#like i think he just genuinely does not want to talk about it

[hiimlego]

I just discovered this post from a YouTube video and I can't help but think up ideas for it too, even though I don't know that much about Muppets stuff.

Dick makes frequent appearances on Sesame Street as a guest star, and is always willing to do musical numbers and stuff like that. The producers feel bad when they have to deny him the opportunity.

Jason wouldn't be caught dead on Sesame Street, the other Outlaws would never let him live it down...Although Bizarro would probably adore it atleast. Eventually, Bruce goes to him to request that he be a guest. Jason refuses adamantly, until he discovers that the episode is about teaching to help those experiencing poverty, how to stand together in the face of difficult lives caused by money troubles and lack of food. He never really paid much attention to the Muppets, believing it was just baby stuff that Bruce just uses to his advantage to look like an idiot, but he learns it's actually teaching children valuable information that they should know, and Bruce believes that he's the right person to go on to talk about what it's like to be in a situation like this. And so, he does, recounting stories from his past (Albeit probably simplified down a bit to be okay for kids) before he was adopted by Bruce. By the end, he has all the Puppeteers on the verge of tears and wanting to give him a hug, which they promptly do in the form of all the puppets. He still believes it was embarrassing, but also feels like he helped teach something and would hopefully make things better. If the price of that is a little teasing, he can handle it...And oh boy, he does indeed get teased for it. Albeit in a light-hearted way not meant to actually demean him. Infact, they're all proud of him.

I can imagine Tim being brought in during a Muppets Special where they have to solve a mystery, with Tim being portrayed as basically just some kid who loves riddles and mysteries. He ends up getting into a rivalry with one of the Muppets (Not sure who, because again I don't really know that much about them) over who can solve the mystery first, and is a bit embarrassed by how seriously he takes said rivalry.

Damien sees it as the most insulting thing possible, and ends up death-glaring Kermit and Ms. Piggy's puppeteers every chance he gets. To the point where they end up going to Bruce to ask him for help because it's starting to genuinely feel like he's planning an attempt on their lives at that point. Although at some point, the franchise does end up growing on him, and reluctantly gives his blessing to the puppeteers if they ever genuinely want to marry his father.

At some point, Bruce himself returns to Sesame Street to talk about the pain of experiencing your parents pass away and becoming an orphan, for once shedding the wealthy himbo playboy angle. He talks about how difficult it was for him for some time, how he built up his walls and pushed everyone away from him. However, he eventually found a light at the end of the tunnel and was able to feel happy again with the support of those he called his family and friends. He talks about how much he wanted to make sure others who experienced pain could come out into the light just like he did.

No citizen is used to seeing Bruce this eloquent and mature, thanks to his himbo playboy angle. They know how much he cares, thanks to all the money he pours into charities and all the kids he adopts, but it's still shocking to see him so outspoken about these issues. Bruce then realizes he got a little too into it, and promptly asks if they could tell Ms. Piggy and Kermit how cool he was for that speech as a way to distract from it.

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

[trustmypoison]

SVT when you're on your period

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘this might be out of the blue, but can you do which svt members would prefer an emotional partner or angry partner on their period (mother nature has called me again and my hormones are all over the place i honestly need peace) btw no need to do this if you aren't comfortable 😅’

TW/CW: period talk. discussions of being emotional, angry, in pain, and emotional.

A/N: the way I can write this based on my past week. I had the period from hell and have been a nightmare to my partner. 😅 Periods can look very different for everyone, so this just addresses the common symptoms that can come with it. 

An expert with an emotional partner - Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Vernon

They are just such calm and reassuring personalities in my mind, that if you get emotional about something that would normally not upset you, he’s just hugging you until you feel a little better. I think these guys would do this in such a way that in validates you and doesn’t make you feel irrational, even though you might feel the need to apologize for crying yet again. And he’s quick to learn what you might be emotional about too. Like, he’s saving that cute cat video for next week. 

An expert with an angry partner - Joshua, Jun, Minghao, Chan

Absolutely does not react to your anger. Don’t get me wrong, he addresses it and validates it. And if it’s something he did wrong, he’ll genuinely apologize. But he will not let you pick a fight about anything. Just like the first group, they’re exceedingly calm because they know it’s temporary and a lot of your anger is only boiling over because you don’t feel good. He’s sympathetic to the fact that you’re just easily frustrated right now.

An expert with a partner who has a lot of pain - Jeonghan, Woozi, Seungkwan

The house never seems to run out of whatever sanitary products you need. There is a backup heating bad in the closet, just in case. Your favorite comfy clothes, like sweats and a hoodie, are always clean for that week. Whatever pain killers you prefer are always in the cabinet. And they have absolutely no problem with having a quiet week at home while not at work, piled on the couch so you can focus on feeling better. I kind of picture that you aren’t moving a muscle if it’s something he can do for you.

An expert with a partner who has some serious food cravings - Hoshi, DK, Mingyu

The change in hormones can wreak havoc on your appetite. If you’re anything like me, you crave stuff that you normally never want. And it only takes a few periods with you for him to start making note of those things that you prefer during that time. If you like sweets, he makes a trip to your favorite bakery. If you want carb-heavy things, he’s perfected a pasta recipe, complete with your favorite bread, and he’s made enough to get you through most of the week. Whatever your preference is, he’ll make it happen. 

[statictwoo]

This post got me thinking about how much the characters on M*A*S*H would actually be swearing outside of TV censors.

I think Trapper and Klinger swear like sailors all the time, in a casual, blue collar kind of way. They wouldn’t be out of place among the guys who smoke under the window of my apartment. The same goes for Henry, but because of his kids, he’s in the habit of saying things like “fiddlesticks,” and when he slips up, Hawkeye and Trapper mercilessly make fun of him for it.

All of Colonel Potter’s creative attempts at not saying “bullshit” are genuine. He just talks like that. HOWEVER I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t swear, it’s just that if he does, you know you’re in big trouble.

Hawkeye swears, not as much as some of the others, and when he does, it can be more serious. But I do think that he doesn’t speak in NEARLY as many euphemisms as we see. He’s definitely more direct than that.

Radar doesn’t swear, ever. He said “fuck” once, and everyone within earshot went “OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” which was so embarrassing that he never did it again.

Frank doesn’t swear either. He’s tried it a few times but just ends up sounding like a kid trying out all his newfound Bad Words where his parents can’t hear. It sounds and feels unnatural, so eventually he just gives up.

Margaret usually has enough discipline not to swear, but she used to when she was younger, and still does when she gets angry. She loosens up as time goes on and shocks people when she swears as naturally as she breathes.

Mulcahy. . .tries not to. I’d say he swears about as often as he punches people, maybe a little more. I think his childhood was full of profanity, and part of the reason why he doesn’t swear is that he doesn’t want to sound like his parents.

BJ swears, but only when he’s angry. It’s similar to Colonel Potter except he doesn’t have an arsenal of fun alternatives to every expletive. And whereas I think Potter sometimes uses a genuine “fucking” strategically to get his point across, there isn’t any strategy involved in it with BJ.

Charles absolutely does not swear, ever! He’s a Winchester and Winchesters do not swear, they utter profanities! And he does not utter profanities, either! Except that he does, when he’s sufficiently annoyed. And by the way, Winchesters DO swear. Every Winchester swears more than Charles.

Feel free to add on or disagree in the notes, and give me your opinions on the characters I didn’t get to! I love to talk <33

[jellofish-plant]

Love Languages – Jason Todd x Reader

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: Jason Todd isn’t the best at expressing love with words, but he makes up for it in other ways. Whether it's through acts of service, physical touch, or his own brand of quality time, Jason shows his affection in ways that might not always be obvious—but they’re undeniably him.

Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of Jason’s past trauma, fluff, Jason being a softie in his own way.

[Masterlist]

Headcanons: Jason Todd’s Love Languages

1. Acts of Service – "Let me do it for you."

Jason isn’t great with vulnerability, so he shows his love through actions rather than words.

He’ll fix things around your place without being asked for broken locks, leaky sinks, even replacing lightbulbs before you notice they’re out.

If you mention craving something, you’ll find it in your fridge the next day, no explanation.

He’s the type to stay up all night researching something just to help you with a project.

2. Physical Touch – "You’re my safe place."

Jason craves touch, but only from people he deeply trusts.

He’s not into grand PDA, but he’ll rest a hand on your lower back, tug you closer when walking, or let his knee press against yours under the table.

At home? Whole different story. He’s clingy an arm draped around you, head resting on your lap, pulling you onto his chest when he’s reading.

He sleeps best when he’s wrapped around you, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

3. Quality Time – "You don’t have to say anything, just be here."

Jason values quiet companionship. Sitting on the fire escape together, reading in the same room, or working on separate things but still together means the world to him.

He loves late-night motorcycle rides with you wind in your hair, city lights blurring past, the quiet understanding that this is home.

Movie nights are a big deal blankets, junk food, and him pretending he’s not tearing up at a sad scene.

4. Words of Affirmation – "I don’t say it often, but I mean it."

Jason struggles with words, but when he does say something heartfelt, he means it with everything he has.

His compliments are gruff but genuine: "You’re the only good thing in my life, you know that?"

If he ever writes you a letter, know that he put his heart into every word.

5. Gift Giving – "It reminded me of you."

Jason isn’t one for extravagant gifts, but he’ll get you things that show he listens a book you mentioned in passing, a necklace with a subtle nod to an inside joke, or a stray alley cat because "you were talking about wanting a pet."

Sometimes he’ll leave little notes or small things for you to find a reminder that he’s thinking of you, even when he’s not around.

[harrywavycurly]

Handle With Care: Are You Okay?

Masterlist: Here

CW: language, drinking, Harry is still a bit of an asshole and slight angsty bits

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs

A/N: Harry is showing he can be nice-ish and I love that for you, but also this part is kinda angsty👀

Summary: Harry has a party that ends with someone knocking on your door at an odd hour📦✨

Harry smiles as he walks around his crowded living room so he can reach his kitchen and he’s only mildly confused as to who some of the people are that give him friendly nods and waves, surely he knows them but just has had one too many drinks to remember the exact details of meeting them. Throwing a party wasn’t originally on his agenda for the evening but honestly he needed a distraction from the girl who lives two floors up and is entirely too nice to him that he can’t seem to stop thinking about since he met her only a few days ago. You have somehow wormed your way into his mind and he’s not sure when you’ll ever leave or if he even wants you to. It’s gotten so bad he can’t even make himself a cup of coffee in the morning without wondering if you like coffee or are you a tea person and if you do like tea which ones are your favorite and how do you like it? And frankly Harry feels like he’s gone full on looney because he knows how he’s treated you since meeting you so the odds of him ever getting to know how you take your tea or if you like coffee is very slim but it doesn’t stop him from wondering.

“This is a great party.” Harry tries to be polite as Heather, the girlfriend of one of his fraternity brothers leans in to give him a half hug once he enters the kitchen. He really does try to give her a nice genuine smile but all he can think of when she hugs him is how her perfume is far too sweet smelling and it makes him miss a certain floral scent that has a hint of something else he hasn’t been able to put his finger on because he’s not sure what exactly makes the sunshine smell but he thinks it’s something citrusy.

“Thanks.” He knows his tone isn’t full of enough excitement as it should be considering there’s a party happening around him but he can’t help it. Because as it turns out surrounding himself with random people hasn’t helped in the way he thought it would because instead of the party being a distraction it only seems to amplify the fact his crowded living room is missing the one person he wants to see.

Heather doesn’t bother asking what’s wrong, too distracted by someone grabbing her hand and leading her out of the kitchen to the makeshift dance floor that’s just the space between the couch and his entertainment center. Harry takes the opportunity now that he finds himself alone in his kitchen to let out a deep sigh and lean against his counter near the fridge. Normally he’s a better host, doing his duty to make sure people are having fun and don’t need anything but tonight he can’t be bothered to care if everyone is enjoying themselves or not because honestly he kind of hopes if they’re having a horrible time then they’ll all leave and he can be left alone to his thoughts that somehow always lead him right back to you.

“Harry where are your-” Niall stops talking when he notices his curly haired friend is leaning against his kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge and a frown on his face with his eyes closed. “Harry?” Niall takes a step towards him so he can place a hand on his shoulder but as soon as Niall reaches his hand out Harry’s eyes open causing both men to be startled and jump a bit.

“Jesus Christ Niall what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who’s sleeping during his own bloody party you twat!”

“Wasn’t s’leeping.” Harry mumbles making Niall roll his eyes as he walks over to the sink that Harry has filled with ice and various bottles of liquor and beer.

“What’s got you lookin all doom and gloom huh? Your ex here or-”

“I’m not all doom and gloom you asshole I’m just tired that’s all.” Harry says with a sigh as he runs a hand over his face before looking out into his living room.

“Tired huh? I’m callin’ bullshit mate.” Harry turns his head just as Niall cracks open a beer, a smug looking smile on his face as he stares back at him.

“Oh fuck off. Just go back to flirting with everyone that smiles at you and leave me alone.” Niall laughs and shakes his head before taking a sip of his beer while Harry crosses his arms over his chest as a scowl takes over his face because his annoying Irish friend won’t just let him sulk in his own kitchen by himself.

“Why don’t you just go invite her to the party and be done with it?” At this Harry lets out a scoff as if what Niall just had the nerve to say to him is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard.

“Am I supposed to know who you’re referring-”

“Oh my god dude you’re actually fuckin’ annoying me now.” Niall puts his beer down on the counter next to the sink so he can walk over and put both hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Go ask her to come down for a drink so you can stop mopping around like a wet blanket because it’s getting on my nerves so if you don���t go do it then I will.” Harry narrows his eyes into a harsh glare as Niall tells him that he’ll go to your door because if there’s something that Niall knows about Harry it’s that he’s always been a jealous person so the image of Niall knocking on your door instead of him is enough to make his jaw clench and his blood want to start boiling.

“Like hell you will.” Harry snaps as he practically shoves Niall off of him, while to anyone watching this would look like the beginnings of a fight it’s actually exactly the kind of reaction Niall was aiming for so he just steps back with a smile on his face. “If anyone is going to go bother her it’s gonna be me you wonky kneed-”

“Okay okay I get it I won’t go knock on her door.” Niall says with a laugh as he goes to grab his beer off the counter. “Just be quick with it you lanky fuck.” Niall adds as he turns to head back into the living room to join the rest of the people at the party leaving Harry standing in his kitchen annoyed that he just fell for whatever trick Niall just played on him.

“Fuckin asshole.” He mumbles to himself as he runs a hand through his hair while heading for his front door. He grabs his keys off the table by the door and pats his pockets to double check he has his phone because if you do decline his invite then maybe at least he can try to get your number, just so next time he can properly invite you instead of asking you to come over two hours after the party starts.

You reach over and turn the lamp on your nightstand off before getting comfortable in your bed for the night. Seeing as it’s nearly one in the morning you let out a sleepy sigh as you close your eyes. You don’t drift off the sleep right away, your mind is still going a mile a minute with random thoughts of the green eyed boy that helped you move. While for the most part he wasn’t the friendliest person you’ve come across you still can’t help but think that maybe he was just having a rough few days having to adjust from living in a giant house with ten other guys to living alone, after all it can be hard being alone with just you and your thoughts all the time and Niall did tell you Harry was very popular so maybe he just doesn’t do well alone. And to your annoyance no matter how rude he may have been it doesn’t change the fact he is extremely handsome with his green eyes and curly brown hair and nice jawline, and not to mention the tattoos scattered in random places on his arms it makes it that much harder to just forget about him.

As if the universe can hear the inner workings of your mind you suddenly hear a very loud knock on your front door. You open your eyes and sit up to see if maybe someone just accidentally knocked on your door, mistaking it for someone else’s but when you hear a second much more deliberate sounding knock you know that’s not the case. You lean over and turn on your lamp before tossing the covers off your legs and slipping your feet into your fuzzy pink and orange polka dotted slippers. You think that something must be wrong with whoever is on the other side of the door as you hear a third knock, so you quickly rush to turn on your kitchen light before heading to your front door.

