#like they all resemble each other so much while being so distinctly different from each other

[arctic-bookclub]

god i can’t stop thinking about how the (core) death family really is such a well fitting puzzle that when even one piece js gone it shows and affects the rest :(

like the death family is incomplete without qmissa, he carries such a huge role in the emotional wellbeing of things, he shines were qphil lacks; the death family is incomplete without qphil, the man consistently keeping the kids alive and fed, he can keep the kids alive but he struggles with the things beyond it, things beyond mere survival; and the kids, we saw how thoroughly their absence affected qphil and qmissa, how tallulah sleeping alone at her old home made the bunker feel so empty and incomplete, how without chayanne this little family would’ve never been formed in the first place. they all fulfill roles that no one else can perform in their place, tallulah and qmissa carry the artistic side and emotional knowledge of the family, qphil and chayanne carry the survivalist aspect of the family with experience and cooking. the family has had to adapt to the absence of members in the past, especially when the kids disappeared, and the toll it takes shows so clearly every time. they are only truly complete with each other, they are a family with so many troubles and ailments that could so easily be fixed by just them all being present, and yet they’re cursed to always miss one. they are always stuck adapting and filling roles to make up for an absence, and crumbling under the pressure each time

[wyrm-with-a-why]

hiiii :3 I'm here with a barrage of sociolinguistic centered transformers headcanons. Most of this is my musing about the tfp universe, but i guess it could apply to other continuities. this is a thinly veiled info dump but i would like to hear some of your thoughts and ideas on this ^_^

I want to preface this by saying that language is the key component of every culture, at least in my opinion. As a texan, I consider my accent and the way I phrase things to be a strong part of my culture. I figure the same should go for cybertronians, considering all their variations, including different frametypes and castes and origins and all that jazz.

First and foremost I wanna talk about how quickly language changes. vernacular is ever changing. There are many examples of words becoming outdated or ‘cringe’ within just a few years of them existing in the public vocabulary. and if you think of how cybertronian life spans compare to humans, it's obvious that cybertronians must live through many many many changes in language. like complete evolutions of dialects and the births of new languages. so i think it would be fair to assume that just about every mech is a polyglot.

I also think it's fun to think about how the caste system could affect the common speak of certain areas. I imagine that most high class regions are more productivity/efficiency focused than, say, tarn, so a common language is more important to them. therefore they might have a ‘cybertronian standard’ that everyone speaks and maybe some few dead or actively dying languages still floating around. However, in a ‘lower caste’ polis like tarn or kaon, without that sort of structure and with a sort of individualistic culture, different dialects are more likely to spring up and thrive. like there's no distinct ‘kaonite’ language, but instead a collection of dialects that vaguely resemble each other originating in kaon.

That point brings me to conclude that decepticons found it hard to communicate with each other when the war first began. mechs came from all over cybertron to fight for the decepticon cause. and in life during wartime, there were things to worry about other than language, as important as communication may be. i suppose they MUST have adapted to each other's speech at some point over millions of years, in close quarters. hell, they might have even used their mixed up language to confuse the autobots and evade intel breaches. and maybe different units of the decepticon militia could've developed their own dialects, being on their own for years and years (similar to antarctic english!!)

ok now (entirely self indulgently) i wanna talk about my language based megatron headcanons. I figure he must speak uniquely, given his origins. I'd guess his mother tongue originated in tarn. more specifically, a dialect spoken almost exclusively by miners. a language most likely VERY different from any other tarnian tongue, due to the physical barrier between miners who never see the light of day and every mech on the surface. I like to think their dialect is derivative from their profession and a tight knit relationship between miners. Then of course he becomes a gladiator, and learns their language, which has probably developed distinctly due to their unusual profession as well. I imagine megatron would study other languages in his free time, and translate his own poems and other works to reach as many as possible. When megatron would give his speeches in the arena, and later to the greater public, he would try to hide as much of his original accent as possible. Not because he was ashamed, but because he knew it would make him 'agreeable' to the higher castes and more persuasive to a larger demographic. He still very much believes that what he's saying is more important than how he says it, but he understands the impact that language has on persuasion. After a while of constantly making speeches to the masses in his ‘charisma voice’ it's become his standard way of speaking (basically my reasoning of why he talks Like That). He only ever speaks his native language to soundwave, and a bit to orion pax before the war. and he almost exclusively talks to soundwave in the kaonite gladiator dialect. Basically it's considered a high honor to hear megatron speak without his regular inhibitions, even though he is deeply proud of his origins and consequently his language.

oh goodness i just realized i've basically written you an entire essay-length rant (T▽T;)

sorry if this was a messy read, i just wanted to get my thoughts down lol. Every paragraph is basically its own thing 😭. Tell me what you think though!!! (if you actually feel like reading all that ToT). I'd like to hear someone else’s input on this; its one of my fave talking points (> w <)

We have a lot of similar ideas!!! I’ve always headcanoned the miners to have their own specific dialect that no one else can understand so unless they’re a Tarnian mining caste bot Megatron sounds like he’s just making noise. I headcanon that hell often curse in that language but his curses aren’t anything translatable (like some French curse words) they’re just a swear word specifically for the language

I also love the idea of accents and different accents, Megatron’s accent randomly slamming into his voice at full send catching everyone off guard even himself sometimes

And I think it would be hilarious if Megatron would talk shit to himself about everyone and no one can understand what he’s saying. I also think it could be interesting if this idea was ever explored : let’s say there’s an important message written in something but it’s in miner Tarnian or something along those lines of situations

Cybertronian language is so fun!!!

Also, tossing another projected headcanon that Megatron has dyslexia and has to make sure his writings, poems or messages are written in the proper dialect and not in old Tarnian or kaonite dialects. Soundwave could help him with the kaonite parts, basically peer reviewing his work for accidental slip ups in language change because Soundwave can catch his only other dialect, kaonite, faster than Megatron who had to learn kaonite then other dialects (like many others probably did) when the uprising started

[kittyball23]

Playing the Part (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Now that the brothers have come together, it’s time to rehearse once again, but are they ready to get back to the groove of things?

__________________________________________

At this rate, Poppy was going to get a bruise on her arm from how many times she had been pinching it.

The way she saw it, she had to. This moment was unreal to her, and she wanted to be extra sure that she wasn’t stuck in another perfect dream. She’d had plenty of dreams like this before, where she was there, a young tween girl, frolicking around with the five cute boys that made up her favorite band. But each time she pinched herself, she would not wake up in her bed in a swoon. She would still be standing there, tingling with joy, because nearly all five of the boys that she’d dreamed about were actually right there… just a few paces away!

Holy cupcakes and sprinkles… Poppy thought, as it hit her once again. BroZone is actually here!!!

She couldn’t believe that her dream really was true! Well, at least somewhat true. For one, the boys did not resemble the way they looked in her dream. There was a good twenty-year age gap between the boys she saw in her dream, and the men that stood before her now, taller and older. Age wasn’t the only difference, though. So was appearance.

John Dory still very distinctly wore his shades right above his head, though the rims of the goggles were a light green instead of orange. And while he still had a vest, it was a snow coat instead of the hair-matching turquoise one he was known to have on.

Spruce, the second eldest, also had a vest, though it was black and white, and decorated with a flowery pattern that perfectly gave off that island-vibe, a good thing, too, since Vacay Island was indeed his home! His purple hair had been smoothed down to a flowing, surfer-ish mane that extended well past his shoulders and blew elegantly in the wind.

Clay was nearly unrecognizable when she’d first seen him. He’d thinned out and grown tall, and had a mop of wild, unruly lime-green hair instead of the old yellow that he’d had when he was a teen. To top it off, he’d ditched the vest look entirely and traded it in for a style that consisted of a glittery green cardigan sweater, and wristbands to match.

And then, of course, there was Branch – “Bitty B” – the ‘baby’ of the group, who was certainly no baby anymore! Her boyfriend had come along on the journey in his usual outfit of choice, the leaf green vest and brown patchwork shorts. His blue was not as vibrant as it had been when he was little, but it was still there, looking as handsome as ever, and he was still a teensy bit short compared to the other brothers (though she wouldn’t point that detail out to him).

The only one missing from the squad was Floyd, the second youngest BroZone brother, who much to her dismay, had been unjustly captured. She had to wonder what he looked like now, since everybody else looked different. Regardless, she couldn’t wait to meet him! But, there was only one itsy bitsy problem that was keeping her from meeting him – and that was the obvious fact that he was captured, by some strange creatures from the sound of it. The way that John Dory had described them, they were tall and limby, green-haired with pale skin and eyes that looked too large for their faces.

Poppy creased her eyebrows in worry. It was obvious to her that not everybody was friendly, despite her desire to believe it was true. I mean not all Trolls were friendly, she reminded herself. Barb wasn’t at first… She recalled the World Tour and how one of her now closest friends had behaved at first. In the back of her mind, she was hoping that the pair of siblings who had captured Floyd would be able to change for the better, too. But, for the time being, it was going to be a battle of the bands, with the ultimate goal of achieving the most perfect Family Harmony in order to free Floyd from capture. The Family Harmony, of course, had to be accomplished with harmony among the family, as the name suggested, which was something that had to be worked on. Given that the band had broken up from an explosive argument, it was obvious that there perhaps was a significant lack of harmony.

But not to worry! Poppy thought to herself. That’s why they’re here – they’re going to perfect the harmony, get back into the groove of things like they were when they were at the top of their career, and then become best friends again!! Poppy could hardly wait to see it happen!

Her eyes flitted over to the boys, who were taking a few warm-up stretches to prepare for the routine. She had to stifle a laugh watching John Dory, trying to reach down to touch his toes but hardly able to even get his arms past his knees before he was giving up with exhaustion. Spruce fared no better, but instead of embarrassing himself with trying like JD did, he did a couple of simple yoga-like poses, extending his arms out and trying not to look silly doing so. Clay, on the other hand, looked like he was quite in his element. Alongside being known as ‘The Fun One’ of the group, Poppy remembered hearing how he was their unofficial choreographer. It was no wonder his stretches looked the most natural and practiced, like he knew what he was doing as he held a split and stretched his arms down toward the end of one long leg. Branch was also a bit athletic, too, his Bergen-survivalist past making him able to pull off a few stretches with ease. But still, by the look on his face, she could tell he was feeling a bit awkward about it. In fact, now that she took a look, they all looked a bit awkward, like they weren’t really sure about this, and definitely not sure if they would be able to flow together in the same way they used to.

Well, even if they don’t believe they can, I believe it! Poppy thought.

Suddenly, JD cleared his throat, swallowing with a bit of uncertainty. “Okay, then,” he said, naturally taking charge, “I guess we better get to it!”

“I guess,” Spruce mumbled, getting ready. Clay cracked his knuckles and Branch stood a notable few steps away from them, with his arms crossed.

“Wait a second, what song are we doing?” Clay asked, not sure what position to put himself in.

“Err… good question!” JD said, thinking. “I mean, we could always do ‘It’s Gonna Be Me’, right?” he suggested.

“Save that one for one of the songs at the big showdown,” Spruce said, putting a hand up. “How about something easier?”

“Easier, like what?” JD asked.

“Hmm… how about ‘Sailing’? That one had a lot of simple dance steps,” Clay piped up, believing that perhaps something a bit more basic would be good to start with, for the sake of having them rediscover their rhythm with one another again.

Luckily, John Dory saw the logic behind it, too, and he beamed. “Alright, sounds good!” Just to be sure, he peered over at Spruce and Branch.

Spruce gave him a thumbs up, while Branch simply got into position, and gave a nod to show that he was ready. Each of the brothers arranged themselves, ready to give it a go.

Sure enough, they began to harmonize, jumping right into the middle verses of the song.

“It's not far to Never Never Land

No reason to pretend

And if the wind is right you can find the joy

Of innocence again

Oh, the canvas can do miracles

Just you wait and see

Baby believe me, oh

Sailing (takes me away)

Takes me away

To where I've always heard it could be

(I heard it could be)

Just a dream and a wind to carry me

(Soon I will be free)

Soon I will be free, yeah…”

Poppy gushed. They sounded amazing! But, unfortunately, it seemed that despite their vocals being quite on point, things were not looking so pristine in the choreography department. The brothers faltered, either stepping too fast or too slow in comparison to each other, and therefore making themselves stumble more than once. The four finally put a halt in the production after one too many missteps.

“All right, look, I think I know what the issue is,” John Dory said. “We’re not getting the timing right because we need a fifth brother. We need Floyd.”

“Yeah, well, news flash, genius, Floyd’s kinda indisposed right now,” Branch pointed out, crossing his arms.

“So! We still need someone else,” JD retorted, a little embarrassed.

Poppy perked up. Wait. They need someone else. I mean, I’M somebody else, aren’t I?? She remembered how well she had flowed with John Dory, Spruce, and Branch when they had sang just for fun on Vacay Island. But they were just being nice to me, Poppy thought. Would they let her join in now? Before Poppy could help herself, she suddenly stepped up, wringing her palms nervously together and offering a tentative smile. “Would you settle for a sister?”

The boys looked at each other, indecisive for a brief second. But then it disappeared a moment later. The way that John Dory, Spruce, and Clay saw it, BroZone had been more of a ‘no girls allowed,’ even though the rule was never officially written on paper. But seeing the situation that they were in, the fact that this was the Queen of Pop making this request, the glare that Branch was giving them, and that it was a silly rule overall, they gave in.

“Yeah, sure… why not!” John Dory replied chirpily, waving her over.

Poppy gasped, unable to believe it. This was like a dream come true. Meeting BroZone (or at least most of them), and then being able to actually rehearse with them? She could burst with happiness! The pink Pop queen squealed in delight and scurried over to the brothers, more than ready to join in the choreography. But before she could take her place next to them, John Dory put a hand up to stop her.

“Hold on a second, girly,” he said, “If you’re gonna sing and dance with us, you’re gonna need to look the part. In fact, we all need to!” He reached into his hair, and pulled out some items that made everybody gasp once they recognized what they were.

“Whoa! Wait a minute… is that what I think it is?” Clay asked, his blue eyes wide.

“You bet your cardigan it is!” JD replied, tossing him a couple of the items. Clay caught it and his jaw dropped. Because right there in his hands was a very familiar little yellow vest and white slacks – his performing outfit from when he was a teen!

“No way!” he breathed.

A similar reaction arose from Spruce at the sight of his purple vest and white slacks. “Oh, wow…” he said, sizing up the vest, and not quite remembering it to be that little. All of them had certainly grown since then!

“Oh, Braaanch,” John Dory cooed, “lookie what I got for you!” John Dory held up his old pair of shades, the white rimmed glasses with the slight pink tinted lens… as well as a diaper!

Branch gave him a murderous look. “I am NOT going to wear that!” he growled.

“Oh, come on, don’t throw shade on the shades!” JD said, observing the white-rimmed glasses. “These used to me mine, you know.”

“You know I’m not talking about that!” Branch said.

“Oh, what, the diaper? Come on, how else are we gonna be BroZone without our cute youngest little bro, Bitty B?” JD tried reasoning, teasing Branch with his childhood nickname and pinching his cheek.

Branch took a deep breath, calming himself. If an argument broke out now, among any of them, that would be the end of everything they were trying to work towards. The last time an argument happened, he didn’t have to remind himself how that ended. I’m doing this for Floyd. We’re doing this for Floyd, Branch reminded himself. Everyone’s in good spirits now. Let’s keep it that way. And if this is the way that we’re going to accomplish the Family Harmony… well, then…

Branch snatched the diaper from John Dory’s hands. “Okay, fine!” he said. “Whatever. I’ll do it.”

“That’s a good boy!” John Dory teased, and then playfully punched his brother on the shoulder.

“I really can’t believe you kept this!” Clay said, still looking over the small yellow vest in his hands and running his fingers over the puffy material.

“I guess I thought we could use them again one day,” JD admitted.

“Not exactly a perfect fit, but hey, it’ll still do,” Spruce spoke up, adjusting the slightly tight vest better on his body.

JD took the opportunity to slip out of his snow coat and trade it for the turquoise vest he wore. It, too, was small on his body, but he didn’t let it bother him. “Ohoho, yeah, still as fly as ever!” he exclaimed, clicking his tongue and striking a quick pose. Then he turned his attention to Poppy. “Oh, yeah! And for you, Madame Poppy…” He handed her the little magenta vest that had belonged to Floyd. “It kinda works out, y’know, since you both have the pink hair and all!” JD pointed out.

“Oh, yeah… you’re right!” Poppy giggled, happily slipping her arms into the openings and letting it hug against her. EEEEE! This is the same vest that Floyd wore!! she squealed inwardly, incredibly grateful that she was allowed to even have it loaned to her.

Clay in the meantime had thrust his yellow vest on himself, surprising himself with how glad he was to be back in BroZone gear. Then, he got an idea, and whipped out a couple of cans of hairspray from his hair, spritzing it onto his unruly lime-green waves. If John Dory had said they needed to look the part, then he would make sure that he one-hundred percent did!

Spruce noticed and extended his hand out to his brother. “Ooo! May I?”

Clay gave a curt nod and tossed the cans over to him, the purple Troll catching it midair and spraying his luscious locks. Both Trolls donned themselves with pairs of sunglasses to make themselves look sharp. JD polished his own goggles like he’d done many times in his youth prior to any kind of performance, even rehearsals. Soon enough, the four brothers and Poppy all stood in a stunning row, posing elegantly, impressively, coolly. It didn’t matter if their clothes didn’t exactly fit the same way, or if Branch’s diaper felt like it was beginning to give him bum a rash.

For a second, the youngest member of BroZone actually felt good. No, he felt great! It was just like old times, when he would go onstage and sing with his bros without a care in the world, young and cute, and feeling free.

But then the itching began to get to him.

“Oof!” he complained, trying to adjust the diaper better around his bottom.

“Need this?” Spruce asked, pulling out a bottle of talcum from his hair that he used for his own kids. The sight of the powder being presented to a very flush-faced Branch sent the bunch into hearty laughter. Branch hurriedly swiped the item and mumbled, “I’ll be right back,” before scurrying off out of their view.

“Don’t be too long!” JD called out between laughs. “We’ve still got a show to do!”

[proloser-spiral]

an idea i've had for a while. umineko spoilers. gotta be at least past episode 7 tea party for it to even make sense. I was gonna write a fic but... idk i feel like i just gotta get the idea out there before i explode because every time i try and write it properly i give up.

Basically, a universe where Lion survives that starts almost identically to what we know of the 1/2,578,917 they come from; after the funeral for Beatrice, the parents are challenged by Kinzo to solve the epitaph riddle. However, for some reason in this fragment (let's call it 1/5,153,834) Lion returns to the mansion while the parents are still in the middle of solving it, probably just forgetting something from their room, and decides to stay and help. Like before, they all solve it together and go to the Golden Land together, now with Lion in tow.

When things start to go chaotic this time, however, two things happen. For one, the trigger becomes stuck, set to explode. Secondly, in a panic, Lion barricades themself alone in the escape tunnel directly after seeing Natsuhi shot. The door gets stuck and it's impossible for anyone to get in or out either way. From that point, we don't know what happens to anyone else on Rokkenjima, only Lion alone. It's a catbox sealed only by a stubborn door.

Aware of the explosion to come, and with no other choice, Lion heads towards Kuwadorian for safety. There, they're met with the prison their own birth mother was kept in, but with no knowledge of their actual lineage that was only given to them through an invasion from the meta world, they are simply left in this sad and dusty little house left to wonder what it was for and how they could live on Rokkenjima their whole life and not know about it. Maybe there's a photo of Beatrice- either Castiglioni or Ushiromiya -around to give them some idea of who might have lived here, but they would only have context of the confusing funeral their grandfather had put on the previous day to relate it to.

From there, their position resembles that of Eva after the events on Rokkenjima. As the last remaining relative and technically an adult at 19, they are both recipient of whatever fortune Kinzo kept off of the island and made guardian of Ange. And of course, rumours swell as they always do. People question whether Lion was ever 'successor-sama' really, it would make it seem like they were innocent if they were ALWAYS bound to get the fortune, now wouldn't it? And why would a random grandchild get that position? They're not a direct child (from all anyone knows), and they're not even the first born grandchild! So it makes more sense to everyone that 'successor-sama' is a lie to cover up the true motive of inheriting the wealth.

