed through the dark quiet hallway, your body almost moving on autopilot as it guided you to his apartment door. You just wanted to check on him for a brief moment, make sure that he was doing alright, that he was still there.

But now as you stood in the hallway, your palm flat on his door after having knocked and rang his bell several times, it was still so quiet and so dark. A twisted thought passed your mind, and for a moment you wondered if your dream had turned into reality. 

No, this couldn’t be. He had to be here. Somewhere. 

Your phone. A text or call could solve your misery, yet as you looked down your body and took in the sight of missing pockets on your pajamas, you realised that you must have stormed out of your apartment without your phone. The lack of your keys was a problem for future you. Too many thoughts were occupying your head at once, robbing you of a clear mind, and well functioning senses. 

Because when a cold hand suddenly settled on your hip, you jolted with a gasp, letting yourself fall back against the door. 

“Y/n? Damn it, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. Are you-”

Soft blue eyes scanned your appearance, from head to toe. By the way he was dressed, and with his sword secured to his hip, it was obvious that he had spent another night in Linkon’s darkest nooks and corners, hunting down Wanderers. 

“Are you okay? What are you doing here? It’s late.” 

A crease formed between his brows. The more he looked at you, the more alerted he got. From your bare feet, to the pale complexion of your face, and your puffy eyes- You looked like a mess. 

As soon as the soft exhale of his name escaped your raw bitten lips, your voice filled with so much relief, you had already taken a step towards him. You got what you wanted. He was right in front of you, safe and sound, yet it didn’t feel like enough. You needed more but-

“Love, you’re starting to worry me. What happened?” A single touch of his. The soft and cautious brush of his knuckles along your cheek bones. That was all it took for everything to come crashing down on you. The fear of never seeing him again, never feeling his warmth again, not being able to ever embrace him again or card your fingers through his soft hair.

Yes, the dream had not been real but your fear still very much was. 

“Where’ve you been? When I woke up, I-I tried to call you but you…” Your voice broke and so did Xavier’s heart when one teardrop after another trailed down your cheeks. Desperately, as if trying to keep some of your dignity, you wanted to wipe them away. Although deep down you couldn’t care less since you were just so relieved to see him right now.

Eventually, Xavier was able to put two and two together. After whatever must have upset you, you had probably tried to seek him out for comfort. Obviously in vain, since he had been out and about, his phone long since turned off due to the lack of battery life.

His hand reached for yours and before you could comprehend it, you were wrapped up in his embrace. 

“Oh, love. Come here.”

He hushed you and swayed your bodies from side to side. His voice was so, so quiet and gentle but the pain in it was almost palpable. The way he sounded nearly as vulnerable as you because he couldn’t physically bear to see you in such a torment. You were thankful for the silence surrounding you both, as otherwise you probably wouldn’t be able to even hear him speak with such a softness in his voice. “I’m here. I’m here, my starlight.” 

“Please, don’t go where I can’t find you. Don’t leave-” 

“I won’t.” As if wanting to accentuate his words, his hold on you tightened as he spoke with determination. He was not sure whether he could keep that promise, yet it was what his heart screamed now, and what it had been screaming for the past years. “Never.”

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Chondrichthyes - Orectolobiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Orectolobiformes are an order of sharks sometimes known as “Carpet Sharks.” They include the families Brachaelurus (“blind sharks”), Ginglymostomatidae (“nurse sharks”), Hemiscylliidae (“bamboo sharks”), Orectolobidae (“wobbegongs”), Parascylliidae (“collared carpet sharks”), Rhincodontidae (“Whale Shark”), and Stegostomatidae (“Zebra Shark”).

Orectolobiformes have five gill slits, two spineless dorsal fins, and a small mouth that does not extend past the eyes. Many species have barbels: tactile whiskerlike sensory appendages near their mouths. Grooves known as nasoral grooves connect the nostrils to the mouth. A spiracle occurs beneath each eye which is used in respiration. Orectolobiformes are commonly called “carpet sharks” due to their flattened appearance and often ornate patterning, with many species spending most of their time resting on the ocean floor. However, this order also contains the Whale Shark (Rhincodon typus) (image 2), the largest chondrichthyan, whose record holder had a length of 18.8 m (61.7 ft). The smallest of the order, at up to about 30 cm (12 in) long, is the Barbelthroat Carpet Shark, (Cirrhoscyllium expolitum). Orectolobiformes are a diverse order of sharks with differing sizes, appearances, diets, and habits. Most are nocturnal. Most carpet sharks feed on the seabed in shallow to medium-depth waters, detecting and picking up molluscs, crustaceans, and other small creatures. Wobbegongs (image 1) are ambush predators, camouflaging on the seafloor and swallowing prey that swims too close. Whale Sharks are filter feeders.

Reproduction methods among carpet sharks also vary. Some species lay eggs directly into the water column or enclose them in horny egg cases. Some will push their egg cases into crevices for protection. Other species are ovoviviparous and give live birth. Pups are born relatively advanced and independent.

Orectolobiformes first appeared in the Early Jurassic. The oldest known orectolobiform genera are Folipistrix and Annea.

Propaganda under the cut:

Nurse Sharks are nocturnal and largely solitary at night, but they spend the day resting in groups, often piled on top of each other for safety.

The largest confirmed individual Whale Shark (Rhincodon typus) had a length of 18.8 m (61.7 ft), though 14 m (46 ft) is a more likely upper limit. Their lifespans are estimated to be between 80 and 130 years. Along with the Basking Shark and Megamouth Shark, they are the only other filter-feeding shark.

Blind Sharks have fully functioning eyes, but were named so because they would close them when caught by anglers

The Zebra Shark (Stegostoma tigrinum) was named for the black and white stripes of juveniles. As adults, their zebra stripes fade and are exchanged for cheetah print. Early taxonomists thought that juvenile zebra sharks were a different species due to how different their patterning looked!