“Maybe she’s not-” Harry freezes as you swing open your door, while he was hoping to see you again he never in his wildest dreams would’ve imagined he’d see you answering the door in a pink and yellow tye dyed nightgown that seems to be a little loose fitting as one of the straps is dangerously close to falling off your shoulder.

“Harry? Are-are you okay?” Your voice is filled with worry as you look him up and down, silently wondering why he’s dressed in skinny jeans and a long sleeve black knitted shirt that allows his tattoos to show through when it’s nearly one in the morning but when you don’t see any obvious signs of a possible injury you let you eyes flicker up to his face. When you see his eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly hung open you all of a sudden realize what you’re wearing and instantly cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover yourself up.

“Uhm I uh.” He clears his throat and gives his head a shake as if it’ll help clear his mind of all the wildly inappropriate thoughts he’s having all because you’re standing there in your nightgown. “I’m having a party.” You raise an eyebrow as he practically spits the words out as if they caused a bad taste in his mouth and he needed them gone.

“Oh uhm okay when is your uh party?”

“Now.”

“Now? Like right now?”

“It started two hours ago.” While this is the most the two of you have talked without him saying something incredibly mean or with a snarky attitude you can’t help but feel like something is off with him.

“So why are you here if you have a party going on right now?” You ask and Harry lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Niall told me to come invite you.” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come off as if Niall is the only reason he’s standing in your doorway at such an odd hour but he can tell by the way your shoulders slump and you just nod at him, that is exactly how you’re taking it.

“Well that’s sweet of Niall but-”

“I’m sorry about the plates.” You quirk a brow at his sudden outburst while Harry lets out a groan as he closes his eyes and looks up towards the ceiling. “Fuck fuck fuck this is going so bad.” You hear him mumble as he runs booths hand over his face and you can’t help but wonder if he meant to say that in his head instead of actually voicing it out loud.

“It’s okay.” Your soothing voice makes Harry open his eyes and look down at you as you uncross your arms so you can reach out and place a hand on his forearm.

“Really Harry it’s fine and thank you for the invite but uhm it’s a little late so maybe next time?” He only catches about every third word that leaves your mouth as he stares at the hand that’s resting on his arm, he feels the same sort of electric shock that he felt the first time you touched him being sent all the way to his toes. He blinks a few times and he wants to place his hand over yours so you can’t move it but he doesn’t so he just has to watch in silence as you remove your hand from him and place it by your side.

“Did-did you feel that?” He knows he sounds crazy the moment he asks the question but he really doesn’t care because he has to know if you felt the same zap he did or if he really is losing his mind.

“Feel what?” You look at his face as he lets out a deep sigh and that’s when you notice the slight red tint to his cheeks and the way his eyes are a bit glossed over and it hits you, he’s drunk.

“That like weird zap when you touched me? You felt it right?”

“Harry I think you’ve just had too much to drink.”

“No no I’m not drunk-well I’m not that drunk.” You just give him a soft smile as he places a hand on his hip while the other rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s like when you touch someone with too much static and you shock them but-but it’s a little different because I only feel it with you.” Harry knows looking back he will remember this as the moment he officially feels like he has fully lost his mind because the look on your face is one that tells him you don’t know what he’s talking about meaning you don’t feel it, it’s just him.

“Maybe it’s from my slippers?” Both of you look down at the fuzzy things on your feet but Harry knows that’s not what caused the shock because you weren’t wearing those when he felt it the first time. “Or maybe it’s-”

“It’s nothing.” He can’t handle you trying to explain away something he knows there’s no real explanation for so he just rubs his lips together and turns to look down your hallway before letting out a huff. “I’m drunk.” It’s a lie and he knows it but he can’t be bothered to care because he feels as if his heart just plummeted down to his feet and he just wants to turn and run away. It’s as if all of a sudden he’s back to the Harry you first met, his eyes are looking at you with a slight glare to them and his jaw is clenched while his hands are balled into fists at his side as if standing in front of you is making him upset in some way.

“Harry I’m-” You try to reach for him again but he takes a step back making the corners of your mouth dip downwards into a slight frown.

“This was a waste of time.” Is all Harry says before he’s turning and making his way down the hall towards the elevators leaving you standing in your doorway feeling confused as to how you somehow caused him to feel so upset that he couldn’t stand to be around you for a moment longer.

To say Harry is angry is an understatement, he should’ve known going to your apartment wasn’t going to go well because why would it? None of his previous encounters with you have ended well minus when he took a donut from you but even then he’s pretty sure he all but whispered his thank you before he left your apartment. So when he makes it back to his apartment he finds himself instantly scanning his still crowded living room for a pair of blue eyes and over bleached blonde hair that belong to the man he blames for ruining his evening and possibly his chances at ever seeming even semi normal to you. Thankfully he doesn’t have to search long before he finds Niall leaning against his wall near the hallway that his bedroom is on, a beer in his hand and a smile on his face as some girl who Harry doesn’t know chats to him about her plans for the upcoming weekend.

Niall catches Harry heading right for him and he can tell by the way his nostrils are flaring and his jaw is set that he’s not happy. So he politely excuses himself and meets Harry half way, but before Harry can even begin to go off on his Irish friend he feels Niall’s hand wrap around his arm. Harry doesn’t have time to react as Niall drags him down his hallway and shoves him into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

“What happened?” Niall’s tone is harsh as he reaches over and flicks the light switch on the wall turning on the light attached to the ceiling fan while Harry glares at him as he brushes off his arm where Niall’s hand was making Niall roll his eyes at his friend’s dramatics.

“What happened is you shoved your nose in my business and now she thinks I’m fucking crazy.”

“What did you say? Did you get her number at least?”

“Doesn’t matter what I said it all went to shit and no I didn’t get her fucking number you asshole.”

“You were only gone ten minutes maybe fifteen so how the hell did you manage to fuck it up that quickly?”

“It’s just a talent I have apparently.” Harry says sarcastically as he runs both hands through his hair while he begins to pace the length of his bed that’s in the middle of the room.

“Don’t get all mad and shit okay? But Harry do you maybe-”

“Do I maybe what Niall?”

“Love her?” Niall waits a moment for an over dramatic reaction to his question but when all Harry does is stop pacing and stare at Niall with wide eyes he thinks that maybe his guess is correct and Harry is just now being hit with the reality of it.

“Wha-what did you just ask me?” Harry stumbles over his words as all of a sudden he feels like a stack of bricks just landed on him one by one and with each one he’s hit with he gains a little more of an understanding as to why he’s been acting so strangely around you and why you’re all he can think about.

“Uh I asked if you maybe love her? I know love at first sight is a thing an all so maybe that’s what’s going on?” Niall explains with a shrug as Harry slowly sits on the edge of his bed and lets out a shaky breath.

“I don’t-don’t know what’s wrong with me Niall.” He blinks a few times as a lump begins to form in his throat. “I feel fucking crazy because she’s all I think about and I just met her and then you ask that and now -now I just don’t know what to do.” Niall feels a little useless as he watches one of his bestfriends break down right in front of him, so he just takes a few steps so he can take a seat next to him on his bed.

“Well for starters you can buy her some new plates.” Niall jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood as he places a hand on Harry’s shoulder. But it doesn’t work at all as Harry lets out a groan and covers his face in his hands.

“How do you know about the plates?” Niall chuckles as he gives Harry’s shoulder a good squeeze before dropping his hand away.

“As if that girl would just drop a box of her own stuff and then set it on her counter upside down.”

“I’ve never dropped a box before.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think I love her but I think-” Harry lets out a deep breath as he looks down at his hands that are in his lap. “I really like her.” He admits making Niall smile as he stands up off the bed and takes a step towards Harry’s bedroom door.

“Then you’ll just have to fix it mate and if anyone can get themselves out of a tricky spot it’s you.” Niall says as he turns so he can face Harry, it’s the best he can do to reassure him that it’ll be okay he just has to work on it a bit.

“Thanks.” With that Niall just gives him a little nod and a reassuring smile before he turns and opens the door so he can go back to the party.

Harry lays back on his bed with his feet still on the floor and stares at his ceiling and even though he has a party happening just outside his bedroom door he finds himself preferring the solitude of his bedroom so he can think of possible ways of fixing this extremely messed up situation he’s found himself in. Because Harry decides in this very moment he doesn’t like the way your face looks with a frown on it and he surely doesn’t like it when he knows he’s the reason you’re frowning so he’s going to do whatever it takes to erase any the negative thoughts you have of him and replace them with good ones. And as of right now he is done being an asshole it’s time he shows you just how nice and charming he can be because as he just admitted to Niall, he really likes you.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I was wondering what Hanma, Baji, Draken, Peh and Mikey’s reactions would be to a S/O who so clearly lights up whenever she sees/hears their name. Like every time, with out fail. Where even they notice it. Thank you!!

That's sweet, here's how I think they would react!

Hanma-

Notices it immediately but takes a few days to test it out. You're very confused as to why Hanma keeps running off snd disappearing then suddenly appearing again for those few days but it is Hanma so don't really question it.

Actually get's a bit addicted to that look in your eyes during his little experiment, he's never seen anyone light up or be so happy to see him before

Vaguely wonders if he can capture it in a photo

He's still very amused by the whole thing though, he never would've guessed he would've had someone like this, you really did surprise him.

Eventually he mentions it to you, it sounds like he's genuinely thanking you for a moment until it quickly turns into teasing and how much you miss him everytime he leaves.

Baji-

The first time he realises you're doing it he looks around. His first thought is that there's a cat nearby (he recognises that Chifuyu looks like that when he spots one) then he wonders if maybe one of your friends are here????? He's a bit confused when he sees no one but then it dawns on him, this look is for him.

Get's a little flustered everytime he sees you after that

He's glad that you seem to like seeing him so much but he's unsure how to respond or what to do about it. Does he mention it???? Groans a lot trying to figure it out.

Eventually Chifuyu notices somethings up and Baji get's roped into some kind of crazy romantic Chifuyu plan. Which ends with him taking you on a big date and confessing that he's noticed how you light up whenever you see him and that he really likes it.

Draken-

Draken's always been pretty observant so notices pretty quickly but he has a few doubts. He wonders if it's for him or even if he's just seeing things (he's always been a bit hopeless with stuff like this)

After a while he accepts you light up for him though, it fits with your other loving behaviours towards him.

Vaguely considers mentioning it to you but decides to not, these looks are just for him and he wants to keep them that way.

It quickly becomes the favourite part of his day, getting home to you and seeing you light up as he walks in through the door.

Peh-

"Hey you're face just did this weird thing! It lit up!?"

Subtlety isn't exactly something Peh is known for so of course he blurts it out the first time he sees it.

Quickly backtracks at your surprised/ kinda upset look though, telling you that it looked cute and was nice in a very awkward way (if you mention anything about his blush rn he will deny it)

Brags about it a lot to Pah and his other friends, he just thinks it's really cool.

Always grins so happily whenever he sees you doing that.

Mikey-

"Hmm?" Get's very close to your face the first time he notices it, you think he's going in for a kiss at first but nope. He's just observing you by ignoring all concepts of personal space.

He figures it out pretty quickly (being around his hopeless romantic siblings for years meant he knew this look pretty well) but refuses to tell you. Instead he just happily hums and innocently says it's nothing.

Sometimes he asks you to do "the thing with your face" then pouts when you don't. He seems to think it's something you can do on demand rather then a reaction.

Doesn't let anyone walk in with him at the same time because that look is his alone and he doesn't wanna share it.

You never have any idea what he's talking about or why he get's so happy to see you and comments about how cute/ good you look.

[captain-huggy-bear]

In The Firing Line

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lil' bit of hurt/comfort, lil' bit of angst, lil' bit of panic

Summary: You break up a fight at your school getting hurt in the process. There's only one person you want to call in that situation.

Notes: I have in fact been punched in the line of duty as a teacher and while it's not common it is truly a scary experience and I very much wish I had a Quinn to pick up the pieces when those things happen.

Another kinda angsty one? I keep putting the reader through some stuff in this series, I promise teaching is not always this eventful...please don't be scared of it <3

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

There are some dangers to your job, hazards you might say...while generally speaking teaching is a safe profession except for your stress levels, the reality is you're dealing with human beings who aren't yet capable of fully regulating their emotions and thinking through their actions. So things happen...like fights...and fights are...unfortunately something you can't just ignore as a teacher. They are in fact something you have to actively deal with.

There's a deep seated desire not to get involved, a sense of self preservation that says don't stand in between two teenage boys who are going at each other. That unfortunately is overridden by two things: 1) The duty of care you have to keep your students safe and stop them hurting themselves or others and 2) Your genuine desire to not see any of your students hurt.

At this point in your career you work off of instinct. The moment Carl throws a punch at Gabriel, while you're in the middle of teaching mind you, you're ushering every other student out of your classroom with directions to find another teacher. That leaves you with 2 teenage boys flipping tables and intent on pummelling each other. Really, you'll later find out the fight is over something silly, Gabriel had talked to the girl that Carl liked, Carl had been told that Gabriel was flirting with her and talking shit about Carl. He wasn't. Later they'll both apologise to you profusely and their sets of parents will come in and apologise to you too, but in that moment? Your only concern is stopping the fight from progressing any further and stopping blood from being spilled.

Perhaps it's misguided, but in your experience getting in the middle works. Often students stop, pulling their punches out of fear of hitting an adult, like a sort of reset button. The fact that you're there usually does the trick. So that's exactly what you do, you wedge your significantly smaller self between two teenage boys who stand well over 6ft tall, one of whom is on the boxing team and the other on basketball team. You think this is a good idea, spoiler alert, it is most certainly not.

You misjudge this, it's almost like slow motion the way that Carl's fist comes towards you, his eyes seeming to widen as he processes that you're now in the way and in the line of fire. You have just enough time and thought to turn your back to him so that he doesn't hit you anywhere soft and vulnerable.

But, fuck does it hurt to have a junior boxing champ throw a solid punch straight at your shoulder blade. You jolt straight into Gabriel who breaks your potential fall and both boys fall dead silent, fight ended as quickly as it had began. Whatever haze of red had come over them completely diffused. All you can hear is a series of swear words followed by the sounds of some of your colleagues coming in to take both boys away.

You're dimly aware of one of the English teachers wrapping an arm around you and carting you down the corridor towards the staff room, of being sat in a comfortable chair and handed a warm drink that you have little desire to sip at.

"I think she's in shock..."

"She can't teach like this, can you talk to Lisa about covering her lessons for the day?"

"Should we phone someone?"

The conversation happening near you is practically underwater, dull sounding. You register it but you don't really hear it, words that go in one ear and out the other like water off a duck's back.

Your gaze fixes on your principle who crouches in front of you with a soft smile, "Y/N, do you want to phone someone? Get them to take you home, we're going to give you the rest of the day off, okay?"

You nod more out of instinct than anything else, you feel like you're underwater or not in your own body. Adrenaline still pulsing through your system, shock having hit you so hard that you don't feel real. You feel floaty, not really present.

When you're left alone, an empty staff room, you reach for your phone. You unlock it on autopilot, find the contact without really thinking and listen to it ring, once, twice before being picked up on the third ring. Reliable and steadfast as always, he never fails to answer the phone to you.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" Quinn's voice is soft, sweet but curious with an undercurrent of worry because you almost never phone him while you're at school. It's that that seems to break you, seems to dissolve the numb shock and bring forth the waterworks.

"No..." You can't help it, you're sobbing in an instant, breathing rapidly as the shock gives way to panic, like Quinn's voice broke the dam that had been holding your emotions in check. "I-I-I..."

"Breathe, baby! Hey, hey, breathe...you're okay, what happened?" You try to follow his instructions, but your breathing is still sharp, short, stunted. Every breath cutting itself off by the next. Each sob interrupting your words and your attempts to get a full breath in.