I'm not sure exactly how Lion would be faced with the responsibility of being a parent, after the trauma of losing their own. Plus suddenly going from privately beloved child to the most scrutinised public figure. That and I think they might have a harder time fighting off Ange's other side of the family. They for sure wouldn't be the same kind of bitter as Eva, but it's hard to say exactly who Lion would be through trauma like that without the encouragement of someone like Will and the knowledge of being a shining light for someone else.

If there's blueprint, I'd say they'd reflect a bit more of Sayo at that point. Of course, Sayo was traumatised from a child, and built her whole life around said trauma, where Lion had that idealistic childhood that Sayo dreamt of, and each grew into distinctly different people because of it, but also I think that even with that much nurture there's still some nature that connects the two that could come out in these kinds of moments. So I'd say that perhaps Lion also reaches towards the fictional.

Honestly, if I was trying to tie it around, I could see Lion getting into Van Dine's work. They're mysteries that click in their mind the same way that mysteries clicked for Sayo. Perhaps they could be trying to reframe the tragedy they went through in this lense of a mystery, of there being a culprit and a scheme, of there being a reason, even though they were there and knew that death was ensured by terrible accident. It's them looking back at the tragedy the way Sayo looked forward at it. And, of course, specifically Van Dine because of Mr Willard H. Wright. Maybe Lion conjures him in a similar way that Ange conjures the seven sisters. He's just a personification of their mind based on this writing. It's sad and it's lonely but... they get to be together even in this world.

Anyway, that's the thoughts thanks for reading.

[andieperrie18]

a thousand love to another daughter of another universe

That's a long title but anyways this is my pull on the prompt that I made a millennia ago ahahahaha. It's short as it's just a trial of writing but I hope you guys like it. P.s. English is not my first language so forgive my grammar.

“I love you 3000…"

Morgan was the first to react.

Bruce along with his sons and the JL eyed his Y/n who stood in front of them. Their face who had heard the phrase contorted into confusion and curiosity.

Tony had already stopped from his steps along with Morgan who was fully facing Y/n. His gaze turned towards the girl clad in her signature hero suit that bore a significant resemblance to his Iron man suit that at first was just a co-incident as the girl was of another world.

Throughout the mission of planning to take the Avengers back to their world. Y/n had remained reserved and contained herself from jumping on her father who hasn't seen him for five years after she woke up in the body of Y/n Wayne. The daughter of Bruce Wayne, who had a lot of prejudices with her family of superheroes. Y/n Wayne was a normal kid, but Y/n Stark wasn't.

Like Y/n Wayne, she didn't have powers and barely had any kind of high-end combat abilities but she was smart. When she was reincarnated in Y/n Wayne's body, she had retained her IQ level and had remembered how the Iron Man Suits came to be. As living memory of her lovely life in the past that she will never dare to forget, she became the Iron Maiden. She had a rough start at the Wayne Manor as she barely had any interaction with the people within the house and the only way to distract herself from a lonely home was building, a hobby that she and Tony would do in their spare times.

In school she managed to get friends, she entered robotics and technology that gave her access to the science labs where she created all her tech. The sudden presence, she created in Gotham Central School was the time Bruce finally took notice of her and so did her siblings. From that point on she's been with them, living a good life. But she missed her past life, as much as she wanted to move on from it. She really can't and just treasured that life of hers.

"W-what did you say??" Tony asked with high hopes that what he heard was true. His footsteps slowly made their way to her with his youngest daughter following close, her eyes twinkling with light.

Y/n smiled, eyes watering, and chuckled, "I said, I love you 3000…" she said again. Her eyes shifting to each person she called along with the endearing phrase.

Y/n felt an all through familiar warmth. A warmth she distinctly remembers from the very first time she had been pulled to an embrace by Tony when he came back to Afghanistan after being taken hostage for a long time. And another warmth when she first got a chance to cradle her newborn sister.

The two captured her in an embrace.

There was confusion etched on Bruce Wayne's masked face as he watched another father hold his own young like if he was his own. Granted that he did his best to be the father Y/n but it was unknown to him that another person had taken the body of his child who had the same name but had a more attentive father.

Seeing a natural gesture of fatherly love somehow never looked so different in his life upon seeing Y/n break into an ocean of tears which is a gesture that she had never shown ever since she started gaining presence in the family.

Tony pulled away muttering a small "let me look at you sweetie" as he cradled Y/n's tear-stained face in his callused hand. Y/n giggled and hiccupped at the childish nickname but she didn't mind, even if they were in the presence of the JL and the other avengers.

"You're so big," (A/n: *sigh* *remembers endgame…*)

Y/n broke into a small fit of laughter before turning to her sister about half of her high as of now. Sharing wide smiles first before pulling each other once more in an embrace.

"I knew it was you," Morgan muffling in a whisper to her big sister. The Y/n smiled and pulled the teen closer, "I knew you did," she trailed.

"Will we see you again?" the young teen looked up Y/n who's eyes furrowed but retained her sweet smile then turning to her father who gave the same expression.

A parent's greatest pain was burying their child six feet of the ground. He could still remember the moment on the battlefield when his daughter took the blast for everyone, for her friends, for Pepper, for Morgan, and for him. Then she left a message, a message that woke him, that gave him the peace that left him in peace. In peace while living a good and half normal but okay life as an ex-avenger.

"I know you dad. And I understand that you want to save everybody and I saw you do the recording. At first, I want to accept it but I can't let you do it. I can't let you do it, Morgan needs you. Pepper needs you and Peter… needs you…

So I hope you forgive me that you had to bury a child but I let you do it. I am contented with my life because you gave me all the love you can give for years ever since you hugged me in a one-armed hug after you came back to Afghanistan…

I only ask one thing, just live. Just live happily for me." Tony wiped his teary eyes as she watched the recorded holographic message of her daughter. He watches her sigh in the record before pulling the happiest and most genuine smile that pulled all of him out of his guilt that day.

"I love you 3000 dad,"

Tony caressed her Y/n Wayne's face that bored an extreme resemblance of his own. He smiled once more, his eyes then cast themselves towards the Dark Knight who gazes back at him in return.

There was no word of exchange but Bruce knew the message the man was sending. From a message from a father to another father.

"Take care of her, treasure her… love her…"

With that, Batman nodded with a soft smile slightly growing on his lips.

Y/n led her father and sister towards the portal saying their final goodbyes. Morgan pulled her in another warm and tight embrace and Tony simply but lovingly planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you kid," he mumbled with a sappy smile before he and Morgan walked backward to the portal and had completely entered through it.

Y/n smiled, she somehow she to herself this was a closure she needed before she fully embraces her new reality. Her new family. Granted they weren't as close that she had in her past but a family nonetheless.

Bruce eyed Y/n's figure staring from a distance as the portal that she faced had already disappeared from existence. His eyes never left as she finally moves to turn to him, and then she gave a sad but somehow contented smile towards him.

TAGS:

@laurcad123 @woderfulkawaii @webslingingspidergirl @emilythezeldafan @teenwolflover28

[gaycrouton]

a priori

msr | post-milagro | 5.8k | ao3

What did Mulder and Scully each think when they read Padgett’s depiction of having sex with her?

When Mulder profiled her, was this fragile, uncertain woman what he saw?

Was he any better than Padgett when he dreamed about loving her?

Neither would be able to rest until they cleared things up.

When Scully was first partnered with Mulder, all she knew about him was his inclination towards 'spooky' behavior and the monograph he wrote on serial killers that she had to read as part of her Quantico training. Her professor at the time went on and on about his brilliant mind. How Fox Mulder's profiling abilities were unmatched to anyone he'd ever seen.

What would her partner think of her?

She remembered in her college English course when her professor taught her that if she was going to quote a piece of literature and it had an error in it, or if it didn't make sense in the context of the rest of the sentence, that she could fix it with square brackets and insert what she meant and the readers would denote it as her authorial voice fixing the error. She thought about that when recalling that line from Padgett's novel.

What would [Fox Mulder, her partner, the man she trusted above all else, the man who she loved despite years of trying to stifle it] think of her?

It was something she'd always wondered, and not only in the hypothetical context Padgett presented. Another writing tip about emphatic stressing of certain words in sentences through the use of italics came to mind from her college professor. How much a sentence could change based on what was stylistically emphasized.

What did her partner think of her?

What did her partner think of her?

What did her partner think of her?

She wanted to know it all.

Surely Mulder had profiled her over the years, and surely he knew how much it would piss her off, which is why he never told her about it. That wasn't to say Mulder occasionally overstepped occasionally - preemptively knowing how she'd feel before she even said anything. Sometimes Mulder was like an old woman who knew it was going to rain because her joints ached. Only, instead of rain, it was Scully's moods, and she could only wonder if it too was something bone deep.

It bothered her from time to time, made her feel naked. Everything she'd learned about profiling she'd learned from him in the most literal sense. He was her academic foundation at the academy, and then she'd learned a lot through seeing him in action over the years. Scully liked to think she knew Mulder better than he knew himself, but her skills paled in comparison to his. Her attempts to get into the mind of another were like Mulder picking up a knife to perform an autopsy.

She was certain about some aspects of him, though. Like his possessiveness and territoriality in regards to her. It was through Mulder's response that she knew whatever Padgett wrote was invasive and upsetting.

He was angry. Furious. Livid. She saw it in the way his nostrils flared and how his jaw clenched when they saw each other the next day after he'd had Padgett arrested. Scully could also tell he hadn't gotten much sleep and connecting A to B to C told her that he'd spent all night reading Padgett's novel.

She'd only read one chapter before deciding she should stop before she was too unsettled to sleep.

Preconsciously, she knew this wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshall of cold facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize their relative hard values into discrete categories. Imprecision would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable, not up to her male counterparts.

Was that really why she relied on facts? Was broaching anything appearing like a subjective approach bound to make her seem emotional? Weak? Too feminine? Did she like cold hard facts because of their objectivity? The fact that someone could criticize her findings and it would be just that: a criticism of her findings rather than a criticism of her ability to interpret something rooted in emotions or empathy - as those would be a reflection of the most vulnerable parts of her mind? Her inability to open up and reveal her true self bleeding into her work?

Regardless, she hated this. She hated feeling open and vulnerable and exposed, like her heart had been cut and Padgett was using her blood instead of ink to write this novel, and that everyone who got a hold of his writing was getting a piece of her. Body, mind, and soul. Above all else, she hated how Padgett's words kept bouncing around in her head.

"You're curious about me."

"Motive is never easy, sometimes it occurs to one only later."

Scully hated that he was right. She was curious, but she had a hard time figuring out why. Was the reason Padgett intrigued her so much because he reminded her of a cheap, knockoff version of Mulder? After years spent wondering what Mulder-the-profiler saw he looked into her mind, was this author's interpretation of her scratching the itch of curiosity? Seeing Padgett's writing was the closest she had ever gotten to seeing someone try to understand her motivations. Are these the same conclusions Mulder would have come to? A woman so repressed, so unsure of herself, that the slightest bit of attention was all she needed?

Even being in Padgett's apartment felt like being in a life size dollhouse; the layout was Mulder's apartment, only missing the small characteristics Mulder had put there over the years, signs of wear and tear that made apartment 42 so much different than apartment 44, yet in every other sense, it was the same.

She had a hard time crossing the threshold of the bedroom because that's where the similarities stopped. She hadn't been in Mulder's bedroom to picture it like she could the rest of the apartment; in that moment it became her sitting on the lonely mattress with a stranger who had just admitted to stalking her.

When the lightbulb had gone out in his room, she'd only turned to look at it for a moment before her attention was drawn to Padgett - how much in the darkness his back and his spiky brown hair resembled her partner. An omnipresent being looking down at them might even see what appeared to be Mulder and Scully, side by side as always. But then he turned and she was reminded he was most distinctly not Mulder.

Then Mulder barged in with such confidence she felt the indignant sting of embarrassment. Did he know she'd be here? Was she that easy to read? What was it about her that keyed Mulder into the insight she'd put herself in this situation? It was obvious it had just been a coincidence, but for a split second, when she first saw him, she felt like yet again Mulder had read her.

The manuscript Mulder had thrust in her hands was heavy - her fingers ached holding the weight of who this man saw her to be. After hearing Padgett had written about having sex with her, she had to know what Mulder had read. It was important she knew for her own sake, so she could know what aspects of herself, fictionalized or not, were now open record in a criminal trial for all of her peers and colleagues to read if they wished. But it was also important that she knew what parts of herself, parts she wasn't ready to give to Mulder, were now written plain as day on a page. Was Padgett accurate in his depictions of her? Would it be worse if it was wrong and Mulder took it as fact?

She almost thought about going home, she wanted to have privacy when she read this, but she didn't want to taint her home by bringing Padgett in, if only through the spirit of him on the page. He didn't deserve that, so instead she ended up using an empty interrogation room. It felt oddly fitting. Mulder and Padgett might as well have been on the opposite side of the one-way glass, examining her while she was none the wiser.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with a sigh, ready to see if she recognized herself in the words. If she'd open the page to see a portrait of her on an 8.5 by 11 inch canvas. When she opened the manuscript, she stumbled across a passage she'd already read.

Even now, as she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful... fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart... to let it open, to let someone in.

Within a moment, the side of her face burned where her fingertips had just been to push her hair aside. She felt embarassed at even the smallest acknowledgement of one of her habits, and she couldn't help but think of how Padgett would describe her reactions to his words right now and it made her uncomfortable.

As soon as that thought ran through her mind, lashing her confidence like a whip, another thought acted as a salve: What would Mulder think?

Scully sighed in resignation as she steeled herself to keep reading. She had to know how she was being perceived, what Mulder might have seen.

But if she'd predictably aroused her sly partner's suspicions Special Agent Dana Scully had herself become... simply aroused.

All morning the stranger's unsolicited compliments had played on the dampened strings of her instrument until the middle "C" of consciousness was struck square and resonant. She was flattered. His words had presented her a pretty picture of herself quite unlike the practiced mask of uprightness that mirrored back to her from the medical examiners and the investigators and all the lawmen who dared no such utterances.

She felt an involuntary flush and rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence. But the images came perforce and she let them play - let them flood in like savory - or more a sugary confection - from her adolescence when her senses were new and ungoverned by fear and self-denial. 'Ache,' 'pang,' 'prick,' 'twinge' - how ironic the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpations of her own desire. The stranger had looked her in the eye and knew her more completely than she knew herself. She felt wild, feral, guilty as a criminal. Had the stranger unleashed in her what was already there or only helped her discover a landscape she, by necessity, blinded herself to? What would her partner think of her?

That was a thought that came into the forefront of her mind as the stranger kissed her plump, swollen lips. Her partner was only the distance of a thin wall away from her. Would he hear her moan? Did she want him to? She was wanton, drunk with lust and desire. With every new mark the stranger's mouth left on her too-long neglected body, she felt the rigid workplace woman melt away, a winter becoming spring as she felt herself bloom open for him.

Her azulean gaze rolled back when the stranger's desire came into contact with hers, her throbbing heat beckoning him with every beat of her heart.

"Please. I need this," she moaned, begging for the stranger to help her become the woman her work so often repressed.

Mulder was able to make it that far before shoving the manuscript away from him in disgust, the sound of the matte paper sliding across the table sounding no different than if Padgett was here laughing at him.

Mulder had spent years cultivating fantasies of Scully that felt right. How many times had he paused, cock in hand and sweat on brow, and sighed while mentally backing up a few steps. Maybe Fantasy-Scully had said something Real-Scully never would have, or maybe she came faster than was realistic, or maybe the look in her eyes wasn't quite right. He never wanted Fantasy-Scully to do anything Real-Scully wouldn't - he wasn't masturbating to some actress in one of his movies, no. His heart was racing and his dick was throbbing because of the woman he was in love with and he wanted to do her justice.

Yet Padgett claimed the stranger "knew her more completely than she knew herself."

Mulder wanted to dismiss it outright. He wanted to read this passage and scoff that an outsider could even think to know the enigmatic woman he worked with. But every time he almost scoffed at the words, he'd have a moment of recognition - a moment where he vividly saw his partner on the pages in a way he thought only he had observed.

But at the same time, it didn't feel like her at all. Or at least, he hoped it didn't. Padgett's Scully read as a woman concerned with how others perceived her, which Mulder agreed with, but as a woman dissatisfied with the constraints her work put on her. Mulder had always feared Scully's work on the X-Files hindered her from living a life she wanted to, but he trusted her when she said she wouldn't be anywhere she didn't want to be. He knew in his soul that was true of his stubborn, strong-willed partner, but for as much confidence he had in her, he lacked confidence in himself.

However, if there was one thing he knew about Scully, it was that she didn't need validation from a man to recognize her strength. Mulder knew, as much as it both pained him and made him want to laugh, Scully was insecure with her looks from time to time. But he knew she was confident in her abilities at work. Scully was the smartest, most capable agent he knew - not this timid girl Padgett made her out to be.

He could handle the writing to a point: it was an invasion for Padgett to use her like this, but it crossed a line. A really big fucking line.

He was using her as a sick proverbial plaything, using the likeness of Scully and splaying her open for anyone to see. While Mulder could question the validity of Padgett's assessments, he couldn't help but think of the other copies of this manuscript that had been distributed to those working the case - would the rookie agents who didn't know shit about Scully read this and think they knew her on the most intimate level imaginable? Mulder was still trying to understand her intricacies and he was her partner of seven years, yet Agent Nobody might look at her tomorrow and have the audacity to think he knew her.

Even worse, they would read this and imagine that this wanton woman, pleading and begging for this man to change her life with his cock, was Scully. Fiction being construed as reality always had harmful consequences. The potential of other people reading Scully's body described so lewdly made him feel physically sick. The thought she was sitting across town, reading about herself being violated in this way, made him want to throw on his coat and race to her house right now and save her the injustice.

But would that be hypocritical of him? That's something that bothered Mulder almost as much as reading this filth, that nagging voice in the back of his head asking if he was any better than Padgett. He couldn't count the hours he'd spent with Fantasy-Scully in the lonely solitude of his apartment. How often he'd turn to her and fantasized about loving her in the way she deserved. How many times she'd been there to comfort him while he dealt with the reality that she may be as close as he ever got to Real-Scully.

Was what he had always considered reverence actually some perverted objectification of the woman he loved so dearly?

What would Scully think if she knew?

His chest tightened uncomfortably at the thought of Scully finding out how many times he'd fantasized about making love to her and the disgust he imagined might follow. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make her feel like he didn't respect her when the truth was he respected her more than anyone he'd ever met.

Which is why his blood was boiling at the idea this man wanted to release a cheap dimestore paperback of Scully's intimacy, watering down all of her complexities for the consumption of people who didn't respect anything about her and just wanted to get off on some cheap erotica.

Mulder collected the manuscript he'd thrown and sat back down with a frustrated sigh. He needed to know just how far this was going to go, despite wanting to vomit at the image of this undeserving man touching her. Padgett's narrator was selfish. Clearly driven by his own pleasure. He may be tapping into the mind of Scully, but in a manner that objectifies rather than cherishes it. The stranger's hands roam her body to know it, as a means of conquering rather than an attempt to elicit pleasure out of her. He writes odes to her pebbled, rosy nipples, but nothing about what it elicits in her other than bland descriptions.

Arousal.

Excitement.

He discusses her while evading her simultaneously. Padgett's woman, physically, sounds like a woman drawn from a Harlequin romance novel that merely had similarities to Scully. There were long paragraphs describing her titan hair and creamy, pale skin - but when the stranger kisses her neck, he doesn't take note of the little pink scar that resides there. The smooth expanse of her stomach is talked about without any regard to the bullet wound that was still healing, puckered pink skin that always seemed to cause an irrational flicker of insecurity to appear in Scully's eyes when it was brought up.

This was a romanticization of a version of Scully.

This was not his partner.

Padgett's narrator - for he refuses to acknowledge it as a self-insert of Padgett - doesn't even taste her. He states simply that, yet again, she's eager, before he thrusts into her all the way with little regard for readiness- marking her reactions as pleasure in response to him rather than reactions of her own pleasure. Aside from the notion her clit is enlarged, there is no move to touch it, to stimulate her like she deserves. This Fake-Scully doesn't touch herself either because she is plainly acting as a conduit for the narrator's own pleasure.