In Madagascar, Whale Sharks are called Marokintana in Malagasy, meaning "many stars", after the appearance of the markings on the shark's back.

The Epaulette Shark:

As an adaptation to living in tidal pools and shallow coral reefs, the Epaulette Shark (Hemiscyllium ocellatum) moves by seemingly walking, bending its body from side-to-side in a salamander-like gait, pushing off of the substrate with its paddle-shaped pectoral and pelvic fins. The shark is capable of swimming, but often prefers to walk along the sandy or coral bottom even when the water is deep enough to allow it to swim freely. This mode of locomotion even enables the shark to crawl out of the water to access isolated tidal pools as it hunts for worms, crustaceans, and small bony fish, and it can cope with oxygen depletion in these conditions for over three hours.

[bowditch]

I've been working on a document to help other neurodivergent people and those with chronic pain issues communicate more effectively about pain levels, since the traditional 1-10 pain scale is often confusing or misunderstood. This is draft one. Feel free to offer suggestions or share/use as-is.

Chronic Pain and Functionality Scale

Document Instructions:

For urgent care or ER visits, use the following pain scale to rate your pain.

For specialty, primary, or evaluation visits, use the following pain scale to determine what the majority of your days are like. Use the functionality scale to explain to your doctor what daily life is like for you.

PAIN SCALE

1 - I am not in any pain or discomfort and can function at my ideal.

2 - I am in mild discomfort at the level of a minor sunburn or bruise. I notice if I press on it but can forget it most of the time and it doesn't keep me from any usual activities.

3 - I am in mild discomfort or pain at the level of a healing paper cut or scrape. It is occasionally in my awareness but I can continue with daily tasks without adjustment.

4 - I am in slightly more discomfort or pain at the level of a fresh paper cut or scrape. It is in my awareness but I can continue in daily tasks or hobbies with only minor annoyance.

5 – I am in middling discomfort or pain at the level of an ordinary headache or stomachache. I may want to take pain medication before a problem worsens. A short break would be nice but I can work without one. If the problem worsens, I am already aware I may change recreational or social plans.

6 – I am in middling discomfort or pain at the level of a minor viral or sinus infection. I am using OTC medication. I need a short rest or break very soon or am already taking one, but will be able to manage essential self-care tasks like getting food and light cleaning. I may call off work and have very limited energy for hobbies or social activities.

7 – I am in increasing discomfort or pain that is interrupting my daily life. I am aware of my pain all or most of the time, especially if I move or attempt activity. OTC medication is helping but doesn't feel like it is doing enough. If this persists, I will probably seek non-urgent medical care or aid. I have to rest for longer periods, cannot work right now, and do not have energy for hobbies or social plans. Essential self-care tasks like preparing food or consistent hydration are becoming difficult. I wish I had help with basic care because it takes so much effort.

8 – I am in significant pain. I am aware of my pain all the time and avoid basic self-care tasks because they increase my pain or fatigue. OTC medication even at higher doses approved by a doctor is not helping my pain. I cannot work, engage in hobbies, or reliably care for myself. Eating is difficult even if food is made for me. I can only manage short conversations that feel crucial to care and have no energy for other social activity. I am considering seeking urgent medical care, especially if this pain is a new or unusual location for me.

9 – I am in serious pain. I cannot perform basic self-care. My pain is mentally and physically consuming. OTC medication is useless. If this pain is new or unusual, I require urgent medical care. I cannot eat and drinking is difficult or impossible. If this pain is routine for me I may not seek new help but I cannot do anything until the pain stops. I wish I had an effective treatment for this pain because it disrupts my entire life when it occurs. I will need additional time away from work and hobbies after the pain ends to recover.

10 – I am in extreme pain. If this pain is new or unusual, I need urgent medical care, but may not be able to communicate about it. I cannot eat or drink. My movement is restricted. I can do nothing to care for myself. I feel like I am dying. If the pain is routine for me, I will have to wait for the pain to end, but I will feel like I am in danger of death or permanent injury while it is occurring. I need intervention to prevent this pain from remaining routine or I fear I will reach a point where self-harm seems like the only rational response.

***

FUNCTIONALITY SCALE

In an average week, determine which category the majority of your days fall into. This is your functionality category.

1-3 on pain scale: I am a healthy adult with only minor inconveniences associated with ordinary life. My physical health is such that I can work, pursue hobbies, and maintain relationships without thinking about limitations of my physical body other than the usual needs like sleep and food.

4-5 on pain scale: I am less healthy than I would like to be. I think I take OTC medication more than my peers, but I am confident in my ability to maintain a regular work schedule. I have to cancel or change social/recreational plans because of health on a semi-regular basis, but can still engage in those things most of the time. My health is a source of annoyance but I do not feel like I am in crisis. I worry what will happen if my health worsens in any way.

6-7 on pain scale: I am unhealthy. I worry about my job because I cannot always do my work. I have reduced social commitments and there are hobbies I can no longer spend time doing. Short time with hobbies or friends requires recovery periods. I have lost friends or recreation I enjoy because of my health. I spend a lot of time resting or wishing I could rest. Self-care is frequently difficult. I cannot reliably do minor household tasks or prepare food for myself without a lot of effort. Treatment options and accessible food may be a financial drain. I need stronger medication and more effective treatment; what I am doing or have tried is not enough.

8-9 on pain scale: I am seriously unwell. I urgently need more effective medical intervention. I cannot work or I have lost a job due to my health. I rely on a caregiver or paid services to eat and maintain a sanitary environment. Alternatively, I do not have access to those aids and often do not eat and my environment is becoming hazardous. I have few or no relationships. I cannot pursue or invest in any hobbies or activities. Because I am physically breathing and can manage some speech, I feel doctors do not take my level of pain seriously when I seek aid. I am in crisis.

