#rather than... whatever the hell THAT was

[bananonbinary]

okay. everyone here, stop. forget about ai, forget about art, forget about copyright and plagerism. forget the wider context of this debate and focus in on this argument.

explain to me, from the start, how "lazy and incompetent" are morally bad things that aren't rooted in ableism. use your fucking words, and spell it out, in clear terms, that you think that people who struggle to do a task are doing so out of some personal character flaw rather than admit that sometimes people have shit going on that isn't fucking about you.

I'm going to say the same thing that I said when everyone was talking shit about "weaponized incompetence."

It is not your place to judge what someone else is or is not capable of. it's just not. you have no fucking idea what invisible disabilities they might have. "no disability actually prevents-" yes it does. sit down and actually look around, everything you find easy is hard for someone.

even if they totally don't have any disabilities at all, it still doesn't actually matter if people get accommodations they don't "need." partially because attempting to gatekeep who "really" needs help can only hurt disabled people, but also because. it doesn't matter. it's not hurting anyone.

laziness, as a concept, is not fucking real. it's just not. laziness is a diagnoses that looks at outward behavior (this person isn't doing what I think they should), and refused to acknowledge the actual internal reasons behind it. it is inherently dehumanizing and enormously self-centered. people do not self-sabotage for no reason. I have never in my life met someone who isn't doing something that they want/need because they...what, want to annoy me personally? even people that i think are doing objectively wrong things, it's not because they're evil, or stupid, or lazy, it's because they have shit going on that they are handling poorly. "they simply aren't putting in any effort" is a symptom, not a fucking cause.

we are talking about art. funny pictures and words and whatever. there is no moral imperative to make it "correctly." you can dislike it, you can even argue against it ("its plagiarism," "its bad for the environment," whatever the hell you want), but don't fucking imply that people who do not meet YOUR threshold of protestant fucking work ethic are somehow morally inferior to you. if you're going to argue about something being bad, pick an argument that isn't fucking bootlicking. work ethic isnt real. hard work is not virtuous. easy things are not sowing evil in people's hearts or whatever the fuck.

"oh sky you're overreacting that's not what they meant-" the person above me literally said in clear terms that sentence structure, vocabulary, and expressing yourself "adequately" are skills only someone lazy and incompetent would struggle with. AND that it's "not fine" to not be able to cultivate those skills. just say you hate mentally disabled folks and go.

PS just. all of my complete rage at seeing the words "lazy and incompetent" aside, this just...isn't true at all. you guys are not doing yourselves any favors by IMAGINING what the beloathed ai artist is probably like and then shitting on him. talk to people that actually make ai art. ask them questions. some people are making shitty art, just like some traditional artists. but some of them actually are very skilled at what they do and spend a lot of time on it. just because it's *different* skills doesn't mean the skills aren't *there.* i certainly wouldn't even know where to begin with a project like @infiniteartmachine.

PS PS the original example of chatgpt and education is irrelevant to the discussion of ai art. like, yeah, asking a robot for the answers prevents you from learning, which is bad when you are explicitly trying to learn and build those skills in school. its not bad like, conceptually. the more equivalent argument would be that it'd be fucked up to submit ai art to a still life class. which is true, but not because AI Art Bad. its just grossly inappropriate and kinda ridiculous in that context.

[kxsagi]

hii, hope ur alright! some1 recently requested a rin ff, the one with the calvin klein briefs and i wanted to ask if u could write one like that again but with isagi if thats okay!! thank you <3

“𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢�� 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞?”

a/n: i loved the rin one so i am happy i can write an isagi one! however, i did make it a little different, with reader and isagi not dating in this one, but rather, just finding each other attractive + isagi def asks for your number after the shoot

listened to sativa while writing this so the title was def inspired by that song

(artist is louvbon on twitter)

you pride yourself on being a professional. you’ve worked in high-pressure sets, shot campaigns for big-name brands, captured images of people whose faces are plastered across billboards and subway walls. but nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for this shoot. 

because standing in front of your lens right now, stretching his arms behind his head in a way that makes his abs flex on purpose, is isagi yoichi, japan’s soccer golden boy, international heartthrob, and apparently, the newest face of calvin klein. 

in nothing but boxer briefs. 

you’re holding your camera like it might catch fire, blinking furiously as if that’ll reboot your brain. maybe if you hit yourself hard enough with the lens, you’ll stop staring at the way the light hits his chest. or the subtle line that dips down past his hips. or how the calvin kleins are hanging just an inch lower than necessary to make your job very, very difficult. 

“lighting okay?” he asks casually, running a hand through his already-messy hair. like this is any regular day. like he’s not the problem here. 

you attempt to sound composed, professional. “yeah. uh. yeah, lighting’s great. very… lighty.” 

lighty? 

just kill me, you think. let the studio lights crash down on my head. 

isagi’s lips twitch. “lighty, huh?” 

you don’t answer. instead, you bury your face behind the camera and pretend to fiddle with settings you already fixed twenty minutes ago. you don’t need him knowing he’s throwing you off. he probably already suspects it, but you don’t need to confirm it. 

but of course, he doesn’t let it go. 

he steps closer, slow and easy, like a predator in no rush. “you sure you’re good? you look kinda… flustered.” 

you scoff, stepping back with practiced nonchalance. “i’m not flustered. i’m just trying to work.” 

“you’re blushing.” 

“it’s hot in here.” 

“it’s a temperature-controlled studio. with AC.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “isagi, can you please just go lean against the wall and look vaguely mysterious? brood. smolder. whatever it is models do.” 

he laughs, laughs, like this is all a joke to him. “i’m not a model.” 

“no, you’re worse,” you mutter under your breath. “you’re an athlete with no business being this good-looking.” 

his eyebrows shoot up. “what was that?” 

“nothing,” you say quickly, lifting your camera again. “pose, pretty boy.” 

he does, finally, pressing his back to the wall, gaze smoldering (probably on purpose), muscles tensing in a way that makes you want to look away and also never stop looking. it’s unfair. he’s not even trying. how is that fair? 

you adjust your angle, trying to stay in work mode. this is your job. you are here to take photos, not to mentally rank how kissable your subject’s lips look from this distance. 

“you know,” he says suddenly, tone light, “you’re the first photographer i’ve worked with who can’t look me in the eye.” 

you freeze, mid-shot. “… i can look you in the eye.” 

“can you?” 

you lower the camera slowly. meet his gaze. mistake. big mistake. 

his eyes are stupidly dark blue. bright and playful and cocky as hell. and there’s a glint in them that tells you he knows. he knows exactly the effect he has on you. 

you click your tongue, stepping back. “you’re distracting.” 

he grins. “is that a compliment?” 

“no. it’s a problem.” 

“is it the abs?” 