"Baby, listen to me, okay?" You try to tune into Quinn's voice, the steady stableness of it, the way he tries to keep it as even as possible, "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe in..." You listen to him as he instructs you on how to breathe, breathing in when says and out when he says until your own breathing is back to a point where you can at least talk, still the tears don't disappear.

It's like your body has finally realised it was in danger, like it's finally realised what happened. You're just thankful that the room is empty, that everyone else is teaching right now because you can't help but feel embarrassed as you cry over the phone to your boyfriend over something that feels silly in your mind. It was just a punch and it wasn't even intended for you, you probably won't even bruise....

"What happened, baby?"

"I...I tried t-to break up a fight..." Your shoulder aches now that some of the panic has worn off, right in the shoulder blade. A reminder of the fact you've been punched by a junior boxing champ.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" You can tell he's worried, the stability of his voice disappearing in favour of concern but you stay silent...you don't want to make him worry... "Sweetheart...?"

"I...I got punched in the shoulder...I'm okay...I...I think." You don't want him to worry more than he already has, you know what Quinn is like...if he could wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you with him all the time he would. You know he supports you having your own life, own career, but he also hates you being unsafe in any way. You don't want him to worry especially when he's not around, the idea that he might worry when he's away on a roadie kills you inside.

"Has anyone had a look at you?"

"No...they want me to go home though..." Not like you have a proper nurse in school anyway, besides, you're certain you're just going to ache. You doubt there's any lasting damage.

"Okay, okay, give me 20 minutes? I'll get Petey to drop me off and I'll drive you home."

"You don't have to, Quinn..." You don't like feeling like a burden and that's how you feel right now. Quinn shouldn't be spending his day off picking you up from work and looking after you. He should be relaxing, enjoying the little free time he gets between games and practices, resting his own injuries like his hand that's still braced.

"Baby, respectfully, shut up. I'm going to get you, you aren't driving home, and we're going to spend the afternoon cuddling, okay?" You can't help but smile, wiping some of the tears that have tracked over your cheeks away, the salty taste on your tongue from where a few drops had hit your mouth.

"Okay...I love you."

"I love you too. Get your stuff ready and stop feeling like a burden. You're not. I love you, so I want to help you." You can't help but huff out a laugh at him calling you out for the thoughts you don't voice, because of course Quinn would know what you were thinking, of course he'd know you were feeling like a burden already.

"You know me too well." You roll your eyes, easing yourself up from the seat you'd been placed in earlier and making your way to the door knowing you need to venture to your room to grab your things. A little bit anxious about it, but knowing the students in question were likely already in isolation or the principle's office or been sent home after everything. Even though you know without a doubt Carl and Gabriel never intended for you to get hurt.

"That's my job, sweetheart."

"We've had this discussion before, your job is to hit a piece of vulcanised rubber around on the ice." Quinn's pretty certain you sassing him is a good sign that you're getting over the shock of being punched on the job, a good enough sign that he can't stop the laugh that comes out because at least you're okay.

"That's my paying job, not my proper job. My proper job is to look after you, baby."

"Mmm, do you want an ID badge for that?" Your classroom is empty when you get to it, students having been taken somewhere else for the period, most likely to the gym. It makes it easier for you to start grabbing your things without a million and one eyes on you.

"Yes please, and a lanyard."

"I'll get that printed for you right away," You're putting your work laptop away, grabbing your water bottle, phone balanced between your ear and your shoulder. Quinn finding away to calm you without even being in the room was something you were thankful for, while that well of anxiety still sat deep in your chest, you felt at least functional in that moment. More functional than when it first happened at least.

There's a beat of silence, where Quinn is unsure if he actually wants to come off the phone. Hearing you reassures him you're okay, not perfect, but okay...but he knows that to get Petey to pick him up he needs to actually say goodbye to you. A dilemma if he ever saw one.

"I'll see you soon?"

"See you soon...thank you, Quinny," You mean it, you always mean it. For a man who is so busy, so stressed all the time, he truly never failed to be there for you. You never thought twice about phoning him because you knew he'd pick up, knew he'd help no matter the situation, even if he wasn't around he'd find someone who could help. It was his reliability that always had you reaching for his number, even when past boyfriends had been last person you might have called. Quinn was always steady, always there, always on hand.

"Anytime, baby."

You're waiting in the car park when Petey's car drives up next to you, the window rolled down for the blonde man to give you a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, Petey..." You give him your best attempt at a smile but you know it's a weak one, his features scrunching in sympathy. You can see Quinn in the passenger seat, hoodie on, beanie over his hair.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?"

"I will be..." You answer as Quinn gets out of Petey's car, your smile starting to turn more genuine when Petey throws a bar of chocolate at you out the window. Not even just any chocolate, but the good stuff, European chocolate.

"Feel better soon, okay?"

"Thank you, Petey." You stand back as Quinn thanks Elias for the ride, tapping on the roof of the car as a sign it's okay for him to leave and you grasp the bar of chocolate tightly, feeling emotional over the thoughtful gesture.

That emotion spills over with one look from Quinn, tears starting to silently stream down your face as he pulls you into his warm arms. You feel so utterly safe the moment he does, your face pressing into his hoodie and just breathing in the scent of his cologne, the sea salt smell of his old spice deodorant. He practically traps you in his arms, trying to give you a sense of security and safety by wrapping you up tight, one hand coming to comb through the ends of your hair, the other stroking down your back in slow motions.

Quinn presses a kiss to your hair as he rocks you side to side, feeling the way your body shakes in his arms, the residual adrenaline left over from the whole affair coursing through your body. He knows better than most how your body responds after taking a hit, he's felt it time and time again on the ice, but the adrenaline usually gets worn off in play for him. For you? This is unfamiliar territory, unexpected and with no way to get all that adrenaline rush out of your system.

"I've got you, sweet girl...let it out, you're okay..." If there's one thing Quinn will always do, has always done, it's make sure you understand you can rely on him. That you don't need to hold back any of the ugly parts, the difficult parts, the raw parts, out of fear of being a burden. He doesn't care that his day is being spent stood in a school parking lot holding you while you cry, in fact he prefers it to the alternative, you pretending nothing happened, not telling him, crying on your own somewhere...

"Wanna go home, baby?" You nod into his chest, arms so tight around his waist that he almost worries he might not be able to breathe if you just squeeze a tad tighter. "Keys in your pocket?" You nod again and he slips his hand into your pocket, then the other one, fishing out your car keys.

The walk to your car is hindered by your refusal to come out from your spot hiding in his chest, you walk backwards while he walks forward. A strange sort of dance that shows just how much you trust him not to let you fall over.

It's obvious when he gets you to your car that you don't want to let go of him, that you feel safe surrounded by him in every sense of the word. Surrounded by his arms, surrounded by his hoodie, by his scent. But, Quinn is good at compromise, at finding solutions to problems, seeing the gaps in the defence and making a solid play.

"You want to wear my hoodie for the ride?" Your nod is all he gets and he's quick to strip himself of the oversized hoodie, pulling it over the top of your head and helping you work your arms into it. It's large on him and large on you, sleeves long enough to cover your hands, fabric billowing in a way that makes him think he could probably slip in there with you if he tried hard enough. He helps you pull the hood up and over your head, watching as you burying your face into the neck, breathing in the familiar smell of his cologne.

It's like hugging him when you can't and it helps you feel that comfort still when he can't hold you because he has to drive. You still feel surrounded by him, his body heat having infused the fabric, his scent in the cotton, the sheer size of the hoodie comforting you. It brings you security that you need right now.

"Better, baby?"

"Mmhm." You hum from within the hood, eyes wide and soft and it makes Quinn's heart ache a little to see you like this, so withdrawn, so needy because of something that shouldn't have happened in the first place. There's part of Quinn that wants you to stop working altogether, wants to just pay for you to put your feet up, relax and enjoy your hobbies but he knows you love your job despite the issues. He knows he could no more ask that of you than you could ask him to stop playing hockey because of the dangers associated with his career.

"Okay, let's get you home, yeah? Then I'm going to check you for a bruise, okay?"

Quinn's gentle with you as he opens the car door and helps you in, doing your seatbelt up for you and making sure you're as comfortable as possible for the ride. Your music plays the moment he starts the engine and you smile just a little when you watch him have to adjust the driver's seat, complaining that your legs are far too short.

That smile eases some of his worry but you can see his concern in the way his fingers alternate between tapping the steering wheel and gripping it tight between his palms, tight enough that his knuckles go white each time. Every now and then he reassures himself that you're okay by reaching a hand out for your thigh, palm squeezing the plush flesh once, twice, before returning back to the steering wheel.

You don't say much on the way into the apartment, just let him reach his hand back for yours, gripping it tightly with your smaller hand and letting him guide you through the apartment building hallways and through your front door. You let him guide you all the way to the bathroom until he has you in front of him under the bright florescent lights. Quinn's large palms run up and down the tops of your arms in gentle strokes as you peer at him from beneath his hood, still buried deep, breathing in his familiar smell.

"Let's take a look at you, baby, okay?" You nod and help him as he lifts the hoodie up and over your head, turning you around until your back is facing him. It's intimate but rather clinical, not the sort of undressing you might usually experience with Quinn and you appreciate that. You appreciate that he can see you undressed for practical reasons, genuine reasons without making it sexual or strange, you appreciate that Quinn's concern right now is making sure you're okay not the fact he can see your bra.

You can feel his hands glide over the skin of your back and shoulders, assessing, the careful way he looks you over as if a single touch might cause you more unnecessary pain.

"Has it bruised?" Your voice is rough from the crying and the period of silence you'd entered into and Quinn takes it as a good sign that you're starting to talk to him again.

"Yeah, baby, practically black and blue...the kid a boxing champ or something?" He means it as a joke, but the irony is that he's not wrong.

"Yeah, he was actually..."

"Shit, baby...stay here, 'm going to get some ice and paracetamol for that bruise, okay?" You let him go but the moment he's gone you're looking in the mirror, twisting your head round as far as possible to see what the damage it.

Quinn's not wrong, you're legitimately black and blue, your shoulder has a nice fist sized bruise that is already turning various shades of blue and purple, blood pooling under the skin. It explains why each roll of your shoulder aches like nothing else.

"Here, baby," Quinn returns to the bathroom with a tea towel filled with ice, pressing it against the bruise and holding it there. It's cold, uncomfortably so, causing you to hiss.

"s cold..." you mumble frowning at him in the mirror and Quinn gives you a sympathetic look and a quick, commiserating kiss to the top of your shoulder.

"I know, but it'll bring the swelling down, just a few minutes for me, baby?"

"Okay...a few minutes" You agree watching him tend to you in the mirror, downing the paracetamol he brought back for you from the first aid drawer he keeps in the kitchen. Quinn's attentive, even as he holds the ice filled towel to your skin he checks every now and then that he's not giving you freezer burn, that it's helping reduce the swelling and not actually hurting you more.

"Atta, girl," Quinn's free hand cups the back of your neck, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly, every now and then digging in to a sore spot to distract you from the uncomfortable cold sensation against your shoulder blade.

"Can we cuddle now?" You're patient for the first few minutes but that starts to wain as the cold becomes almost painful against your skin.

"Yeah, sweet girl, we can cuddle now...think you've earned it," Quinn throws the melting ice into the bathroom sink, hand trailing down to grip yours to tug you back to the bedroom.

He helps you change into comfy clothes before tugging you down into the bedcovers with him. You breathe a sigh of relief as you curl into his side, face pressed into the warm crook of his neck, leg slung over his waist. Quinn rests a hand on your thigh, pulling your leg tighter against him while his other hand finds its way into your hair, scratching gently across your scalp.

"You tired, baby?" You can't help but close your eyes at the way Quinn's fingers curl in your hair and run through each strand, burrowing as deep into his neck as you can as he pulls the covers up and over the top of the two of you to create a cosy little nest of warmth.

"Yeah...really tired..."

"Eventful day, huh?" You nod into his neck in agreement, feeling like your body has been through the mental and emotional wringer. There's the physical discomfort of being punched obviously, but the bigger issue is how emotionally exhausted you feel. Your nervous system having been put through fight or flight, only to have to come crashing down from that adrenaline high.

"You can sleep, baby, it's okay, I'll be here when you wake up..."

"You promise?"

"I promise, 'm not going anywhere." It's his reassurance, the firm but gentle hold on you that helps you fall asleep because you trust him, you believe him. You know that if Quinn says he'll be there when you wake up, then he'll be there.

[ceratedfish24]

My little Snowbugs headcanon is that Scott is all good with innuendos and joke flirting but the moment someone compliments him unironically his brain starts doing dial up noises

Which is unfortunate for him because Tango will not stfu about every single little thing he likes about Scott meaning about 80% of the time his thoughts are incoherent

Yes!!!!! Scott getting flustered about genuine compliments is one of my favorite tropes. Someone please teach this man some self worth. Tell him he’s pretty and thoughtful and so so so very talented. After Scott’s minor breakdown after Skizz’s affirmation, Scott getting genuine compliments is so important to me.

I love the idea of Tango not catching on to how flustered Scott got the first few times he genuinely compliments Scott, but, after he realizes how red Scott gets about being complimented, he just starts speaking all of his complimentary thoughts aloud. Whenever he thinks of one, he doesn’t hold them back anymore. It doesn’t matter if he just said it an hour ago. He’s thinking about it again, and Scott needs to know. He needs Scott to know.

He loves the color Scott just painted his nails, and Scott’s hair looks so cute after his haircut.

Has anyone ever told Scott that his eyes are so pretty and blue that they’re almost iridescent?

Does Scott know how thoughtful Tango finds him to be?

Does Tango comment often enough on how he loves hearing Scott sing unabashedly, even though Scott doesn’t particularly care for his own singing voice as opposed to the fun he has when singing?

Tango is always so amazed by Scott’s cooking and baking.

Tango loves the shape of Scott’s nose.

Scott should know that Tango’s never met someone so graceful.

Scott is amongst the most considerate people Tango has ever met, and Tango needs Scott to know it.

Scott is a good friend, a fantastic neighbor, a kind stranger, a considerate coworker, and an incredible boyfriend. Tango needs to give him all of the credit that he deserves all of the time, and Scott absolutely cannot handle it. Everyone is shocked at how well Tango has Scott wrapped around his pinky, how easily Tango can fluster Scott. Tango always ends up getting the last word in when they’re flirting, now. Scott’s reputation as the Unbothered Flirt TM is in shambles.

In return, I think, Scott would be really assertive when complimenting Tango. A lot of people talk about how if Tango’s convinced that he’s bad at something, there’s no convincing him otherwise. I think Scott could do it. I think Scott could cross his arms and say “please don’t talk like that about my boyfriend. That’s a very mean thing to say about the light of my life.” and Tango would have no response to it. It gets to the point where Tango stops saying “I’m so awful at [task]” and starts saying “I want to figure out how to improve at [task]”. Skizz sends Scott a basket of goodies with a thank you note upon noticing the change in Tango’s confidence.

I love when a couple’s favorite activity is to build each other up.🩵 Thank you for the ask!!

[sossolei]

things I learned after shifting to Hogwarts ‧₊ ᵎᵎ⋅ ˚ △⃒⃘

SIDENOTE: hogwarts was not the first reality I shifted to ! this is a uni reality ! there is no war ! ask any questions you want !

.☘︎ ݁˖ BATHROOM. I’ve genuinely never seen anyone talk about this but ( at least in my reality ) there’s a bathroom on the Hogwarts Express and holy fuck??? On the outside it looks tiny asf but I went in there to change into my robes and it’s wayyy bigger than it looks on the outside. It works like the tents in Goblet of Fire basically. The toilets and everything look relatively new so I’m assuming they change it every couple years just to keep in good condition.