Despite his greatest intentions not to, he found himself drifting back to his own fantasies of Scully, mentally comparing and contrasting the intentions of the mind at work in both instances. In all his fantasies, he imagined Scully was the one to really act on her sexual impulses. It's what he would need: full obvious desire that this, he, was what she wanted. Depending from scenario to scenario, maybe he instigated it, maybe she did, but in all cases, Scully most certainly didn't demurely lay there "trembling with uncertainty" as Mulder did whatever he wanted to her and read every reaction as a success. Padgett's narrator might as well be fucking a sex doll he'd imbued with a personality for the amount of regard he actually gave Scully's autonomy.

In his mind, she'd be just as bossy in the bedroom as she was in the office. Mulder couldn't help but wonder what her voice would sound like. High and breathy or low and guttural? He wondered if the Scully he knew would arch her back in a silent plea for more, encouraging touches she liked while dismissing ones she didn't.

She gently stroked the stranger's arms in soft encouragement as their mutual pleasure started to crest. Her gaze fell into the direction of her partner's apartment, undoubtedly thinking of him for a moment as a blush spread across her chest. She'd spent so long on the pedestal of purity he had put her on that the prospect of falling off meant falling into an abyss she was afraid to drown in. Could he look at her the same way when he realized she'd found what it was like to live? Her azulean gaze returned to the stranger's as a small smile graced her renaissance features.

She'd been lonely for so long that the prospect of becoming whole, joining with the stranger, felt as empowering.

With a final snap of his hips against her spread legs, they came together, and she cried for, she finally-

Mulder stopped when he realized his white knuckled grip was threatening to tear the pages, despite that being exactly what he wanted to do to this filth.

He didn't put her on a pedestal of purity, most certainly not in his own fantasies, but did she think he did? Is that how the outside world saw their relationship? A eunuch and a nun side by side? They'd been through so much, she… she had to know he cared about her more than he should. They'd had tense moments before, moments that lived inside his mind, ready to be called upon when his heart was racing and his hand was unbuckling his jeans, but surely his mind was the only thing keeping those moments alive, surely Scully never thought twice.

And he was damn sure there was no way Scully would actually think of what he thought of her while she was having sex with some stranger, could she? He mentally reprimanded himself for taking this lunatic's words as any form of truth about Scully. But the thought still lingered...

Jerse.

He'd read over that case file nearly twenty times, certain words leaving a little knick on his heart every time his eyes scanned them. Prior relations. Appeared Agent Scully spent the night. Wearing his shirt. Various little breadcrumbs that lead him to the conclusion she'd had sex with the man.

He'd spent so long trying to rationalize his feelings towards the idea of her being touched by and touching another man, spent so long dancing around the obvious conclusion, that he hadn't thought about her motivations other than wondering if this was her way of spiting him. He couldn't help but consider if it was her acknowledging his feelings for her and throwing them back in his face. He'd never considered the possibility she thought of him during.

Then, with the curse of an eidetic memory, he remembered being on the phone with her and scoffing at the idea she'd had a date. It was more in response to her blowing off the case, but had she taken it as him implying she was undesirable? She'd been so direct about having a life outside of the X-Files, had his comment been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back and led her straight into the arms of a madman - not to spite him, but to assure herself that she was a desirable woman who was admired?

And then she was almost incinerated, and he continued to burn her with his childish insults.

Mulder leaned his face into his hands and pressed his palms into his eyes. She deserved so much more than she'd been given. He released his hands and blinked away the stars left in his vision, his eyes focusing on a single word on the page.

Lonely.

Over the years they'd become two sides of the same coin, initially considered opposites, but in all actuality, two complimentary entities completely and utterly connected. Did that mean she felt the same overwhelming loneliness he did? Loneliness he only felt reprieved of Monday through Friday from nine to five?

Was she Margaret Mary in the story of the sacred heart? Would her loneliness be absolved once she gave it to Mulder, who'd let her heart lay alongside his, absorbing all he had to give her as his touch healed her?

Mulder had spent seven years with her, desperately trying to understand the enigma that was Dana Katherine Scully, and he still didn't have the gall to consider himself an expert.

Padgett spent all of three pages and thought himself a god.

"Agent Scully is already in love."

Padgett had been so wrong about so many things about her, yet Scully couldn't help but feel her face flush at just how right he had been at that moment. She couldn't even bear to look at Mulder after he said it. She'd tried for a fleeting moment, but as soon as she saw the hint of a question in his gaze, she turned away.

Avoidance seemed to be one of their favorite methods of communicating where personal issues were concerned.

However, she knew that they wouldn't be able to avoid talking about Padgett for too long. He'd died a few floors beneath where they currently sat, and even though she'd clung to Mulder and sobbed for longer than she was proud to admit just yesterday, they still hadn't had an open conversation about it. While usually that wasn't abnormal for them, dancing around uncomfortable topics, Mulder was like a dog with a bone when he was worried about her. If the way he was currently fidgeting on the couch next to her, glancing at her every time he thought she wouldn't notice, was any indication, he wanted to talk about it - if only to make sure she was alright.

"I'm sorry I read it," Mulder says out of the blue as a TV news report dimly came through the speakers about shots fired at a local apartment complex where a federal agent was attacked. It looked like depictions of her were just everywhere nowadays.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning head slightly to face him.

"He violated you by writing what he did, and my reading it probably wasn't any better," he replied, contrition heavy in his tone.

This wasn't what she'd anticipated he was concerned about and it took her a moment to catch up with him. "I-Mulder, you had to. It was evidence," she stammered lamely.

"And I'm sorry about that, Scully. That other people might've read it," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, I sealed the file."

"What?" she replied, uncertain of his meaning.

"The case was an X-File, so I took the authority to seal the file so all copies of the manuscript have been collected, all disposed of except for one, and no one can access it without permission," he replied, picking at a loose thread of his jeans.

She stared at him for a moment, processing her relief that no one had the potential of stumbling across it if they searched her name. Mulder shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and let the thread drop as he clasped his hands together. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you, um, I should have-"

"No," she interrupted, not wanting him to chastise himself for something that meant so much to her. "I'm just really relieved. Thank you, Mulder."

He nodded softly before turning to look at her. "It wasn't right, what he wrote."

Scully found herself hung up on Mulder's word choice. Right. Did he mean it wasn't acceptable Padgett wrote it in the first place? Or did he mean it factually wasn't correct? Was it both?

Scully was frustrated because as much as she wished it wasn't the case, it was important to her that Mulder knew what parts were wrong. The thought he was apologizing for reading it because he considered it true, akin to reading straight out of her diary, made her uncomfortable. Yet at the same time, she'd spent years trying to hide just how deep her feelings for him went - she wasn't ready to give herself fully to him and reveal the most intimate side of herself to him, but because of Padgett she felt like she had to in the most clinical way possible.

All because it mattered so much to her how Mulder thought of her.

"He-," she started, her voice faltering slightly. "I think he got some parts right. I guess I was curious about him."

"Why?" Mulder prompted, shifting slightly on the couch so he didn't have to crane his neck to look at her.

Now it was her turn to fidget. Scully drew her hands into her lap and started idly playing with the nail of her middle finger. "I spend so much time trying to prevent myself from being underestimated. I don't want people at work thinking I'm too sensitive or too this or that. I try to dress professionally so I'm taken seriously. I guess I just wanted to see if someone was still able to break down the walls I've built and see me."

"Did you want him to see you?" Mulder asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"No, but I wanted to know if you do," she thought to herself.

"I don't think so," she sighed.

"But you still were curious?" he asked, appearing to get lost in her cryptic answers.

She took a deep breath, trying to navigate this awkward terrain of how much she wanted to reveal about herself. Mulder must've taken that the wrong way because he quickly added, "I'm sorry. I don't want to make you talk about anything you aren't comfortable with."

She let out a little exhalation of laughter at Mulder's seemingly endless chivalry. Yesterday, on the very floor a few feet away from them, he'd opened her shirt and checked her for wounds while she was trying to remember how to breathe properly. He'd rocked her and kissed her temple while she cried, shedding a few tears of his own. He'd seen her at her worst, yet he still never wanted to take more than she was comfortable giving.

"You're not making me uncomfortable," she assured. "I guess I'm just not used to having to reflect inward like this."

"Do you think he was right and it's bothering you?" Mulder prompted, trying to help her gain footing in her thought process with a prompt.

"Do you think he was right?" she replied, throwing his question back at him instead of answering.

Scully noticed his gaze wander to the six bullet holes still marring his wall. She'd been adamant that they spend time at his apartment rather than go to hers. She refused to allow Padgett the ability to turn the sanctuary of Mulder's apartment, a space she'd always felt safe, into a museum of her pain. But she hadn't considered that maybe Mulder needed the reprieve more than her. He looked like he'd barely slept and, being the floor next to them was shining clean, she'd be willing to assume it was from spending the night on his hands and knees getting her blood out of the woodwork.

"He depicted a woman who didn't want to be objectified by those around her. A woman flattered when she receives a well-deserved compliment, who feels insecure at times and curious about the motivations of those around her," he mused. "I think while much of that can apply to you, it can apply to any number of women who work in such testosterone-heavy fields like you do. I think that Padgett is an example of someone who took an introductory course in psychology and thinks himself a profiler."

"Like you?" she replied boldly.

Mulder looked hurt and she realized her phrasing wasn't the best, so she lamely added, "A profiler."

"Have I ever made you feel like he did?" Mulder asked, his eyes boring into hers to try and read an answer he wasn't sure she'd verbally give.

"No," she shook her head. "There's a difference, Mulder."

"What's that?" he asked softly. She looked at him, trying to see if he was mentally trying to guess, only to see genuine wonder. Maybe that was the biggest difference of all: Padgett claimed to know her while Mulder didn't presume he did.

"I trust you," she admitted, a sentiment she'd shared with him a thousand times over, but now felt exponentially more vulnerable taking into consideration just how intimately Padgett had thought about her. Was admitting she was okay with him reading this inadvertently admitting she was okay with him knowing that side of her?

"And you don't trust him," he added, as if he wasn't following or didn't want to say the wrong thing in case it wasn't what she meant. But it was.

"I felt objectified by Padgett," she replied, watching as he nodded in agreement. "I can only guess, but I presume that when you read, um, all of what he wrote, you tried to subjectify the woman on the page. I presume you thought of how those depictions made me, the real flesh and blood Scully, feel."

He looked pensive and she added, "You were right. Everything he wrote was a priori. Him making analytical judgements based on observation independent of experience. He's never had sex with me, but it's more than that. It's a priori of him knowing me," she murmured. Then, turning to him, she said, "If you ever were to profile me, or try to get into my mind, it's a posteriori - knowledge gained through experience."

His eyes widened slightly at the accidental implication that they'd had sex and she felt a blush threaten to creep on her cheeks. "I mean, you know me. Anything you think of me has a kernel of truth because you're my best friend, you know everything about me, even parts I'd rather hide."

"I don't know everything, Scully," he denied with a shake of his head. Then, adding with a whisper, "There's so much I don't know."

"Sometimes I feel like you know me better than my own mother," she chuckled, only to see he was still pensive.

"Why did you go into his apartment?" he asked. "Why did you put yourself in potential danger like that?"

"I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He just wanted to know me," she said with disdain. "And I wanted to try and find out why."

"But he did end up hurting you," he clarified. His voice was angrier than she presumed he intended it to be, but she knew it was at Padgett and not her.

"He only hurt me when he deemed me unattainable. He lashed out because his perception of me had proven wrong…" she replied, trailing off as the unsaid words hung in the air.

"...because I'm already in love."

Mulder heard the unsaid words regardless, but she didn't have to be a profiler or a Padgett to know he wasn't going to push her. Neither of them were ready for that. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with hers and brought the back of her hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss.

Scully smiled in response as her heart beat erratically in her chest, reminding her of the very thing Padgett tried to steal that had belonged to Mulder this whole time.

[thyme-writes]

NSFW Bunny Lucifer Fic

I’m sorry, Lucifer looked too good in this outfit to resist....

anyway, enjoy ;)

<3

Upon speaking with the little demon and being handed each respective outfit, the brothers separated from MC heading to the men’s locker rooms. As she walked into the changing area, she was distinctly aware of how skimpy her costume really was. She pulled the bathing suit like body suit out of the bag, the top was similar to a corset, but it resembled a button up shirt in design, with a black bow at the top where she anticipated her breasts would be spilling out. The bottom was black with a bunny tail on the back, and the thigh cut was far too high up for her liking, but to her advantage the tights she received were much darker than she expected, just barely showing any skin tone underneath.

 After putting the entire costume on, bunny ears and all, she walked in front of the mirror and blushed at her appearance. Looking like something out of a playboy magazine, or a slutty Halloween costume store, she chuckled. She had to turn away from the mirror before she got too nervous, she was forced to be here and was not going to make matters worse for anyone. Slipping on the tall heels she imagined herself standing like a dom over a delicious, begging, handsome man. MC was typically a very submissive person, and she enjoyed being controlled most days. Though, she always wondered what having that control would really feel like. Her imagination soared with images and thoughts of ordering a man around, crawling across her floor to where she waited on the bed. She felt her face heat up and deep in her stomach flutter. Shaking her head, she let the images go, telling herself she would circle back to those thoughts some other time.

 Taking not even a full step out of the locker room, Lucifer stood before her looking impatient, with his head turned to the side glancing down the hall. She took stock of the demon before her. His face was stoic, even if it was an irritable expression. His black hair looked luxurious, and the bunny ears seem to accentuate his soft features like his pursing lips. Which looked more delicate now than they ever had. The slight redness of his blush made his cheeks look velvety smooth. Her eyes wandered to his outfit, the brilliant blue bow tie caught her eyes first, but the more she looked at him the more there was for her to see. His waistcoat was black and tight around his waist, directing her vision to continue further down, where the straps of the waist coat rested against his thighs. His pants were tight in all the right places, making her mouth water and instinctively she licked her lips. Realizing she’d been staring far too long, her eyes snapped back up to his face. His mouth was gaping looking at her.

 While she stood looking him up and down, Lucifer could feel the panic and arousal creeping up his body. She stood there in an outfit he would only want her to wear in his bedroom, not an outfit she should serve tables in. Her soft breasts spilled over the low-cut top, with a bow in the center looking like a gift begging him to be unwrapped. She stood with her hand on her hip and the cut of the body suit was so high it practically reached where her hand rested. He could see where her pelvis and thighs met, the skin there covered by tights, but he wanted to bite right through the material and mark her up. The heels were too much for him, the second he saw her feet he could feel himself heat up, he had to look away. To his pleasure, he looked up to watch her undress him with her eyes. His mouth went dry and his jaw went slack, she was absolutely going to have him undone in no time.

 “I would love to dissect the looks you just gave me MC, but first we are getting you a new outfit. I will absolutely not allow you to be degraded in front of the whole Devildom like this…” He stepped forward to reach out and grab her hand. She stepped back, pushing her palm flat against his chest.

 “This is not up to you, Lucifer.” Her voice came out in more of a sultry drawl than she meant, but the second it came out of her mouth she decided to run with it. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The desire of wanting to take her right on the spot they stood was killing him. “I will be wearing this, and I will show you all how to properly serve a restaurant.” She smiled and let her hand creep up to his bowtie, gripping it and pulling him just slightly toward her. “So do your best tonight, Lucifer.” His eyes were wide, and his teeth were clenched. She let out a soft chuckle and released his tie, walking down the hall as each step echoed the click of her heels on the floor. He watched as her walking away, the bunny tail enhancing the look of her ass swaying side to side.

  The group stood around discussing the outfits, while she felt the stares from some of the brothers, only Asmo made a quiet comment about how sexy she looked. The majority of the brothers were more frustrated about having to wear the outfits themselves to focus on hers, though Levi did ask to take her photo, which she was happy to pose for. The customer service training was a breeze for her, when she told Lucifer she would show him, she meant it. These demons had no idea how long she had to wait tables for, and how many different menus she’d memorized. It came back to her like muscle memory. Not to mention she even found herself more at ease with the dance than she expected. It may have been the costume giving her false confidence, but she truly felt like she was running the show for once.

 There were multiple times during the night she could feel Lucifer’s stare on her, and it would’ve been a lie to say it didn’t affect her. While of course all the brothers looked ridiculously hot, she was really focused on the oldest brother for the night. Something inside her had flipped and all she wanted to do was dominate the man who took so much pleasure in dominating her. She would turn when she could feel his stare on her and wink at him. Reveling in watching his cheeks bloom just slightly pink and his flustered face turn from flush to frustrated in no time at all.

   Once the group had finished for the night, they all arrived back home. Lucifer made a point to explain where to put their uniforms in the bathroom to have them dry cleaned for the next day. Everyone began to disperse, there was arguing about the communal bathroom aside from Asmo and Levi of course, and eventually a schedule was made for everyone to get in and out quickly. MC opted to be last, and had an idea brewing in her head. After getting out of the tub, she smirked as she found the area where the costumes were being held to dry clean, on the shelf above the discarded clothes was the collection of bunny ears and ties. Smirking, she gripped the blue tie and ears, putting them inside her robe to hide them as she ran through the halls back to her room. She got dressed as quickly as she could, wearing black skirt, her heels from her costume, and a black tank top, throwing the accessories in a bag.

 Finding herself in front of his door, she gulped hard. Her heart was racing, but between her legs was hot and damp already. Her knuckles rapped against the door, much more aggressively than she had intended. The door swung open, revealing a frustrated Lucifer. He froze as he looked her up and down, gulping hard again, he had tried to contain his arousal all night at the restaurant but now that he was home, he no longer tried to stop the blood rushing to his length. He leaned against the door frame controlling his composure and smirked at her, a tent forming in his sweatpants.

 “Do you plan to invite me in? Or shall I stand here longer?” MC smirked back at him, pushing her hip out and placing her hand on it. She looked him up and down her eyes almost stopping to look at the bulge longer.

 “Ah yes, of course come in…” He stood to the side and she swayed in the room just like she had in the restaurant. He closed the door and eyed her as she walked over to the chairs by the fireplace turning one slightly more toward the room and smiling at him devilishly. “I’m curious MC, what-”

 “No let me stop you there, I’d like something different tonight Luci, seeing you in that costume made me want to take control tonight.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning to the side, one arm holding up his body as he looked at her curiously. She stood up and pulled her tank top off, revealing a lacey, black bra. She sauntered over to him and he sat up straight as she got closer. “Will you be a good listener for me tonight Luci?” She stood just in front of him and he reached up to touch her, when she gave him a dangerous look, and he stopped, smiling wide.

 “Yes, Ma’am.” He licked his lips.

 “Mmm, good boy.” She practically whined, her voice shook slightly, and he could tell she was insanely aroused. He vowed in his head to ask her to take control more often. “Take everything off Luci.”

 He smiled and stood up, she was so close to him she could feel his breath on he as he stood, almost cracking her resolve. She wondered how he did this every time. She wanted to give in and just get on him immediately, but she was dying to tease him like he has teased her.

 He slowly took his shirt off, enjoying watching her anticipation. She was trying to keep a cold expression on her face, but there was no denying the effect it had on her. He started to take his pants off and she turned back to the chair grabbing a black bag she had brought in with her. He was now naked waiting for her, his length was at attention, it seemed he enjoyed watching her like this. She placed the bag next to him and he looked down, but she reached her hand down to his length, pumping him slow. He moaned at the touch, she caught him by surprise, but he had also been aroused for hours because of her, and now he ached for her. His head leaned back slightly, and he closed his eyes.

 “That’s my good boy.” She cooed, her breath right against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Without warning he felt her teeth grip the side of his neck and he groaned loud. His hands twitched to grab her, but he knew she would scold him for touching her based on the look she’d given him. He felt like putty in her hands for a second, then thought how fun it would be to watch her try and punish him. She licked the spot she had bitten, and his hands reached out to grip her ass, finding there was no panties under her skirt. He groaned louder and she practically hissed. She stepped two steps back, releasing his length. “Now, now.” She scolded, and he moaned, aching for her hand to wrap around him again.  “I was just praising you for being a good boy, what a shame.” She stood with her hand on her hip looking at him. His length twitched hard, she was really playing into the role now and he wanted to bury himself inside her and wipe that sassy look off her face.