“it’s the ego.” 

he laughs again, and it sounds like victory. “okay, okay. serious mode. what do you want me to do next?” 

you inhale slowly, resisting the urge to throw your clipboard at him. “keep the shirt off. lean forward. hands behind your head.” 

he raises a brow but follows your direction. you focus the lens. try to ignore the way his muscles move as he shifts. he looks like a damn sculpture. and somehow, despite being practically half-naked, he still looks so clean-cut, so isagi yoichi. the boy-next-door who just happens to be on the cover of every major sports magazine and now, your camera roll. 

“so,” he says, voice low, “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, would you still be staring?” 

you nearly choke. 

“i– excuse me?” 

“just curious.” 

you lower the camera. “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, you’d be wearing a shirt.” 

“and that would make it easier for you, huh?” 

you blink. “you’re ridiculous.” 

“you’re the one blushing.” 

“you’re the one half-naked!” 

he grins, utterly shameless. “you’re the one who told me to pose like this.” 

you groan, covering your face with your hand. “this is the worst day of my professional career.” 

“nah,” he says, smug, “i think it’s the best.” 

you peek at him through your fingers. he winks. 

you’re so doomed. 

BONUS: 

the shoot finally wraps, and you’re desperately trying to look like a person who wasn’t just mentally derailed for two hours straight. the assistants are packing up, the stylist’s asking isagi about his next match, and you're pretending to be very interested in organizing your memory cards even though you’ve already labeled them. 

isagi walks over with that same relaxed confidence that’s been driving you insane since the moment he stepped on set. he’s dressed now, jeans and a hoodie, thank gosh, but somehow, that almost makes it worse. he looks too normal. too boyfriend-coded. the kind of guy you’d see in a café and immediately text your best friend about. 

“hey,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “thanks for today. you made it fun.” 

you glance up from your equipment, doing your best to keep it casual. “oh? you mean despite me almost combusting on the spot every five minutes?” 

he chuckles, leaning slightly toward you. “i thought it was charming.” 

you roll your eyes, lips twitching. “you would.” 

there’s a beat. a quiet moment between you, tucked in the noise of the studio tear-down. and then he scratches the back of his neck, almost shy for once. 

“listen… if you’re not already seeing someone, maybe you could text me some of the shots when they’re ready?” he says, almost too smoothly, then adds, “and maybe, like… something that’s not work-related too.” 

you stare at him, blinking. “are you seriously using the ‘send me the photos’ line to get my number?” 

he shrugs, grinning. “i figured i’d keep it on theme.” 

you hesitate… then pull your phone from your pocket and hand it to him. “fine. but if you send me shirtless mirror selfies, i’m blocking you.” 

“no promises,” he says, typing quickly before handing it back. “i’m more of a candid guy, anyway.” 

you glance at your screen. yoichi isagi ⚽📸 

he even added a little camera emoji. 

you groan. “you’re the worst.” 

“but i’m still getting a text, right?” 

“we’ll see,” you say, walking away. 

and you don’t see it, but he’s smiling the whole way out. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lacedwithsuguru]

❦ pt. one

your olderbrothersbestfriend!sukuna’s warm breath fanned across your cheek, before his head dipped and fell into the crook of your neck.

both of your chests heaved up and down, minds racing to come to terms with what just happened.

it was 3 am. you couldn’t sleep and desperately needed a refreshing drink when you ran into him. shirtless, black sweats, and one too many snacks in hand.

it was a common occurrence for him to be here at the odd hours of the night, playing whatever game him and your brother fixated on this month. in passing, you’d heard it was call of duty. or was it valorant?

didn’t matter right now. not when your stifling small talk and inappropriate glances turned into him pushing you against the cold refrigerator, sliding his veiny and calloused hand up your oversized graphic tee to grip your waist and crash his lips against yours.

you didn’t last a second as a rival against his tongue, the pink muscle shoving yours down and claiming its dominance. you damn near gagged on it, tilting your head back and releasing a small whine, a futile effort of pleading mercy.

he was a rough kisser, that was for sure. your fingers gripped those tatted biceps of his to ground yourself in reality rather than drift off, carried away by his assertiveness.

with an echoing pop! he pulled away, head dropping as he uttered curses to himself.

“w-what’s wrong?” you breathed into his unruly pink hair.

“fuck. this is wrong,” he groaned, lifting up and his height looming over you as his head turned on a swivel.

you weren’t sure how to feel about it. yeah, sukuna and your brother go way back and you couldn’t help but ogle at the older, hell of a lot more mature guy. he was ripped and insanely hot. issue was, he never spared a glance in your direction.

you were probably just his friends younger sister, a face in the background.

something about his unattainablility in your eyes only made him so much more desirable.

but for him to call a kiss shared between the two of you wrong, made your heart pang in hurt.

“we don’t have to tell him,” you whispered coaxingly, hand squeezing his bicep.

his hardened gaze flickered down to you, cocking an eyebrow. “didn’t know you had a thing for being a dirty little secret.”

your pleading doe orbs sent blood straight to his cock, cursing himself out before cupping your cheeks and smashing his lips against yours again.

a rough hand of his gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling it tight against his waist. his other hand greedily gripped the flesh of your ass, kneading it in his hand while he rutted against you.

his clothed crotch rubbed up and into your clothed sex, the only fabric between the two of you was your cotton panties and his cotton sweats. you mentally thanked yourself for not throwing on pants before heading to the kitchen.

that damp spot was sure as hell leaving a wet mark against his groin, but that didn't matter. not when he was groping you so right.

"god, you're such a fucking slut," he groaned, and you had to ignore the wrenching of your heart. was this really how you wanted your first real interaction after all these years with him to go? and why was part of you, a degenerate part, turned on?

you'd heard the rumors of sukuna, specifically what he was like in bed. gossip of his massive length and sexual talents were practically legends on your campus, the same length pressing up into you.

sukuna had slept with countless girls, all over your university. but what hurt the most, after years of quiet longing on your end, was that he managed to sleep with girls of your grade but only shared brief glances with you.

it fed into your self-esteem at some point, resigned to the fact that he was impossibly out of your league.

but now, feeling his hands gripping every inch of your body as if you could disappear in seconds, had a disgusting hope blossoming in your chest.

it was stupid, you knew it was. he was quite literally a known manwhore. what right did you have to believe that this meant anything other than flat-out lust, and you were just in the right place at the right time? he was just a man after all.

the simple stimulation of humping his hard erection had your lashes fluttering as your jaw fell slack, allowing yourself to submit completely to sukuna's dirty ways.

tugging your thigh closer, you could hear the shudder's in his growls in your mouth before he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

"been holdin' out on me, brat," he groaned, before the two of you reached that hot, white flash, his lips slotting against yours to muffle the pornographic moan trickling from your kiss-bitten lips.

his ruts slowed down, before he set your thigh down and pulled away, a lazy grin on his face.

you gripped the handle of the fridge to stabilize your jelly-like limbs, wondering what the fuck just happened.