.☘︎ ݁˖ MUGGLES. Have you ever wondered exactly how the muggles don’t notice wizardry, or at least at the platform? In my personal experience, unless it’s magic very intentionally and obviously done in front of muggles, there will usually be a moment distraction where they don’t see the magic happening. In the sense of platform nine and three quarters, there’s usually a couple trains that arrive around the same time and blare the horn so everyone usually gets distracted by that. But a personal example of this happens when I was standing in front of the barrier getting ready to cross through the wall, a young child was watching me from afar and as soon as started walking forward, he tripped over the wheel of his mothers luggage and didn’t see me go through the wall.

.☘︎ ݁˖ THE GREAT HALL. The candles are never ending. They don’t drip. They don’t melt in any way. I just had to say that cause I legit stared at them for almost an hour trying to see if it would melt. You have to talk pretty loud to be heard at the front where Dumbledore usually gives his lil speeches, which means the students who sing have lungs for DAYSSSS it’s actually so impressive. The benches are uncomfortable, not unbearable but not recommended for sitting for a long time lol. There’s no menu or anything, the food rlly does just appear there but there’s always something for everybody. Some people even walk up and down the table looking for what they want.

.☘︎ ݁˖ OTHER SCHOOLS. I didn’t stay in this reality for very long but I was always asking questions ( sorry mcgonnagall ). Ilvermorny is currently trying to admit more Native American wizards into their school but Native American wizards (as far as I know) have their own kind of magic and legit do not want anything to do with Ilvermorny. Kind of similar issue in Australia and Aboriginals I’m pretty sure. There’s a lot of, like a fuck ton of wizarding schools in Africa. I know JK Rowling has like one wizarding school in Africa but geographically speaking, that never made sense to begin with and I wasn’t surprised when I found out there were different/smaller wizarding schools around Africa.

.☘︎ ݁˖ STUDENTS. I don’t know how many students are in Hogwarts but I do know that it’s never a surprise who comes to Hogwarts. The ministry genuinely keeps track of every single wizard who has children, and even hold records of wizards who have families without wizarding abilities, just in case someone pops out with it. Easiest way to think of it is that families like Ron’s are always kept track of as well as Hermione’s, so it’s never usually a surprise when someone turns up muggleborn cause they’re usually expecting it.

.☘︎ ݁˖ PROFESSORS. The professors are not as silly goofy as they are in the movies guy :( They’re not miserable or anything but they all just remind me of the standing emoji LMAOOO. But seriously, someone like Mcgonnagall is not as welcoming or “chill” as she is in the movies or towards Harry. But some definitely are more chill, especially the younger ones. Slughorn is my silly king but even he has his moments.

Since this is a uni, Snape isn’t as uh…violent (?) as he is in the movies. Neville is a grown ass man, Snape is def not his biggest fear but Neville in general has a strong urge to prove himself and it reflects in his relationship with Snape. Snape isn’t scary, he just demands lots of respect and has respect for people that have proven they are “worthy” of it, i.e., high marks, put together, confidence, strong willed, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖ DIVINATION. Did you guys know that being a witch/wizard doesn’t automatically make you good at all forms of divination? I scripted Mattheo Riddle into this reality and me and him are soooo good at other forms of divination like tarot, coffee grounds, and even the the crystal ball, but Theodore Nott fucking sucksss at it. Hermione also didn’t do as well in the class as I know she could’ve done, but according to Treylawney, all forms of divination require open mindedness towards something you can’t understand. Someone like hermione, for example, wants to know everything all the time and doesn’t beat around the bush, so tarot isn’t her cup of tea because she doesn’t think it’s giving her exactly what she wants.

.☘︎ ݁˖ HOMEWORK. Homework can either be really fun or really time consuming. It’s just like regular homework where you recall everything you learned in class but homework isn’t very common the more you move up in classes, mainly because the magic you start to do becomes more hands on rather than memorizing. This doesn’t apply to Snape though. He loves homework.

.☘︎ ݁˖ UNIFORMS. THE ROBES ARE INSULATED. It’s very thick, good quality fabric and keeps you real warm during the winter but during the later hot months like September, it’s not uncommon to walk around with the robes open or in your hands, but you have to wear them in your body during class, no exceptions. They absorb stains??? This is one I wasn’t expecting but it’s a magical robe so…okay! I dropped cranberry juice on the sleeve and it just completely absorbed and it didn’t stink or anything. This doesn’t apply to the tie or anything else, those have to washed for sure.

.☘︎ ݁˖ REALITY. If you haven’t shifted yet, you’ll often hear people say “it’ll feel natural because you’ve already lived there your whole life” and while that is true, it’s also not because how am I supposed to be natural walking past Robert fucking Pattinson to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts???? In my mind, he’s always been Edward from Twilight and seeing him in the hogwarts robes just made me stop in my tracks and stare. Some things come natural and some things don’t but I embrace everything with open arms.

.☘︎ ݁˖ EXTRA. Draco is blonde as hell! Like Targaryen level blonde. I do think it’s natural tho cause Luna has the same platinum type of blonde going on. Harry’s scar is soooo much cooler in this reality, it’s thin but branches out on the side of his face and it’s much more noticeable than the one in the movie. Hermione has curly curly hair! I don’t know if she straightens it in the books but I know she does in the movie, in this reality she literally just got a better curl routine. She has a ton of products and really cares for her hair and she’s lowkey embarrassed cause it’s the one thing she considers “vain.”

There’s a “club” of sorts where a bunch of students get together and run around the castle at the crack ass of Dawn for exercise ( best believe they have NEVER seen the likes of me ). I was told there are wizards who are famous in muggle spaces, typically for music or art. The painting will warn people when the stairs are about to move lol. That whole house discrimination stuff doesn’t happen as often as it does in the movies/books, most people don’t actually care and Slytherins get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs well—however, Gryffindor does have the tendency to poke fun and Slytherins respond with dry sarcasm so sometimes it’s not a perfect fit! House discrimination was bigger in our parents age but as the years have gone by, the current gen doesn’t care fr.

That’s all I can think of atm, thank you for reading and yes I will be doing this with other places I’ve shifted to!

[shmisky]

Better world ford meet Reverse portal dtanley

Oh, boy, that would be something!

For anyone reading this, you might want to check out this first, or you won’t understand!

Ok, so. Moving on. I think that Better World Ford can be interpreted in two ways: 1) the one in which he’s devastated by the loss of his brother, but still functional and clinging to the morals he does have, and 2) the more dramatic and darker one in which he’s a bit... cray cray, as Mabel would say, driven mad by grief and potentially overprotective and possessive over any Stan he’d happen to find. From my profound fanfic knowledge, I think most people (not just shippers but the fandom in general) would prefer the second option, hahah. I will try to answer what would happen in both of these scenarios!

Let’s think of reverse portal!Stan first. I assume you can only mean a Stan who went through the portal instead of Ford. I’ve talked about this possibility before, here, and to shorten things: I don’t think Ford would ever genuinely value the “greater good” over Stan. He didn’t in Weirdmaggedon, when he was ready to offer the entire universe in exchange for the lives of three people (Stan, Mabel, and Dipper), and he wouldn’t back then, either, when he had much less discipline and control than old man!Ford. But Ford is a complicated little guy, isn’t he. So there are a number of reasons why he could, hypothetically, decide to not rescue Stan. 1) He assumes Stan is dead, 2) he somehow manages to gaslight himself for a while into believing he values the greater good over Stan (only to regret it bitterly, because that isn’t who he is at his core), or 3) someone (Bill or Fiddleford the Cult Leader) purposefully or accidentally messes things up for him.

Personally, I think the first option is the most likely one. Despite his admirable determination, Ford can be a pretty fatalistic, pessimistic man. When Stan lost his memories, he did indeed believe Stan was lost to him completely, and would have continued to think so, if Mabel hadn’t attempted to resurrect the old Stan through her scrapbook. “I’m sorry. Stan is gone,” he told his desperate grandniece.

Not just that, but there’s a very juicy reason (to me) why Ford would believe so: Bill. Bill, who knows exactly how much Stan matters to Ford. Bill, who already tried to hurt Stan to get to Ford once, in TBoB. (And who turned everyone into tapestry in Weirdmaggedon but spared Stan and the kids to use them against Ford! We have a pattern here!) Ford would sink into despair thinking of all the things Bill could have done to his brother before killing him. I think Bill could go and put more wood to the fire by appearing to Ford and making something up on the spot to brag about, about how Stan screamed and begged for mercy and died thinking Ford hated him. Ford would then assume Stan was really and truly dead, because if he were alive, then surely Bill would make an attempt to blackmail him, to convince Ford to fix the portal to get his twin back. The fact Bill isn’t doing that is proof enough. The possibility that Stan just managed to escape Bill and is still evading capture wouldn’t even cross his mind.

But while this Ford would be utterly devastated with the burden of having killed his brother, Portal!Stan would not know this. No, he would assume Ford decided it wasn’t worth it, to fix the portal and get him back. That he wasn’t worth it to Ford. He could easily be led to think that his relationship with Ford was now wrecked beyond repair. He’d feel like something he never noticed he still had (hope that Ford loved him deep down) was being taken away from him.

Most people, when they think of Portal!Stan think of... well, our canon Portal!Ford, but make it Stan instead. Same thing! But—I’m realizing only as I’m writing this—I don’t think Portal!Stan would be exactly the same thing as Portal!Ford. Ford is, surprisingly, more hardcore in his violence than Stan! There are many moments in the show that highlight this, but I’ll try to be somewhat brief.

Think about it: both of the Stans had their years running from the law. Stan was banned from US states, while Ford managed to make himself an outlaw in many dimensions. A state is inside a country that is inside a continent that is inside a planet that is inside a solar system that is inside a galaxy that is inside an universe that is inside a dimension, and somehow Ford want us to believe he was “just as wanted” as Stanley! Uh huh! Ford managed, somehow, to be known across the multiverse as “armed and dangerous,” even in his younger days, while he still had brown hair (which is what his Wanted poster in J3 says in code, btw!) The aliens were afraid of our guy! Mullet!Stan meanwhile, homeless and presumably struggling to survive just as Ford was, didn’t seem to have a similar (in)fame. We can see his own Wanted poster in his box of memorabilia in Not What He Seems, but they merely list his conman-typical crimes. Don’t get me wrong, he would end up very different from our canon Stan nonetheless. I think he would be just as hard to catch as Ford (Bill would be after him as well, for sure), and perhaps even develop a sense of revenge against Bill for hurting his brother if he put two and two together and Bill appeared in his dreams to brag. He just wouldn’t have the same vibes, imo, and would perhaps rely on different skills, such as his silver tongue and ability for lying and understanding people, instead of making himself known interdimensionally as a dangerous threat like Ford. Bill would repeatedly warn bounty hunters about not underestimating him, but somehow they always would, and Stan would always escape.

Now, now. Finally, let’s talk about Better World!Ford! I said there are two versions of him you could imagine, the more reasonable one and the cray cray one, but no matter the version, he’d be mourning his Stan deeply, like half of himself had died.

Let’s assign some names for them so we don’t get lost, first 😭

BW!Ford = Better World!Ford

BW!Stan = Better World!Stan

RP!Stan = Reverse Portal!Stan

RP!Ford = Reverse Portal!Ford

Moving on again.

I picture RP!Stan visiting the Better World dimension for some reason and BW!Ford immediately wanting him to fill the emptiness caused by BW!Stan’s death. I can’t see BW!Ford not being overprotective of RP!Stan, considering he’d be 1) traumatized about losing BW!Stan and 2) terrified of what Bill could do to RP!Stan. Because again, Bill knows how much any Ford, of any dimension, loves his Stan. Bill could try and use Stan to hurt him! (Which would be, in fact, exactly what Bill was trying and failing to do for so many years, hahah.)

RP!Stan would be shocked by BW!Ford’s transparent and overwhelming love for him. Didn’t every Ford Pines despise Stan Pines? Perhaps BW!Ford was faking his love! Perhaps BW!Ford was just completely different from RP!Ford!

But if so, where’s BW!Ford’s own Stan? What happened differently? Something terrible, perhaps? Did BW!Stan have to die or something for BW!Ford to start caring? But then again, RP!Ford (apparently) had left RP!Stan to die after pushing him through the portal, so perhaps an average Ford wouldn’t even care about an average Stan’s death... (I’m sorry if this is getting too confusing! 😭)

(RP!Stan also considers the possibility that BW!Stan was just a much better brother than him, but that hurts too much. BW!Ford wisely doesn’t tell him about the fact BW!Stan had obeyed his order to take away the journal.)

Let’s suppose that RP!Stan then makes the mistake of telling BW!Ford about RP!Ford, who (apparently) hadn’t bothered to fix the portal to get RP!Stan back. I think BW!Ford would realize what actually had happened, and then he would have a decision to make: to tell RP!Stan the truth or not. If he did, perhaps RP!Stan would then embark in a journey back to the arms of his RP!Ford. If he didn’t...

Here I think it depends on how you interpret Ford (and his morals) to be. I think his morals are pretty loose, but nonetheless he can be pretty noble and self-sacrificing and prone to profound, if sometimes repressed, guilt. He could still feel empathy towards his other self, knowing intimately the utter pain of living while blaming himself for Stan’s death. If he decides to be the good, selfless guy, then happy ending for RP!Ford, unhappy ending for him.

Could he believably decide to lie to RP!Stan and say that yeah, his own Ford didn’t care for him? Yes, imo, with the right rationalizion. As Alex mentioned before, Rob Renzetti (coauthor of Journal 3 and his Ford expert) made him understand a fundamental truth about Stanford Pines: that he can do anything as long as he manages to justify it to himself, because one of his greatest powers is rationalizing. I think even a Ford with canon Ford’s morals could justify lying to RP!Stan if he managed to successfully convince himself that what he was doing wasn’t against Stan, but against the other Ford. Ford on Ford violence, if you will. He can be very self-loathing and very hypocritical at the same time, so if he somehow twisted the narrative inside his head so as to paint RP!Ford as the villain who deserved to lose his Stan and himself as the one who will take better care of RP!Stan... Especially considering Bill, and the fact he could consider it unsafe for RP!Stan to leave the BW dimension at all...

And if you want to go a touch darker—now I believe we’re approaching a darker!Ford territory; that is, I don’t believe canon Ford would be capable of bringing himself to do this, but his BW version has been twisted by grief—he could ensure RP!Stan never leaves him quite easily, through many different means, including Fiddleford’s memory gun. That would mean a definitive unhappy ending for poor RP!Ford, forever without his Stan 😔

[medstudentinfandom]

Autistic Alastor thoughts! AKA this man is one of the most autistic men to ever autism, and my sources are like half projection. But! I also have many thoughts/justifications/headcanons that I wanna share. So here they are.

Alastor learned to mask from an incredibly young age. He was a mixed child growing up in the south in the early 1900s, I think he would have recognized VERY early on that he ought to not do anything that would draw more intention than necessary

Went into radio because that was the most socially acceptable way for him to have a career that fully centered around him talking uninterrupted about his special interests.

Had a bit of trouble while alive in finding the line of when dark humor went a bit too far. His jokes about the stock market crash were well received and seen as a lovely little reprieve from the terrifying reality. Making offhand comments about who the "New Orleans Butcher" should target next didn't land quite as well.

His refusal to adapt to modern times relates a lot to his autism. He's already learned everything he can about radio, went through the trouble of learning the powers he was granted in Hell, why would he waste his time learning about all this newfangled technology? All of his old tech works perfectly fine, thank you.

Personally I've pretty much settled in the fact that he is physically incapable of dropping his smile. BUT something something hypermasking to the point the desire to appear "normal" by neurotypical standards loops back around to being creepy and off putting to all nt's in the room.