 “That’s okay my bunny, you can make it up to me.” She grabbed the bag on the bed and pulled out his bunny ears and bow tie smiling. “Put these on bunny boy.” He could hardly hold the growl back, his immediate reaction was to deny her, but the devious look in her eye was so delicious. He grabbed the ears, sliding them on his head while he made eye contact with her. Then putting the bow tie around his neck, and her eyes turned to pure hunger. His length was twitching, and she watched it licking her lips. His breathing was heavy and hot now, she could see he was just as affected as she was. To his dismay she turned and walked over to the chair, sitting confidently, and smiling at him. Taking her time, she slowly removed her bra, her breasts bouncing as she jiggled her body to take it off. He felt like he was going crazy, knowing he could take this human any second he wanted, but he awaited his orders. For some reason, it made him twitch more, his length bobbing around between his legs.

 “I think you like this bunny.” She smiled, licking her lips.

 He nodded.

 “Mmm, good bunny, come to me.” He stood and she lifted up a finger to stop him. “Crawl, bunny.”

 His eyes burned furiously, then he looked to the ground and back up to her, she spread her legs and he could see her lips under the skirt, slick with desire. He groaned and dropped to the ground, crawling to her slowly. She was crumbling inside, watching this domineering demon crawling across his own room to her, wearing blue, bunny ears and a bow tie. His chiseled shoulders bobbing and flexing every time he inched closer. She wanted to grab at her nipples, or rub at her clit, but she hesitated. Trying to hold up the image of a woman in full control. One thing for sure, she knew she was dripping her juices on the chair.

 He reached her and sat back on his feet, looking to her with his crimson eyes, waiting for her to tell him what to do. She was practically at her limit, unsure how much longer she could keep it up. She leaned forward to give him a deep kiss, he responded back by almost grabbing her head and pulling her into his kiss harder, but he stopped, putting his arms by his side, and kissing her back.

 “Good boy.” She was breathless now, leaning back she pulled up her skirt.  “Eat me bunny.”

 He smiled, he loved seeing her take charge, but he could hear her resolve cracking, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He leaned forward touching her thighs so spread her further. She swatted his hands, “No bunny, just your mouth.” He growled; he was losing his patience. She shook her head, with all the energy she had to hold back.

  “Bad boy…” she put her heel on his thigh, he looked down and then back up at her with a defiant look. “You’re not behaving bunny.” She pulled her foot off him and stood up. “Shall I go?”

 “Wait, MC. I’ll do better.” He groaned, pressing his lips against her thighs, and kissing, licking circles across her thighs to the other thigh, then kissing and sucking. “Please” he whispered between kisses. She looked down to watch his length twitching and smiled, watching his eyes look up at her as he kissed her thighs gently suckling across her skin. She was desperate for those lips on her slit.

 She sat down on the edge of the chair and pulled his head to her mound, he growled slightly at the aggressive motion but settled his mouth between her legs licking and prodded at her slit with his warm tongue. Immediately MC was moaning like an animal in heat. Her entire body was slack against the chair, aside from the hand on his head holding him where the headband for the bunny ears was, pushing his face against her over and over as he lapped up all the juices that he could get out of her. His tongue and mouth latched to her clit and she was practically screaming. Her hips were grinding against his face and he was moaning into her, the vibrations of his lips sending her into a shaking mess.

 Aware that she was reaching her climax he nibbled at her clit slightly between sucking and licking it. Then Lapping up her slit. He continued these motions over and over again. She was barely forming words at this point and he knew it was time, he wanted to hear her scream. He focused hard on her clit and began flicking his wet tongue across her clit fast and hard, over, and over. Tremors took her body as she reached her climax. She was screaming his name and he didn’t let up on his pace, continuing to flick his tongue on her clit and her body jerked with every motion. She was begging him to stop now, and he laughed into her slit. He stopped, kissing her clit, and pulling his head back up.

 Standing up slowly, he leaned over her on the chair. She was desperately trying to catch her breath and he leaned in to kiss her. “May I?” He whispered, she could smell herself on his lips and she moaned, nodding. He kissed her hard, invading her mouth with his tongue as he wrapped his hand around the back of her head. His fingers laced through her hair and she moaned.  His lips left hers and he kissed down her neck, sucking and licking across her neck.

 “Oh please, just take me Luci. Take me how you want to.”  She begged, feeling desperate to have him inside her.

 “Mmmm, you did so good MC.” He kissed all across her collar, then scooped her up off the chair. She gasped, moaning slightly, and he threw her on the bed. “I want to tease you for what you did to me, but I simply can not wait any longer to fuck you.” He looked at her like she was his prey, and she pulled her skirt off quickly. He got on top of her, spreading her thighs for him and teasing his tip at the entrance. Leaning in, Lucifer kissed her slow and pushed himself in as slow as he kissed. His tongue teasing as he pumped in and out of her inch by inch. Her body was so desperate her hips tried to roll into him.

 “Please Luci, fuck me harder.” MC was begging him now, verbally, and physically.

 “I love to hear that begging.” He growled and slammed himself inside her fully, forcing a gasp from her lungs. Pulling out to the edge of her entranced, then slamming back in, he continued this forceful slow pace until she started moaning for him again. Then he leaned in closer, seating himself inside her fully, and began sucking and biting her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling immense pleasure holding him against her as he fucked her senseless. His hips continued a hard thrust but got faster and faster as he heard her begin moaning his name. He was growling into her skin as he sucked and bit at her, leaving marks in his wake. The pace was now furious, the slapping sound was ringing through the room as he railed into her. His bed was slamming against the wall with a consistent beat to the sound of his intense strokes, and he felt like the moans she was making was the song with the beat.

 Wanting to make her scream, he leaned back, picking up her legs and putting them on his shoulders he watched her as she gripped at her nipples. Pushing her hand away, he rolled one of her nipples in his fingers and watched her face contort with pleasure. He knew she could tease herself, but the face she made when he did it for her was pure ecstasy. He growled, she was keeping up with his pace, and he was approaching his climax. He refused to cum before her second time. He pulled himself almost all the way out slow, then pushed back inside her slow. Pumping himself in and out, Lucifer reached down and began rubbing her clit. She gasped, writhing under him, her muscles tightening and gripping him hard. He let out a roar and started pumping inside her hard again, he licked his fingers and slid his wet slick fingers around her clit teasing her, then flicking his finger across it, back to teasing.

 She was begging again, and he was going to explode. He put pressure on his fingers and rubbed against her clit back and forth now, instead of the light flicking. She was mumbling moans under him and squeezing her nipples hard. Her muscles contracted on him and her juices came pouring out of her body as she shook through her orgasm. With relief Lucifer stuttered his movements and let himself release, grunting her name.

 Laying flat on her back, MC was trying to catch her breath when Lucifer pulled out, and within minutes he was back with a soft rag to clean her up, and he kisses her thighs softly as he wiped her down.

 “You looked so hot trying to control me, MC. I think I’d like to do that again sometime.” She propped up on her elbows smiling wide at him.

 “Sure bunny, anytime.” The smirk on her face made him growl playfully, he grabbed the ears off his head, which he’d forgotten were still there. Then removing the bow tie, he leaned over her kissing her hard, and pushed her under the covers.

 “Let’s get some sleep.”

[redorblue]

Reading @sugarfey, @venndaai and @the-roci’s thoughts about Fred’s death in 5x04 made me think about the political implications of him being gone. I was always a little conflicted about his character because on the one hand, he’s always seemed the most reasonable among the Belter leaders, and I like Chad Coleman in the role. But on the other, he’s so obviously a person from a priviledged group allying himself with an oppressed group because of guilt that even though the character is not white, he comes across very much like the stereotypical white savior, come to teach the natives how international politics is done properly to offset his own guilt. What reconciled me with the character somewhat was that until this season, he at least had some self-awareness regarding his positionality, although that seems to have been lost somewhere between seasons 4 and 5, what with him hiring an obviously racist Earther to boss around his Belter employees. But now that he’s gone, as sad as that is, it also got me thinking how it also leaves space for other characters (read: Drummer) to take over his role and do better.

Looking at the show (and to a lesser extend the books) from the perspective of the narrative, it’s clear that there’s just not a lot of space for different Belter leaders who fill the same niche in the ecosystem, if you want to look at it like that. There is a limited amount of screen time dedicated to Belter politics to go around, so the political landscape is broken down to a handful of types of leadership, each embodied by one person. There’s Anderson Dawes, who is basically a mob boss who managed to get an entire asteroid under his control. His leadership style is highly personalized, his authority is derived from a networked system of command resembling a pyramid scheme, he commands a mix of loyalty and fear from his people (both those working for him and those living in his territory) and he has a symbiotic relationship with the official government of Ceres - pulling the strings from the shadows.

While he is semi-legitimate (as in recognized by others in power, not, you know, morally), there are also the fully underground leaders: Marco in season 5, and (to a lesser extend) Ashford in seasons 3 and 4. Marco also has a very personalized leadership style, people who feel fear and loyalty towards him to the same extend, and he’s building a networked system of command (although it’s probably smaller since he hasn’t been in the game as long as Dawes). What he doesn’t have (or want), however, is ties to official sources of authority, simply because he wants to gain that position for himself. He wants to be the puppet ripping itself free of its strings, not the puppetmaster, so to speak, which ties in neatly with his desire to be feared/adored and his narcissistic streak (both of which haven’t been as prominent in the show so far as they are in the books, but I’m sure it’s coming). Another difference is that he embraces romantic fantasies of the heroic freedom fighter much more than Dawes, lending him a specific sort of charisma or mystique that basically begs for him to be the hero of the stories that Belter children get told when their community got humiliated/threatened by Earth or Mars once again. Based on the accounts we hear about him, I imagine that Ashford was similar to Marco in some ways when he was younger, even though by the time we meet him, he has mellowed out a little and does so further when being placed in an official position of authority, thereby getting closer to the sort of leadership that Fred represents.

Which brings me to the third type beside the mob boss and the heroic guerilla: the elder statesman, which Fred embodies to a T. He is the official authority, and while he also relies on contacts with semi-legitimate and underground actors to some extend, his leadership and command structure are a lot more formalized. He derives his authority from sources external to himself, specifically his job as the boss of a Belter powerhouse in terms of economic growth and innovation plus his legitimacy in the eyes of Earther (and maybe Martian?) politicians. Of course said legitimacy is derived mainly from his past as an Earther colonel and the contacts and know-how he still has from back then, but he’s probably learned the hard way that that doesn’t get anything done when negotiating with Belter leaders, so he frames it in terms of playing by international rules and appealing to universal values, which comes with less baggage. This framing of his perspectives is what makes him bearable for many Belters, while the success story that is Tycho makes him attractive.

Long story short, three leaders (and types of leadership) is already quite a lot when you consider the limitations of both screen time and the capacity of more casual viewers to remember characters and names - in comparison, Earth and Mars are presented as much more unified. Putting aside the pragmatic explanation, it also makes sense from an in-universe perspective - of course there would be more people claiming authority than we’re shown, but you still need to distinguish yourself from your rivals in order to get people to recognize your authority. Being a cheap imitation of Fred makes you one of his higher-ranked employees; being a cheap imitation of Dawes makes you one of his subordinates; and being a cheap imitation of Marco probably makes you dead, if you scratch his ego enough. And what’s more, not only are the roles limited, but they were all quite definitely taken - until 5x04.

Now the spot of the person who is able to work for the greater good instead of their own ego (Marco) or territorial ambitions (Dawes) is open again, and Drummer is by far the best candidate for it. In one of his last conversations with Holden, Fred seemed to encourage him to follow his path (stopping to fight and starting to build), but seeing how Fred met his end, it’s obvious why Holden taking over would not be a good idea. Drummer, on the other hand, is definitely not there yet, but she distinctly dislikes Dawes’ way of doing things, and she doesn’t have the self-aggrandizing streak that’s necessary for the heroic guerilla role (as a side note: as much as I enjoyed her I am Camina Drummer moment this season, and her speech in season 3, both of those were an act to get things done, not an innate desire for other people’s adoration). What she does have is: an eye for the shifting political landscape (not only in Marco’s trial in season 4, which obviously backfired, but also much earlier in season 2 when they were discussing what to do with Earth’s torpedoes); a growing capability of planning ahead (like how she acts as the captain of the Dewalt), and a willingness to set aside personal wishes and aversions for the greater good (like when she teamed up with Holden, of all people, to save the day in season 3). Fred had all of those as well (some more than others), but he was a bit too captivated with the story about himself that he told to others, and in the end he couldn’t offset the implications of his position as an ex-Earther soldier who decided to save the Belt. Drummer doesn’t have any of those handicaps. Her sense of responsibility for people other than her family needs to be reawakened, but we know it’s there from past seasons, and the next few episodes are probably going to have her struggle with her tendency for revenge over caution even more, but I’m convinced that she can take all of Fred’s best qualities and surpass him (and Dawes, and Ashford, and Marco), and that will be very satisfying to watch.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, alaidiem!

For @alaidiem. Hope you have a wonderful and Stereky Christmas!!

Read On AO3

*****

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Them a Match

Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski have been best friends since they were very young.

Two-year-old Stiles toddled up to two and a half-year-old Derek, and patted Derek’s cheeks, a smile blooming behind Stiles’ red pacifier as he murmurs “vulf, pity vulf”.

Once they started school, they were inseparable. Despite being in different classes, they always met up at recess and lunch, swapping bits and pieces from their lunch box and reading the latest Batman comic together.

When Jackson Whittmore joined the school and decided on his first day to push Stiles over in the sandpit, Derek marched over and pushed Jackson over in retaliation, pointing a finger in his face and growling, “If you even look sideways at Stiles, I will hurt you.”

When Derek was being made fun of by Liam Dunbar for having his nose in a book, Stiles tilts his head in a distinctly wolf-like fashion and quips, “You jealous Liam? Heard you only got 52% on your last English test. Need Derek to teach you how to read?”

By the time they had reached high school, both their families were certain the boys were mates. Noah and Claudia Stilinksi had made a bet with Talia and Samuel Hale on when Derek and Stiles’ matehood would manifest.

The Stilinksi’s are guided by the customs of the Emissary. An Emissary comes into their own at the age of 14, their spark igniting in the presence of their mate. The ritual tying the Emissary and their mate is performed on the full moon after their eighteenth birthday when the full power and knowledge is bestowed upon the magic-user, and their mate confirms the match.

The Hales, on the other hand, are guided by the moon and werewolf lore. It is said that a young werewolf would find their mate at the age of sixteen, their wolf recognising their true match and spurring them on to make a pledge of the heart. This pledge is made under the new moon, the beginning of the new lunar cycle, signifying a new start.

Needless to say, there has been quite some competition between the two families over the years, followed by confusion when both boys pass eighteen and they are still unmated.

🐺🐺🐺

Peter Hale stands at the kitchen window watching as Derek and Stiles play around in the pool. Stiles is unsuccessfully trying to push Derek into the water, as the werewolf’s feet are firmly planted on the ground and he’s not moving. The force of pushing against an immovable object causes Stiles to lose his footing, arms windmilling wildly as he tries to find purchase, only for Derek to grab his arm and throw a laughing Stiles in the pool.

Talia saunters up behind her brother and gives him a pinch. “Whatever it is you are thinking Peter, I strongly suggest you forget about it.”

Peter sighs, turning to his older sister as Derek cannonballs into the pool.”Aren’t you frustrated as well Tali? Bets aside, both of their mates should have manifested by now. They are nineteen! Both off to college, different colleges mind you, opening them up to other people when they are clearly each other’s mate! Don’t you just want to shake them and tell them to get their acts together?”

Talia puts an arm around Peter. “I’m not frustrated, I’m sad. They are clearly perfect for each other. It saddens me that maybe they aren’t meant to be when it’s clear to the rest of us that they are. They have the same relationship that Sam and I have, and that you and Lisa have. It was clear to all our families back then, just as clear to us now. Maybe Mother Moon has other plans for our boys. We must be patient.”

“Patient my ass. Those boys are oblivious Tali. Stiles seems to think that Derek is too good for him. And Derek thinks he’s too dumb for Stiles, and Stiles deserves someone smarter like Lydia Martin. I just think they need a little bit of a push. A prod even. A shuffle in the mate direction.”

“Since when do the boys think that? I’ve never heard either of them say any such thing. I don’t think meddling is a good idea, Peter. It needs to happen naturally.”

Peter turns to Talia with a raised brow. “Just last week I heard Stiles on the phone to Scott saying how he doesn’t think he deserves it, and Derek was talking to Laura lamenting just before he left for college how he doesn’t know whether he’s smart enough. And anyway, I’ve never heard any stories of things going badly when someone intervened. It can’t hurt.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Peter sighs. “Look Tali, we’ve all seen how they look at each other. It’s ridiculous how much in love they are. Also it can’t be good having Stiles abilities not fully manifested. He’s to be Laura’s emissary Tali, if he doesn’t fully come into his powers soon, then it will have a direct impact on the Pack. Something needs to be done.”

Talia pinches the bridge of her nose and heaves a sigh. “Ok, I’ll have a talk with Claudia, see what she has to say. She’ll know more about the Emissary manifestation, maybe there’s something we just don’t know.”

“And, in the meantime, I’m going to get in my nephew’s ear and guide him like the good Alpha’s right hand that I am.”

Talia groans and gives Peter a shove. “Fine, but don’t be too over the top or too blatant. And don’t harm either of them. Or do anything to scare the other one. And no making the other jealous! Nothing that can backfire.”

“You are no fun.”

“I am your Alpha Peter Hale, you need to remember that.”

Peter snorts and salutes his sister, who laughs loudly as she walks out the door. Turning back to the window Peter watches the boys talk quietly as they bob gently in the pool. They are talking quiet enough that Peter can’t hear what they are saying, so when Stiles blushes a deep pink, he desperately wants to know what is being said.

He makes his way out of the back door and down the stairs, opening the pool gate as quietly as possible. Peter puts on his best smirk.

“You know Stiles, we are in the middle of summer. You’re looking a little pink there, forget to put on sunscreen?”

Stiles startles violently, almost smacking Derek in the face. Derek holds Stiles' arms in front of him and turns to glare at Peter. “Must you do that Peter? You know how he flails.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” Stiles squawks.

Derek snorts and turns back to Stiles. “He doesn’t look sunburnt to me Peter. Maybe it’s time to get your eyes checked old man.”

Peter’s smirk widens. “Yes, well you’d be able to see whether Stiles is sunburnt or not being that close to him Derek. Do you think you could tell whether it’s sunburn? Or whether Stiles is just blushing. He turns a lovely shade of pink when he blushes.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Listen here Uncle Creepy, the fact that you know that is gross, and I’m going to tell Lisa!”

Peter snorts. “Oh no, I’m so scared.”

Derek sneers at his uncle. “What about if I told Aunt Lisa about what you did Friday night? Do you think shed ok if she found out it was YOU that ate the last of her chocolate?”

Stiles starts laughing. “You ate a pregnant werewolf’s chocolate? Oh my god, you are a dead man!”

While Derek and Stiles continue to laugh, Peter swiftly makes his exit, frustrated that his plan failed.

🐺🐺🐺

Talia and Claudia sit on the couch, each nursing a cup of tea. Claudia has her thinking face on, while Talia waits patiently.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him Tali. Mischief has been doing all of his Emissary studies, and in fact, is ahead.”

“How is that possible that he’s ahead though? Shouldn’t his abilities have manifested fully by now? I’m not sure how it works, but I would have thought that there was a limit to what Stiles could learn until he came into his powers. And the boys are nineteen now, Claud. Has Stiles said anything to you about the situation? About Derek?”

Claudia shakes her head. “No, he’s always been very secretive with matters of the heart. And there are always things to learn about being an Emissary. In fact, I heard from my sister in Poland, she’s Emissary to one of the Wójcik Alphas you know, and she was saying how on some blood moons, the connection between an Alpha and their Emissary is strengthened with a pulse of power, and …”

“Claud! Off topic.”

“Sorry! It’s fascinating. But as far as the situation as you call it, Stiles hasn’t mentioned anything, and I haven’t asked.”

“I just wonder if we say something to the boys? Peter is going to try his hand at matchmaking, he’s getting a bit worried about it.”

“Honestly Tali, I wouldn’t be too worried. I didn’t meet Noah until I was in my early twenties. I didn’t become your Emissary until my late twenties. The folklore surrounding us is just that, folklore. The Emissary Scrolls were written in a completely different time to now. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll have a talk to Stiles and I’ll let you know.”