"sukuna..."

"you're a nasty girl," he commented, grabbing his water bottle and tossing his head back for a gulp. "but not a word to your brother. don't need my head on a spit."

there it was. that nasty rejection you'd thought wasn't coming your way for some foolish reason.

"...is it so bad-"

"yes. not worth it to have him on my ass for preying on his lil' sister," he bit, rolling his eyes before grabbing his bearings and adjusting his crotch, strolling casually out of the kitchen as if he didn't just defile you.

❦ pt two.

[randinium]

I think Breadhead knows that Mel is the human.

For one, Mel is clearly not very good at keeping it a secret, especially from her friends, and Breadhead is her brother. And for another, Breadhead caught Mel [and Ken] after she got beat up by the Mother Angel and was covered in her own black blood. If he didn't know before, he probably knows now.

The counterargument to this is that 1.) Breadhead is too stupid to notice [although personally I think his intelligence is being downplayed]. And 2.) That he might assume the black blood covering Mel came from the Mother Angel rather than Mel herself.

But whatever the case is, I think Breadhead is gonna protect his sister whether she's human or not.

And there's no way in hell Mud knows.

[a-ginger-in-black]

In my experience, you can often help sell 'welfare' stuff by appealing to self-interest with a touch of Aren't We Great.

Disability benefits: "I mean, sure, there are probably some sad sacks who are gaming the system, there always are, but hell, with the amount of taxes we pay, the government can afford a few freeloaders, right? I'd rather pay for a couple people who don't really need it than not have the system at all for if I need it, or my kids do, or whatever. I mean shit happens. What if some asshole drunk driver puts me in the hospital and it takes me a year to get back on my feet? Or Heaven forbid something permanent happens. I'll sure be glad that I can get disability then, won't I?"

UBI: "I dunno, the kind of guy who'll just sit on the couch playing Call of Duty all day if he doesn't have to work, I kinda don't want him on my job site anyway. That type is just taking up a place that you could fill with someone who'll actually get the job done, you know? You end up short-handed even though you technically have enough people because everyone else has to pick up his slack. And it'd mean that if your boss is a dick you can tell him to shove it and not worry your kids are gonna go hungry while you find a better place. We can sure as hell afford it."

Racial equity: "I've got a lot more in common with a Black guy who's just trying to get the job done than I do with some rich white asshole who thinks the sun shines out of his ass because of how much money mommy and daddy have."

[peachesvault]

Sk8 after Eight

Situationship!Skater! Sero x Reader

⋆˚꩜｡ Late night adventures skateboarding with Sero Hanta

A/n: For my baby @bloomstream! sorry its not so good :( just wanted to get something out, but if the people want a part two I wouldn't be against it

"Pssst. Get up.”

Harsh knocking on your window woke you up. Grumbling, you groggily got up, throwing your windows open. You already know who it was.

Sero Hanta.

You sighed eyeing him.

"The fuck are you doing here at 2 in the morning?"

"We don't even have school tomorrow??"

"SO? I can still sleep on a Friday night dude, god forbid."

Chuckling lightly he pulled himself up onto your windows ledge, before inviting himself into your room, making sure to leave his shoes on the ledge. 'Manners' and all that. Manners your ass. Manners would be using the door at a normal hour instead of whatever the hell this is.

You let him in anyways.

Sitting on your bed like it was his, he leaned back, looking at you with that infuriating ugly lazy smirk that always-

"Took you a while to answer sweets. Tried dolling up for me?"

"I was butt ass naked. Don't get ahead of yourself" You replied dryly, eventually chuckling at his furrowed brows.

"Think your so cute hm?"

"The cutest."

You held his gaze, unfaltering even when he stared at you like that. Not the way a friend should stare at you. Neither of you had ever called it out, and you didn't plan on doing so anytime soon. His eyes dropped to your legs.

"Get changed. We're going out." He was staring you in the eye again.

"No. You're getting out and I'm going back to sleep" You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him as a challenge.

Sighing, he got up and made his way to your window, pointing down to where he climbed up from. You followed, your hipbone digging into the sill as you leaned over to see what he was pointing at.

His skateboard.

You side eyed him.

"Really?"

Your face softened. You don't know why but his dejected expression pulled at your heartstrings as he murmured a quiet:

"Look I couldn't sleep. Your normally up at this time so I thought-".

Huffing you cut him off, grumbling but already walking to your closet.

Sappy feelings were never your thing, either of your 'things'. Your whole friendship was built off of bullying each other out of bad feelings.

Turned away from him, pulling your shirt over your head you started to get changed. You knew he didn't care, but that he would turn around anyways since he was so 'mannerly'. You had both gotten over the weird 'opposite sex!' awkwardness a long time ago.

You had both bought matching outfits last time you went vintage shopping. Denim jeans with a red star on the back pocket and graf tagged across the crotch, a large black jersey and a large black zip up. Considering he was wearing it right now, you might as well.

Humming to let him know you were done, you looked around for your fanny, putting your head through the loop to have it slung diagonally over your torso. It already had the basics inside; some wax, a silver skate tool for tweaks, A couple extra bearings incase any broke, a couple tissues, some snacks, a pack of gum and a silver paint pen if you found anything cool to do a throw up on.

Going over to stand next to him by the sill, you wrapped an arm around his neck, tucking yourself into his side as the other held your board. You felt his breath hitch, but chose to ignore it as he used his tape to lower you both out of the second story dorm room. When both feet touched the ground, you finally let go, albeit a bit disappointed but you started walking none the less.

Finally out of UA grounds, you dropped the board, letting it crunch over the gravel. You knew it was bad for the wheels but you were due for a change anyways. The two of you got on as you reached the main road, pushing them till the end of the road; just before the downhill. This was always the route you guys took to the skatepark, the steep decline exhilarating and nostalgic rather than the flat road round the other side that looped a million times to get to the same place.

You and Hanta lined up against the crack in the asphalt like you had done hundreds of times.

"Three"

"Two" You followed on.

"One"

Pushing off strongly at the count, you both barrelled down the hill, the wind blowing in your face making it hard to see as your hair whipped behind you and the chill of the cold night settled itself deep thin your bones. Looking to your right, Hanta was laughing, a manic crazed adrenaline filled laugh. You joined in, whooping and cheering as you only accelerated faster, just two kids who had the whole world to themselves with nothing to bother their undeterred joy. The moon shone brightly overhead, like an approving warm hug as you both prepped to stop as you approached the bottom.