I think he experienced that somewhat while alive (overcompensating for his lack of eye contact by staring at people HARD, etc.) and tried to adjust that. But in Hell? Full uncanny valley, he does not care, he will be strange and off putting and he will ENJOY IT

Going back to Alastor's refusal to adapt, his hatred for change also means he DESPISES how much Vox has changed. He liked Vox, he was comfortable with Vox, there was literally nothing wrong with the way Vox was. And then he went and changed his body and demeanor and he was supposed to want to stick around him (he does keep his old head to comfort himself)

Not really a big stimmer. Except that he bites. He bites so so much in the least sexy way imaginable. In any given moment if you pull off his gloves, he's got puncture wounds in various stages of rapid healing because the moment he needs to self regulate, he is chomping down.

I also feel the need to mention that I think it would be funny if, while they were close, Alastor consistently used Vox's arm as his own personal chew toy. Something about the silicone faux skin he uses just feels great to bite into, what can he say? This has unfortunately also resulted in Vox having a Pavlovian response of just holding his arm up anytime someone close to him gets clearly agitated.

Sensory issues, a plethora of sensory issues! Absolutely despises the feeling of wet fur, whether it's getting wet while it's still on him or he's cleaning it out of the drain. He has genuinely considered tearing all his fur out from the root to avoid it. Also, I despise his fuckass bob, but I like to tell myself the reason he cuts it Like That in the back is to avoid hair brushing against the back of his neck. That would make him Violent.

Noise is a tricky one. For the most part, he loves a loud, music filled and bustling club and doesn't mind it at all. But I think if he is already feeling overstimulated, someone talking a little too loud is enough to set him off.

Very touch averse, with specific exceptions. If he's the one initiating the contact, and especially if he's already tipsy? All good, that's fine. But if someone else is approaching HIM, especially when he isn't expecting it? Like 80% of the time he will not tolerate at all, and even when he will it is for a very limited amount of time.

And of course, should anyone ever approach and ask him if he's autistic? Well, he doesn't really know at all what you're talking about! His behaviors? Goodness, what's so strange about his behaviors, YOU'RE probably the weird one actually.

Perhaps I will add on to this if more thoughts come to me. Till then thanks for reading lol

[wintergrofyuri]

@itsonlypolite

@wrathful-banette

TEEHEE OK

so. i forgot to say. skeptic IS a detective. a pi. a gumshoe. a dick, if you will. but i guess thats sort of implied already. i just wanted to state it clearly.

but anyways.

this whole thing was made bc im so fucking insane about the cage chapter. the themes about being a slave to fate and how our actions are not our own and losing control of yourself and your life. just. ugh. it speaks to me a lot. and ofc skeptic being an old timey detective is so universal. i joke about hating him but i Do like him and find him interesting. i want to put him in situations.

and thats what this whole au is. putting skeptic in situations. hearing new perspectives, having his theories proven wrong, dealing with uncooperative suspects, red herrings. i love when hes wrong or ignored or otherwise slighted. he seems very. sure of himself? not an arrogant fool, but more. a guy who hasnt been wrong before. ykno. and i think ur typical film noir (with slay the princess elements like cycles and fate) is just a really natural fit to explore all that.

but its Also about playing with the whole "perception based creature" thing that the princess has going on. i Love "character nobody really knows" and the princess, with her multiple forms and fluid personality, works Rlly rlly well with this concept. i love the princess and i think she deserves to be a mysterious "haunting the narrative" type character. shes like a spy with multiple disguises. or someone in witness protection.

and also bartender hero lives in my mind like a parasite. oh my god that reminds me i need to talk about the others ok.

hero is the bartender (as stated before) of "the long quiet" bc i think its funny theyre still in tlq even in this silly film noir au.

stubborn is the bouncer/bodyguard/whatever the fuck you call it. he kicks ppl out when they get too rowdy.

cheated is The regular there. he either sits at a table and mopes or gets roped into a card game with opportunist that results in both of them being kicked out (theres always blood drawn).

opportunist is a conman/snake oil salesman whos only still allowed bc hero is too nice and opp is too good at buttering ppl up.

smitten is a tortured artist, lamenting to anyone who will listen about his lost love and muse. he is never paying his damn tab, but again, hero is too nice.

cold is a mysterious figure who only visits the bar like. once a month. he barely talks to anyone and only drinks water. (hes an assassin LOL)

broken is the local priest (the god is shifty btw) who only visits bc hero told him to get out more. he doesnt drink either. he just looks vaguely haunted.

contrarian is a guy whos hard to pin down. you cant find him, you just have to pray he appears ykno. the only people who Know him are hero and cold, but hero refuses to divulge anything abt him and cold is just. Cold. ykno.

paranoid is skeptic's partner (lol) and secretary. he does half the work around the office (maybe more) and lives with skeptic. he complains and protests and threatens to quit, but its all bark. hes very loyal. to his own frustration.

now im going to be honest. hunted is Super difficult to put in this au. given his role as a fight or flight, base animal instinct type, he cant be fit into an au like this very easily. ive considered a hunter, but that doesnt fit him at all. so. im a hack and i should delete my tumblr.

but no seriously hunted is very difficult. ALSO. THE NARRATOR. ive been thinking if i should add him and how prevelant he should be and what he would be like. if he should be in the bar or if skeptic would need to meet him somewhere else. maybe hes the villain ykno. but im. not sure and i dont wanna make the whole thing Too big ykno. i swear its not just bc i dont like him (joke (hes fun to hate (but also i hate him), i genuinely am stuck on what to do with him.

anyways. thats pretty much it. i dont wanna derail this post with. yaoi ramblings. so ill keep it close to my chest. also b4 u ask, im. not going to make this a fic or anything. i dont have the energy for something like this and im not very. good at writing longform anyway. i much prefer tiny drabbles. and anyways, its kinda. rlly unfinished cuz ive been too busy thinking too hard about minor details.

listen to 3 time tony winner, broadway classic, city of angels with music by cy coleman, lyrics by david zippel, and book by larry gelbart. thanks.

I ALMOST FORGOT. theyre still birds 💜. yayyyy 💞

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

While I'm on a kick of being really open about my sexuality, lets just start throwing shit out there and seeing how people interact with it

People who have followed me from the beginning will know that most of my partners get some quippy little nickname assigned to them in place of a name for the internet, and I want to name that this actually DOESN'T come from where might think (or rather it's still infosec, but it goes beyond "don't post the actual names of people you fuck online"

In the scene I have most cultural context for, people often came to group play sessions with an alias (I have one too lol, and it's the only name I ever introduce myself to partners as, mine has been static for going on a decade now). You would introduce yourselves to playmates under your alias, and often you would continue to use it as a marker of in-scene vs out-scene topics of conversation (e.g. sometimes people will talk about their aliases in third person as a whole entity with their own motivation, life, and power, my mom used to talk about "her friend [redacted 1]" if she ever needed to be able to reference a thing without naming explicitly that she and [redacted 1] were the same person, and there are friends of hers who still call her exclusively by that name in private because they have loved each other for going on 50 years now and [redacted 1] is still their partner and love even if mom isn't and vice versa).

So for example, on here, I will refer to any metamours by the plural-inclusive term The Metamour with very little discussion of which one or how many there are or whatever. But in person, I call one metamour [redacted 2] and another metamour [redacted 3] because they were introduced to me by their aliases first, and I genuinely DID NOT KNOW THEY'RE ACTUAL NAMES until after we had become real friends lol.

Anyway, Youtube Boy doesn't know that his nickname here is Youtube Boy, and that's not his alias in scene, nor his actual name, but critically these terms allow me to side step early uncertainties around terms like "boyfriend/girlfriend/datemate/etc" which may imply a degree of romantic entanglement I'm genuinely uncomfortable with. On occasion during this round of posting, I have gone "well it's CLEARER tho" and tried to type out "my boyfriend" about one of my current partners (partner does not carry this same issue for me, as I have always carried dual connotations of Romantic Oartner and Play Partner, so I feel no discomfort/cognitive dissonance with it's implications) and every time I do it I physically cringe away from the screen and delete it. Maybe he wouldn't feel the same way, and hell maybe I won't forever either! But I have almost never been willing to use a word like boyfriend without fairly explicit conversations about commitment, meaning to each other, and boundaries that just don't come up all the time in play partnerships for me you know?

Anyway, what I'm saying here is that sometimes the point of being a slut is to get to be every iteration of yourself that you love being independently from each other in a space that adequately facilitates that iteration of you. I like the people I play with to each get absolutely all of me that is available to them, and I **LIKE** that this often means I get to spend time as different important aspects of self, wholly and without self-doubt or minimization.

And hell, sometimes I even name the iteratioms and let them become something bigger than just a "version of me" and that can be fun too.

[nothorses]

i am a proponent of open borders/worldwide free movement but i do have a hard time reconciling the sovereignty of indigenous nations with the utopian world i imagine where belonging to a nation is immaterial. do you know of anyone who can talk more about this?

I don't know of a particular person I could refer you to online, but I'll outline some of the suggestions I do have for learning below.

Does anyone else know someone online who might be able to speak to this?

My personal understanding (as someone who is neither Indigenous nor an expert, so grains of salt!) is that the things Indigenous Peoples need in order to attain sovereignty are largely dictated by the colonialist system they've been forced to operate under-- which means a decent place to start is just learning about how different Indigenous Peoples have historically understood relevant concepts like what made a People a nation (or tribe, or band), membership to a particular nation, and land "ownership"/territory (if there was such a thing).

Step two, then, is learning about what sovereignty means to them now- and why. Indigenous Peoples have had vastly differing and complex relationships to land and nationhood (as we understand it now) in the past and present, many of them much closer to the ideal you're imagining than is able to exist under settler-colonialist governments like the U.S.

Modern reservations don't even all require those who live there to be members of the nation whose land they live on, nor do all members of those nations live on reservation land (some nations, like the Duwamish, don't have federal recognition or reservation land- yet still have a process for attaining membership).

The Landback movement aims to return land to the Peoples who orignally stewarded it, but that has more to do with ensuring sovereignty for Indigenous Peoples; Landback on the whole isn't really about kicking individual people off the land they live on. That anxiety comes from settlers and settler-colonialism, and fearing that what we did to them will be done to us. Not from, like, actual Indigenous people.

I'm always recommending Indigenous History Now's videos because like, the whole channel is really great, imo. I can't remember exactly which one it is that he talks about land "ownership" in traditional Coast Salish cultures, but I think it's either Indigenous History of the Pacific Northwest Coast, or Indigenous American Culture Zones: The Pacific Northwest Coast.

I think it might also help to learn a little bit about why Indigenous Peoples might prefer the term "nation", especially in a settler-colonialist context.

More valuable than any of that, though, is learning about and from the Native nations local to you. Museums & cultural centers are typically open to the public; you can always check their website to find out, or just find a person to contact and ask directly.

Native nations also tend to run events that are specifically open to the public, which tend to be listed on the nation or center's websites. Be sure to check sites for Native nations in your are that aren't federally recognized as well; a lot of them have websites and events and things anyways.

Every interaction I've had with local nations & individual Indigenous people has taught me that on the whole, Native nations here aren't just friendly, but actively want non-Natives to learn about them, from them, and are really excited when we approach with genuine curiosity & respect. I can't speak to what's true where you live, but it can really be a joy to connect in that way. There is of course also a lot of hurt, grief, and very justified distrust as well, so y'know. The genuine curiosity and respect is key, I think.

[astracora]

EVER's Tool - Chapter 2

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (MC POV/Sylus POV/Zayne POV), Caleb x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 11028

Written: 28th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This took me too long, and then Caleb was released, and then I fell into the pit. Anyway, here we go. Chapters for this are gonna be way slower cause for some reason I made em... longer??? I dunno why I did this but hey. Anyway, um... enjoy?

Now Playing: As We Fall, by League of Legends

Masterlist AO3

<- Previous

It is in one of the old labs, where Raincoat finds you later, as though he'd been looking for you.

He watches for a moment as you sit against a wall, hand extended out in front of you. Clenching the segmenting fingers, over and over. Trying to seek something out, you're just not sure what. Like there should be something there, grounding you.

"You good there?"

"Fine." You exhale, turning sharp eyes to him, as he raises his hands in mock defence.

"Hey, don't give me that look, I came to chat."

"I don't recall us being friends."

He bears a title like yours. You know that Raincoat is just a pseudonym, passed down. You don't know how many there have been, but he's certainly not the first. He definitely won't be the last. Until EVER no longer need killers at their beck and call, there will always be a Raincoat.

You do wonder, however, why they choose that name for his ilk. Was it a fashion favourite of the first one?

Easy to wipe blood off, you suppose.

You've never asked his name, you've never wanted to know. If anything happens, and he ends up on the list, it's easier if he's just another face. Someone whose history you don't know. Someone whose face gets lost in the static.

"Come on now, you're always such a grouch." He sits on the table in front of you, and that smug irritating smile ticks at the corner. It overlaps for a second, sharp canines, before it shatters. "I just wanted to ask if you'd dealt with the doctor yet."

"I don't fail my missions, Raincoat. Are you here just to ask stupid questions?"

"I told you, I came to chat. You're the most fun person to talk to in this place. Everyone else doesn't like bloody hands."

You snort despite yourself. You think of all the scientists with their sins on their shoulders, and the fear and dislike in their eyes when they see you or Raincoat. Like their torture is more palatable than your killing.

As though there aren't dead children in the shadows of EVER's growth.

"The feeling isn't mutual." You respond, but ease a little. Raincoat can't be trusted, he's manipulative, a trained liar, and he wants others to think him a fool. Still, if you keep an eye on his hands, you doubt you'll need to look too hard for a dagger coming.

Afterall, if you fail, someone like him will be sent for you, then after the doctor.

'Darling'

"Ouch, one day you'll want to talk to me."

"If that day comes, we have bigger problems to worry about."

He laughs but it's an empty, cool gesture. A feeling that holds no weight, that does not matter. Like so many feelings you experience in this place. Like everyone is behind a wall, and you're watching. Seeking something out. Something genuine.

"Look, I just wanted to know if you'd come across him yet-" Warm forest eyes, tears glimmering in them, wavering on the edge, "'cause I've run into him before."

"You have?"

"Yeah, they've had me keep an eye on him. Along with that scientist they keep sending to talk to him. Carl? Cartier? Whatever his name is, an old friend. I dunno why though, the guys never gonna convince Li to join."

You keep hearing it. He won't join, he won't join. Why wouldn't he join? Why would he suddenly join them now?

"What do you know about him?"

"Come on now, Unicorn, information is expensive."

You lean forwards, stretching claws out and glint sharp edges at the man, who raises his hands again. His laugh is still empty, but it verges on unsure. Like he isn't ready to test if you'll use it.

You don't want him to know you won't, not if you don't have to. Not unless the noose pulls around your throat.

"You really are their favourite hunting dog aren't you? Some people skills could go a long way."

"Like you? Smiling like a serpent in the grass? I don't need to lie to my targets. I just need to get rid of them."

"I bet holding your chain is a rough ride, do you often bite the hand that feeds you too?"

You want to cut his throat open, it is a clawing need at the bottom of your gut. Every EVER dog that pretends you're the only pet kept. Like he isn't aware that when his value runs dry, he will be put down, or left chained in a kennel in the cold until it claims him. You wonder if they're all so unaware of their lack of value. That a bottom line and a higher goal are all that matter. That whoever hands down your orders, is probably just as expendable.

You don't know what EVER want, they would never bother to tell you. You've heard stories, immortality and overwhelming power. You think it must be like every other organisation with more money and status than they know what to do with.

It is the knowledge that makes it easier. You have a job, when that job is over, you will finally be granted release from your chains. If it comes in the form of death, you think that will be more than you deserve.

"You can talk, or you can leave. You can also leave in chunks, that's your call." You snarl, pushing up from the ground, and walking past the man. Not before reaching out a claw and cutting through the end of his raincoat.

"Alright, alright." He sighs, looking down at his clothing, "Now I have to buy a new one."

"Don't you have like fifty of them? Why else would you have that stupid title?"