Talia lets go of the breath she seemed to be holding and takes another sip of her tea. “Thanks Claud. I’ll let Peter know.”

“He’s not going to stop trying to meddle, surely you know your brother better than that. Remember what happened with Laura?”

There was a moment's silence before the women burst out laughing, remembering when Peter tried to get Laura and her mate Jordan together, Peter ended up locked up in the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department’s jail for the weekend after Peter’s attempted abduction of his niece went terribly wrong.

🐺🐺🐺

Derek walks back in the front door after saying goodbye to Stiles, who incidentally was looking a little pink after forgetting to reapply his sunscreen. He chuckles as he walks into the kitchen to grab a cold drink, almost turning around when he sees his Uncle Peter sitting at the dining table watching Derek keenly.

Opening the fridge, Derek pulls out a bottle of water, turning around to face Peter as he twists the top off and takes a sip.

“Whatever it is you want to say, Peter, just say it.”

“I don’t know what you mean nephew.”

Derek rolls his eyes and starts to walk out of the kitchen to go up to his room, stopping when Peter starts to talk.

“You must miss Stiles when you are at college.”

Derek turns slowly back around towards his uncle and narrows his eyes at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’ve been practically joined at the hip since you were two. And for the first time in 17 years, you are separated by a 6 hour drive. Are you ok with that?”

“There’s this marvellous invention called a cell phone where we can make phone calls, and even some phones allow you to make video calls! There’s Zoom, Skype, Discord, as well as email, text messages. I may not see him every day, but we talk all the time, and FaceTime every weekend.”

“Yes, but it must be hard not being able to hug him, not being in the same room as him. You must miss his scent.”

Derek looks at Peter like he’s grown a second head. “Are you ok Peter? Did you get sunstroke in the 5 minutes you were outside today? Maybe you are a vampire instead of a werewolf. Yes, that explains everything! Especially since you suck!”

Growling, Peter gets up from his seat and runs at Derek who shrieks and bolts out the front door.

🐺🐺🐺

Thursday afternoon, Stiles is sitting at the diner on Fifth Street waiting for his dad to arrive for lunch. He’s stripping the straw wrapper into a pile in front of his soda, knee bouncing under the table.

Just as he’s about to pull the straw out of his soda, the door of the diner opens with a jingle, Stiles looking up to see his weary father walking towards him.

Noah sits down with a sigh. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey pops, you ok?”

“Rough case at the moment, but it’s getting close to being solved which is something to look forward to. How’s your day?”

“Good! Mom asked me to come into the bookstore this morning, Mrs Nelson asked her to ask me if I wanted to do some part-time work there over the Summer, so I had a quick interview, and I have my first shift with mom tomorrow!”

The Sheriff grabs Stiles hand and squeezes. “That’s good news son.”

As Stiles is about to ask his dad about the case, the bell above the door jingles again, and in walks Peter Hale.

Stiles groans. “Ah, crap.”

“What’s wrong son?”

Peter strides right up to the table and presumptuously sits down at one of the two free chairs. “Noah, Stiles, so good to see you! What brings you to the diner today?”

Stiles looks at Peter incredulously and before he can answer, Noah responds. “We’re doing our taxes, Peter.”

“Ah, funny. Yes, you are in a diner, it should be obvious what you are doing. I thought you’d be doing something with Derek today Stiles?”

Noah rolls his eyes and mumbles “Oh lord.”

Stiles looks confused. “Why would I be doing something with Derek today?”

“Why wouldn’t you be! You haven’t seen each other for some time, it’s the summer break, time to reconnect with those you love and all that.”

Stiles blinks.

“You two have been joined at the hip since you were babies! This is the first time you are both out in the big bad world and you’ve gone to opposite ends of the state. I just thought you’d want to spend every waking moment together.”

“I have no idea what you are getting at Peter, but Derek and I are meeting up on Friday. There’s a new Marvel movie out, and the diner has Five Buck Burger Fridays.”

“Why not tomorrow as well?”

Stiles looks at his dad, then looks back at Peter. “Because I’m working, and Derek is working.”

“Derek is working?”

“Yes? He’s working with Samuel at the garage.”

“Ah yes, that’s right. Well, I hope you two get to spend more time together than just on weekends. It would be a shame if you two grew apart.”

Peter gets up from his chair and tucks it back under the table. He bids the Stilinski men good day and walks out the diner.

Stiles looks back as his father. “He is such a fucking weirdo.”

“Language Stiles!”

🐺🐺🐺

When Peter gets home from his gatecrashing the Stilinski lunch, he convinces Talia to arrange a barbecue with the Hales and Stilinskis for Sunday. The weather is forecast to be warm, perfect for swimming and grilling.

Sunday morning dawns and Peter rises with a smirk. Lisa looks flatly at her husband as she sits in the armchair in the corner of the room, rubbing her swollen belly. “What are you smirking at? You’ve just woken up.”

“Well my love, today is the day that I am going to once and for all get Stiles and Derek to admit that they are in fact, in love, and in fact, are mates. The pining and the looks of love from afar end today!”

“I know you think you are this Matchmaker extraordinaire, but the reality is, you are awful at it, and it always backfires.”

“You can’t say it always backfires because I’ve only done it once.”

“That’s the literal definition! Always. Every time you have done it, you’ve failed. One hundred per cent failure rate!”

Peter huffs and trips as he’s removing his sleep pants. Lisa laughs. “Come now my heart. Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming. Now do your pregnant wife a favour and rub my feet.”

🐺🐺🐺

The Stilinskis arrive at the Hale house at 11.30 on the dot. Stiles helps his mom get the plethora of Polish side dishes from the backseat, while Noah grabs the beers, both normal and wolfsbane laced. They walk into the house as a family, dodging screaming kids, laughing adults, and hazardously placed bags.

Stiles stays in the kitchen with Laura and Cora and helps to get the side dishes and desserts set out on the benches. Claudia goes off to find Talia, and Noah parks himself next to the grill, cracking open a cold one for Samuel and himself, chatting to Derek about his work at the garage.

Once the grilling is done and the meat brought inside, Talia calls everyone around and thanks them for coming. After giving directions on where to find everything, and offering for people to sit wherever they want, Peter clears his throat as his Alpha is about to release the pack to get food.

“I just wanted to say a few things before we eat!”

Talia’s “oh no” is mirrored by Claudia, Samuel, and Noah.

“As it is the summer holidays for all our young pack members, I just thought it would be nice to welcome those who have been off at college back home, especially Derek and Stiles who have never been apart this long ever!”

Peter looks around waiting for the laughter. There’s not even a chuckle. Derek steps forward. “What are you doing Peter?”

“Nothing! Well, nothing MUCH. You two have been so close for such a long time, I just worry about you missing each other! Anyway, I just wanted to …”

“You just wanted to what Peter? You’ve been acting fuc .. freaking weird for the last week!” Stiles interrupts Peter with a glare.

Derek nods. “You said the exact same thing about missing each other to me the other day. Why are you so fixated with Stiles and I missing each other?”

Peter looks at Talia for help but she just raises her hands in a “you’re on your own” gesture.

“Lisa?”

“Nope babe. This is your show.”

Peter sighs. “I’ve been trying to get you two to admit you miss each other, which would then get you to admit that you have feelings for each other, which would then get you to realise you are mates!”

Derek walks over to Stiles and puts his arm around him. Stiles snuggles into Derek’s side. “We know we are mates Uncle Peter. We’ve known for years.”

Peter’s jaw drops. Followed by Talia’s and Noah’s. Claudia, Samuel and Lisa are laughing. Cora is looking between Peter, and Derek with confusion. Laura is stifling a laugh.

“What?? But you aren’t mated!!”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “We aren’t officially mated yet no. We wanted to wait until we’ve graduated from college before we made it official.”

“So you know you’re mates, but you don’t miss each other? What am I missing???”

“Uncle Peter, Stiles and I are very much in love so of course we miss each other. But we knew that if we were to be officially mated it would make going to college very difficult. We want to get the first three years done and dusted at our college of choice, and then see what happens. Stiles couldn’t turn down the scholarships from Berkeley, and couldn’t turn down UCLA. But we have every intention of having the official ceremony once we’ve graduated.”

Before Peter can respond, Talia steps in. “It sounds like you’ve had this planned for a long time. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Laura clears her throat. “They told me.”

Peter throws his hands up in the air and storms off, leaving his laughing wife behind.

Talia frowns. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

“I’m sorry Alpha Hale, we should have told you. But after discussing it, Derek and I thought it would be best to tell Laura as I’m to be her Emissary.”

“We also knew that if everyone knew they’d make a big deal about us not being mated yet. We really need to do this in our timeline, in our way. I’m sorry mom.”

Talia rushes forward and scoops Derek and Stiles into a hug, and taking the lead of their Alpha, the rest of the pack joins in.

🐺🐺🐺

Three Years Later

Derek and Stiles stand under the new moon in their mating robes. Stiles' hands lay gently on top of Derek’s, a platinum ring in each palm bearing the triskele.

Talia guides her son and his mate through their vows through tears. Derek and Stiles' faces radiate pure love, and as the rings are slipped on the other’s finger, the Hale Alpha declares her son and the future Hale Emissary mates, and to seal the bond, to kiss under the new moon.

The men wrap their arms around each other, and as their lips touch for the first time as official mates, a pulse of power bursts from Stiles wrapping around him and his wolf, drawing them even closer.

The wolves of the pack howl in joy, while the humans cheer. Noah and Claudia hug each other close. Talia and Samuel look at each with love.

Peter looks at his nephew in fondness and turns to Lisa. “I’m taking full credit for this.”

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 7: Roman x unknown (Creativitwins focus)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 7: There is a string tied around your pinky that only you can see, the end of it leads to your soulmate.

Content warnings: food mentions, mention of losing soulmate, autistic character (not explicitly stated, but heavily implied).

Word count: 2.5k

Little Roman was barely six years old when he first felt the gentle tug on his pinky finger, looking down from his coloring book to inspect the digit. A gap-toothed smile spread across his face when he saw the thin red string, tied in a neat little bow, the end trailing off for about as long as he was tall before fading. He’d been expecting his soulmark since his mom had told him about the concept just a little while ago, and now it was here! The Disney prince lover that he was, he was already ready to meet his true love. Six years had been too long a wait. 

His mom turned from the late dinner she was preparing when he hobbled down the stairs, overstuffed and oversized backpack dragging behind him and Mrs. Fluffybottom stuffed into the front of his shirt. She tried her hardest to keep a straight face as he gripped the railing for balance, tongue poking out between his teeth in a valiant attempt to not faceplant. 

“Where are you going with Virgil’s backpack, sweetheart?”

“I’m on a quest!” He announced as he stumbled off the final step, puffing out his little chest like a kitten trying to look intimidating. The rabbit stuffy that flopped in front of his face greatly diminished his threat.

“Is that so? And what is the purpose of this quest, my prince?”

“To find my soulmate!” 

She put down the wooden spoon she was stirring with a wide grin, their family resemblance shining through with the action. “Your string appeared? That’s amazing!”

Roman couldn’t help but nod excitedly all the while shifting the uncomfortably heavy backpack on his already sore shoulders. “I’m going to find whoever it is and live happily ever after!”

“I’m sure you will, Roman. But how about some dinner before you embark on this journey? Don’t want to get hungry.”

He thought it over carefully, nose scrunching, deep in thought. He wanted to find his soulmate as soon as possible, but the food also smelled super good, and he’d already waited six years. What was one more meal time? His stomach gurgled in affirmation and he took his place at the table, dropping the bag and Mrs. Fluffybottom onto the floor next to him.

“Valiant choice. Boys, come get dinner!” She hollered in the stair’s general direction, being met almost immediately by thundering footsteps echoing through the upstairs hallway. Moments later, Remus slid down the handrail with a shout. His feet screeched loudly against the bannister in an attempt to slow him down, but it failed (as it did every time) and he ended up plummeting off the bottom, landing on his back with an “oof!”. He didn’t seem bothered, though when did he ever, as he scrambled back to his feet and plopped down in his spot, diagonal of Roman. Such arrangements had to be made a while back, when the twins proved incapable of sitting within hitting or kicking distance of each other for meals. 

“Ah, and the Duke joins us. Did you see Virgil on the way down, hunny?”

She watched as he knocked the table with his fist lightly, his ‘deep in thought’ face identical to Roman’s, before he shook his head with a low hum.

“That’s okay. Do you want your spaghetti sauce on your noodles or beside it?”

Remus patted both open palms on the table, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Two separate bowls?”

He nodded. 

“Sounds good. And Roman- Oh, there he is! The Prince, the Duke, and the King!”

Both boys turned to the stairs as their older brother stepped into the landing, his headphones wrapped around his neck. He looked like he’d just woken up from a nap, eyes drooping and stifling a yawn. 

“King? More like court jester!” Roman stage whispered to Remus, incredibly proud of himself for the dig. Remus gave out a delighted giggle, wiggling in his spot. His mom tried to look disappointed, but her smirk was as difficult to hide as Virgil’s eye roll. She placed down Remus’ two bowls before going back to the stove to fill the rest of the plates.

“Cute. Why do you have my backpack?”

“I’m going on an adventure!”

“Okay, well, use your own backpack.”

“It ripped.”

“Then use Remus’.” 

Remus let out an indignant grunt, narrowing his eyes in a way that definitely indicated anyone who touched his backpack would be met with his rage. He didn’t like people touching his things. 

“I need it for school, dude.”

“And I need to meet my soulmate!”

The kitchen went silent except for Remus slurping marinara off his spoon, interchanging between bites of chopped up noodles and spaghetti sauce, oblivious to the sudden energy shift in the room. 

“You got a soulmark?” He asked lowly, less as a question and more of an accusation. Roman puffed his chest up again, refusing to let his older brother bring down the joy of this momentous occasion. What was his problem, anyways?

“Yup! And I’m going on an adventure to unite-”

“Don’t even bother. Soulmates are bullshit anyways.”

“Virgil, language!”

His mother set down the remaining plates, casting Virgil The Look. Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil before digging into his own plate, concentrating on swirling the pasta around the fork properly. His mother always offered to cut it into pieces like she did for Remus (and how Virgil did for himself) but no, he wanted to be a big boy and eat it like she did. She didn’t complain, because even if it meant twice as much clean up for her, his focus on the task provided a much more peaceful meal time. 

“I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna go do homework.”

“Virgil, please eat dinner with us.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“You say that now, but I’m the one cleaning reheated pasta off the microwave tomorrow morning because of your little ‘midnight snack’.”

“I’ll clean the microwave,” he grumbled, feeling his chance at victory slipping through his fingers. 

“You know that’s not the point. Not that I’m going to prevent you from doing so.”

She softened her smile, gesturing to his plate as she took her spot next to Remus. Virgil took a shuddering breath, hating that he loved his mom this much, and dropped into his seat numbly. He gave Roman a glare out of the side of his eye but the younger didn’t notice, spinning his fork with both hands, before he took his knife and cut his own noodles into bite sized chunks. Something about looking less like an idiot when he ate it. 

Dinner went by in a flash, Remus lifting his bowl to lick the inside only to have it plucked from his hands by mom, who stacked his bowls on top of her plate and carried them to the dishwasher. Roman was scraping the last remnants onto his fork when Virgil stood up and stormed from the room.

“Mom, Virgil didn’t clean his dishes!” 

“Don’t tattle, Roman. I see it,” She chastised before clearing the plate. Roman hopped off his chair and dutifully brought his own plate over, loading it into the dishwasher. The light in his eyes suddenly exploded to life and he bounded over to his chair, lugging Virgil’s backpack back onto his shoulders.

“Well, I’m off now! Thanks for dinner, mom, but I have a soulmate to find!”

Just as he strode towards the door, trying to decide between his his mickey mouse sneakers or his red velcro ones, Remus let out a wail and dove from the table, eyes bright with tears.

“What is it, Rem? I have to go!”

Another sob broke from his chest as he latched his arms around Roman, effectively smearing the sauce from his chin on his prince costume. He was mumbling something into the fabric, more gibberish than actual words, though Roman heard the word ‘no’ distinctly more than once. 

“Aw, now I have to go change!” He pulled back, earning another whine. “I’ll be back, Rem! I don’t know when, but-”

“Roman?” 

He turned to his mom, who was standing in the doorway with a gentle smile, watching the scene before her.

“I don’t think Remus wants you to go just yet, sweetheart. And it’s getting dark. Maybe you should stay here for tonight.”

As if to affirm the statement, Remus wrapped himself tighter around Roman’s ribs, shaking his head vigorously against his shoulder. He glanced out the window and sighed; it was getting dark, and despite being an incredibly brave adventurer, he had a strong dislike of the dark. For practical reasons, of course! 

“I guess I can stay tonight.”

Remus barely gave him room to breathe as they stumbled up the stairs in an uncoordinated mess, their mom chuckling as she followed a step behind. Luckily she broke them apart long enough to allow them to get into their pajamas and brush their teeth, an affair that went without its usual amount of bickering and petty toothpaste shenanigans. For once, Roman didn’t have the heart to bother his twin, not when the other kept looking at him with teary eyes every time he moved, as if he needed to watch him, lest Roman run away from him again.  

When he rinsed out his mouth and walked back into their room, his mom was sitting on his bed, thumbing through his backpack- well, Virgil’s, technically- and neatly refolding the clothes he’d haphazardly thrown in. 

“Mom, I’m gonna have to repack those tomorrow!” As much as it bore a hole into his chest, he ignored Remus’ whine and climbed under the blankets. His twin looked torn for a moment, watching him wiggle past his mom’s form, before dejectedly crawling into his own bed, eyes never leaving Roman.

“Ro, what did I tell you about soulmates?”

“That they’re your true love? And the string leads you to them.” Roman shifted so he was lying on his back, smiling wistfully. 

“I think I phrased it differently, but yes. Anything else?”

Cue nose scrunching, his trademark thinking face. “I don’t remember.”

“Sweetheart, the string connects you too, but you can’t follow it to them until it’s time for you to meet.”

Roman’s face fell, “You mean I can’t go find my soulmate?”

“You’ll find them on your own time, naturally. If you rush it, or try to force it, it won’t work.”

“Well… what if I try really hard?”

Mom laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair. “That won’t make a difference, sweetheart. You can’t make the process go any faster than it’s supposed to.”

“So I can’t follow the string?”

“I’m sorry, Roman. I know how excited you are for your soulmate.”

Roman couldn’t deny the heaviness weighing in his chest at the news. He had to wait longer? This is getting ridiculous. But if the risk of trying to find the person might delay it even more… well, he’d just have to let it run its course. As much as it sucked.

“Okay,” He sighed, closing his eyes as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Picking up the now empty backpack from the floor, she stepped up to Remus’ bed.

“Hug and kiss?” 

He stared at her for a second as if heavily debating his options, before nodding. She seemed pleased with the response, though Roman knew she’d be okay with whichever he chose, and pulled him into her arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I’m just going to take this back to Virgil,” She waved the backpack towards Roman impishly, “Maybe ask before you take his stuff next time.”

“Wait, mom!” Roman yelped as she went to close the door and she poked her head back in, eyebrow raised. He took a deep breath, not understanding his sudden nervousness. “Why was Virgil so upset? After I told him about my string.” It was mom’s turn to sigh, heavily, before she pushed the door open more and leaned against the frame. 

“Virgil doesn’t have a soulmark, sweetheart. It’s very difficult for him to talk about.”

“...Oh. He never got one?” His heart sank, immediately feeling guilty. 

“He… he used to have one. And then one day it…” She did a poofing motion with her hands, “Just disappeared. We don’t know why, and Virgil was very sad when it happened.”

Roman could understand… to have this little bond taken as quickly as it was given; he’d be distraught. “Well, maybe he can get it back!”

His mom smiled sadly, slowly reaching for the door handle, “Maybe. Don’t try to talk to Virgil about it, okay? It’s a sore topic.”

“Okay…” Roman pulled the covers up to his chin, his mind filled with newbound anxieties. “I love you.”

Her expression morphed into one of fondness, her eyes glittering with joy. “I love you, too, my Prince. And you, my Duke. Sweet dreams, okay?”

“Night, mom,” Roman called as she closed the door, going back to watching the glow in the dark stars on their ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about Virgil’s lost soulmark. What if that happened to him? How old had Virgil been when it happened? Was his soulmate still out there, or were they... gone? 