Swinging your arms around to get the power for a powerslide, you clutched by kicking out with your backfoot and leaning back. Coming to a stop just centimetres from the tree, Hanta also stopped right next to you, following the same movements, but just as he skidded to a stop, he lost his footing, collapsing straight onto you.

"ge-roff me" You huffed as you pushed him off your torso. Your voice dripped of annoyance but maybe it was to ignore the way your breath had hitched when he first landed on you, the way you held his gaze for a split second and every cell in your body set alight and was hyperaware of every point of contact with him. Maybe it was an excuse as you brushed yourself off and tried to desperately push any lingering thoughts about his touch to the back of your mind as you offered him a hand and pulled him up. Maybe it was to avoid whatever the two of you are as you smirked lazily at him, taunting him.

"Didn't think you were such a rookie?"

"Maybe I did it on purpose hm?" He replied with identical inflection, a teasing lilt to his question.

Now it was your turn for your breath to hitch. Not sure how to deal with all the feelings swirling in your chest, you decided to just punch him in the arm before continuing to walk in the direction of the bowl, not turning around to check if he was following you.

You already knew he was.

© 2025 @Peachesvault - All rights reserved. Do not plagiarise/copy/post on other platforms. || Masterlist

[imagine-darksiders]

Old Habits.

Nick Valentine X Sole Survivor. Set during Get a Clue.

--------------------------------

There are a lot of things Nick Valentine can’t help about himself.

He can’t help the way he looks, all peeled apart at the seams, and full of holes like a cadaver stuck in a state of perpetual decomposition.

He can’t help the way people react to him when they get their first glimpse of his big, ugly mug, be it with contempt, aggression, or simple curiosity.

And perhaps above all else, he can’t help but worry.

Ellie says it’ll be the death of him, that he’ll worry about the wrong person one day and wind up six feet under. And Hell, she was half right, wasn’t she? Went and worried himself straight into an ambush, and an Overseer’s office with a shoddy lock that he couldn’t pick from the inside.

And now, here he is, doing it all over again as if he’s never been burned a day in his life.

But the woman sitting across from him on the other side of his desk - all beleaguered and owly-eyed – is currently stoking whatever mechanisms cause his brow to furl and his empty chest to give a slow, hollow squeeze.

Belatedly, he realises he’s lifted his metal hand to prod a few, curious fingertips against the front of his shirt, as if he might find something there that’s amiss.

Echoes, he supposes, from a bygone life he never technically lived.

Ah well.

Maybe he’s softer than he realises, softer than Ellie accuses him of being all the damn time. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so worried if his fresh-faced new friend wasn’t giving him every reason to be.  

---------

The warm inner wall of your cheek tastes like iron between clenched teeth, and you realise distractedly that there’s going to be a nasty ulcer there in a few days if you don’t stop chewing on it. But worrying at the spongey flesh is currently the subtlest way you can think of to distract yourself from that old, familiar sting building behind your eyelids.

You have to be subtle. Because there’s a luminous, golden gaze scrutinising you from beneath the brim of a tattered fedora, and you’d really rather not let on that you’re teetering on the World’s thinnest tight-rope – composure if you fall one way, hysteria the other.

With rigid fingertips, you’ve been clinging to that pre-war poise you used to pride yourself on, actively benumbing yourself to the tragedy of losing far more than your family. You very much abhor the notion of letting your guard down now, all too aware that even the smallest slip might cause a crack in the dam that’s been keeping you upright and placing one foot in front of the other for the last few days.

And so, here you sit, perched politely in the hard, plastic chair on one side of an untidy desk, whilst on the other, leaning forwards attentively in his own seat, is Diamond City’s resident Detective. Nick Valentine.

He had been…. a surprise.

A synth. Strange and uncanny and human and alien all at the same time.

You’d damn near let out an undignified shriek when he stepped from the shadows of his makeshift cell in Vault 114, and it was only thanks to years of practicing how to most effectively bite your own tongue in the court room that you managed to wrestle the sound back down your throat.

Awkwardly, you even thrust a hand out at him in greeting to try and cover your almost faux-pax, and he’d blinked those inhuman eyes at you, uttered the gentlest chuckle you’ve ever heard from a man, and taken your hand in his.

For a synth who seemed only too pleased to trade quips during your escape from the vault, he’s been awfully quiet since he brought you to the agency, evidently content to sit back and allow you some time to gather your thoughts.

Save for the near-undetectable ‘clicks’ and ‘whirs’ of his internal mechanisms, and the ceiling fan whooshing overhead, the office is deafeningly silent.

The girl – Ellie, you seem to recall – has opted to stand at his side, a clipboard tucked against her stomach and a pen balanced delicately at the top of the page. She’s very pointedly trying to keep her eyes on the paper, a direct contrast to Mr Valentine, whose stare is as dogged as a bloodhound’s nose, searching your face for… something.

You’re making a concerted effort to level your expression so that it mirrors his.

Neutral. Safe.

You’re concentrating so hard on controlling the rise and fall of your chest that you flinch when he finally shifts in the chair. Privately, you reprimand yourself for jumping. He’d only raised an arm, moving it from his lap to drape it on top of the desk, but he pauses at your response, holding the limb perfectly still in the air as he studies you, the strange, malleable ‘skin’ on his forrid creasing little by little.

Finally, for the first time since you entered his agency, you clear your bone-dry throat and speak.

“Sorry,” you croak, offering him the sheepish tilt of cracked lips, “Suppose I’m still a bit jumpy.”

An easy hum rumbles up from somewhere deep inside his chest, and you wonder if whoever made him took the time to fashion synthetic lungs in there, or if they just stuck a couple of speakers in his gullet and called it a day. You don’t miss the way those eerie, amber eyes wander down to the collar of your blue jumpsuit either, as if he knows only too well how jumpy you’re bound to be.

Ellie is the first to come to your defence.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, her voice light and friendly, breaking through the room’s stagnant atmosphere, “Heck, anyone would be in your situation.”

Situation…

That’s one word for it.

The smile pulling at your lips is starting to strain the muscles.

“Speaking of….”

At the sound of his voice, your gaze drifts back over to the mechanical man.

Beneath the rim of his tatty fedora, he meets your eye and ducks to give you a searching look. “You sure you’re feeling up to this?” he asks, reading between the lines of your reticence. Before you can reply, he raises his metal hand and pinches the brim of his hat, tugging it down to half cover his eyes.

It only occurs to you later that he might have done so to try and offer you some reprieve from his unnatural stare.

“Look, if you need another few minutes to collect yourself-“

“-No!”

Now it’s his turn to recoil, and Ellie’s.

The pair of them tilt backwards at your outburst, the latter’s eyes wide and uncertain while Nick simply cocks a brow, and you’re immediately mortified to find that you’ve risen halfway from the chair, not angry, but desperate.