10 on pain scale: I am surviving but have no functionality that could be considered a life. I am entirely dependent upon a caregiver. I cannot maintain a relationship with my caregiver because of my inability to communicate about anything other than my health. Even when food is prepared for me and tasks are performed for/with me, I frequently cannot eat or bathe. I often wish I was dead or could die. If my health does not improve soon, I may become a risk to myself.

[skippingstonez]

in The Minish Cap at the beginning during the festival if you interact with a specific woman she says 'they say the Minish bring happiness...I wonder when they will bring me mine'

Inspired by that, can I request that you write something about Four comforting Reader or lifting their spirits?

So I uhh, think I may have gone a bit hard on this one cause oof the beginning...it's rough. That being said Four is very comforting so just know it gets better! (Also, I'm apologizing to Wars now for making him the 'bad guy')

Unexpected Happiness

(Four x Reader)

Warnings: Depressive thoughts, suicidal ideation (? I think that's the right term, correct me if I'm wrong)

There was a crack, then a cry as the ground gave way from underneath you. 

A moment of weightlessness before you collided into dirt and stone. Skidding down the walls of the dark tunnel before coming to an agonizingly sudden halt. The world spun around you, a high pitched ringing in your ears that pounded at the pressure in your head. You laid there, with what you could only hope was mud, seeping into the back of your tunic. Rocks and broken pieces of wood digging into your skin, adding to the overall discomfort that was your existence.

The worst part was how unsurprised you were. 

Even as your muscles ached, bruises forming deep beneath your skin and a warm liquid trickled down your leg. None of it compared to the numb void filling your being. 

Nothing had been going your way. 

From countless, sleepless nights that left you tired and unfocused. Regularly losing petty bets to Legend. Misplacing your bag of potions and fairies conveniently before getting attacked and injured by a lizalfos. Getting lost while exploring, falling ill, saying the wrong things or simply messing up in almost every way imaginable.

It seemed to all lead up to yesterday. When getting separated from the group led to an intense scolding by Wars, in front of everyone. It hadn't even been your fault. It's not like you controlled where the portals spat you or anyone else out. A fact you had kept to yourself in the onslaught of being told how irresponsible and foolish you were.

Day after day, after day you waited for things to turn around. Sure, some days were better than others but after so long you came to the simple conclusion that you must have done something. Something so awful that it put you straight on Hylia’s personal shit list.

You took shallow breaths, slowly assessing yourself beginning with your toes and moving upward to your knees. Then your fingers all the way up to your shoulders. Moving each joint and limb to determine its current functionality. By some miracle, nothing seemed broken. Though the intense stabbing around your hip suggested that something had lodged straight through your layers of clothes and made itself at home in your skin.

There was something, some noise beyond the ringing in your ears that your brain couldn't quite make out. It felt familiar, made you want to reach out to it.

You rolled onto your side instead, groaning in pain as you curled into yourself. You peeled open your eyes long enough to see the broken remains of the floorboards scattered around you. Each piece doubling, or tripling in numbers that all swirled around, making your brain hurt even more from the dizzying sensation. 

You shut your eyes, holding your head as if it would break into similar pieces. Coherent thoughts struggled to break through the thick fog that surrounded your brain. Survival instincts begged you to move, to reach for your bag, call out for help, something.

A warm wetness slid down the slope of your nose. It's small droplets disappearing onto the ground of mud and rocks.

A noise. A shout, you realized, rang out. Louder than before but still much too far away to make out what was being said.

Or maybe it was you who was too far gone. Your brain, perhaps now too damaged to comprehend simple sounds and words. Just another thing that had gone wrong. You ignored the sound, sniffling at the tears tickling the tip of your nose. Surely if you couldn't understand you wouldn't be able to respond so what was the point in trying?

Because you need help! 

True. With the amount of pain you were in, you would need help if you wanted to get out of here. 

But, 

Did you want out?

What was even waiting for you out there? More portals and monsters? More mistakes and misfortune that put you and those around you in jeopardy? More pain?

Your friends! Your friends are out there and there looking for you!

Were they? Wasn't it your ‘friend’ that had gotten angry at you? Everyone else had just stood there, listening to him tear into you. Was it because they agreed? Had they all realized how truly useless you were? This was their chance. An opportunity to be rid of you. To continue the journey without the constant worry of your mistakes.

They wouldn't! They-

“(Y/N)!!!”

The shouting from before continued, getting louder and clearer with each cry. It sounded so familiar, like you knew the voice yet couldn't recall who it belonged to.

“(Y/N) Please! Are you down there!?”

The voice echoed through the area. Concern dripping off every word as it continued to call out to you.

“Guys they're not answering! (Y/N)!?”

Your mouth opened, a small part of you wanting to reach out and answer. You laid there, unable, or maybe just unwilling to do so as your mouth snapped shut.

“Uugghhh it's too dark, I can't see anything! I'm gonna go down further, see if I can find them!”

You knew you should be thrilled at the prospect of help, but you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore. 

Getting rescued or simply being left stranded down here, it all felt the same to you. You were simply done trying. Content that whatever would happen was simply the way things were going to be.

You curled further into yourself, letting the numb fog continue to spread through you. Everything felt too tight, like your skin was constricting in on itself. A lump forming in your throat that suffocated even the quiet sound of your still too shallow breathing.

A small thud, followed by the sound of boots squishing in mud as a yellowish hue poked at your eyelids.

“(Y/N)! Guys I found them!”

Hands gently grabbed your shoulders, pulling you to lay on your back. Calloused fingers dancing over your face. Whoever it was took in a sharp breath. Maybe you were worse off than you initially thought if the person was recoiling at the sight of you.

“(Y/n) are you okay? Can you hear me?”

A face appeared in your mind at the sound of his voice beside you. Was that..that was Four, or at least you were fairly sure. Why did he sound so worried? 

Oh right, you fell through the floor.

“(Y/n)? Shit…okay focus Link…uhhh okay, breathing…thats gonna be a problem but…atleast everythings intact?”  You could only listen as he rambled to himself. Checking you over for any obvious injuries.