All questions he’d have to talk to his mom about tomorrow, since she’d told him not to talk to Virgil about it. Maybe he’d just give Virgil an extra tight hug tomorrow, to make him feel better. Hugs always made Roman feel better, so it was probably the same for his big brother, too. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a small sniffle from Remus’ bed, turning his attention from the galaxy on their ceiling to his brother. In the dim glow of their respective red and green nightlights, Remus’ brown eyes shone with bright tears, watching Roman intensely and choking back small sobs. He still thought he was going to leave.

With not a moment’s hesitation, Roman scooted back until he was against the wall and lifted the corner of the blanket in a silent invitation. Remus didn’t need more than that, scrambling out of his own covers with lightning speed, almost tripping over the fabric, and launching himself into his twin’s bed. Like an octopus, he wrapped his limbs around Roman in a tight squeeze, digging his face into his chest. He got the message. Please don’t leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rem. I promise. I’ll stay.”

That seemed to be enough to satiate him, because his eyes immediately drooped, though his grip didn’t falter. 

“If you kick me, I’m pushing you onto the floor.”

Remus hummed gruffly from the back of his throat, like an unspoken way of saying shut up. Roman didn’t fight his hug, didn’t try to escape, because even if his twin was the bane of his existence, he still loved him more than anything. Except maybe his mom… and reluctantly, Virgil. They all tied for first place. But for sure, if anyone talked bad about Remus (and peers had, in the past), he would be the first to deck them and sit on them until they apologized (he’d done that, too).

“Love you, Rem,” He grumbled like it was a reluctant admission. His brother didn’t answer, and he realized he’d fallen asleep, curled against Roman like a koala. That was fine. They hadn’t shared a bed in years, and he’d kind of missed it. 

He got comfortable, as much as he could with his human attachment, and let his eyes drift shut, visions of his possible soulmate filling his dreams.

[katyatalks]

PASH! ILLUSTRATION FILE 2017 (January 2017) - Character Designer Kameda & Director Tachikawa - Character Design Notes

Here’s Director Tachikawa & Character Designer Kameda’s notes on a few Mob Psycho character designs from PASH! ILLUSTRATION FILE 2017 (January 2017). Includes a bunch of interesting info including Reigen’s shoujo manga love interest roots, Ritsu’s hair changes, and Teru’s connection with Neon Genesis Evangelion. Characters covered; Kageyama Shigeo, Reigen Arataka, Dimple, Kageyama Ritsu, Onigawara Tenga, Hanazawa Teruki, Mezato Ichi, Kurata Tome, Tsubomi, Gouda Musashi, Kamuro Shinji, Suzuki Shou.

KAGEYAMA SHIGEO

Tachikawa; “Deciding how big to make Mob’s irises was something that often caused a bit of trouble. There were plenty of times where I’d look at him on paper, or I’d draw him and think that his irises were an OK size, but then actually looking at him animated they’d be too small and a little scary...”

Kameda; “I’ve become aware that when I draw him, I make his irises not too small, but so that they reach about half-way down the whites of his eyes. I think Mob’s face around volume 9, 10 of the manga is really good!”

REIGEN ARATAKA

Kameda; “I paid attention to the way he stands, so that just by looking at his silhouette his character would stand out. In contrast to Mob-kun’s spaced-out standing pose, Reigen exudes confidence. I pay attention to the line his body follows, so that it resembles an S shape. I imagine Marmalade Boy’s Matsuura Yuu-kun, and apply that coolness to Reigen.”

Tachikawa; “Sakurai-san’s performance as him is also great. There’s a slight shadiness to his voice, so to say…”

Kameda; “It gives Reigen this handsome vibe (laughs).”

DIMPLE

Kameda; “I wanted his form to sway in the anime, so I drew him like a fireball with his edges spinning clockwise. Actually, the way his edges move differs depending on the episode; in some, it’s an anti-clockwise spin, and in others it’s a movement from both sides that spits off at the top, and so on (laughs). Also, when he possesses the security guard, he has wrinkles under his eyes. Without those lines, he’s too fresh-faced. He’s the sole adult within this work * - I’m also conscious of that.”

Tachikawa; “I’m glad that Ootsuka-san’s cool voice was able to add a liveliness to this work. I wanted there to be some weight when he plays the funnyman.”

KAGEYAMA RITSU

Tachikawa; “The volume of his hair proves a struggle.”

Kameda; “Actually, when I draw him, I have two ways of doing so. From episodes 1 to 8 I gave his hair a big volume and made the ends pointy, but episode 9 onwards he rounds out a little. When he reconciles with Mob-kun and the darkness in him fades, the spikiness of his hair also decreases (laughs). I kept that a secret. So this amusement park art takes place during a time in which Mob-kun and Ritsu-kun have reconciled.”

Tachikawa; “So, when you look at Ritsu’s hair, you can see how he’s doing mentally (laughs).”

ONIGAWARA TENGA

Kameda; “What stands out in his design is the plaster on his left cheek. I proposed his design should have something that identifies Onigawara as some king of the punks. In the manga, he only has the plaster when he first appears, and following that it’s typically gone, but I think the plaster is good in that it gives him this delinquent vibe.”

Tachikawa; “Also, he has eye bags and two lines there.”

Kameda; “Yes. Much like the manga, I gave him those two lines.”

HANAZAWA TERUKI

Kameda; “When I draw Teru’s hair, I imagine Neon Genesis Evangelion’s Nagisa Kaworu-kun, & I give it that kind of square silhouette. What also stands out in his design is the way that bundle of hair jumps at his parting. Also, when his hair is at 150%, I have the ends of his hair be a little wriggly. Seems like plenty of our staff thought that drawing that ‘bundle of hair’ feeling was difficult.”

Tachikawa; “There were also people who made the ends of his hair bounce cleanly.”

MEZATO ICHI

Kameda; “She’s cute.”

Tachikawa; “That’s right. I also love her.”

Kameda; “When I drew her, I did so with the impression that she’s one who’s got her eyes open. She is sharp sighted, after all.”

KURATA TOME

Kameda; “Tome-san strikes me as a character who pulls a lot of blank faces.”

Tachikawa; “She appears in this amusement park art… and yet she seems bored, doesn’t she.”

Kameda; “She’s at an amusement park, and yet, she’s playing a video game (laughs).”

TSUBOMI

Tachikawa; “Tsubomi’s anime design is completely different to how it is in the manga.”

Kameda; “She’s /the/ bishoujo. However, with each character in the Mob Psycho 100 manga they have distinct lines that mark their upper and lower eyelids, so I drew the anime’s Tsubomi while respecting that rule.”

GOUDA MUSASHI

Tachikawa; “I feel I really put my all into drawing Gouda.”

Kameda; “He’s got plenty of special aspects to his design such as his faux hawk and centipede eyebrows, but contrary to expectations he’s difficult to draw. I tend to give him droopy eyes…”

KAMURO SHINJI

Tachikawa; “Onigawara has them too, but I think Kamuro’s eyebags are his special feature.”

Kameda; “I agree.”

Tachikawa; “I suppose those lines under his eyes that go toward his cheeks are also a feature.”

SUZUKI SHOU

Tachikawa; “Shou distinctly has pupils, so when you compare him to the others characters he looks a little different.”

Kameda; “Definitely! Since he has pupils, he’s the only character who looks like a foreigner.”

---

* Cast have taken digs at Reigen being an adult ‘only in age’ before

---

Originally posted on twitter here.

The interview that comes with these notes was translated by Kaga, here.

[radramblog]

Halo through its guns: ODST

 A complaint many people had from Halo 2 is the lack of a huge battle for Earth that people were anticipating based on the marketing. The game spends one level in orbit over the planet and two more in New Mombasa before jetting off to the Arbiter’s side and to Delta Halo. While 3 spends a fair chunk of its campaign earthbound, there was still a contingent of people who wanted more from the facet of the franchise- to defend something familiar, to catch a glimpse of what the Halo universe was for civilians. I’m sure many of these folks were satisfied with the release of Halo’s first non-numerical (kinda) FPS installment, ODST.

Despite running in the same engine as 3, ODST plays quite differently, and all of that is a deliberate element of the game’s design. A set of more personal, lower-key stories through the perspective of a much different person to the Chief, and a closer-range look at humanity and the characters that make up the UNSC. And what could be closer range than a submachine gun?

Well, a shotgun. Also this one actually is pretty okay at medium range, considering.

…this is Halo 3: ODST through the Suppressed SMG.

Every previous Halo campaign has put you in the place of Master Chief or the Arbiter. Both of these individuals are incredibly powerful presences, both in rank and in combat prowess, and the games reflect that- much of those campaigns are kind of built to make you feel as kickass as possible. Arby and the Chief are constantly doing incredibly cool shit, and they utterly dominate swathes of enemies in their path, no matter what form the foe takes. They are loud, they are in charge, and they are there to win the fight.

ODST has a very different tone in mind. Much of the game takes place in a quiet, evacuated city during the night, with nobody but the protagonist and the occasional detachment of Covenant troops. Fast and Loud isn’t really the tone of the streets of Mombasa, save for during the squadmate levels. The world is dark and rainy, the music is solemn and pensive, and the player is made to feel utterly solitary as they hunt to figure out what happened to the rest of their squad.

To supplement this, the game has you playing not as a Spartan, but as one of the titular Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. In effect, while they’re still extremely effective soldiers, they are not superhuman, and much of the game mechanics reflect this. Gone are energy shields, with a slower-to-recharge and much more painful-sounding Stamina mechanic in place as well as the returning health bar. Every ODST you play as is much more vocal about being in pain when taking fire or on low health, which makes sense, seeing as they’re still, you know, dudes. The player is also weakened in other ways- the jump height is significantly reduced, fall damage is actually implemented, and melee damage is now about what a punch from a relatively solid person would be to a hulking alien instead of Chief’s apparent rocket-propelled-fists.

An…interesting decision to supplement this was to drastically lower the damage human weapons deal to energy shields, making Brutes significantly tougher to take down and the new Engineers priority targets (that the game also discourages you from killing). Nowhere is this more apparent than with the Suppressed SMG, whose shield-stripping prowess is thoroughly neutered to the point of feeling nigh-useless on higher difficulties. It also has a lot of recoil, especially noticeable when you’re zoomed in, making it harder to consistently land bursts of fire.

What I’m saying is that I picked the Suppressed SMG to represent ODST because it kinda sucks. Not that the game sucks, it’s fucking stellar, but part of the point of it is that compared to the Chief, you suck. This does get a little thrown out in certain levels, particularly some of the explosive holdout areas, but those feel all the more sweeter when you recognize how much more of a struggle the fight is for the characters.

Speaking of characters, ODST has a few of them! And while you never play as Dare, the Rookie, Buck, Dutch, Mickey, and Romeo all get distinct characterisation through their chatter, cutscenes, and generally constantly sniping at each other. Their personalities are, interestingly, reflected in their weapons of choice- Buck, being the leaderly all-rounder, carries the series traditional Assault Rifle, Mickey spawns with a Rocket Launcher but only two rockets because he’s an asshole and a cocktease, and Dutch has a Spartan Laser to represent his massive dick energy. But more importantly, Rookie gets both of the game’s silenced weapons- the Suppressed SMG and the Automag.

Rookie doesn’t get much of a personality, but there’s a bit there (and more in background material). He’s quiet, obviously reflected in his weapons of choice, and canonically the dude has very practical choices in his outfitting and his lifestyle, reflected by the versatile nature of his weapons. The suppressed SMG and automag do feel very “scout”-y, as relatively close-medium range guns that have 2x scopes in case you need them in a longer engagement (or just to get a better look at things). Their darker colouration helps blend them into the world, tiny lights visible only to the holder so they themselves don’t lose it to the night.

There’s a couple other major things the Suppressed SMG represents, and they’re tied into each other. The first, the removal of dual-wielding from the game in its totality. Not only is this further representative of the relative weakness of the ODST compared to the Spartan (canonically, the Spiker is fucking heavy), but it’s also a frankly necessary change to the game’s formula- at this point, the experiment that dual wielding was had run its course, and the limits that had to placed on it to make it balanced just ended up not being worth it. And despite many of these guns now being quite weak, you do end up being forced to use them a lot of the time- limited ammunition means that the S-SMG/Automag will only get you so far before you have to grab something off an unlucky Covenant patrol. Despite their weakness, the weapons in ODST shine brighter than you’d expect.

The other is a slight tightening of the weapon sandbox. The iconic Battle Rifle is gone, as is the as-iconic Energy Sword, as Elites are not present at all in the game save as a handful of bodies. The is Sentinel Beam is also absent (for obvious reasons) as are the standard SMG and Magnum variants. The level design, however, does give more time to the less-used weapons of 3- the Firebomb and Mauler appear more frequently due to the increased numbers of stealthy, jet-pack-y Brutes, and the finale of NMPD HQ lets you absolutely go to town with the Missile Pod, stuff like that. In an odd contradiction to the game’s overall philosophy, the heavy weapons/breakable turrets are actually buffed, as for whatever reason the Rookie and his squadmates can sprint at their normal pace carrying the things whilst the Chief has to slow down to make them work. This makes the second-to-last level, Data Hive, an absolute breeze, provided you know where the Flamethrower is hiding.

Speaking of Data Hive, it is kind of the only level where the Suppressed SMG is really allowed to wreak havoc, since it’s kind of the best gun in the game for dealing with Drones. A combination of tearing through unshielded targets, being one of only two hitscan automatics available, and being a bullet hose is great against hard-to-nail, flying opponents, not to mention the enclosed space the level takes place in. I’m not sure I’d expected it to drop the ones with shields, but it does at least get a place for it to be actually good.

You may notice I’m not talking about multiplayer, basically at all. Two reasons for that. Number one is that it mostly doesn’t exist- ODST was prepackaged with an extra disk that was just Halo 3’s Multiplayer mode (but with some extra maps). The second is that what does exist within ODST, Firefight, is still PvE, and as such the all the above pretty much still applies to it. Firefight is excellent, but for the purposes of this piece, it doesn’t have much unique to add.

In effective summation, Halo 3: ODST is a game whose mechanics and weapons are deliberately tweaked to evoke a distinctly different feeling from the game it’s based on. The characters are both more individualised and more specialised, and the gameplay reflects that. No other game in the series manages to get anything remotely resembling the atmosphere of ODST, and while a lot of that is a result of its aesthetic, story, and impeccable soundtrack, these would not hold up if the gameplay wasn’t changed to match.

ODST is the first of two Halo FPSs that deviated from the series’s tried-and-true formula, and greatly succeeded as a result. The other, Reach, will come up next week, as we finally reach the end of the Bungie era. Beyond that? God help us.

[talesfromthepayload]

The Fall Part Two

A/N: Did I get totally distracted and let this take over my life? Yes, I did. Do I regret it? Only a little bit. Also, the reader’s intended age for the purpose of this fic is 23 at the start. (So yeah, there’s a bit of an age difference, but this is also me being entirely self indulgent.) This chapter is kind of heavily focused on Gabriel, but don’t worry the other two will be very involved coming up. 

Gabriel Reyes did not make decisions lightly.

Despite the fact that they seemed often impulsive or lacking certain forethought, he knew what he was doing, and he was confident doing it. Hiring you was not a mistake.

Jack had called him and Gérard in a few days prior to discuss your onboarding. He, too, had been intrigued by what you had to offer, but he’d been hesitant. They’d found an issue while reviewing your history, and it’d become clear that your file had been tampered with. If Gabriel had to wager a guess, he’d say you did it.

So, Jack hesitated. He wanted to dig around more, try and see why it needed to be tampered with to begin with. But Gabriel wasn’t going to let your potential go. He needed Blackwatch agents, had for a while, but those with the potential were few and far between.

He knew Jack was going to be pissed when he realized what he’d done, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to be sorry. His intuition hasn’t failed him yet.

He leaned back with his feet on his desk, watching the security feed. He didn’t give you any information, a final test to see if you were as good as he thought you were.

Genji and McCree had tried to convince him to spar this morning, but he wasn’t passing up the opportunity of watching you walk through those doors.

It was seven o’clock on the dot when he saw your familiar figure. You were dressed in all black, a jumpsuit tailored specifically to that suit of armor you had built it seemed. It clung to you like a second skin, and had a deep v-neck in the front. There was a briefcase in one hand that helped you blend in with some of the higher ups.

Reyes knew the minute he saw you he was going to have one hell of a time keeping McCree away. The boy flirted with anything with a pulse. You were young, far too young for any of them to be looking at you, and pretty.

Maybe he was being selfish by bringing you to Blackwatch. They were all jaded and scarred, and you looked like you’d fit perfectly in Angela’s Valkyrie suit.

Still, a certain amount of pride swelled in his chest as he watched you navigate through the wide expanse of the Swiss base. There was no hiccup in your step, nothing suggesting you were anywhere you shouldn’t be.

You were even swiping into rooms that should’ve been entirely out of access for you, yet that didn’t stop you. It was mesmerizing, to be quite honest, the way you walked through crowds like you had every right to be there.

You didn’t stop until you were in the hallway outside of his office, and he sat up straighter to greet you. However, you paused, taking a moment to look up at the camera. Your eyes met his through the screen, and there was a pleased smile on your lips.

He echoed the gesture, letting out a few breathy laughs, before a knock sounded at his door. You didn’t wait for him to answer, instead walking through the threshold with the same confidence you had throughout the base.

“You need better security,” you commented.

Gabriel walked around his desk so that there was nothing but a few feet of air between the both of you.

“There are very few people who could do what you just did,” he said, shrugging one shoulder.

Your lips were pulled in amusement but you didn’t offer anything more on the subject. You laid your briefcase to rest nearby, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was in there or if it was just for show.

“Blackwatch, huh?” Your eyes darted around the room before they settled on him.

He found himself unconsciously standing straighter and puffing his chest out.

“Overwatch didn’t strike me as the type to have secret divisions,” you admitted, taking a few steps closer to him. “And boy do you get into some trouble.”

There was something distinctly playful in your gaze, and Gabriel thought it was more charming than anything. He’d never been a stickler for the rules like Jack, thus his relationship with the agents under him was a little more lax. You were blatantly flirting though, and he found it absolutely amusing.

He realized right then and there that putting you and McCree in the same room was a recipe for disaster.

“I’d say you do too, but I can’t be sure with that fake file you sent us.”

It was a callout- a challenge, really, and boy did you rise to it.

“We all have secrets, Gabriel,” you shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to the door. “Like hiring me without consulting the Strike Commander.”

As if on queue, Jack shoved the door out of his way. Ana was close on his heels, like she was trying to temper the storm. Genji had followed them in, obviously drawn to the commotion. Gabriel knew that McCree had wandered off, not bothering to stick around if he didn’t need to. You had a quirked brow, and despite the anger of his oldest friend, he couldn’t be drawn away from the small smirk on your lips.

“Gabriel I told you to-”

He stopped short, his loud voice deafening instantly as he noticed your presence.

He was taken aback, just for a moment, though Gabriel recognized the look in Jack’s eyes. Yeah, he may have also wanted you on Blackwatch because he knew that Jack had a type, and you were most definitely his type. Intelligent, good looking, quick witted, and frustratingly optimistic- he knew that, even if it was done unconsciously, Jack would want you under his command because of it. That and the fact that he’d seen Jack spend hours reading about the work you’d done like it was the damn gospel.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you giggled, holding your hands up in surrender.

The Strike Commander blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Ana cleared her throat, shooing away Genji and shutting the door behind him, leaving the four of you alone in his office. The anger on Jack’s face was lessening, and his exterior was becoming more fitting of his title.

“Apologies, I didn’t realize you were here already.” His voice was tight, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Gabriel was leaning back, looking for all the world like he could care less about what was transpiring. In reality, he was very interested in how the esteemed Strike Commander would act.

“I figured,” you nodded your head in Gabriel’s direction, “Someone’s not very forthcoming with information.”

His expression didn’t show an ounce of regret. If anything, his lack of telling you important information further proved how much his team could use you.

Jack bit his tongue, and Ana piped up to fill the silence.

“You know, Jack, I think Gabriel might be right on this one.”

You sent a warm look towards Ana, and it brought a smile to his face. Ana had always had a motherly attitude about her, it made people gravitate towards her.

“I know,” Jack sighed, running a hand through his blonde- slightly greying- hair, before holding it out to you.

You took it without hesitation, shaking firmly.