“Sorry!” you blurt, blinking in surprise at yourself, “Sorry – I… I’m just-“

Sucking in a deep breath, you let yourself sink down to the seat beneath you once more, making a show of folding your hands neatly over one another on the desk. “I just… can’t afford to waste any more time coming to terms with what’s happened,” you explain diplomatically, avoiding the piercing stare of the Detective as it bears down on you all over again.

Instead, you try to focus on the faded, black tie dangling from his neck. It’s obviously been tugged loose by his idle hands, sloppily folded to hang below the open collar of his shirt. Your fingers twitch at the memory of helping Nate with his own tie, sliding it up to fit snugly against his throat so as to avoid a reprimand from old Mrs Parker at the neighbourhood parties.

A mist starts to descend over your eyes, so you give them a harsh blink and force your head up again, aiming another smile at Mr Valentine whose downturned mouth is halfway open, on the cusp of saying something before you bulldoze over his response.

“Please,” you gesture loosely towards him, “Ask away. I’m all right.”

You’re not the most convincing liar, and if the Detective’s ever-deepening frown is any indication, you’re not fooling anyone.

But if he has sniffed out what might be the biggest exaggeration of the century, he’s at least decent enough to keep it to himself.

“Well… If you say so,” he concedes, giving you a final once over before he sighs, leaning his elbows on the desk and subjecting you to a businesslike stare, “Now then, why don’t you start from the beginning. Back at the Vault, you said you’re looking for a missing kid?”

“My kid,” you nod solemnly, fighting to keep your voice even, “My baby boy, Shaun. He was… kidnapped right in front of me. I… couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

“Oh, Hon,” Ellie utters, her tone soft even as she scribbles something down on the clipboard.

Nick’s gaze wanders to the side, and he lets out a gentle sigh, or what constitutes for a sigh from someone without lungs. Then, roving his eyes back to yours, he murmurs something that causes your breath to hitch.

“I’m sorry, Doll.”

A chip in the dam… Your lip starts to quiver, so you stuff the flesh of your cheek back between your teeth and clamp down. Hard.

“I just… don’t understand,” you breathe after a moment, slowly releasing the tender sore, “He’s barely a year old. Why would someone steal him?”

“Good question,” Mr Valentine appraises, “They’d be taking on all of his care. And a baby needs a lot of it… Were they after anything else?”

With a shake of your head, you reply, “No, I… I’m pretty sure they were only there for him… We were, um, in a vault when it happened.” Letting out a humourless laugh, you gesture at yourself, more specifically at the suit you’re wearing – have been wearing for centuries. “Obviously.”

Ellie purses her lips, another note scribbled on the clipboard.

“Yeah, figured as much,” the Detective says, “Even without the suit, you got that fish-out-of-water look about you.” Catching himself, he shoots you an apologetic grimace. “Ah, hope you don’t mind me saying. Kept staring at the world around you like it was your first time seeing it.”

“First time seeing it like this,” you admit, waving his apology aside with a flap of your hand.

At that, both he and Ellie perk up, undoubtedly curious.

Seeing the shift, you rub your temple and blow a noisy breath through puckered lips. “Wanna know what year it was when we went into the Vault?” you ask flatly

The Detective’s eyes narrow as he starts to survey your face, calculating your age through looks alone. Deciding to spare him the effort, you heave a worn sigh and say, “Twenty-seventy-seven.”

“……”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that ensues.

“Excuse me?” Ellie blurts out at last, forgetting about the notes on her clipboard in favour of gawking openly at you instead.

“The year the bombs fell…” Nick realises as his expression opens up in awe. The glow of his eyes seems brighter when he darts them all over what he can see of you, giving his head a slow shake. “But how is that possible?”

It’s remarkably touching that he doesn’t call your claim into doubt straight away.

“Vault Tec,” you try not to spit the name from your lips, “They were running some kind of experiment down there… They had these… cryo pods ready for us all, told us we had to go in them to get ‘decontaminated.”

Huffing out a breath, you give a hard sniff and snatch your eyes from the Detective’s, hoping he hadn’t seen the tell-tale gleam of tears behind your lashes. “I was so stupid… I didn’t even....Huh. Guess they were banking that we’d be too shocked about the bombs to ask questions.”

“Bombs?” Ellie pipes up, swallowing roughly, “You mean they’d only just…?”

Neither she nor Nick miss the haunted shadow that passes across your face.

“Skin of our teeth doesn’t even begin to describe how close it was,” you whisper.

“That’s…” Unable to come up with a suitable word, her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish for a moment before her expression turns grim and she finally settles on, “That’s awful.”

“It is,” Nick agrees distastefully, “Everyone knows Vault Tec's hands ain't exactly squeaky clean but that's.... Well. It explains a few things. Twenty-seventy-seven, huh?”

A gear in his neck spins audibly as he leans more weight against the desk, propping his chin on sharp knuckles and giving a thoughtful hum. “So, you’ve been on ice for over two centuries-"

A pill that never gets easier to swallow, no matter how often you hear it.

"But more importantly," he continues, "You were underground. Most vaults’re sealed up tight. It’s hard enough breaking out of one.” He nods at you indicatively. “Let alone breaking in. That’s a lot of obstacles to go through just to take one person. What else can you tell us about the kidnappers?”

“They weren’t just kidnappers,” you croak, “They were murderers.”

There’s a catch in your voice on the last word, and while you try to swallow, Ellie once again steps in to fill the silence.

“Take your time,” she says, prompting an agreeable nod from the Detective.

It’s hard not to scoff at that. You’ve been taking your time. Every second spent ‘taking your time’ is another second that Shaun isn’t safe at home in your arms. Once you’ve found him, then you can worry about taking your time to breathe, to start building a life here in the Commonwealth. But trying to build that life without your son, without Nate…?

“My husband…” you utter, idly picking at a loose bit of skin on the side of your thumb, “Nate. He was holding Shaun when we were put in the pods. He was the one still holding him when that… that man came in and opened it. Nate tried to stop them from taking our baby, and they… they just…”

A gunshot echoes somewhere at the back of your mind, so clearly that you dart a glance between Nick and Ellie, wondering if they’d heard it too. You know it’s in your head when the latter only pinches her eyebrows together and cuts in, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else…”

Catching her lip between her teeth, she worries at it for a second, looking you up and down before she adds, “You’ve really been through the ringer, huh?”

Your gaze lingers on her, then moves over to Nick, then up at the room around you, taking in the cracks in the walls and the general rundown state of things that seems to be so par for the course in this wild new Commonwealth you've woken up in.

“No more than anyone else has in this place, I’m sure,” you reply quietly.

The Detective’s amber stare hardens, though you’re too busy looking at the empty mug on his desk to notice.

‘Downplayer, huh?’ he muses, ‘Oh, kid.’