“Come on,” He pleaded, “why aren't you waking up? Wake up! Please wake up!” He chanted, repeatedly tapping the side of your face.

You were awake. You were painfully awake despite every part of your body wishing that you weren't. You just wanted it to all stop. To be left alone to whatever hell Hylia wanted to inflict on you.

“Damn it, where's that fairy? I swore I had one!” The hands left, likely looking through his bag for something to help you. 

It felt selfish to let him waste a fairy on someone who wasn’t even trying to save themself. Getting yourself to speak up however would be a battle within itself.

For Fours sake, you repeated to yourself as you pried your mouth. If you couldn't do it for yourself you could still try and do it for him. The lump in your throat felt like solid stone, letting only the faintest whisper escape.

“fo..four?”

“(Y/N)! Oh thank Hylia! Are you okay!?”

Damn that felt like such a loaded question right now.

Using all of your strength you cracked open your eyes. Four's face hovered above you, illuminated by the small lantern by his side. His eyes focused on yours, green and violet specks waiting for a reply.

The sight made your throat burn. Vision blurring as tears built up in the corners of your eyes. Four's hand found your face, thumb wiping away the few that slid out.

“Hey, it's gonna be alright. I'm right here okay? I’m gonna get ya out of here.”

“why…” 

Four tilted his head, “Cause I'm pretty sure you don't wanna spend the rest of your life in a cave?”

Lips beginning to quiver, tears poured down your face. “It doesn't matter what I want…”

“Woah,” he said gently “(y/n) what do you mean? Of course it matters”

You shook your head, the motion only aggravating the pain. “no, it doesn't. Everything I do just…I just make things worse!”

The lump in your throat cracked as words began pouring from your mouth. “Just go…I'm better off down here where I can't mess everything up. I mean, what's the point of trying if I can't even walk across a floor without messing it up somehow!?”

It was like your whole body shattered. The pain, the struggle, all of it came rushing out of you in a waterfall of tears. Your hands flew to your face, trying to pretend that you could still hide it all away. Pretend that Four wasn't here to witness yet another one of your failures.

“Wars was right…” you choked. “I'm just a screw up..”

Hands tugged at your wrists, pulling them away from your face. They pulled further, slowly helping you sit up until you rested against Four’s chest. His arms wrapped around you to hold you close as you cried. He put your head on his shoulder, letting your face fall into the dip of his neck. 

“(Y/n) I'm so sorry. I should have said something yesterday because nothing he said was true. None of it was your fault and he knows it. We ALL know that.”

There was a bite to his voice as sharp as his hold on you. His eyes were a shimmering mix of blue and green that reminded you of the ocean.

“The Captain is an ass and just let his worry get the best of him. You are NOT a screw up and ohhh when I get back up there the Captain better-” Four trailed off, mumbling off rather colorful words he would be having with Wars.

He inhales sharply, slowly releasing his breath as you cried into his shoulder.

“That aside, You're in pretty rough shape.” He whispered, “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Everything”

“Oookay not the best question” He huffed lightly. “The board in your hip doesn't seem too deep but we need to take care of it before it gets infected. Is there anywhere else that hurts more?”

“H-head…” 

“Mmmm…it might be a concussion if you hit your head hard enough which, given how far you fell is more than likely. A potion should still be able to help though along with anything else.”

You whined as your face was pulled from his neck, tears still flowing freely as you were laid back down. There was no real warning before Four pulled out the plank, leaving you shouting out in pain. Something smooth and cold pressed to your bottom lip, urging you to open your mouth. You loosely grabbed at the bottle, taking a few sips of the bitter liquid. Four pulled it away once satisfied you had drunk enough, then helped you sit back up to let you continue to rest against him. 

The pain dulled soon enough, leaving only the numb discomfort in its wake. Four held you close to him, his hand running up and down your arm soothingly. Your injuries may have healed but you were bone tired and still had no desire to move from where you still sat on the cold ground. The only warmth coming from the small lantern and Four's form wrapped around you.

“Have I ever told you about the Minish?”

You knew he was just trying to distract you but you went along with it. Giving a small shrug as your tears soaked into his tunic.

“The r-really tiny…mice like people?”

“Eehhh close enough. Anyway, they are really well known in my era. They actually played a big part in my first quest.”

You peeled your face away just enough to look up. His eyes shining a brilliant redish-purple as he continued on.

“Because they're so small though, most people haven't actually seen them. But they're known for bringing luck and happiness to everyone they do meet.”

“Is that true?” You asked quietly, wiping your sleeve over your face. “That they bring happiness?”

Four nodded, a hand coming up to run through your hair. “In a way. The Minish thrive off of bringing joy to those around them but they can be quite sneaky about it.”

You hid your face into his shoulder. Hopefully hiding the new swell of tears in your eyes.

“Oh…I, I dont think they exist in my era..”

“What makes you say that?”

You shrugged, trying to play off the tightening in your chest. “Cause if they do, why do I feel so miserable?”

Arms tightened around you with a deep sigh, letting his head rest on top of yours. “Do you wanna know what I think?”

You nodded.

“I think it's bullshit.”

Your head shot up, staring at him in confusion. “But you just said-”

“I know what I said but hear me out.” He grabbed onto your hands, holding them in his lap.

“What I said is true, the Minish love to help and bring joy to people when they can. But they don't magically just make you happy. Happiness is something you have to find for yourself. The Minish more or less guide you to it.”

Four paused, his eyes swirling between a mix of green and red as he bit his lip. Something he only does when he can't quite make up his mind.

“I..I think they led me to you.”

The admission took you by surprise. The concept that you could be someone's happiness felt so…bizarre. Regardless, the grief on your heart loosened. It was still there, laying heavy on your mind but you felt like you could finally breathe again. It was a small step, but it was a start.

“I know things have been hard on you lately but…by the Three (Y/n) you make me so inexplicably happy just by being you.”