"I didn't pick it, did you pick Unicorn?"

No. You're waiting for the namesake to be accurate. Sword through your skull, quiet in your brain.

"And I know you didn't pick the other one-" This time you extend your dagger at him, pointed edge aiming for throat, teeth bared. Snarl burning through your throat. "Woah, I'm not gonna say it. I like my head attached."

You think of Leon as he purrs it at you, as he says it like you are his favourite doll. You think about the way you want to tear his head from his shoulders, to tear limb from limb, to watch him rot. Before you are removed from service, you will take the man with you. So that he can never turn your stomach or anyone else's again.

"Speak."

"I thought I wa- Ok, alright. Doctor Li isn't going to just roll over for EVER, whatever they're going to manipulate him with, it's big. I've seen him. He gives sweets to kids, eats most of them himself. One for you, two for me." Raincoat mimes, when he receives nothing but a raised brow, he continues, "He gets a sad look in his eyes whenever a cat runs away from him. I've seen him pull cat toys out of his pocket to try to get them to come over. Sometimes it works, sometimes… well. He gets real sad."

"So he's a soft heart, what does that matter? All hearts can break."

"He's moral. He abhors what Xander Science is doing, and he knows EVER owns them."

"I'm not hearing anything new."

You think about the man with the green eyes bending down in front of cats, extending his fingers, and frowning just slightly when the creature bolts. You think about him offering bonbons out of his pocket. You think about white lab coats and glasses pushed up as he smiles, as he tends to a jasmine.

There's something in your chest that stings and hurts in the cold. You think of frozen over petals, black ice and twisted shapes.

"He's living with three other people in a fancy house in Linkon."

That is new… Raincoat knows where he lives, but the information wasn't in the file?

"Where?"

"So I was right, they didn't tell you."

"What are you talking about?"

"No, nothing, just curious about the kind of information they give you, to let their favourite dog fulfill their hunt." You get the urge to sharpen your dagger on his bones. Chipping and carving through them.

The urge passes quickly enough, but the irritation at the smug smile does not. "They give me what I need to finish a job."

"No doubt about that, you have quite a record. I'll send you the address. You sure you want to go though? Taking someone from their home's quite a risk, maybe that's why they didn't share it. Easier to catch him coming out of work."

"I can catch him coming out of his home just as easily." It's not pride, or confidence. Not really. You fill your missions, you come home, you hand over a finished product. You are good at what you do. There is little doubt. It does not fill you with joy, to complete a job. It is simply to avoid punishment.

There are no fistbumps. No high-five. No congratulations…

No energetic voice telling you, you did good.

You aren't sure why you ever thought there would be.

"Alright." You watch Raincoat mess with his device for a moment, before he shrugs, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"If a warning from you would save me, I hav-"

"Bigger problems to worry about, I get it. Have you ever had friends?"

You don't bother answering him, leaving the room, twirling the dagger.

How would you even know? Years all lost to static, memories scattered to the winds. You were told the only person that mattered to you was Caleb, and if that's true… you cannot even remember him.

Perhaps your affections held no weight, perhaps even you and Caleb were empty, like you and every other person in the compound. Was it so meaningless to have a picture of the two of you, that his presence means so little to the you now?

Dogs can be loving, so you don't think it's the chain around your throat that stops you…

There is little in EVER that is worth caring for… perhaps the you now, lost their only chance at feeling more than dim acceptance. Tired withdrawal.

A need to see the end, and pass over. Perhaps then you can see Caleb, and remember what it felt like to care.

If he can care back, and not look at bloodied hand and broken carapace in disgust.

Perhaps you should be relieved he's not around to see you, to see the blood splatter up the lab walls. You can't imagine anyone would look at EVER's dog and not sneer.

—-

The training room is too warm.

You've spent four hours testing the limits of the new EVOL's you've been fed. Teleporting through space, mindless music thrumming through the background. It is hard to reign them in, pain ripping through your flesh as you reach for something you can't fully control.

Resonance is a powerful tool, you've been told. It is instinctual, breathing, a part of you. Every EVOL that has been devoured by it, is like the clawed hand. Attached to you, grotesque, too distinct. Too alien to really understand.

The first time you had tried to pull lightning to your clawed fist, you had felt the ozone burn. Tearing through the carapace, pain ripping through the limb. Shattering and twisting through it, until you had lay on the ground. Shaking, vomiting and screaming from the pain of it.

Your residual limb twitching as they pulled you away from the scorched floor.

Trying to feel for the lightning through your attachment was like feeling through thick mud. It was not at the surface of your skin, like calling your resonance to your other hand was. It was weak and hard to grasp, and if you did not grasp correctly… too tightly.

To summon something that could burn through your skin, with flesh and blood, felt like a fool's task. You sacrificed three attachments to the electricity before you could hold it in palm. For a short period of time, then the pain spread out from your shoulder, down to your chest.

Your heart thudding, thumping, racing, then screaming in protest.

Breath short, broken, fleeting.

You shook it out, releasing your hold, pulling away from the EVOL that did not wish to be held. Not by you.

You weren't sure where it had once belonged, you just knew it was not yours.

Weeks had been spent trying to harness the second, dampening. A power that should have been able to weaken or suppress the EVOLs of those around you. Harder to grasp, like it was in direct conflict with your resonance. Fighting it everytime you summoned it to the forefront.

A caged beast that did not belong in your chest, nestled amongst your heart. Teeth and claws, unrestrained fury. It does not wish to be used, or called to heel. It demands more space in your heart than can be allowed.

It is an unruly and uncontrolled tool. Without great focus and peace, it is impossible to use for combat.

You had only ever used it once, successfully breaking sound amplification, bringing you to your knees. Head splitting with the pressure of it. It had felt, for a moment, like the EVOL had taken pity on you.

Alive and warm, before it faded back into the recesses. Refusing to return to your hand.

Without snapping its jaws at resonance with vicious glee.

The easiest to use was the time EVOL, a weak little thing. It's uses limited, like a child's gift. Bursts and flickers of a power that flitted like a butterfly.

You could use it to slow time around you for snapshots. Using it to move out of danger, flickering out of existence to flee. Only useable on yourself, or things you held in grasp.

It always listened, curled around your fingers like a small hand. Seeking out the heat of your flesh for comfort. Like if it did not behave, it would be left alone in the cold.

Against all, resonance continues to be the only form of power that feels like you. There are moments when you use it, that you can almost feel it respond like a vine seeking out something that is no longer there. Poking, prodding, out into space.

You think of ivy on the sides of buildings, growing eternally seeking out comfort in shade that is not there.

Unclear what it seeks, an answer you can't give, not with no memories and static in your senses…

You just know that when it meets the other EVOLs that settle in your body, it recoils as though they don't belong.

Like its instinct has been to eat, ravenous and starving, without checking its food was not toxic, and now it writhes in pain at the result.

If it is such a part of you, you're not sure what that says about who you are.

A hungry, desperate beast, perhaps. Seeking out a thing you can never find.

A poisoned dog in the woods, waiting for the pain to ebb away.

Perhaps both.

It is when you lose focus, teleporting into a wall, stumbling back with your hand against your head, that you feel the exhaustion finally catch back up with you.

Escaping sleep, running on fumes, caffeine and sugar. If EVER had wanted you to be a sufficient tool, you think they would have removed the need for sleep.

Erased illness.

Removed your capability for pain.

You hiss as you ease the ache in your forehead, leaning back against the offending wall and taking a deep inhale.

It is the struggle eternal. To sleep and regain your strength, to finish a job. To reduce the chances of failing, of finding out what is on the other end of failing a job for EVER… versus the knowledge of what awaits you in the dark of your own mind.

Broken images and pain you can't put into place. Nightmares of things you don't recognise. Feelings you can't hope to understand.

There is no escape in the land of dreams, no comforting space to find safe and happy. No place to walk to remind you of times when you might have had a hand to hold, or a smile to greet you. Your dreams do not offer you the memories of Caleb, do not recreate the smile he has in the lone photo.

Perhaps if they did, you would escape to them often.

The close call with the red eyed man played in your mind. The mist that grasped your limbs, the arms around your body. The protest in your ribs as his muscles worked. The ache. The awareness that your body was still fragile.

You think about being dragged, and caged, and taken somewhere else against your will.

Against electric shocks through your skin. Scalpels through your body.

Waking up with your chest opened up, the agony of awareness, and the horror of a body that did not feel like your own.

There is something about the devil you know, after all, and the devil you do not know, with his shining red eyes…

You would rather not find out what lies on the other end, it is hard to imagine anything worse, but the static and the fear of his growl of a voice, that tore through you like the lightning through your attachment, did not make you wish for the risk.

The knowledge and the awareness was something to shy from. It always brought the abstract reminder of pain and loss.

If it kept you off that table then you'd have to brave what your brain concocted.

Figures in the shadows, and voices on the edges of your consciousness.

—--

EVER are careful, Sylus knows this well. He's used to them hiding, he's used to hunting for each head of the hydra. Cutting it back and cauterising the wound. What he can reach. What he can grasp.

He feels, however, like he is chasing his tail. Like they can see him coming, and have begun to lead him to dead ends. To mysteries that he has no time to solve. Sanitariums, graveyards, old bases, laboratories that matter little in their grand scheme.

Laying out crumbs for him, letting him take pieces on the chess board, while keeping the win out of his hands.

He is not a stupid man, he is used to playing games that feel unwinnable. Immense power can often push down any enemy without hindrance.

This, however, is him looking for a hidden jewel, in a desert. The longer he takes, the further you get from him.

The colder his home grows.

The evening that the doctor and fish had returned, hollowed out and on the verge of cracking, he had watched them fracture in ways he wasn't sure he could fix.

The doctor had sequestered himself away, and when Sylus had investigated, he had been staring at documents on experimentations with wanderers. Xander Sciences stamped across the top. Trying to understand the lengths that had been followed to attach one of their limbs to you.

The fish had first lay in one of the larger bath tubs, head under water, embraced by the coldest he could find. Staring up at the ceiling. A heartbroken, cracked song had flowed from under the door frame. He normally loved to hear the fish and you sing… this… this felt like an elegy. Taking him back to bloodied swords and your figure chained in front of his haunted eyes.

Eventually Rafayel had pulled himself out of the water, sopping wet and trudged into the bedroom, finding his way to Sylus' side. Dripping over the covers and curling up on his chest. If his tears were muffled into his chest, he didn't mention it. Just soothed hands he hoped did not shake, down the lemurian's back. Humming under his breath.

Not an elegy, never in mourning, just one of the songs he'd heard you singing a hundred times. Just another thing that was as familiar to him as everything about you.

It should have been a relief to know you were alive, and in some ways it truly was, but he knew the fish was tired. Of being forgotten, of watching you leave. Of knowing you were not returning to his arms just yet.

An ache and pain that lit up the canvas for his art, but left him hollowed and hurting.

After the water had cooled Sylus' skin through his clothes, the hair sticking to Rafayel's face, as he looked up at the man, he retrieved a towel with his EVOL. Easing it over skin, and brushing through wet hair.

"They're coming back to us." He speaks, and it is more assured than he feels. It is as hopeful as it is a need. He cannot go another lifetime without you, neither can the Lemurian, not since having you. In every beautiful flaw. He will chase every life with you, but this one… This one is special. This one is a family and a home, he cannot give it up without being killed once and for all.

He will put this immortal body to use, the way it should be used.

Rafayel nods against him, not moving, and it is moments before he falls asleep.

Sylus wonders at the dreams of the fish, before he decides to chase his own slumber for once, unwilling to disturb the peace that is so rare.

Days later he is working through information. There is something to be said for each of his family members. Rafayel has connections that even he does not have access too, and while he is often tempted to ask, he doesn't want to pry when the fish is willingly digging into it to find any sight of your tail.

Zayne has talked to anyone with connections to EVER, looking into Xander Sciences, digging through all of the correspondence he has ever had for any hint. Though he had come up empty, without accepting offers that his conscience, and his morals can never live with.

Xavier, after healing, had returned to working. Using the Associations information, talking to your captain, seeking out information from people he could trust there. A disappearance was one thing, a return with EVER's mark upon your collar, and a wanderer limb attached to you, was easier for them to mobilise for.

Though Sylus was unsure how reliable they could be, considering you disappeared on a mission for them.

Luke and Kieran have been working double time, in a way he has not seen them move in quite some time. They fulfil orders, of course, but it is never with the kind of violent desperation he sees in them now. Like they have a timeframe, and if they can't beat it, they will fade away.

He thinks about Kieran carving crystals out of his skin, of never having enough time to live.

They know better than anyone what cruelty EVER can commit for their needs. He should not be surprised when they return, disappointed and dirty.

"Nothing there boss."

"We asked around too, no one saw anything."

They're despondent, he realises. Looking at the two as they move their masks to the side. They have taken to wearing the crow hoodies you bought them, more and more. He has debated pulling them off, so that he can wash them, perhaps in the laundry detergent you prefer. Like he's trying to soothe cats whose owner has not returned.

It's not the best thing to wear for jobs, but he doesn't want to watch the twins shrink in on themselves more. There is dirt smudged over Kieran's cheek, against one of his scars, and Sylus blinks and sees you.

Scars through your skin, twisting your lips when you smile.

It blurs into the blank, cold look he received days ago.

The chill in his heart has to be chased away by the wine he drinks from his glass, as he flicks the screen on his tablet. "They're not going to make it easy for us."

Kieran snorts, sitting on the edge of his desk, to stare down at the tablet, looking for something. Anything, Sylus thinks. Like if they look at what he's found, maybe something will click.

Maybe their experiences will mean something, now. Pain justified.

As though it were ever so easy.

"Any other places we can check on the list, boss?" Luke tilts his head, the hood slips further over his eyes.

They look tired, and worn, and hungry. "No, not until I've gone through this. Go get some sleep, and get some food out of the fridge. There should be plates to reheat."

Always now. Food cooked at speed, stuffed into fridges, waiting for spare time stolen from frantic searching.

He cannot remember the last time a meal was shared around a table. Laughter in the walls of his home.

He misses it more than he would ever be able to confess to another. At least not right now, when he has to be strong. Stronger, even, for those who are fighting alongside him.

"But boss-"

"It's an order, if you fall over out of exhaustion, you won't be able to do your jobs."

The two look at each other, sharing a world he can't begin to touch, let alone understand, before they return resigned. Frustration lurking under the edges, of a loyalty he isn't sure they realise they've offered him, and a tired relief, bled into gratitude.

He can keep sending them on more chases, but every piece he claims, every facility abandoned or worthless to EVER, has made him more aware that where he is searching, is not the answer.

While it is unlikely you lie in the heart of EVER's web, they have sequestered you somewhere he cannot see.

Sylus' eyes are many things, but blind? Never. He has always seen the things others could not, even if he has not wanted to. Even if it haunted him. Why now, he cannot seek his own greatest desire, perhaps a punishment for blood or sins. The result of being a monster that lives on the sins of others.

He can only find relief that two plates are missing when he checks on them, dead to the world and curled up in one of the bedrooms set aside for them.

He still cannot remember if it was your idea or his own.

As he cleans up the mess they have left, he receives a message from the fish.

'I think I have something, come here.'

Sylus is unsure if he's ever moved as quickly, as he does, when he pushes his bike past the limits of what even the N109 Zone would comfortably allow.

—----

"Look, I can't tell you everything."

"You need to tell me something."

"I'll tell you what I can!"

When he arrives, Sylus hears before he sees. Rafayel stood, arms crossed but dagger in hand, turning it this way and that. Eyes narrowing on a man stood in a raincoat.

Tacky, with a torn edge.

"Did you ruin this man's coat, fish?"

Rafayel looks up, huffs and shrugs loosely, "He must have had a run in with someone else."

The man in question raises his hands, placating, and careful, now that someone else has arrived. A smile that looks too relaxed, makes Sylus look at his hands. Steady, fingerprints gone.