“So,” he says out loud, “We’re talking about a group of cold-blooded killers, but they waited until something went wrong to resort to violence.”

Placing the tip of her pen back on the clipboard, Ellie asks, “What’re you thinking, Nick?”

For a few moments, he just sits in contemplative silence, mulling over the information you’ve been all too forthcoming with. Until at last, he gives his head a tiny nod and glances up, meeting your gaze across the desk and holding it tightly, unwilling to let it go.

“I’m thinking…” he starts, “That this wasn’t just a random kidnapping. Whoever took your baby had an agenda. And I don’t want to jump to any conclusions yet, but my caps are on the Institute.”

The tiniest flicker of recognition sparks in your eyes, a far more subdued reaction than he’s used to when people are brave or blasé enough to bring up the Institute.

“I’ve heard them mentioned,” you say, “Uh, the news lady… Piper? She said if people go missing, it’s because of the Institute.”

“Well, they are the Boogeyman of the Commonwealth,” Nick responds darkly, “Something goes wrong, everyone blames them.”

Suddenly, your stomach flips, and for a split second, you dare to let yourself hope.

A name. You have a name, and a new lead. It isn’t much, but it’s a Hell of a lot more than you had to go on five minutes ago.

“Do you know where I can find them?” you bleat, eagerly lifting yourself halfway out of your seat again. A little too eagerly, judging by Valentine’s grunt of disapproval and the very pointed way he flicks his chin down at the chair, wordlessly asking you to sit.

“Now, just hold your horses, Doll,” he tells you sternly, eyeing you until you’re seated once more, “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”

“Nobody knows where they are,” Ellie chimes in, “I don’t think anyone has ever found their headquarters. We don’t know who’s running things, why they’re doing it, or what they do with the people they… take.”

“Well, somebody must know something,” you stress, trying so hard to ignore the uninvited burn in your chest where the flutter of hope had just gone to die, “The trail can’t go cold here! I need to find Shaun.”

That’s all there is. That’s all you have. Anything beyond that is so hard to think about, you’ll probably have an aneurism if you let your mind stray from the Goal.

Mr Valentine is staring at you again with those ever-probing eyes, yet his tone maintains its low and easing lilt as he nods and says, “You’re right. Someone knows where they are, and I’m betting that if we can identify the perps you saw, we’ll be one step closer to finding your kid.”

You don’t pick up on the emphasis he packs behind the word ‘we,’ but he sure as shit took note that you’ve been using ‘I’ far too much for his liking.

It’s a tough job to toe the line between being patronising and being rational, and Nick has learned to walk that line with the grace of a seasoned acrobat. He learned fairly quickly after catching hell from Ellie when she realised he'd been doing background checks on the men she’d taken an interest in.

But he’s not about to outright tell you that he doesn’t want you doing this alone, so he simply won’t present it as an option. He’d have to be some kind of cad to turn a wet-behind-the-ears, prewar woman out into the Wasteland all alone to hunt down the shadiest, most unscrupulous organisation the Commonwealth has ever churned out.

He already figured you weren’t a fighter, even before you managed to sweet-talk Darla into going home. By your own admission, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with any type of firearm, so you have no choice but to be an up-close-and-personal kind of gal.

The old, mahogany baseball bat normally slung over your shoulder now rests on its end at your side, leaning against Nick’s desk within easy grabbing distance. There’s dried blood seeped into much of the wood, harder to see against the darker grain.

And yet despite the amount of crimson liquid you knocked from the skulls of Malone's goons, Nick had instantly noticed something quite peculiar as he watched you fight.

You’d pulled every single one of your punches, even when the thugs tried to swing their submachine guns around in time to riddle you with bullets.

It seemed only by sheer, dumb luck that you beat them to the kill every time with one hard crack across the cranium, sending them all down like sacks of bricks.

And yet, he also noted that you never did it, not once, without a frantic grimace tugging the muscles of your face back, like you hated doing it. Hated having to hurt someone who wouldn’t think twice about killing you.

He remembers the heaving sigh you let out when Skinny gave the pair of you ten seconds to walk, remembers the way you’d all but shoved Nick in front of yourself to get him moving, not harshly, but urgently, your warm palm trembling against his back for those brief seconds before you withdrew it, and he lead you from the vault’s entrance and back through the station.

He knew then that you weren’t built for the Commonwealth Wasteland, even had the suit not been a dead giveaway, he’d have known. So, why then, he’d asked himself, was this frazzled young dame cavorting through a subterranean vault to rescue him?

Seems the answer just became obvious.

You’re a woman quite literally out of time, fixated on one noble yet do-or-die goal.

To save your boy, you’ll dive into ominous vaults to follow a lead, you’ll take on raiders, super mutants and feral ghouls, you’ll face the wasteland and all of its horrors. And the tragedy, he realises, is that you’ll do it because right now, you think it’s all you have left to live for. He doesn’t need to be a detective to work that out.

Guilty recognises guilty, and all that.

But he’s beginning to wonder if you’re not going to dig yourself into an early grave before you even get to see Shaun again.

You’ve been so focused on finding the kid that you haven’t done much of anything else. Don’t even have a cap to your name.

Nick only discovered that sad fact when you both got back to Diamond City and he asked if you wanted to grab some noodles from Takahashi before going to the agency. He didn’t say anything at the time, but he’d noticed the quaver of your hands, your unsteady footfalls and, more pressingly, the numerous gurgles from your stomach that had been complaining at you all the way back from the vault.

‘When was the last time you ate, kid?’ he’d fretted privately, uncertain whether voicing the question aloud would be received well by a near total stranger.

He watched as you stood there and turned out the shallow pockets of your jumpsuit in search of something of value. He saw your carefully placid expression quiver for just a second before you clenched your jaw and looked up at him, offering him a shrug and a half-cocked smile. Then he saw that smile vanish from your face when he marched over to Takahashi and tried to buy the noodles for you.

‘Tried’ being the optimum word.

Short of slapping the caps out of his hand, you did everything you could to deter him, nearly screamed in his face when he waved Takahashi over. And it was that crack in your frightened voice that gave him pause. Were you afraid of owing someone? An understandable concern in this world. Owing a favour to the wrong sort can get a person killed out here.

Nick knows he isn’t the wrong sort, but you don’t. Not yet anyway.

He can’t be sure why you’d rather stay hungry than take his caps, but he’s damned determined to find out. So, against his better judgement, he pocketed the measly change and elected to try again at a later date, perhaps after you’ve had a moment to collect yourself in his office and get your head clear enough to remember that you need to eat.

And sleep, now that he thinks about it. Those eyelids of yours have been drooping more and more with each passing minute, lashes fluttering against your cheeks only to spring open again as if you've been startled.