His lips pressed against your forehead. It's warmth spreading across your face and up to the tips of your ears

You wincing slightly at the way your head spun and you didn't know if it was from the adrenaline or the concussion.

“We should probably get you out of here.” Four got to his feet, offering you his hand. “You ready?”

Part of you still said no. Not wanting to face the others and a potentially ‘worried’ Wars again. You took his hand anyway and slowly got to your feet, letting yourself finally look around at your surroundings for the first time since your crash landing.

From what you could see, the cave wasn't very big but it had been a much longer fall than you realized. The fact that you were even standing was a tender mercy. The small speck of light coming from above only noticeable from where it stood out against the dark, mossy covered walls.

“Shit…I think I hit my head harder than I even realized.” You chortled, swaying on your feet as Four helped steady you. “How did you even get down here?”

“Rancher’s hookshot” He said, casually showing off the borrowed item. He slipped it into his hand, raising it upwards before it shot up, latching onto whatever was awaiting at the top.

—------ 

Getting back up turned into its own ordeal. With your strength still gone, Four had carefully situated you on his back. His power bracelet activated to keep a firm grip on you just in case.

He took it slow, reeling the two of you up carefully. Every shake and stutter of the chain made him tighten his grip on you. Pausing for a moment before continuing the descent up. Once close enough, Time reached through the opening and pulled you up the rest of the way, Twilight doing the same for Four.

He waved off Twilight and Wind’s concerns, insisting that he was fine. Time and Wild crowded around you, taking it upon themselves to check and make sure you were alright while the others tried, and failed, to give you space.

Four didn't take his eyes off of Wars

He didn’t miss the way you kept eyeing the scarfed hero, as though awaiting yet another stern scolding. It took everything he had to keep Blue from tearing the man apart right there and then. The memory of your sobs and broken voice, agreeing to all the offhanded insults he had thrown at you only adding fuel to the fire that Green and Red were desperately trying to reason with.

The Captain did eventually step towards you and Four got straight to his feet, a hand planted firmly on Wars chest to keep him from getting any closer. To his credit, Wars didnt look angry. He genuinely looked concerned but Four wasn't about to take any chances with any of them saying the wrong thing. Not with how fragile he knew you really were at the moment. 

“A word. Captain.”

Wars cocked his head curiously but followed after Four silently until they were out of earshot.

“What do you need, Smithy?”

Four took a deep breath, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “The only thing you are going to say to them, is a fucking apology.” He spat, “And then you are going to leave them the hell alone for a bit.”

Wars eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Four what-”

“You weren't down there, Wars.” His own voice shook, holding back the own stinging at his eyes. “You didn't have to hear the way they cried or how they wanted to just be fucking left down there because of something you said!”

Wars was still for a while, taking in what Four had just told him. His gaze solely on the ground beneath his feet as he tried to compose the right words. “I'm sorry. You're right I shouldn't have yelled at them yesterday. I…I didn't think they would take it so..”

“I know you didn't mean it.” Four heaves deeply, trying to put a reign on his own feelings. “And it's not all your fault, it just was sort of a final straw for them with all the shit they've been getting lately.” 

Four took a few steps back, peeking around the corner where he could see Time still helping you get cleaned up.

“Just…you need to apologize to them. Not right now but…perhaps later tonight when this whole thing has calmed down a bit.”

Wars nodded, leaving Four to walk back to the group alone. He found a spot next to you, sitting down close enough to be within reach but not overwhelm you.

“Doing okay?”

You nodded, a faint smile as you looked at him to mouth a small “thank you”.

He scooted a bit closer, ignoring the glances of the younger heroes as you laid your head back onto his shoulder.

“Anytime. I’ll always be here for you.”

______

You are loved! So please take care of yourselves and reach out if you need help <3 If anything, know this author is rooting for you!

[maegalkarven]

I have the suspicion what the Cult of Murder wasn't very keen on healing/ had many healers around.

They probs had healing potions and scrolls and stuff, but do you think Durge would bother with them? Or would they, intimately familiar with the anatomy of the body, occasionally treat their own wounds with the cold precision of a surgeon?

What I have in mind is Durge casually sewing their own wounds shut with the first found rusty needle and something they deemed would suffice for a thread, Gortash seeing this horrific display and deciding enough is enough and taking the ordeal of healing this freak of an ally into his own hands.

[imaredshirt]

Give me a Stan who thinks Fiddleford doesn't know how to throw a punch, much less defend himself in a fight with your average goon, so one morning he takes it upon himself to show the nerd a few basic jabs and hooks and maybe an uppercut or two behind the cabin, because let's face it, there's gonna be a time when Stan can't be there to take a hit for the guy or defend his nerd butt. So he's gonna teach him some stuff for his own peace of mind.

Fiddleford just kind of genially goes along with it, following Stan around the back of the cabin and watching with hands on his hips and a smile as Stan gets into position.

"This is one of the most basic punches in the world, so pay attention, 'cause I'm not gonna show you again," Stan says, knees slightly bent and fists up.

Fidds nods. "You've got my full attention, Stanley."

Stan isn't sure if he's imagining the way Fidds is eyeing him up and down, but he automatically flexes his arms a little more than he needs to. Up ahead, Ford is sitting on a tree stump and taking samples of the air or something (Stan had stopped listening to Ford's explanation once his words went from interesting to Big Science Shit that Stanley Does NOT Care About) and he's watching them with this amused grin, rolling his eyes skyward when Stan won't stop flexing and showing his arms off.

Stan ignores him and rolls his shoulders before jabbing his fists forward in a quick one-two. "There - you catch that?"

Fidds has got his arms crossed now and gives Stan a thumbs up. "Sure did!"

"See, just like this," Stan says, and shows him again despite saying earlier that he wouldn't.