“I’m Jack Morrison,” he introduced himself, gesturing to the woman behind him. “This is Captain Ana Amari, though I’ve heard you’ve already met. And that is-”

“We’ve had introductions already,” Gabriel assured him, unable to help but add on: “I hope Genji didn’t make too much of a mess.”

You shrugged, walking past him with the same confidence you had making your way there in the first place.

“I figured now that we’re all friendly we can talk about my stolen research.”

You didn’t waste any time. Gabriel moved to watch from over your shoulder when you started typing on his computer. He was a bit miffed you hadn’t even asked him, but thoroughly impressed when three beeps sounded, alerting to the others in the room that you had successfully logged on.

“What was the research on?” Jack asked. “I’ve been reviewing your other projects, but I’m assuming you kept the one Talon stole private.”

“You assume correctly,” you smiled, looking up to shoot him a wink before going back to whatever it was you were doing.

Gabriel didn’t miss the small blush that colored Jack’s cheeks.

“IPI,” you said, pressing a couple of buttons on your watch. “Access file 07129.”

“Accessing,” a robotic voice replied.

You pinched your fingers together above your watch, before expanding them. As you did so, a holographic projection jumped to life around you. Gabriel couldn’t be too sure of what he was looking at, but it resembled the watch you wore around your wrist.

“What is it?” He finally questioned.

You puffed out a breath.

“Well, it was the first trial of my experiment.” You explained, spinning the hologram so that they could see all of the angles. “When I was a kid I wanted to save my mom. There wasn’t anything I could do realistically, so I started looking at the impossible.”

You came around Gabriel’s desk to lean gently against the front.

“Two years ago I had my first major breakthrough with temporal manipulation. I used chronal acceleration to propel an object forward in time, though just by a few seconds.”

You fiddled with your watch.

“Further experimentation and research brought me to a final conclusion. Three weeks ago I solved the mystery of time travel.”

Whatever Gabriel had been expecting, it had not been that. It didn’t sound real. There was no way somebody could just travel through time, was there?

“It took a lot of time. I had to input different equations and study the theory itself, but if they decode my work they’re going to have a fully fledged time machine on their hands and the whole of history to mess with.”

The friends shot each other looks as the room petered off into quiet once more. There was an uneasy air about, and Gabriel shifted his stance.

“Let’s get to work finding it then,” Jack finally stated, a hand moving towards the communicator by his ear.

You didn’t give him a chance to continue.

“Already done,” you exclaimed. “Atleast, potential hits.”

You fiddled with the holographic interface in front of you, lines of code swirling around your person.

“I’ve cross referenced the file number I originally gave the design through every major international database, as well as a few minor ones that have had previous ties to Talon. Most of the searches came up empty, but I did find a repeat of the word ‘chronos’ in the few encryptions I could find.”

“So they named it,” Reyes realized.

The grin you gave him was dazzling and wide.

“Project chronos got a lot more hits, though the information was scattered. You see, Talon doesn’t use its own mainframe for most of their work. They encrypt data into other locations and spread them out at seemingly random, so it’s difficult to follow.”

“But you followed it?” Jack inquired, a small smile tugging on his lips. It was obvious he was more than impressed.

“Sort of,” you conceded, “Like I said, it’s exceedingly difficult to track, but I managed to narrow down the locations.”

Jack and Ana shared a look, before he leveled you with that proud commander smile he’d nearly perfected.

“Good work, soldier. Send the coordinates and we’ll get recon teams there as soon as possible.”

With a swipe of your hand, the holographic images disappeared.

“Better yet, I’ll bring you there.”

Gabriel frowned at the sudden fall in Jack’s expression. He knew that Jack wouldn’t be letting you out into the field anytime soon. It wasn’t protocol, and Jack had enough people breathing down his neck.

“You still have to finish your basic training,” Ana said softly, taking a step forward.

You furrowed your brows.

“I can finish it later.” You assured them. “This is a hell of a lot more pressing.”

Jack shook his head, trying for a more gentle approach.

“We can’t let agents into the field who haven’t finished their initial training.”

“But this is my research…”

Your eyes were pleading with the two of them. Ana looked stern, but Jack couldn’t maintain eye contact. It was clear he wanted you on the mission too, if only because you knew what you were doing. 

“We’ll send a recon team, and if you finish your basic training quickly enough, you can be a part of the strike team.”

Gabriel made the decision for them, and though you didn’t seem entirely satisfied, the answer still had you nodding. Jack gave him a look, one that told him they’d be having a long discussion later on, and turned his attention back to you.

“You’ll be reporting to me for your training.”

Gabriel wondered why he was keen on training you himself. He didn’t personally train recruits anymore- hadn’t for a while.

“As for Blackwatch,” Jack leveled Gabriel with a hard stare. “Gabriel will handle any additional training.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, letting the man know he understood. Jack was leaving your combat skills mostly to Gabriel. 

Jack turned his back to where you stood, effectively ending the conversation. He only made it as  far as the door before he stopped himself short.

“I did want to ask,” he began, “Why the fake documents?”

One hip was propped forward, and you looked as comfortable as could be. Your smile was a fair bit mischievous as you stretched languidly.

“I can’t show my hand before you’ve shown yours.”

Ana hid her smirk.

“Right,” Morrison affirmed, stomping away with the same confidence and authority he always wielded.

Ana was quick to follow, though her steps were quieter.

A tenseness settled in the air with them gone, and Gabriel didn’t dare to be the first to interrupt it. You were idly tapping your fingers on his desk, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, after a few moments, you pulled yourself from your own thoughts.

“So,” you drawled, siddling on up to him with your brightest, most friendly smile. “When’s the tour?”

Gabriel fought the twitch of his lips, instead giving you a deadpan look.

“Training starts now.”

It was a statement you barely had time to register before his fist was flying out. You dodged it narrowly, taking a few steps back to find a proper fighting stance.

“You sure are violent,” you muttered.

He didn’t offer a verbal response, instead going for a second strike. When you moved to avoid the attack, he changed tactics last minute, forcing you to the ground. The floor was cold and hard, leaving your back arched at the sudden sensation.

“Okay, not cool.”

“Sloppy,” Gabriel tsked from above, looking like he put no effort into taking you down.

The anger that morphed onto your face reminded him of a cat getting ready to retract its claws. Cute was a word that came to mind, though he didn’t dare say it out loud for fear of pissing you off more.

You rolled out of his reach before jumping back to your feet. Your movements were quick, but unpracticed. You definitely would be able to hold your own against your regular run of the mill civilians, but he was sure you’d need far more practice before you could start taking on fully trained soldiers.

Your eyes were calculating, and he found it a bit unnerving how you seemed to be reading him. From what he’d seen already, and what he’d found in your file, you were a genius. God only knows what you’d found on him already.

He didn’t move a muscle as you approached slowly, cautiously. His stance was firm, and he was ready to go back on the offensive should you decide for an impromptu attack. Still, he watched your body grow closer with a raised brow. Your movements were poised, an elegance not suited for a soldier.

His heart thumping wildly in his chest was the only noise as you leaned up to your tiptoes, keeping less than an inch away from his body. His fingers twitched, and he was idly aware of just how pretty you were. Dangerous was the word his mind supplied. Too pretty and young to keep his mind on more pure thoughts, and it had been so very long since he’d given into more carnal desires.

“You lose,” you whispered, the words kissing his ear, forcing a shiver down his spine.

Your proximity stuttered his system, and it took far longer than normal for him to realize what you’d said.

A questioning hum vibrated in his chest.

You pulled back the smallest bit, a wicked smile on your glossy lips that spoke of a danger he didn’t dare name. Being the devilish little thing you were, you winked, and nodded your head to something just behind him.

He tore his eyes from you, only to be met with the glowing stare of your suit of armor. It had the arm raised, the repulsor beam charged and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. How it’d managed to sneak up on him, he couldn’t be sure, but a frown pulled at his lips.

“That’s cheating.”

His voice was low enough to be a growl. He hoped you could hear the disappointment in it. (Though, if he were being completely honest, he was more disappointed in himself.)

You laughed, a light, melodic sound compared to the normal gruff voices that lingered through the halls of Blackwatch.

“Well, this is not what I expected,” a voice drawled lazily from the doorway.

Gabriel wanted to curse at McCree, but he held his tongue and glared at him instead.

“I think Clint Eastwood got lost,” you mock whispered to the commander.

His frown deepened in an effort to avoid smiling. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care, moving away to properly greet the new arrival.

“Jesse McCree,” Jesse tipped his hat, all charming smiles and vexatious eyes. Even the introduction of his name was a flirt.

“(Y/N),” you replied in kind, and Gabriel didn’t care for the way your name rolled from your tongue. It had far too many implications for one word.

“Pleasure, darlin’.” His voice was smoother than honey.

Gabriel cleared his throat, hoping to draw some attention away from the flirty cowboy and back to the mission at hand.

“I don’t doubt it,” you chuckled gently, eying him up and down before you turned back towards the commander.

“Don’t you have a sparring session to finish, McCree?” The commander bit out, crossing his arms over his chest.

His expression was nothing but intimidation, and the cowboy didn’t look the slightest bit perturbed.

“I was looking for something more interesting to do,” he explained with a shrug. “Looks like I found her.”

You puffed out a breath.

“That one usually work for you?”

“McCree,” Gabriel’s voice was venomous, and despite the cool facade on the younger agent’s face, he knew when pushing his commander was taken too far.

“Right,” Jesse inclined his head, “I’ll be off, but feel free to visit me anytime, sweetheart.”

Gabriel didn’t care to hide the annoyance on his features at the smile you had on yours. Despite McCree’s swift exit, you hadn’t made an effort to turn from where he was standing.

“You sure do have some characters,” you finally said, breaking the silence.

Gabriel blamed his anger on the interruption and useless chatter. Though, maybe it was because of the way your attention shifted so easily to whoever demanded it.

“The suit,” he gruffed, throwing an accusatory thumb to where it stood ready for an attack behind him.

The gun metal grey exterior was sleek, and the body looked almost identical to an outline of your own. Blue lights lined the feet and arms, and despite the flashy look, he knew they held purpose. Clearly, this could house you if you so chose it to. 

“The original,” you said, pressing something on the screen of your watch.

The suit operated almost like an omnic would, though he knew there was no consciousness about it. The lights flickered off, and he watched with interest as the suit disassembled itself, until nothing was left but an unsuspecting briefcase. If he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes, he probably wouldn’t have believed it.

“It’s not as high tech as the newer models, but it certainly does in a pinch.”

“And you made that?” He asked for confirmation, in genuine awe of your capabilities.

“Nearly eighteen months ago now,” you smiled, though unlike the teasing or mischievous ones, this one was genuine. “If you think that’s cool wait until you see the rest of them.”

He nodded his head in the direction of the door.

“I think it’s time I take you on that tour,” he declared, picking the briefcase off the ground and handing it back to you. “There’s a few people you might be interested in meeting, and a few places I think you’ll enjoy.”

Your fingers brushed his as you took a hold of your briefcase. The contact was fleeting, but warm.

“Lead the way.”

[thenightling]

I’ll be your mirror (A Sandman fan fiction)

This story is a shameless Fluff piece written while listening to “I’ll be your Mirror” by The Velvet Underground on repeat.  This is sort of Dream of The Endless working through an existential crisis.  

  I’ll be your Mirror

             The pale figure of Daniel Hall moved through the empty private chambers of The Castle at the heart of The Dreaming.  

This ancient, and stone-looking, fortress was a monument to pure creativity, pure imagination. Sometimes known as Ghost Castle it seemed fitting that that the current aspect of Dream (who often answered to the name Daniel) actually resembled something of a ghost.  He was pale white, as white as milk, and his hair was just as white, just as soft and cloud-like, as the rest of his ethereal form.  His hair was curly and untamed, much like the black hair of his predecessor, the now deceased aspect of Dream, Morpheus.            Daniel’s eyes were black as pools of midnight water, with two twin star pupils.  He could have been the boyish and more youthful looking twin of the previous embodiment of dream.                Daniel wore an egg-shaped emerald amulet, the only sign of color upon him.  Otherwise he was a mostly white, and wispy entity wandering his private chambers. He moved silently and with some private sense of purpose.   Dream of The Endless is something like a great, faceted jewel.  And each facet is a different incarnation- an aspect, an autonomous entity that is both connected to, and yet separate to the whole.

             Daniel knew he was only a fragment and not the whole of what is Dream of The Endless and yet there was no real sense of comfort to that strange loneliness that ate at his all-too human-like heart.   He often felt he was too human.  Had his predecessor dealt with such a burden?  He tried to recall.  Yes.  Why, yes he had.  But only toward the end…            You would think the link to that old, deceased, aspect of Dream of The Endless would be gone but that was not necessarily the case.  Not only had Daniel inherited all of his memories but he had done something, something that he was fairly certain most did not know about…            Daniel had been conceived and gestated for over two years in a mortal woman’s womb in The Dreaming.  Though his mother had some divine aspect within her, and was considered something of a “metahuman” herself, Daniel had seemed human enough at the time of his birth, despite the peculiarities of his gestation and his poor, naïve, father having been the manipulated soul of a deceased human…            Where had the other aspect of Dream been during Daniel’s gestation?  Well, for most of it he had been imprisoned in a crystalline cage in a mortal’s cellar.            In his early form Daniel had appeared to be a normal human baby.  Blond haired, blue eyed, with a peach-tone flesh that wasn’t as it was now, this milk-white.  The only one who had recognized him for what he truly was had been Himself, that is to say, the active aspect of Dream, Lord Morpheus.            Now looking pretty much nothing like that mortal baby, the adult and distinctly non-human Daniel Hall, this aspect of Dream of The Endless, recalled well their first psychic communications with one and other.  It was the only time he truly felt a deep and profound bond to another, when he stared into Morpheus’ eyes and felt that link there between them.  Of course there had been some connection to his mortal-esque mother but this was different.  What he felt toward this other aspect of self was like staring into a reflection of his very soul.               When he “Spoke” with Morpheus it was like communing with his own subconscious. There was such an understanding and appreciation for the truth that it comforted him to know he was there. Though to tell which had been comforted by the other’s presence was difficult to say.

When Morpheus had “Died” as Dream of The Endless, Daniel rose to power, taking his predestined form and his mind flooded with the repressed, and hidden knowledge and memories of over ten billion years of consciousness. Now he felt like the very heart of an intricate web, he knew each fiber as it stretched from himself and through The Dreaming.  

He had a psychic link to every sentient entity he had ever created within The Dreaming, including ones created by his previous-self (whom he could recall having been, like a human reincarnation).

The loneliness had been terrible in those first few moments as Lord of The Dreaming, despite his sudden psychic awareness and knowledge.   And one of the first things he did was something others might find unspeakable…

           Meanwhile, in another part of The Dreaming…

           “I walk across the dreaming sands under the pale moon: through the dreams of countries and cities, past dreams of places long gone and times beyond recall.”

           In his darkest and strangest hours, when Morpheus had thoughts he scarcely would admit to himself he wondered that perhaps Loki, Lucifer, and all the other iconoclasts of the various pantheons were right in their rebellion. They wanted to leave and so they did. There was no dramatic final exit. They didn’t dread abandoning responsibilities as he did. If only he had the bravery or selfishness and carelessness to do as they had done…but these thoughts were along the lines of words he would never dare utter, not even to himself. He was dead now, right? What did it matter? He had escaped his role in the most absolute fashion possible…

           Morpheus walked along the beach of Hob’s dream in the perpetual eventide. This was, for him, his Heaven, his sanctuary. And almost every night he would walk and speak with his friend who always steadfastly refused Death’s gift. How he admired Hob’s fortitude. And how he, himself, liked it here. He was at peace here. Eternally residing in the dream of a friend wasn’t the worst way one could spend an existence after being an Endless. And yet sometimes he felt certain old aches, like a mortal who had lost a leg and missed it terribly.            His existence as Dream of The Endless was over but Morpheus had been recreated as a Dream Entity.   Now free from the burden of being Dream of The Endless, he did not envy the self that had to reign in his place.  In fact he found himself pitying him. And sometimes he felt that his new purpose, his new reason to be, was to simply reassure Daniel as no one had for himself- to remind him that he understood.  That he knew how he felt.  That he was not alone.  And most importantly, perhaps, that he forgave him for all his faults and short comings…

             Daniel walked to the mirror mounted over the vanity table in his private rooms.  The door to the room vanished behind him.  He wanted to be alone with his brooding thoughts.    Daniel stared into the mirror, trying to decide who or what he was.                Who was he?  And where did he belong?  Was he the boy Lyta Hall had cradled in her arms or was he the man who would govern The Dreaming for eons to come and who had always governed The Dreaming?   He felt world weary and weak.   He doubted himself and his abilities as Dreamlord.   He sighed heavily.  Sometimes he just wished he was that innocent child once more simply so someone would hold him and comfort him and tell him everything would be okay.              A figure stepped behind Daniel, soundlessly and as shadowlike as Daniel was ghostlike.  Daniel was only briefly startled by the sudden presence of his deceased self in the chamber with him.  He knew better than to ask how Morpheus had come to be there. Morpheus might have been deceased as Dream of The Endless but as a dream-entity he was very much free from that burden and knew his way around The Dreaming and especially his old castle.  And he knew how to enter where only Dream would enter.                The two – the living Dream of The Endless and the “Dead” Dream felt such a relief in the other’s presence as if all pressure had been lifted.  But each was too proud to admit how much he needed the other in that moment.                          “What am I?” Daniel asked in his lingering sense of personal uncertainty. It was the question he would never ask anyone other than himself.              “You are you.  You are Dream.”  Morpheus assured him as if that was all the answer he needed.            Daniel nodded.  He seemed a little shaky but the other figure placed a bony hand on Daniel’s narrow shoulder.  Daniel’s garments wavered, shifted.  And his white robes became a fine, gauzy, white, toga, just as Morpheus’ own gothic, wizard-like robes shifted into an identical black toga.              The two looked like matching halves of a yin-yang standing there in front of the great oval mirror mounted over the vanity table.              “I am here.” Morpheus assured him in his own imperfect way of trying to comfort himself.  “I am here.”  He did not begrudge his posthumous existence. He knew why Daniel needed him.  The silent need that they both had, it was that same need that had invited a certain cat that had been mistaken as another aspect of Dream, to come save the universe. That was a different adventure that both knew in their heart but could not actually, consciously, directly, remember, not really.            “I will be for you what was never there for me.” Morpheus assured him.              Daniel took a ragged breath.  “I didn’t… I wasn’t sure you would…”            “That I would forgive my own existing?   Daniel… It was my plan.  I knew I had to change or die.  I chose both.  I knew what you would do because you are me.  How could I begrudge it?”            Daniel turned his head.  Morpheus had released his awkward grip on the shoulder of his other self.              “This is where we both belong.”  Daniel said.  It was a statement but it was also a plea, a secret, hidden plea.  He feared being rejected by himself.            “Perhaps.”  Morpheus said, knowing Daniel understood what he meant.            “We are all things within The Dreaming.” Daniel said.  “The wind, the rain, the sunset, all of it.  It’s us.  And I don’t actually –need- anyone.”  He lied and he knew his other self knew he was lying.            “But there is a difference to be able to talk and hear a voice respond that has felt and knows your burden.”              “I don’t want to be alone.”  Daniel said.  “You’re just going to leave again, retreat back into your dreamscape and leave me to bear it…  We’re not the same.  You’re free where I am not.”            Morpheus’ expression darkened, his frown deepened. “No.   No, I’m not as free as I thought I was.  You are my burden now. I am my own burden.  Because…  No matter where I go… there I am… And you need me.  I… am responsible.”            Daniel looked at him, uncertainly, blinking his black, glassy eyes.  “You would… stand with me?  So I don’t have to be alone?”            “I am here, am I not?  Yes… I have died.  And …changed.”  He loathed admitting that more than once.  “But things are different now.   There are two of us…  We need not stand alone any longer.”             Daniel looked at him, at his other self, and there was no resentment. There was no sense of old guilt for forcing him to exist.  He knew that he understood why he had done it.  They forgave each other.   And they were both home.    