Right, back to business then, before you conk out on him and he has to find a way to get you horizontal without Ellie waggling her eyebrows at him.

“Really, Nick?” he can already hear her sly teasing, “Always been a sucker for a damsel, haven’t’chya?”

With a grunt, he scrubs the image of her smirking face from the forefront of his processor and zeroes in on the face right in front of him instead.

“Okay,” he begins, “Let’s talk about those kidnappers. Is there anything you can tell us about ‘em? Distinguishing features? Even if you don’t think it’s important, the smallest detail can crack a case wide open.”

It’s like watching a radstorm sweep in and smother lovely, clear skies, the way your eyes darken underneath testily-furrowed eyebrows.

If he had flesh, he might have shuddered at the out-of-place glower aimed at him by a woman like you, but he doesn’t and he knows the expression isn’t meant for him anyway.

If he had to guess, you’ve got the faces of those villains seared like a brand in your mind’s eye.

And sure enough…

“One of them came right up to me,” you bristle, mouth twisting at the edges, “A man. Middle-aged, I guess. Had some stubble but was otherwise bald, and there was this scar - big and nasty – went right down through one of his eyes.”

Recognition sparks like a bolt of lightening through Nick’s wires. He sits up straight, hands moving to brace against the edge of his desk like he means to push himself away from it.

From the corner of an eye, he sees Ellie twist quickly to face him.

“Couldn’t be…” he murmurs softly, raising his voice to ask, “You didn’t happen to hear the name ‘Kellogg’ at all, did you?”

In the blink of an eye, that overcast storm swirling around your face suddenly lifts, and you’re back to looking lost.

“I… don’t think so?” you say, screwing up your face in a way that reminds him of little Natalie when he nags her to wear a coat, “Everything was so muffled after the gunshot…”

Nick pretends he doesn’t see those soft, uncalloused hands of yours curl into fists on top of his desk.

Once again, he mumbles under his breath before addressing his assistant directly. “Say, we still have those notes on Kellogg?”

Ellie has already spun around and marched for the old filing cabinet sitting flush against the far wall, her clipboard abandoned on top of it. With practiced ease, she rifles through the middle drawer, muttering, “Kellogg… Kellogg… Ah! Here.”

Almost of its own accord, Nick’s gaze drifts back towards you, and he finds you suddenly looking far more awake. Alert even, staring hard at the back of Ellie’s head with sharp, unblinking eyes, not unlike a shark that’s just smelled blood in the water.

‘Easy, kid,’ he tries to convey through a slight furl of his brows, tapping a fingertip on the desk, but there’s no pulling those eyes of yours off his assistant’s hands when she finally extracts a worn, manilla folder from the drawers and turns back, leafing through the flimsy papers with her index finger.

“Well, the description certainly fits,” she hums, pulling one from the bunch, “Bald... Scar... Reputation for dangerous mercenary work. But nobody knows who his employer is.”

“He bought a house here in town, right?” Nick ponders aloud, “And he had a kid with him? Quiet, never let ‘im outside to play with the others.”

The last word is barely out of his mouth when there’s the screeching scrape of chair legs against the floor, and before he can even turn towards you, you’re already out of your seat again and slinging your bat over a shoulder.

“Where?” is all you ask in a surprisingly even voice despite how you teeter sideways as the blood rushes to your head.

Nick hardly registers that he’s vacated his own seat and is halfway around the desk with his arms held aloft to steady you by the time his words catch up to him.

“Now, just hang on a second,” he reprimands gently, pulling up short of grabbing your elbow, “I can tell you right now, he hasn’t lived in that house for about months now, and the kid wasn’t an infant. Gotta’ve been at least ten years old.”

“So he kidnapped someone else’s kid!” you exclaim, letting your carefully curated composure slip a few inches, “All the more reason for me to get out there and find this place!”

Snapping your gaze to Ellie, you only manage to keep yourself from barking sharply at her when you see the conflict in her expression. You have to make yourself take a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s enough to fill even half of your lungs.

“Please, Miss Perkins,” you implore, sad eyes drooping with exhaustion as you tip one palm up towards the ceiling, “… Where do I go from here…?”

Valentine tries not to read too much into that, how such a simple question can make a person sound so lost, adrift, unwittingly sending an SOS and wondering if there’s anyone out there who will receive the signal.

Christ. Maybe he is a sucker.

Conflicted, Ellie presses her lips into a thin line and shoots him a look.

And ‘okay,’ he nods to her. He’ll take the helm, try and steer this wayward ship safely back into port.

Because from the looks of things, you’re going out there whether he’s with you or not, and you’re going now. And Nick would much rather be with you when you do.

“Alright,” he appeases, garnering your attention again as he jerks his head towards the door, “Alright. Why don’t you and I take a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address? See if we can't snoop out where he went.”

There’s the tiniest huff from his assistant, who regards him knowingly as he leans past you and pushes the agency’s door open, gesturing for you to go ahead with a sweep of his arm.

“Security doesn’t really go to that part of town,” Ellie calls after him, biting back a comment about ‘old men’ and ‘chivalry,’ “But still… you should be careful.”

And Nick, ever concerned with everyone’s safety except his own, turns to flash her that signature smile over his shoulder, the same one he gave her two weeks ago before he up and vanished on her and made her sick with worry.

“I always am,” he tells her gently.

And then he’s gone, chasing after the footfalls of the unlucky lady with a kind face but eyes that are plagued by seeing too much, too quickly.

Shit, at least the pre-war ghouls had two hundred years to adapt to the world as it shifted around them.

Thankfully for Ellie, the door has already swung shut, deafening the grizzled synth to her muttered, “My ass you are.”

She doesn’t think he’d really wash her mouth out with soap, precious as that resource is, but… well….

She wouldn’t put it past him.

[smashy-headcanons]

Classic Mode Mural Headcanons

First of all, image link because odds are Tumblr's gonna compress it to hell & back.

First of all, the creatures are composed mostly of a mixture of dark energy (not unlike Mr. Game & Watch) and whatever type of magic is shared by the Hands. Hence why they look similar to Mr. Game & Watch (from whom the Shadow Bugs were derived) except 3D and with colored eyes and mouths, and why they create a mass of clouds so thick that even Palutena's halo of light struggles to poke through.

The creatures were created by Crazy Hand, mostly by accident. While the similar being seen in Smash 4's Classic Mode was an illusory effect, he got curious to see if he could create something like it, except as a living being with an independent mind rather than just a shadow puppet with extra steps. However, due to the excess darkness released upon Dharkon's defeat, he put a bit too much power into it on accident and instead created a full outbreak.

While they do have some physicality to them, this varies from individual to individual. Some can shift at will, and some have varying physicality based on body part (so one may have completely solid arms while its tail is basically like a wisp).