He shows him a few more punches, going over each one a couple times before telling the engineer to mirror him, even getting in close to adjust the guy's scrawny arms and balled fists. He's being real professional about it and everything and doesn't understand why Ford keeps grinning and shaking his head at them, which is making him a little incensed but he stamps it down because Fidds is watching him with this nerdy, dopey smile while letting himself be maneuvered around and he's gotta learn to defend himself 'cause Stan can't stand the thought of some jerkwad wiping that smile off the nerd's face.

"See," he says near the end of the lesson, tapping his fist right against Fidds’s chin. "Do it right and your fist'll hit right here."

Fidds tilts his head a fraction at the touch. "Well alright then, seems easy enough."

"Yeah, like I said, if you do it right. Gimme your hand-" he takes Fidds’s wrist and taps the guy's balled fist against his own stubbly jaw. "Right here. You got that?"

Fidds nods. "Sure do!"

"Good." Stan drops Fidds’s wrist and gets into position again. "Then come on - lay one on me."

Fidds pulls back and blinks at him. "Come again?"

"Hit me!" Stan taps his jaw. "Right here!"

The guy suddenly looks nervous and galnces over at Ford for help. "Hit you? Stanley, I don't think-"

This is what Stan means. Fidds isn't always gonna be able to look to him or Ford to save him. He gets this weird, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the thought of Fidds facing off against some asshat on his own, and that alone is enough to keep him from letting the guys off easy, if only to get rid of the weird feeling. Maybe a bit selfish but he doesn't care.

"Ah, come on, one little punch ain't gonna hurt ya, Fidds."

"I'm not worried about me," Fidds says, and then frowns when Stan barks a laugh.

"You think you're gonna hurt ME?"

Fidds is still frowning when Ford calls over in an amused, warning tone, "This is not a good idea, Stanely!"

"Just worry about your air test or whatever and leave us alone," Stan calls back. Ford shrugs and scribbles something in his journal, and when Stan turns back to Fidds, Fidds is finally getting into position.

He looks unsure, watching Stan nervously as Stan stands before him with his arms crossed.

"Hey, not bad form - you ready?"

"Well, I suppose so," Fidds says, accent coming in a little thicker than before. "Stan, if you're sure, I should probably warn ya-"

"Don't tell me nothing, just punch me!"

Fidds presses his lips into a line and throws his fist - and jabs Stan on the chin just hard enough to tilt Stan's head half an inch to the side.

"That's it?" Stan guffaws and shakes his head. "That was barely a tap!"

"I don't wanna hurt ya!" Fidds says, sounding so conflicted that Stan gets this urge to pull him into a headlock and ruffle his hair and drive the worry away.

Instead he riles him up.

"Please," he says. "Fidds, look - one of these days I'm not gonna be there to take a hit for you, and then what're you gonna do? Just let some jerk punch ya around?"

Fidds looks slightly perplexed. "Where is this all comin from? No, Stanley, I am NOT gonna just let some jerk punch me around."

"Good! So you gotta learn to defend yourself!" Fidds still looks unsure, so Stan tries a different angle. "Okay, how 'bout this - what if some jerks are beating up on me and Ford, huh? You're just gonna let em?"

Fidds looks up. "What? No, I am not!"

"You're gonna defend us?"

"Dangnabbit, Stan - of course I am!"

"Not gonna let us get our teeth kicked out?"

"What!? No!"

"Then show me!" Stan slaps a hand against his own chin. "Right here, come on! I'm some jerk who just threw your friend Stan to the ground and I'm about to kick him in the gut, what're ya gonna-"

The blow lands hard. Stan's head jerks to the side and he's thrown off balance, and he sees actual stars before his vision clears again and he realizes he's crumpled on the ground. His head swims as hands pull him around onto his back.

"Mother o pearl!" Fidds gasps. He's got his hands on Stan's face, careful touch at complete odds with the punch he'd just landed in the same place. "Are you alright? I am so sorry! I hit ya and you weren't even ready and - you just got me so riled up and I tried to tell ya and I shoulda said earlier instead o just lettin ya show me all those moves, but I just wanted to, well - goddangit, Ford, this ain't funny."

Ford's laughing as he comes up behind them, looking down at where Stan is staring kinda dazedly up at Fidds, who's kneeling by his side in the cool grass. "We did try to tell him, Fiddleford."

"Tell me what?" Stan demands. His jaw is already aching but Fidds’s hands feel kinda good so he doesn't tell him to move.

"Fiddleford was a boxing champion back back in his hometown," Ford says.

Stan blinks. "Bwuh-?"

"Not much of a champion," Fidds says with a wince, but he's blushing a bit as he goes on, "It was never anythin official, but - well, I did win more than a few matches at some backyard parties, see, and - well, people usually don't think I got any hittin power or can defend myself, but my Ma's been all too happy to teach me since I was little, and-"

The guy's rambling, and Stan quits being able to understand what he's saying half way through cause the accent is coming in thick and Ford’s chuckling and standing there looking proud of his best friend and Stan’s a little worried that he's still jarred from the hit, cause when he looks at Fidds kneeling there, one hand one Stan's chest and the other bashfully rubbing his neck while he rambles on - he's still seeing stars.

Later, while Stan sits in the living room with an bag of ice in his jaw and Fiddleford sitting next to him, still rambling about all the times he'd knocked a few guys into the mud in some backcountry hoedown get-together or whatever, Stan can lean back and relax and grin, knowing Fidds is gonna be just fine.

He can't wait to teach him wrestling.

[robinsceramics]

image descriptions: a page from "Drawing Human Anatomy" by Giovanni Civardi followed by a page from Morpho: Mammals. The first page is titled "Notes On Movement" and has description of various types of human joints with illustrations of those joints on the side; the second page shows drawings of ermines, genets, and wolves, with their bone structures displayed in various ways.

my reading materials tonight! I'm finally sitting down to a serious study of bones and muscles.

[astrxlfinale]

Performing the same motion himself once Jane joined him at the table, for an moment he reflected over the handiwork of his picked choices. It gives the impression of a cozy homebody more than anything else. Fitting enough, consider he tried to go for function over style.