"Yeah, I had a run in with this nasty dog in my neighbourhood. It's got the worst temper, no good handlers. Likes to snarl."

"And- I don't care. Tell him."

Sylus steps up next to the fish, red glistening eye focusing on the man. Seeing… nothing. Emptiness.

He hesitates. Humans are full of greed and desires. They burn with it, as alive as souls can be, even if they're twisted, corrupt little things. This one, is either the one most closest to their mortal image of purity, or as broken as they come.

"Name's Raincoat."

"Idiotic name, tell me what you need to tell me."

The man huffs through his nose, "Do all of you have the people skills of a dead goat?"

"Is that a comparison people often make?"

His hands return to his sides, shoved into too deep pockets, but his smile remains. It does not offer an ounce of comfort. Sylus has seen smiles like his on other faces. It accompanies a spear to the abdomen more often than it doesn't.

"I heard you're looking for that hunter-" Sylus steps forwards and this time the man jumps back a half step, "Woah, no need to menace, I don't know where they are, but I do know what they're after."

"You're an EVER dog, why would you tell us anything worthwhile?" Rafayel finally speaks, and Sylus watches as Raincoat's eyes go to the dagger in the man's hand. It is a small flick of eyes, before he returns to his smile.

The shortest moment, but he can see recognition. He knows the fish does as well, because he spins the dagger right in front of him, watching as the eyes follow the movement.

"You think I like another one like me lurking around? If I get deemed useless, that hunter of yours will tear my throat out with that fucked up hand of theirs. I've seen the corpses of people they've been sent to kill. I don't need that."

"Like EVER would be any kinder without them?"

"Like minimising the risks of being mauled by a wanderer are always smart."

Sylus notes the chill in Rafayel's eyes, the way his hand tightens a little on the dagger, watching the twitch at the talk of your arm. The one EVER stole from you. Twice.

He hopes your metal one, with the beautiful fish, is still somewhere. When he claims you back, he'll find it.

"What are they after then?"

"That doctor of yours. EVER think that with the assistance of your hunter, he'll finally agree to work with them."

They look at each other, and don't see the widening grin on Raincoat's face, "I've heard he's pretty moral, but he'd do anything for them, right? EVER think so anyway, and they're willing to wave them in front of his face, to find out."

Eyes turn back to him as he shrugs, miming dangling something from his hand, "And if it doesn't work, they'll just find other ways to make him useful. Heard they have some fucked up chips they use for some of their tools. Makes 'em real compliant."

"Why would we believe you?"

He laughs, like it couldn't matter less to him, like Sylus couldn't tear him apart himself. He should, and as he steps forward, a hand tightens around his wrist. Rafayel is facing Raincoat, eyes focused. It is a subtle movement, quick. His dagger spins to keep Raincoat's eyes on it. When Sylus is released, he eases the fury bubbling in his gut.

"You've been useful before, so I'll let you go, so you can be useful in the future. Alright? If you're lying-"

"I know, I know. You'll find me and murder me, your little family are fond of death threats, huh?"

When the man is gone, leaving the two stood in an alley, with Sylus feeling as though he has gained weight strapped to his back, "So we keep an eye on the doctor."

"I guess I'll be on bodyguard duty for once." Rafayel laughs, but it's tired and it's worn. Weighted by questions left unanswered.

Of images that Sylus can't stop trying to shake out of his mind.

EVER pinned to your throat, their leash around your neck, pulling until it snaps.

If they use you, to hurt Zayne, he knows when you come back to yourself, you will never forgive yourself. He has seen you sink into despair once before, he will not witness it again.

—---

Zayne feels as though he's going mad.

"You wish to guard me?"

"You can have me, or you can have Mephisto, maybe the twins. I can reasonably behave myself."

"Sylus, you cannot follow me around the hospital. You would draw far too much attention, and if I am truly a target, it will be more clear that you have some kind of inside information."

The leader of Onychinus stares him down, unwavering jewel eyes. He's used to the man being stubborn, Sylus does not waver from a goal, he has never halted his intentions, or paused in his journey.

Even though Zayne can see fraying edges, and a strength that wavers on the cusp of cracking.

"Then Mephisto will follow you around, ready to alert me."

It's the best he thinks he's going to get for a compromise. The bird at least, can somewhat blend into the surroundings. Perching outside his office perhaps. He doubts anyone will capture him inside of Akso Hospital. Still he's not sure there are limits to EVER's pull at this point.

If they have their hand in everything, he doesn't see how they can't cover up a doctor's disappearance.

His disappearance.

He has no intention to be reckless, and he finds Sylus' concern comforting. A reminder that even though he watched you flee from a café he has frequented with you, he is not holding his grief alone for once.

"I'll accept your pets supervision, but ensure he keeps a reasonably low profile." Accompanies his sigh of weak acceptance. There's little else he can do, if something happens to him… he will not be there to help you, nor will he be able to keep feeling the warmth of his home. He does not want to be the cause for more grief.

"Whatever you say, doctor." Sylus stands, motions for the robot bird that flutters over on metal feathers and rests on Zayne's shoulder. Ready, waiting. He tightens his hand around his work bag, nodding at the thing that he's still not sure has much of a will of its own.

Then he thinks of the times he has found you curled up asleep with Mephisto, and the bird's reluctance to leave the perch of your metal shoulder.

Just as attached as his master, Zayne thinks fondly.

Fingers drift over his cheekbones, pulling Zayne from his thoughts, as he focuses on the wavering heat of Sylus' eyes, "I'll be alright." He offers, as the man hesitates.

"You will, but if you're not-" Something is attached to behind his ear, though it is small and the sensation disappears almost immediately, "I'll find you regardless."

"We need to have a discussion over requesting access to hinge upon privacy."

"I told you before doctor, we have different boundaries for acceptability." The smirk is wide and self satisfied, but it is more confident than Zayne has seen Sylus for some time.

"Now get going, you have lives to save, my good doctor." His hand is raised for a kiss to be placed upon his palm, and then he is released. Mephisto kicking up to fly out ahead of him.

He has always walked the distance to the hospital, it is an easy journey, a moment to prepare himself for a long and hard day. It is never easy facing the path he has chosen for himself, despite his passion for it. Some days are full of pain, others joy.

Zayne has worked ever harder in the pursuit of easing his aching heart. He worries that his handle over his EVOL will begin to shatter, that his lack of control outside of what he would allow himself with his family, will spread to his work.

It is with an iron grip, that grows ever tighter, and the sunken set to his stature, that has allowed him to keep moving. 

He is only ten minutes into his walk, when he feels the prickling up the back of his neck, turning to erect a wall of ice in front of him. Steady hand pushing back against the jolt of lightning that touches the ice and fractures it, scorching where it lands.

He smells burning, and steps back, Mephisto screeches, before lightning arcs for the bird. Piercing a wing and sending him hurtling to the floor.

Before him is a vision he never wants to see again. That twisted carapace arm, with the lightning crackling and burning through it, leaving deep grooves with every spark. Your scars pulling at your lips as you focus mismatched eyes on him.

Cold, empty, devoid of anything.

Sylus had warned him… he hadn't been prepared to see it. When he'd seen you at the café you had been startled, alarmed. Human. Despite the lack of recognition.

Now, before him, dagger in your other hand, he sees nothing. Like you have shut down, broken off parts of the warmth of the person he knew, and stepped out a doll.

You look at the barrier, and he recognises the look. Calculating, ready. The lightning dissipates and you look back up at him, gold filtering into your gaze.

The resonance he can feel across from him is a familiar heat, like home. You place your hand on his barrier as he watches, one lip quirks pulling on the scars, before eyes narrow. "Doctor Li, I would appreciate you coming with me willingly. I have been informed not to damage the merchandise."

"A kind consideration, but I'd rather not hand myself over to EVER." He forces out, through a throat that feels too tight. Words tinged in a humour he doesn't feel. Like you're still you, like he's still making jokes with you. Dry wit and warm heart.

He pushes the barrier out, the ice pushing you back from him. Sharpening ice blades before him, holding them ready.

He watches, as your expression falters. It is like something filters through your cold eyes, a strange flicker of discomfort, before you refocus. He knows you well, has loved you for a long time, but this is a person he does not recognise. Not truly. Whatever lurks there, he isn't sure he can puzzle it out without time.

Which, as he watches your claw glow gold, he will not be offered easily.

"Very well, they will have to tolerate limbs in place."

It is said so flatly, that he feels the chill up his back. To be looked at by you, with nothing but tired acceptance. You who eased the pain out of his skin when the ice pierced it. You who saw warmth in him. You who gave him a safe place to let his control drop.

You who pulling him forwards in time.

Your hand pulls back, and before he can wonder at it, the claw sharpens, grows, and is pierced through the wall of ice, shattering it.

He shoots the shards of ice, backing up further. He can get back home, he thinks as he sends another flurry-

You dart forwards, blinking out of existence for a moment before you are before him, claw grabbing for his throat, and deflected with an icy blade.

It catches at the wrist of your carapace, the grotesque thing pulled back as you wince at the chill. The pain makes you smirk at him, fang peeking out under lip, and you dart forwards again, grabbing it in claw and snapping it. Before trying to headbutt him.

He shields his face with his arm, and pulls another barrier to keep you from slashing with the sharpened blade of claws.

Zayne has to fight you, he realises, something he has never done in this life. You have practiced how to resonate with him, had trial matches, practiced fighting with him, never against him.

Never pushed his EVOL past what you believed was safe, worried at the edges at any pain he has felt, even as you willingly eased it with your power or your touch.

He has never known you to want to risk him like you do now, pushing and clawing at his barrier. Edging him on. As you shoot lightning, with a wince he notes, he finds the logical part of his brain wondering how. Before he runs.

Ice blades flung behind him, a flurry of snow kicking up, he races back the way he came. Before he collides with a solid form, as you stand right before him. Claw grabbing his neck and tightening your grip. He grabs the wrist, freezing where he touches, watching as you hesitate.

Flinching as the chill hardens and cracks, before you squeeze. It is not the familiar touch of resonance he is used to, as the gold seeps up your claw, and into his own skin. It pulls at the ice, hardening its grip. Strengthening it. With none of the warmth of the EVOL he is used to.

It burns back up his skin, sending the ice back the way it came, pushing through his skin. He gasps as it spreads, fights back the cry he wants to let out as the ice turns black and pierces through his arm.

He distantly hears Mephisto squawk, the flutter of feathers, before the sound quietens.

The gold glow of your eyes intensifies, sharpening to points as you squeeze around his throat, the agony of his arm spreads up to his shoulder, as you cut off his airways. "A power you can't control…" Through the haze of his eyes, as he grows dizzy and numb, he sees the spark of something. Guilt. Pain. Understanding? "Go to sleep, Doctor Li."

A flash of red, and the force of a hurricane flings you from him. Sending him to the floor, knees colliding hard with the ground, and hand not frozen barely catching him. He gasps, wheezing to pull oxygen back into his lungs, to ease the ice in his limb. Relieved when it begins to skitter back. Pulling out of his limb.

He is rounded as Sylus stands before him, "Really now doctor, seconds after my warning?" A relief, an assurance that he will not have to hurt you without someone to keep him steady.

That there is a better chance together, than alone.

Even if his lungs struggle to pull oxygen in for his brain to function again.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

—----

You're falling.

Surrounded by nothing but pitch black.

There is no answer to how long you fall, you cannot see around you.

You're falling.

You reach out, grasping for something. Anything. To stop the hurtling. You feel sick. Agony. Like your body is covered in wounds. Barely holding itself together.

A flash of light and you see your metal hand, grasping. It catches on a ledge, and the light filters through, a lone wisp. It bobs next to your hand, tiny and gold and weak. It dances like a firefly, dancing over your fingers as you dangle.

You try to reach with your other hand but it does not move, like it is locked to your side. Too heavy to use.

As you tense the hand you can use, a little painted fish swims over it, over to your fingers. It twirls around each metal joint, seeking something.

You don't think it finds it, because it jumps as though leaving water. Swimming away. Your hand opens as though you need to grab it.

You need to grab it.

If it leaves, you'll never see it again.

You can't lose him.

The motion causes your hand to open, and as you watch the firefly of light die slowly… the metal turns to claws. Unnatural and broken. Grotesque and black. Scales replacing metal.

It is the last thing you see before the darkness greets you again, and you fall.

Slamming into a ground that knocks all the air out of your lungs.

It is cold that greets you, an icy expanse against the wounded skin of your back. Your claw twitches at your side. Pain shooting through your body that does not respond. Useless and worthless.

It cannot serve you, or anyone.

There is nothing to gain from this body.

Only your claw can move, only your claw can make you worth something.

You are a tool that will be discarded once they realise how very little you matter.

In the darkness the caw of a crow rattles your brain, the sound too loud to be flying over you. Your senses fractured and struggling to make sense of the lack of sight.

It is the first sound you have heard, other than your struggling lungs, with your claw you pull yourself over onto your stomach, and as you do. Blinding lights hit your eyes.

The flash of light lasts a moment, but it is enough to wound your eyes. Intense and harsh. As you blink, trying to force the retina burn to ease, you feel a hand reach for your cheek.

Through the blinking lights and the hazy vision, you see a light behind the back of a head. Eyes gazing into yours.

With each blink the colours flicker.

Red.

Purple.

Pink.

Green.

Blue.

Before your claw reaches out, desperate, shaking. The eyes turn, look at the twisted thing attached to you, before the hand pushes you away, pulling back. A hiss of disgust.

A violent rejection…

And you fall again.

—----

You have been pushed to complete this mission before you are ready. There is no rest, when you have a leash so tight around your neck you can feel the air leave your lungs.

You stare at the man before you, who guards his lover with the snarl of a dragon guarding a treasure. As he gasps to right himself. Trembling as your EVOL's influence stops ripping through his limbs.

At least there is something to be learned. Now if you could just deal with the red eyed man.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

It grates at you. Kitten. Kitten. Kitten.

"Stop calling me that." You snarl at him. It is not something you are prone to feeling, a violent feeling under your skin, on a job. You have become good at locking back the feelings to complete a mission. You are good at getting through them. At not feeling.

Why do these two have any impact on you? The people they spend time with? Why does your mind fracture through the feelings you cannot name?

"You never used to complain, is sweetie better? Beloved?"

It rattles at you, fierce and violent. Your brain tumbling through the darkness, seeking out a ledge to grasp.

So you rush him, dagger aimed for his throat.

It does not land, brushed aside with a careful hand, before you stab forwards again.

Again.

Again.

Wild and furious and desperate.

Your movements are easily deflected, and when he aims a punch you dart back. Staring at him. Forcing yourself to ease. You have to control it.

You have a target.

Electric and scalpel. If you can't finish, you will feel them again. The reminder of your worthless body on the awareness of agony.

EVER can do worse to you. You cannot give them a reason to.

"You are not my target." You manage to speak, correcting your grip on your dagger, flexing the claw at your side. "Stand aside, I would rather not kill anyone I do not need to."

It's bitten off and harsh, tinged in all the fury you cannot seem to pull back to heel.

Red eyes narrow at you, as the man adjusts his cuffs, moving to stand in front of the doctor, who pulls himself up a little. Breathing easier. "I won't let anyone hurt him, not even you Kitten, and this isn't you."

"I told you-"

You barely get it out before the mist grabs your arm, tugging you forwards and down. So you snarl, and throw yourself at him like the dog you've been called too many times.

Fangs bared, dagger out, and claw extended.

You slash at his face, kick out at his leg, when his EVOL grasps at you, you force it to shatter to the gold running over your skin. Though it never dissipates for long. A hand grasps the wrist of your claw, tightening against where the ice still has you frozen. Squeezing enough to crack it, and you let out a gasp of pain.

Red eyes turn to it, the damage in front of his eyes, and you stab into his chest with the dagger when he does. He releases you for a moment but grabs the wrist holding the dagger, eyes wild and canines bared.