           “No one else would ever accept me if I showed them all of who and what I am.” Daniel confessed.  “Not even… Not even my mortal mother.  She could never understand.   There’s so much darkness in me...  And it has always been there.  Always, even before I was Daniel Hall. I am so very afraid of …of my own darkness.”             Morpheus gave him a trace of a bitter smile.  “You are afraid others might see your mind, your secret heart, and judge you for it?  You are afraid they will see the corruption, cruelty, and unkindness?”             “Yes…”             “Daniel, I was far crueler than you ever were.  Don’t burden yourself…”              “But sometimes I-“                “Shhhh.”  Morpheus said.  “It’s what you do, not what you think that defines what you are.  You don’t bear that darkness alone.  It’s what you choose to do despite the darkness that matters. Pretend to be kind- and act on that pretended kindness.  Behave the way you think a kind creature should act.  It is good enough to pretend, to play the part.  You are good enough.”               “How- how can I do that?  I barely know how to be you.”               “’Me.’” Morpheus corrected.  “How to be ‘me.’  You are not my shadow.”                Daniel shook his head and raised his hands to his face, placing his palms over his own eyes.    

            Morpheus was not very good at physical intimacy except with lovers and even then there was some question as to his ability to express affection but when it came to himself he made the exception and reaching out he took a hold of each of Daniel’s hands, cupping his hands with his to gently ease down his hands.  “Please put down your hands.   Don’t worry. I see you for what you really are. You are not something terrible. You are Dream and you are …beautiful. Surely you see it?”              “How can you possibly see good in me when you don’t even see it in yourself?”  Daniel asked.         Morpheus was taken aback by the question as if Daniel’s very words had slapped him.  “I…”        “I have done terrible things.  I have hurt people.”  Daniel said. “Why do you think I am so much better than you?  Why? How could I be better than you when I AM you?  At least you never killed except in defense of The Dreaming!  I…  I killed and it was for malicious reasons. I thought I was being honorable but I was just being cruel.”

            Morpheus knew what he was talking about. He had always known. He knew about Daniel’s lover, Ivy, Rose Walker’s daughter.   Desire’s great granddaughter.   And he knew that when a bachelor party, besotted by alcohol, had made lewd comments about Ivy, Daniel had driven them all, in a pleasant dream-walk, into the ocean…

            It had been cruel.  It had been brutal.  It had been something Morpheus had thought beyond his own capacity but he sometimes surprised himself. And he also knew he had to forgive himself. Daniel had been burdened with being Dream of The Endless all alone and it was effecting his mind.              Daniel clenched his hands into fists.  He looked so vulnerable to Morpheus, so tired, and so frail.  “Damn you!  Damn you for leaving me here and making me be you!”  Daniel said with his head bowed.  Their thoughts were shared between them as they had been when Daniel had his mortal, infant, form.                

          Morpheus slowly walked from Daniel and the vanity mirror that had reflected them this entire time.  Now Daniel’s was the only image in the mirror as Morpheus walked to a sofa that had not been in the stark room a moment before.            He sat down slowly, heavily, despite his slight build.           “I should never have done this to you…  It was wrong of me.”

        Daniel was surprised.           “All I did was subject another self to the same burden that I fled from in allowing you to become Dream of The Endless, and letting myself die.  I see now there is only one way to rectify this wrong…”               Daniel blinked several times and walked over to the sofa.  He sat down next to him.   Daniel knew what he meant to do.  “Are you certain?  After all you went through to extricate yourself?”                Morpheus nodded slowly.  “Yes, I am certain.  I must do this.  It will just be an endless cycle unless…”            Daniel placed a hand over Morpheus’ “Unless we share the burden… together.  Support one and other…  be there for each other…”            Morpheus looked at him.           “Balance one and other.”   When Daniel lifted his hand there was now something in Morpheus’ palm. It was the ruby dreamstone amulet he had re-created shortly before his own destruction. He looked down at it with a nod.                With an almost ceremonious act of raising it, Morpheus lifted the jewel pendant up, and over his head.  He lifted it over his mop of black, wild, hair and let the amulet hang from his neck, lightly against his chest.            Now Daniel offered the pouch of dreamsand.  Morpheus saw it had been exactly duplicated though which was the duplicate, the one he would claim, or the one Daniel kept, it was impossible to tell.

          “Ovid wrote of three Oneiroi.” Daniel said. “But I think we have both had enough of three-in-one.  And perhaps two is enough.  Don’t you think?”

        Morpheusn as Morpheus was done securing the pouch to his hip Daniel took his hand again.  He liked holding his hand and he knew Morpheus liked it too even if they were both too proud to admit it out loud.          “Promise me,” Daniel said, “promise you will help me through my own darkness.”         “I will try.  I’m not sure I can.”  Morpheus said, uncertainly.        “You can,” Daniel said “Because you already are.  We… already are… for each other.”          “Which one of us is the reflection of the other?”

            “Does it matter?”             “No.  Not anymore.”

                      The End.

[anxious-logic]

Grounding

@tsshipmonth2020

I know this is late; I have Day 11 already written so I’ll try to catch up tomorrow. No promises, though. 

(I promise this is not sexual despite the summary maybe kind of making it sound that way; I’m tired and bad at summaries.)

Ship: Romantic LAMP

Warnings: Very slight mentions of polyphobia and homophobia, I think that’s it? Let me know if there’s anything else.

Word Count: 1,416

Summary: Roman has a bad day. His soulmates help him with a new grounding technique.

Roman smiled as he felt a slight tingling on his thigh. He couldn’t look, as he was in class and taking your pants off to check a message was usually considered inappropriate, but it was still nice to know that he was being thought of.

Or maybe one of the others had just dropped their pen and accidentally drew all over themselves.

Honestly, Roman didn’t really care. He’d been getting relatively coherent messages from Logan since he was four, and his parents would help him read them. (That was one of the biggest pushes he had gotten to learn how to read – being able to read his soulmate’s messages by himself.) At first, Patton could only participate by scribbling with a pen or splattering paint on his body, but eventually he learned how to write, too. Virgil mostly participated with doodles, his talent growing from smiley faces and hearts to rudimentary animals to incredibly lifelike scenes.

Roman hadn’t been able to write to his soulmates for much longer than he would have liked. His town was relatively conservative, and of the opinion that everyone should only have one soulmate of the opposite gender, and therefore he was generally discouraged from communicating with his three soulmates that were distinctly not female. But once he had gotten into third or fourth grade, and decided that he really didn’t care what these other people felt about it, because these three boys seemed really nice and he just wanted some friends, for once.

Yes, he knew it was sad. No, he didn’t want to talk about it.

He had met Patton in high school – the other boy had just moved to town and was in the same homeroom as him. Roman had noticed the cute boy doodling on his skin in the seat in front of him, felt the tingling on his arm, and had immediately terrified the other boy by poking him in the back and very seriously demanding that “you will marry me someday.”

Yeah, not really the best introduction to a soulmate, now that he thought about it. Sue him, it was high school and hormones and stress and nobody was supposed to be suave in high school no matter what the TV shows said, okay?

They’d started dating that month. They’d stayed together the rest of high school, had applied to all of the same colleges, and had requested a dorm room together.

When they arrived on campus, he learned that he would be in a quad with Patton and two other men. When they met, the first thing any of them saw was the galaxy on the back of their hand, courtesy of Virgil.

They were all soulmates.

It had been a little awkward at first – Patton and Roman had been dating for four years, while they had only just met Logan and Virgil; the other two had only just met each other that day, and they were all soulmates. And they were all living together. They’d had had to negotiate a bit, in order for everyone to be comfortable; setting boundaries and expectations and “text us if”s and “just don’t do that”s.

But eventually, they’d gotten it all figured out.

Now, they’d been dating for about a year and a half. They were still all rooming together, which sometimes did get rather tense, but it was also useful for quickly resolving any issues or miscommunications. It was… nice. Not exactly standard, maybe, but definitely… nice.

“Okay, I’ll put the readings for this weekend up on the online course,” the professor said, interrupting Roman’s thoughts. “It’s not too much – only about fifty pages or so. Then I want you to write a five-page paper on one of the common themes in the readings and how it connects to what we’ve been talking about, that’ll be due in a week…”

Roman felt his pulse go up slightly. Fifty pages, that was- a lot. And then a five-page paper, even double spaced that felt like a lot of working and planning and time…

He felt his breath speed up and pulled a pen out of his back pocket as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

Are any of you free I want to talk for a bit

He capped the pen and put it back in his pocket, trying to regulate his breathing. It’d be okay. Yep. He’d be fine. Just- he’d maybe have to skip the theatre club tonight, do some reading then. Maybe he could wake up early over the weekend to plan and write the first draft of the essay?

God, this was a lot.

He headed to his dorm, slightly surprised to see that all three of his soulmates were sitting on his bed, talking quietly. Patton looked up, and when he saw the look on Roman’s face, his expression crumpled.

“Oh, honey, it’ll be okay, c’mere, lemme give you a hug.”

Roman did so. Even though his chin was resting on Patton’s head, he still felt incredibly protected and warm, his hug doing wonders for his anxiety.

“What’s up?” Virgil asked when Patton let go of Roman’s waist, leading him onto the bed. Roman shrugged helplessly.

“I just- got a lot sprung on me for this class. Wasn’t expecting it, and now I might have to miss a few things over the next few days to get it done. Not the end of the world, but I’d rather I didn’t have to.”

Logan frowned. “How much is ‘a lot’? You haven’t ever had trouble with readings or essays before.”

Roman reached over to grab Logan’s hand. “About fifty pages before Tuesday. And a five-page essay before next Thursday.” He felt his breathing pick up a little again.

Virgil winced. “That… that really sucks, Roman. I’m sorry.”

Logan studied him closely. “Do you have anything incredibly urgent to do right now?”

Roman looked down. “I mean, I have a lot of work, but… I guess it can wait.”

Logan nodded decisively. “I have a bit of a grounding exercise that I’ve been wanting to try for a bit. Would you be open to trying it?” He paused, and blushed ever so slightly. “It would involve… undressing. Slightly. Just taking off the shirt.”

Virgil looked at him keenly, but didn’t comment, just glancing at Roman for a decision.

“Up to you,” Patton whispered, squeezing his hand.

Roman took a deep breath. “I… okay, yeah. Sure.”

He reached to take off his shirt, surprised when Logan did the same. Logan turned to their other two soulmates as well.

“It could be more beneficial when both of you participate as well. It involves utilizing the soulbond.”

Virgil sighed, but did so. Patton also took off his shirt, unceremoniously tossing it on the floor.

“Now, Virgil- could you get pens, for each of us?”

Virgil looked confused, but got up to dig through his pen container. He emerged with four pens – purple shimmer, dark blue, light blue, and red glitter. He handed the pens to the other three.

“Now. I want you to draw something, anything, on yourself, anywhere all of us can reach.”

Virgil frowned, but drew a circle on his right shoulder. Roman shivered slightly as he felt the tingling on his skin.

“Patton, can you connect something else to that, please?”

Patton smiled widely, evidently understanding what Logan was saying more than Roman. He drew lines of different lengths, branching out from the circle like the rays of a sun.

Logan smiled slightly. “Wonderful. Now I’m going to add on…” he trailed off, as he added zig zags within the circle. He looked up to Roman.

“Your turn.”

Roman twisted slightly to see the design on his shoulder, a combination of his loves. He connected Patton’s rays, turning the shape into something more resembling a flower or a star.

“And now we begin again.”

Now the drawing was happening much faster; dots, zig zags, lines, waves, loops, curls, all tingling and making Roman focus on the feeling of warmth that seemed to be coming through their bond. It really did help to ground him and calm him down.

As they began to run out of skin that they could easily draw on, their movements started to slow. Roman looked around the room at his four soulmates, catching his breath at the designs and patterns decorating their upper bodies and arms.

“I love you,” he said, carefully gathering them all to himself. “I love you, so much.”

[resetpermalik]

Mass Music Measurements Survey Form

A freeCodeCampChallenge

Gaining Speed

This marks my second freeCodeCamp challenge. As I mentioned in my after action report from the first FCC challenge (tribute page), it took some time to finally gain traction and fully complete that project. That was a problem with (one) unnecessary complexity of design and (two) a lack of planning (before I began to code.) It was my assumption that if I laced the project with many working parts, I would learn much, much faster; also, that by getting right to the code, I could pick up the syntax, semantics and general knack for writing (code) in less time. And wow, I was very incorrect in thinking so.

As a response to my previous poor start (with my tribute page,) this time I was better able to address some lessons which had only occurred to me when halfway through the last project. So this time, I really dialed in the importance of streamlining my initial paperwork designs, learning how to more proficiently use Figma and some of its tools, how to better approach icon design with Photoshop and vastly improve my entire workflow. This provided (not only) an easier build, but also a more efficient angle by which I was empowered to catch more lessons along the way.

In the next few paragraphs, I will detail just which specific advantages I picked up in terms of HTML5, CSS3 and JavaScript capability. In addition, I will move through some of the tactics I employed to help me finish this challenge with much more confidence than the last.

Planning Stages

When I set out to hand-write the marked goals (set down by FCC’s challenge,) I do find it tedious. The thing is, I am copying (in my own words) precisely what the challenge is demanding of me. Let me elaborate…

With every line, I am telling myself that I really do not need to do this. I mean, I can pretty easily peer over at the other browser window (when necessary) and see exactly what my marching orders are. Though albeit true, there are a couple of key differences in (one) reading from FCC and (two) writing/reading my own notes.

As I write out every expected step of my project, I can build an image immediately for how I would like my creation to take shape. This falls in line with the visual aspects and design, the color scheme, the functionality of each element and the code itself. It is a powerful method to which I will pay better respect going forward. (I already have plenty of ideas on how to implement more potent procedures — like larger drafting paper, (which will allow for a greater landscape on my pages, maybe using a tablet for notation and perhaps a few voice recordings along the way)). Now, I may be getting ahead of myself! Back to the plans..

And so writing out the objectives is terrific for lots of reasons, but moving to the drawn design itself — this may be the most crucial bit yet. Here’s the deal. When I physically drew the (expected) survey form, I may have well completed the whole project. So what does that mean?

I took so much liberty in imagining what the design should resemble. More specifically, I let my mind wander and allowed thoughts to spill out onto the legal pad before me. This (in combination with my understanding of how everything needed be expressed in code) let me structure my rough draft with such a degree that the next step made the actual coding like an exercise in copy and paste. I’ll expound…

I was drawing parts which were effectively elements of HTML. This was followed by some (more precise) markings of pseudo-code (which amounted to about all of the HTML I required to code for the whole challenge.) So, when I say the planning has proved to be useful, this would be an undestatement. This attention to planning has made it possible for me to avoid the ‘nuts and bolts’ in my code editor. Now, this advancement is massive, because the saved time and effort was a testement to why I was then able to better learn more intricate detail when coding. And now let’s get to those lessons and the code at large.

Within Earshot of Paper and Pencil

My goal is not to elaborate on the use of specific technologies, but more-so the process itself. however, I will briefly touch on Figma and Photoshop…

Using Figma helped me focus on each element and understand how they more literally fit together in the puzzle. I was able to name every piece such that it would show me what my HTML element should be in code and how each need be named. Also, I took those separate entities and grouped them such that I could postion everything exactly as I wished. My next goal with Figma will be to utilize the ‘component’ feature and truly unroll some strong functionality of the software.

Regarding Photoshop, I made a logo for my survey and spun it into a favicon with relative ease. In an attempt to create animations and advertisements for my affiliate site, I have better come to understand Photoshop’s effectiveness. Thereby, building my icon was fairly straightforward. I simply pieced it together with a couple of layers and exported the PNG. I still want to be able to employ SVGs for this application; but until now, I haven’t perfected the craft. I will leave that for the coming FCC challenge. Onward!

Coding the Beast

The first topic to address here is quite obvious for me… SUITE TESTING.

When I began coding this project, I wrote my HTML boilerplate and immediately tied in the FCC testing script so I could begin verifying my code at every turn. I’ll elaborate…

I ran into a few issues with debugging throughout my last project; those were problems which resulted in code errors piling up on me simultaneously. And, while an error (for which you don’t know the remedy) is frustrating…several of those errors (all at once) becomes infuriating. Luckily, I ran into a great solution. Unit testing.

By instantiating the FCC test suite before I began coding the bulk of my project, I was then gifted the opportunity of verifying each of the sixteen goal posts.

In more detail, nearly no problems snuck up on me while coding the breadth of this project because I was adamant on addressing them in real time (as they appeared). What a true life-saver...

Input Text (element, attribute)

I found it repetitive and annoying at first, when the 10th goal of this challenge asked me to give both the input and label elements their own respective and corresponding ids. This was because I (very simply) did not understand the request. Along with that, I definitely didn’t understand why it was being asked (to begin with.) 

That said, I now realize that the goal was to identify the label for the text field, in addition to the field itself. In understanding this distinction, I have now been able to find value in this very feature.

By giving ids to both my labels and input texts, I was then able to style each distinctly and find them with more ease (while peering though my HTML.) Now here’s real solid tip which I will not soon forget.

Don’t Pick More Than One Option!

So, I was writing the code for my radio buttons and what happened next is certainly a rookie mistake. When I navigated to my browser (in order to test the options,) I found that EVERY one of my buttons was clickable. And this, for obvious reasons, is not ideal.

This solution was super easy. All I needed to do was unify (or make each value the same for) the input-radio buttons. After I placed cloned values for each radio button, only one option could then be chosen. Success!

Nitpick the Name and Ids

This is something which should possibly be glossed over. But, when working with various input fields, I was asked to employ many names and ids for each.

While I’m not entirely certain (even now) whether there is a standard for which comes first, I have come to realize that name attributes should possibly supercede id attributes.

Using Visual Studio Code, it seems to like placing names before ids. And in a real life estimation, using name over id seems to be old-fashioned, but admirable.

More seriously, I understand in code, name will be less subjective (while more actionable) and ids will more far more particular and prone to alteration.

Dropdown

I was in a position to use dropdown boxes twice in this project. The problem I came across was that my options continued to begin with the default option as selectable. While I learned the solution quickly and with ease, I believe it should be recorded as vital.

When inserting a placeholder option in a dropdown box, in order to keep it from being a clickable entity, you have to style it as such.

I called the id of the option in my CSS sheet and set its display as none. That easy.

Pseudo Class and Element Selectors

Very little of my experience with this challenge dealt with pseudo class or pseudo element selectors. But, I will cover (in short) what I did learn (with these topics in mind.)

Using a pseudo element selector is the best (or maybe only) way to call an attribute from an HTML element and style with CSS.

This is how I was able to change the appearance of my placeholder text in each input-text.

I know pseudo class selectors are the way to alter elements (in a certain state) like ‘hover’ or ‘before’, but I haven’t used them enough to expand this monologue. That said, I’ll press on…

Attribute Selectors

In confluence with my previous words, I may have provided a misnomer to exactly what was being modified with pseudo-elements. But, I digress (and hopefully you see what I mean).

Using attribute selectors is quite different from other selectors, because you will be placing true brackets in as your selector which house your attribute, followed by an equal sign and a set of quotations (housing your value.)

Looks like this [attribute=“value”]. And that’s that!

Media Queries

While I employed media queries for this project, I have yet to fully grasp exactly how to use them (in reference to appropriation and context.) Therefore, I will not go into detail; but, only mention that I used them to alter my CTA button across pixel-widths. Also, I realized that setting a new media query works better when starting with the immediate values from your last screen size.

A Bit of JavaScript

The big task I pushed for in this project was this: change the client-side font family for a text area as the user types. And by big, I mean, it took me about as long as the rest of the whole challenge to learn this functionality with JavaScript. That said, I now understand much better how JS semantics are employed. And, that’s pretty priceless…

For this goal, I inserted a script with an event listener. First, I started with DOMContentLoaded, which allows for firing without the images or styling need be loaded.

The next bit lets my document be called by its (element) id.

Then, it states that my id will be triggered by any input (via an eventListener) and will force my later instantiated function.

The function declared will let the charCode number equal a string which will be console.log(ed) out as my target.value (of Nunito, sans-serif) with proper style.fontFamily.

Conclusion

Attempting to wrap this project up in a nice bow is difficult, as I have onboarded a great deal of information (from one simple survey page.) After completing this task, I am left with a split-brain. While I have learned so much from something, seemingly straightforward, now I am thrilled to make it to the next project and take on those new expectations.

I suppose my takeaway is that I should fine-tune my HTML and CSS understanding and seriously crack open all that is JavaScript. All which, can wait until tomorrow. Cheers!