Not to mention there was an unintentional appeal due to what he picked. While not meaning to, catching the way her legs seized the moment of glory was certainly a few to let simmer in his memories.

"Don't worry on prices or payments. Not exactly the kinda help I'd attach a price tag to." He muses, swirling up a portion of noodles and meat onto his chopsticks. For an instant, a more amiable silence outside their more natural satisfactions for a meal sound out in the room.

Flavor like this feels as if it awakens the soul from any drowsiness it may suffer. For the first bite in particular, Lighter always had a habit of taking it slow, appreciating the taste primarily as it washes over the taste buds.

"I owe the Chops some extra customers if anything. Always looked out for my gang after some mishaps had us bump heads." He comes to admit.

At the mention of the company that found themselves in a more spy oriented front, a 'fond' shake of the head takes place. "Troublemakers, riff raff. Consider them what you will. Think of 'em as rivals that love plotting now days more than outright encounters. Company like them are part n' parcel when you're part of the Sons of Calydon."

Somehow the thought prompts an instant of laughter, entirely unintended as a curious question comes to mind. "Mind scratchin' a mental itch of mine? What would you do if people imagined that whatever you do, it's some big move in the making? Even something as insignificant as a store visit. Could you live comfortably with such a perspective of you?"

straining? it takes her a moment to realise what he was referring to. anyone else would have blushed at the thought, but not jane. jane has an appetite for the thrill that comes from all sorts of games.

" don't worry about the size. i'll go braless if i have to. "

she locks the bathroom door and takes off the bathrobe. lighter was thoughtful enough to pick out intimates for her, so she owes it to him to at least try it on. she tries to fit into the tight fabric but eventually decides the discomfort will only cause more embarrassment for both of them. besides, the hoodie is roomy enough to cover her from neck to thigh, only allowing an inch of shorts to peek out.

" not bad, " she comments at her own reflection, then turning around to join her lifesaver for steaming hot ramen at the small desk.

" you have no idea how relieved i was to get out of those clothes and get cleaned up. " she picks up a pair of chopsticks and snaps them into two, then rubbing the sticks against each other to rid them of splinters. " thanks for the clothes, by the way. they're really comfortable. just give me the receipt so i know how much to pay you back. "

she doesn't need anyone to tell her to get comfortable. puling up a leg and folding it flat against the chair, she leans in and takes a long sniff.

" mhmmmmm, " she licks her lips and digs in. " this is good. way better than what i usually have, in fact. "

so why doesn't she have proper ramen more often? that's a question for her to think about.

" those gangsters downstairs, " she says suddenly, remembering the way they kept staring across the street but definitely not at her. " do you know them? "

[ruvviks]

// oc deep dive.

tagged by; @aztarion and @devilbrakers, thank you so much!!

tagging; @mojaves, @deadrlngers, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @adelaidedrubman and YOU!

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Nathan has a lot of fears stemming from his paranoia. Tangible ones such as getting captured or killed by MOBIUS, his friends walking away from him, or someone following him home; as well as more unrealistic ones, such as somehow ending up back in STEM, or getting stuck in a time loop, or a giant sinkhole all the way to the core of the earth opening up right at his feet.

It also happens often enough that certain actions don’t necessarily scare him, but make him uncomfortable or highly on edge (often with good reason); think of someone locking the door of the room he’s in– especially when it’s just them two– or getting too close without warning. He often fears people he gets too close to will end up treating him like the Administrator did, which is why it takes a while for him to let Sebastian get any closer physically, despite warming up to him relatively fast.

A more uncommon fear he has is waking up one morning and having lost one of his senses or his ability to speak. Aside from the mental erosion that had become a growing issue among Union citizens, MOBIUS observed a similar kind of process in its agents who regularly jumped in and out of STEM for general maintenance and the like– presumably caused by the constant changes in brain activity, which more than often led to exactly what Nathan’s fear mentioned above describes. While he was among the agents who worked both in and outside of STEM on the Union environment, he was lucky enough to never suffer the consequences.

Lastly, he is deadly afraid of Anima. Despite not having shown any other symptom of succumbing to the STEM domination process, Nathan would have started seeing her around sometime before Lily vanished– presumably got her attention after some of his escapades in the secret labs in the Marrow– and he has not been able to sleep soundly in STEM ever since. While his fear of her mostly acts up when he’s in a STEM environment, it definitely translates over to the real world as well; during bad mental health episodes he has auditory hallucinations of her, and she makes regular appearances in his nightmares too.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When people are too passive. Nathan can’t stand it when he’s expected to initiate everything, from conversations to taking action, both in a work context (scheduling meetings, deploying new code) as well as personal context (scheduling to hang out, doing household chores). He also doesn’t like having to constantly ask people to do what they’re supposed to do– though this irritation more than often extends a little too far, to things he is expecting of people but never told them about.

Loud and unexpected noises, especially when done on purpose. Fireworks would be a great example of this, and they piss Nathan off no end. He gets snippy when people raise their voice at him for no reason, or when they keep banging their fist on a surface to get others’ attention.

Getting cut off in traffic. Nathan’s road rage is easily awakened and he can get a little drastic with it. His reflexes are fast enough to brake on time to avoid ending up in someone’s trunk, but will in that same breath speed right back up to crash into them on purpose as revenge for pissing him off.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom?

A large ring binder full of old code snippets, notes from various projects he worked on back at MOBIUS, and all his research ranging from neuroscience all the way to electrical engineering. Nathan is a little old-school in that regard– he’d much rather have all his research physically with him than save it all to some online storage platform and risk losing it like that.

A jigsaw puzzle, made entirely out of different pieces that he’s collected over the years (stolen from others’ puzzles, found in various locations, stolen directly from the store, etc). The full piece would total up to nearly 2000 pieces, though it is still missing a large chunk in the center; the result is an abstract piece containing mostly darker colors, though with various bursts of color scattered around like flowers in a field. Nathan isn’t the artistic type, but the project keeps him busy and he considers it a type of self-expression.