He pushes himself further into the blade, staring down at you.

"The hell are you doing? Do you want to die?"

He barks a laugh, advancing, hand tightening so your bones creak, "When I die, it won't be the person in front of me doing it."

You push the dagger in, growling when he winces in response, "You say that now-"

A shiver runs up your back as the red flares. As his one eye glows.

The world sinks away for a moment. Leaving that pinpoint of red.

Devour.

Only you-

Devour him.

And this flower-

Devou-

"Get out of my head." You snarl, the gold shattering him back. You reach up for your head, stumbling back, leaving the dagger in his chest. The world tilts at an angle, and you slip to the floor.

It crackles and it stings, and the world turns to static. Your surroundings are in technicolour, before dimming into grey.

There's flowers fluttering in the breeze, before they scatter and become nothing but ash.

He pulls the dagger out of his chest, looking at you as you force yourself to your knees. You watch him hold it, like it's precious. Like it matters, rather than throwing it aside.

The man handles it with care, as he places it on the ground. "I do wish Rafayel hadn't taught you to use that, sometimes. Sharp little thing."

You turn eyes to him, scrambling back like a cornered cat, daring not to blink, as you will your mind to steady, to focus. To do something other than fracture.

The devil you don't know. The failure that awaits you.

You extend your hand, the lightning arcing, but rattling through your bones. You bite off the pain, relieved when his advancements stop, moving out of the way of your uncontrolled desperation.

The doctor has recovered mostly, standing, "Sylus, we need to get them somewhere safe."

"I know, doctor."

You stare up as the red eyes approach, as they waver on the edge of softening, before gleaming once again, "Let's get you fixed, kitten."

Fixed.

Fixed.

Arm replaced, body broken, mind fractured.

EVER wanted to fix you. Make you better.

You can't be fixed.

The hand grasps at your arm, pulling you up, stumbling against his chest. You don't struggle, caught in the gleam of red, seeing the swirling colours.

Answers you can't grasp.

The red is all you can see, the static bleeding into an abyss.

There is a whisper on the edges of your mind, husky and deep, warm and ready.

'Tell me you want me.'

Heat against your neck, teeth and tongue. A shiver down your spine, warmth against limbs. Thighs grasped in a tight hold as a growl warms the edges of your soul.

'Tell me you feel good.'

A gasp, a moan of satisfaction. The feeling of tumbling over the edge, but being caught. The answer on the tip of your tongue.

'Say my name, kitten.'

A mantra that resounds around you. A song sung through the fog. Music that lights the sky.

'Do you love me?'

Warmth in chest, a small flutter of life. An affirmation of everything that matters.

The scalpel in hand. The claw at your hand. The questions that have no answers.

The static.

"Get-" The beast roars to life, its jaws snapping as you reach for it, desperate.

"Out-" Tears on your cheeks, it curls around your broken heart.

"Of-" It's head rears, guarding you from the agony of the abyss.

"My-" The silver filtering over your skin, the creature serving you willingly.

"Head!"

You snarl with it, pushing him back. Watching the pain in his face, the silver skittering through his skin, like poison in veins. He falls, and he slumps. You hear the gnash of teeth, the growl.

You push further.

Forcing him down, hand on shoulder now as he is pushed to his knees.

Your heart twitches, and hurts, and aches. Resonance fleeing from you as the beast hungers and snaps and bites at the bit to pull the mist into its maw.

"Sylus!"

The ice that is flung at you, melts before touching you, as the beast whose leash you do not hold turns its attention to the doctor.

You can feel the shaking, through your legs, into your arm. It is only the claw that does not tremble, that does not feel like it will shatter at a touch.

Releasing the man, you turn to the doctor. Catching for a moment, the agony in red eyes as hands reach out, seeking you, but weakly grasping at air as you force agonised limbs to respond.

Your claw grabbing the doctor's hand as he winces. As the dampener rips part of him out of his reach.

You know your resonance is part of you, instinctual and like the blood in your veins. To have it torn out even for a moment… would be agony.

It is the weak guilt, of a heart that trembles against the beast squeezing it, that eases the grip so you do not bruise the doctor's skin this time.

As you fight nausea.

As you command your body to be the tool it was made to be.

As you pull the doctor with you into the jump, leaving the heartbroken cry of a name you don't recognise behind as red eyes shut.

When you finally skid to a stop, the pain too much to fight through, the new scarring up your arm from where lightning damaging blood vessels, and the beast finally releasing its grasp. You stumble into open space. Releasing the doctor for a moment.

It is too much, too many things that you cannot fully control, too many sensations in your head that hurt.

Too many thoughts and too many feelings.

Agony, and loss. Loss that tears into your stomach and tears out your innards. The guilt grows and weighs down your shoulders, reminding you of the pain in red, and the shivering under hand when you had placed it on shoulder.

A job was a job, you tried to remind yourself. It was a move to be made. If you did not, worse awaited you than the hurt you could inflict on others.

You think.

It does not feel as sure as it once did, as you force your body to behave. To listen, to pay attention to you. You have to keep moving.

The doctor recovers from the dampening slowly, "What was that?" He forces, "Sylus-"

"He'll live." You snap, reaching over to pull the man closer by the wrist, "Phone." Your hand extends, and it is at that moment you remember your dagger. Discarded on the ground, in the hands of a man you do not know.

It is shock that recognises the feeling you have, like a lump is in your throat. Grief. You have lost something precious, and you will never get it back. The only thing you owned and cared about, with its familiar carved symbols and the weight in your hand like something you could trust. A tether to something that reminded you, you had something to value.

Gone.

A piece of you is gone.

Hurt is what makes you tug the doctor closer, a raw wound you cannot salve, "Phone, now."

He hands it over, and you would give him credit for his steady expression, the look on his face that does not feed into fear.

So he is not a pathetic scientist like the others, then? Able to hold your gaze for as long as you can bear to hold anyone's. Not flinching at you, not trembling.

If he were not on the list, perhaps he would be one of the more pleasant scientists to get prodded by.

You crush the thing in your hand, throwing it away, before tugging him forward.

He sets his feet, making you feel as though you are pulling against a wall.

"Doctor Li," You hiss through teeth, desperate to get back, to find a dark room and hide in it. To not have to think for a moment, about hazy red and angry sensations of agony, "I will knock you out and drag you, if I have to."

The Doctor watches you, calculating for a moment. You can almost guess the process. Is it worth it to run? Can he fight? You hope the show of strength with dampening his EVOL will convince him otherwise.

He does not have to know you don't think you can do that again. Not for a very long time.

Maybe not ever.

You hope never again.

Pained red, and shivering skin.

"Alright." He exhales, allowing it as you pull him towards you this time. You jump, several more times, before the both of you stumble into the white halls of the EVER compound.

The familiar smell of, what you hope is, antiseptic and disinfectant doing nothing to calm the raging vortex inside of you.

"Follow me, if you run, I'll break a leg." You snap, releasing his arm like it burns you. Truthfully the sensation of touching anyone is at odds with the way you have lived these few months.

You don't want to think about the feeling of his neck under your hand for a very long time. Even if you can already see the bruise forming under his skin.

"Do you often threaten your prisoners?"

"You're the first one. I normally just kill my targets."

He scoffs, it would almost sound like a laugh, if he didn't sound so disgusted. You shouldn't be surprised that he is horrified by what you've said. A normal person should be. Let alone the so-called doctor with the heart of gold.

You lead him to Leon's lab, relieved to see the man is there for the first time in your memory. If only to be done, to wash your hands, to curl up and burn the memories off your skin. You can see the static on the corners of your vision. Flickering like a ghost you can't quite get into your line of sight.

Haunted.

You're just not sure which unknown grief is causing it.

"Little bomb-"

There's a noise of disgust behind you, as the doctor walks in front of you. Like he is half shielding you. It's a strange thing, to be looking up at the back of the head of a man who you have strangled. Tried to freeze. Whose lover you just brought to knees and made hurt.

"Doctor Li?"

The familiarity of Leon is a relief. He is easy to handle, he is a man who your emotional capacity can recognise. Disgust, hatred, violence need to tear, all very familiar. He is almost safe, in the kind of way the knowledge of a snake's venom is safe.

"Mission completed, can I go?" You snap, pulling away from the two. Itching to throw the claw away from you.

"You need to see medical." Leon notes, looking down at the new scarring up your arm, the blood on your hand, "You're not normally this sloppy, little bomb. Issues?"

"I did my job, didn't I?"

"If a tool breaks-"

"It'll be replaced." You snap back, then look at the doctor, "Have fun committing crimes against nature, Doctor Li.."

The Doctor's eyes narrow, cold, but he's looking past you, not at you. "I assure you, I will not be assisting EVER."

You want to laugh at him, the idea is laudable. Truly. Experience has taught you, however, that if EVER cannot use someone, they will break them. The fear of the punishment can often keep at bay.

What they cannot instil with fear… well you've heard the stories of mind control. You're not yet sure what is worse. To serve them willingly, or to lose your mind to become a true mindless tool.

One gives the weak hope of escape, you suppose.

"Can you go get the cot before you leave? We don't have any spare rooms for you yet, Doctor, so I'm sure you'll be fine staying in the lab for now."

"I've slept in worse places." He bites off, though there is little change to his expression. The term ice queen suits him, you think. He must be furious, you're sure he is, or at least thinking of ways he can escape. Instead he simply is observing.

You turn your attention back to Leon, raising a brow at his command, but not moving.

His sigh is long suffering, like he should never have expected anything else when you do not respond to him, and he walks off, "I'll get it then shall I?"

"Probably." You spit back, glaring at his back.

"You've been summoned to meeting room four, when you're done here, little bomb."

The exhaustion sinks deeper into your bones. If whoever gives Leon orders has summoned you, it means the chance to run is further out of grasp. The need to lick your wounds, and try to fix the weight on your back will not come soon.

You feel the burning in your eyes for a moment, before you remember there is someone else looking at you. You narrow eyes at Doctor Li, expecting him to look away, instead his warm green eyes soften. In a way that disturbs something in your chest.

"What?"

"Zayne."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Zayne." You know that. You want to say. It was in his file. You're familiar with the basic details of his profile.

'To you, I'm just Zayne.'

Your vision crackles, glitching, before you shake your head violently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." You bite off, stepping back and away, before he can speak to you more. You watch his hand extend, worry in his gaze, that you can't meet because the green makes the static worse.

You manage little else, before you flee. A scared creature, startled by a loud noise. You care little about the scientists who watch you race past them, before you slow and you stumble, and you step through hallways that feel like they stretch forever.

As you try to swallow back bile, and think of anything but agonised red and soft green.

You're done, you're done and you never have to see either man again.

You cannot be found here, and you can just let the feelings lie forgotten.

You can forget the voices and the eyes, you can leave them behind.

You can be the familiar you. Even if there is blood on your hands.

—---

The meeting room is cold. Like most of the compound. When you enter, an older man smiles at you.

You are not well versed in other's expressions, but you feel a chill at his. Like there is something sharp about it. You have not talked to Professor Lucius before, he is a man that commands deep respect, or fear, from those around him however.

You have seen him occasionally, though he is akin to a ghost. Drifting through halls when he has something to do, but otherwise unconcerned with those around him.

Today he stares at you with cool, unwavering eyes. It is not the kind of cool that the Doctor- Zayne has, you note. Calm and steady. It is the kind of cool that reminds you of a snake.

Watchful and venomous.

You do not want to be in this room.

"Ah, Unicorn." It bites at you, reminds you that you are here in a capacity of no control. "I've heard you have achieved a great many tasks for EVER, in your time here."

Unsure how to respond, you offer a nod. It is the first time anyone has acknowledged you, the time you have spent, the work you have done.

Should you feel proud? The feeling is closer to shame, you think.

Seen in a way you do not wish to be.

"Thanks to all of your efforts, we have seen fit to reward you."

"A reward?" Shock moves your mouth before your brain and rationale can remind you that he holds power over your position.

Relief keeps you steady when he does not immediately demand your silence, "Come in."

The door opens, and you first feel fear. The unknown of his words and his actions, make you wonder if this is a cruel trick.

That your reward will be a shot to the head, but maybe that would be a relief.

That your reward will be another limb replaced, to make you a better weapon.

That your reward will be the solitary or the torture or the heart held while still in your chest.

It is a man who enters, sharp black uniform and a hat tilted low over his eyes, before he pushes it back. So you can see pink and purple.

You have seen his face countlessly. Smiling back at you from a silent frame. Warm eyes, and what you think might be love, if you could ever remember. He is familiar to you in a way that only a picture can be.

If asked what he sounded like, you could never answer, but you think you could describe him to anyone, perfectly, down to the very last detail.

Your heart squeezes, like one of the scientists has it in their grip. You fear if you move it will crush under the weight.

There is noise in your ears, the crackling that is becoming too familiar. Your throat is tight and sore, and your lungs will not offer you air as they should. You waver on the edge of unconsciousness. Brain weak and starved.

He steps up before you and smiles as he steadies you with his left hand, "Hey Pipsqueak. I'm home."

[myokk]

My January Reading List

This year I really want to get back into the habit of devouring good books and reading like crazy again!♥️♥️♥️ Normally every year, I read at least 30 books, and tbh I’m quite sad I didn’t read as much last year🥲 I ALSO want to highlight some of the amazing fics I’m reading as well bc there is so much talent out there😭♥️

FICS:

When We’re Older by @writing-intheundercroft 🫶🫶🫶 this is the first fic I’ve had the pleasure of reading in this fandom and IT IS SO SO SO INCREDIBLE !!! The way she’s written Sebastian is just spot-on and I’m afraid that Theo has stolen my heart♥️ I’m the slowest reader when I leave comments, so I haven’t quite finished yet but I’m savoring every last chapter that’s left to me🫶

The Call of the Void by @sloanesallow ANOTHER delightful fic !!! I find myself smiling SO much at their banter & how she’s characterized Sebastián. And SIOBHAN. SLOANE. AAÑDLCKJDJFKSKD I LOVE HER!!!!! The writing is just SO good & I love how all of the scenes in-between game events are fleshed out and imagined🫶

ALL OF @jackalope-patronus oneshots and writing🫠🫠🫠 delicious amazing writing and she just GETS IT !!!! Her way of writing beautiful scenes and emotions is just *chef’s kiss* I’m also such a sucker for things being peripd accurate (my main fandom is pride and prejudice/jane austen) & she fills that void in my heart♥️

@diamjem just started posting her writing here, but I already love it so much🥹🥹🥹 the sweetest romance/fluff/pining and I was smiling SO MUCH as I read it♥️♥️♥️

Untouchable by PhantomFish on AO3. I LOVE Tomione (I just love moral greyness and manipulation🤭) & this was like a hidden gem I just happened to stumble upon. I LOVE her characterizations of everyone and the whole premise and writing is SO GOOD🫠 I also love horror & this fic does NOT shy away from the visceral, which I love !!! It gives me confidence that my own fic with Eloise bc I also don’t shy away from the horror in it or sanitize what happens. This fic really makes my brain buzz with trying to figure out where it’s going and I love thst♥️

BOOKS:

I only read The Last Picture Show by Larry McMurtry this month. He is my favorite author for a reason!!!!! I genuinely don’t think I could recommend this book to anyone I don’t actually talk with regularly (😆) BUT I am completely blown away by him and his writing. Within a few paragraphs he manages to perfectly convey a person and how they are, and all of the characters of this book are moving into my mind for a while. Alkgjdjsjfjsjdhfjdjshs I have gone on so many rants about his writing and how amazing he is, Lonesome Dove is my favorite novel for a reason, and I’m sure when I finish the last few chapters of The Last Picture Show, it will be up there among my favorite books too, I think♥️

Ok that’s all♥️♥️♥️ I HIGHLY RECOMMEND ALLLLLLLLLLLLL OF THESE AMAZING CREATORS AND THEIR WORKS!!!♥️♥️♥️