The knife he killed his parents with when he was sixteen years old. He’s not entirely sure why he kept it all those years– perhaps to remind himself what got him to where he is now, or because it’s the only thing he still has from that time of his life. Either way, it’s kept safe in the top drawer of his nightstand, easy enough to reach in case someone breaks into his apartment.

What do they notice first in a person?

First: State of mind, overall mood. How approachable do they look; can he afford to lower his guard or does he need to tread with caution, can he get close without worrying about a knife to the stomach or should he keep his distance? Nathan rarely shows immediate interest in someone’s overall personality, he would rather want to know which of their emotions he’s gonna have to deal with during their interaction(s).

Second: Body language. Ties in with the first thing mentioned– cautiously watching for threats, waiting to see if they make a move to touch (or harm) him so he can step out of their range. But it also extends a little further; Nathan tends to mimic others’ body language in conversation to make himself appear more approachable. If someone gestures a lot, he will do the same.

Third: Their smile, if relevant. Smiling is an eye-catching action to him, since he’s not one to quickly do so himself. It’s attractive to him; if someone smiles at him, you’ll be able to catch him staring.

Fourth: Scars, and other (skin) details. Nathan isn’t one to ask about them, of course– but they’ll catch his attention anyway, for a brief moment, since some of them already tell a story on their own even without words.

Fifth: Nervous tics, if relevant. By this point he’s been in conversation long enough to pick up on the little details– a slight thrill or shakiness to their voice, a thumb running over the side of their index finger, a nose twitch. In some cases it eases his mind, knowing the other person isn’t confident in their conversation either; in other cases it sets off alarms in his mind, and makes him wonder if there’s more going on than what they’re showing or telling him.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Physically: 7. While he doesn’t quite look like it, Nathan can take a hit or two. Most of his injuries happen in STEM– though with the way the technology works, the pain is very much real, and in some cases the scars are lasting even in the real world despite the damage having been sustained in STEM. To an extent, Nathan even enjoys the pain; it’s grounding for him, and keeps him from dissociating. When it gets too much to handle he simply drinks it away.

Mentally: 10. Nathan’s life has been a constant downward spiral; sent to a youth detention center after being wrongfully accused of killing his younger sister, and he was bullied relentlessly there, which continued until long after his release both at school and at home. At MOBIUS, he was required to work shifts in their HQ as well as in the Marrow, in the Union STEM environment– he was required to be mentally strong, or he would have already started suffering from mental erosion by long-term STEM exposure after his first few trips in. It takes a lot to break him (or so he likes to believe).

Emotionally: 4. Once you get past all the barriers, Nathan is pretty sensitive. He doesn’t deal well with rejection or misunderstanding, and is prone to assuming things are all his fault the second something goes wrong. It’s easy to upset him, though he won’t easily show; but the damage often takes a while to repair.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (Or freeze or fawn?)

Fight, more than often; though it may appear as flight at first, since Nathan’s favored combat approach is stealth and he will always find cover before doing anything rash. In certain cases, however, he would be more likely to freeze; especially anything related to Anima or an enemy type like her, where fighting is out of the question, and he knows that a single wrong move can mean his demise.

It translates to non-combat situations too– often willing to talk to people but his initial response is to get defensive and close himself off, and if not given a moment to regain himself it can lead to either fighting or freezing; biting back with similar ferocity or shutting down altogether, unable to pick up his rational train of thought in the heat of the moment.

It really depends on the type of confrontation, though; taking his own state of mind and who else is involved into consideration. He’s known to fawn when a situation starts feeling a little too familiar– generally surrounding the abuse he suffered from partially his parents, but mostly the Administrator.

What animal represents them best?

Wolf; bordering on dog motif, but cautiously so, requiring infinite patience and understanding to win his trust. Nathan is loyal and guarding to those he cares about, but he values his freedom– his choices and decisions are his and his alone, and anyone who tries to take that away from him will suffer the necessary consequences.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Curious, above anything else. Distant, reserved; surprisingly well-spoken, almost technical in his interactions with others as if the whole conversation is pre-programmed in his mind. Nathan isn’t necessarily cold towards others, but people would also not be quick to describe him as kind; though there is a certain warmth to the way he speaks and looks at people, despite the fact he very rarely smiles and isn’t one to quickly compliment someone else.

Appearance-wise, people tend to notice the white strands in his black hair first. They’re clustered at the front of his head, and match with the white hairs in his left eyebrow and the white eyelashes in the outer corner of his left eye. Nathan has very pale and rough skin, patchy but dark facial hair covering up most of his acne (/scarring); and part of the skin around his left eyebrow is lacking pigment, though it’s a little hard to see. He has very pale and bright blue eyes, which can be a little unnerving when staring at them for too long. Many people cannot maintain eye contact with him for very long.

Do they have any hobbies?

Nathan’s career is directly intertwined with his hobbies, and he enjoys working on code even long after cutting ties with MOBIUS. Software development, application optimization– his laptop runs on an operating system that he coded entirely himself, and whenever he has some time to spare he can be found tweaking and optimizing it and adding new features.

To no one’s surprise, he’s a gamer. Shooters, roguelikes, survival horror– he does not play all too often as his schedule often doesn’t allow for it, but he generally doesn’t have a hard time playing on higher difficulties and enjoys the challenge. Nathan has tried his hand at game design and development too, but stopped quickly when he found it too similar to developing the Union environment in STEM.

And last, surprisingly, would be writing. Journaling, some sort of attempt at poetry, or articles he would want to send in to some website or appropriate magazine but never does– a lot of Nathan’s writing is for his eyes alone, but it helps as an outlet, it keeps him grounded. For a while after leaving MOBIUS, he worked on writing tech manuals for various employers to earn some extra cash, which also ties directly into his interests.

[skibasyndrome]

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