The one on the far right, shaped just like the difficulty 9.0 illusion from Smash 4, is the most powerful of the creatures, hence why so many focus on that one specifically (though there are the two other large dark beings, albeit not as large or powerful as the multi-eyed one).

Of course, not all of them were vicious--in fact, most of them weren't, instead ranging from timid or curious to a bit mischievous at the worst. Those that were vicious weren't so out of evil or malice, they were simply combative (not unlike an animal that fights for play or competition).

The events of the mural take place between the events of World of Light and the official start of the SSBU tournaments. (There were... quite a few delays with the start of the tournament.)

As depicted in the image, reactions to the outbreak ranged from avid curiosity to fear to combativeness, though that largely depended on which of the beings the fighters in question were exposed to first. Of course, there were many who switched their attention to the more vicious of the beings.

Isabelle took many, MANY notes detailing her observations about the creatures' various abilities and mannerisms, particularly the smaller one she discovered alongside Ness, Lucas, Diddy, Duck Hunt, & Kirby.

Kirby, as expected, was super warm and friendly with the creature, helping to ease its nervousness.

Incineroar and King K. Rool were fighting over which of them made the best faux-villain. Of course, other things diverted their attention mid-fight.

This was the first and only time Ridley, Wolf, and Meta Knight worked together with any sort of comradery. Normally, they made an active effort to avoid each other, and during the few matches they played where they ended up on a team together, they had a habit of bickering mid-fight and getting in each other's way. In the heat of the fight against the dark beings, they actually managed to work with pretty good synergy, and even got close to settling their issues and becoming friends in Smash.......... uuuntil Wolf offhandedly mentioned a minor nitpick he had with Meta Knight, at which point things devolved into their usual bicker-fest. But at least they managed to get along for a brief while?

While some fighters aren't seen interacting with the beings in any capacity (including some DLC fighters or alt-based characters who were present for World of Light but not depicted on the Classic Mode mural at all), nearly everyone who was in Smash at the time caught a glimpse of at least one of the dark beings before the outbreak was tempered.

Alph was among Villager and Luigi, being started by the presence of one hiding in a tree that Villager chopped down.

Sephiroth, much like Greninja, was staying out of the way and letting everyone else take care of it.

The two fighters that only learned of their existence after the dust settled completely were the female Wii Fit Trainer and R.O.B., who were in the woods doing yoga exercises. Sometimes, WFT exercises in the woods rather than the studio because the environment helps clear her mind. R.O.B. spotted her and started watching out of curiosity, and she invited him to try it out with her (even if he was a robot). To both their surprise, it wasn't an entirely useless proposition; while he lacked muscles or nerves and therefore couldn't really improve his mobility (not without hardware modifications, anyway), he did have a sense of proprioception so it helped him to get more familiar with his range of movement. While WFT couldn't understand R.O.B.'s beeps at all, he was able to maintain a conversation with her via body language.

Olimar is embarrassed to say that he genuinely thought the one that appeared with him in the tree was a Pikmin at first.

Thanks to the power of Zoom, the Dragon Quest heroes were able to alert the Hands very quickly. Or, at least, alert Master Hand. Crazy Hand already knew, of course.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before everyone discovered that the beings were actually pretty fond of Crazy Hand, and the fact that the Hands could both communicate with them telepathically only made it easier to wrangle them all. Of course, there were the few unruly ones, but those eventually settled down.

Nowadays, they can be found in various locations around the Assist Trophies' wing of the castle.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

omg this is ridiculous but i thought of you when i saw a tweet that pissed me off so bad 😭😭😭😭😭

the op was saying that Mon Mothma has better outfits than Padmé … like HELLO????

In OP’a defense they did say it was a hot take but still … i guess recency bias is one hell of a drug 😭

OMG NO WAY?!?! Listen I love Mon as much as the next person, and she’s for sure got style, but there’s no outdoing the doer. Padmé’s fashion was the blueprint for a lot of future SW female characters designs like Satine Kryze, Senator Riyo Chuchi, the head of Bail’s aid: Sheltay Retrac, and Senator Bana Breemu.

People really will rock with whatever the new version of things are rather than actually acknowledge that the olds are straight golds. Hot take or not, this was just wrong 😭

I mean, just look:

A Queen ✨

My girl introduced fashion into Star Wars, even George Lucas said in The Phantom Menace Costume featurette that for Leia, he didn’t have to focus too much on her fashion and clothes but he did for Padmé while he was working on the prequels.

Padmé’s outfits are at the crux of SW creativity as it takes inspiration from a different range of beautiful cultures in our world. That’s simply unbeatable.

[unsoundedcomic]

I really gotta compliment you on how you've written Quigley and Vienne. My own parents had a relatively happy separation, but I know there is a tendency to paint one person in a relationship like this as "the bad guy". With these two, it feels like they were once very compatible, but just grew into different people. It's deeply tragic and true to life.

Thanks, Anon. They're based on a few couples I've known and heard tales of. My grandma and her husband would really pound the hell out of each other. This surprised me because so often we assume ladies don't fight back, but man, she whaled on him pretty good!

Vienne and Mathis wouldn't get to that point though. They're wrights, so they're both essentially carrying loaded guns. Vienne would pull hers rather than stand there and let her son watch her get pummeled. And would take no pleasure in it. In spite of it all, she loved Mathis very much. She just didn't know how to reconcile that with the work that she felt in her very bones she had to do. And Mathis was, of course, completely at a loss, while being told by everyone around him that he needed to rein her in, by whatever means necessary.

It's such an ugly, unsolvable situation. And the root of the problem of course is the system. It's Alderode.

[aylinaliens]

for a kingdon prompt : i know we all agree that they’d be obvious, especially langdon BUT what if kingdon were secretly dating and no one noticed bc “they’re so sibling coded” or something but one of them gets into an accident and there’s this big reveal that they’re romantic partners (they can be each other’s emergency’s contact, they know their prescription, their family, etc…)

i just love big reveals that show how domestic they are basically

love love love this omg!!!!! i tackled this prompt but it came out quite angsty rather than fluffy,,,i definitely will write a fluffier counterpart to this lol because i can just see everyone having a bet on who langdon & mel are dating but it’s not each other. people have their money on langdon & mckay…and also mel & whitaker. anyways, here you go 🫶🏻

++++

For a solid minute, Frank had foolishly assumed Robby was simply just fucking with him. The adrenaline in his system was melting away at a snail's pace, minute by minute ticking by agonizingly.

He was slow on the uptake, mind no whereas sharp as it should have been; sue him for only offering a blank stare at his attending. Robby made it explicitly clear even after Frank’s stint in rehab two years back that they are not friends. They are the attending and one of the best residents. Attending and disgraced resident, later on. No one would be able to look at the two of them and tack on the word ‘friend’ to describe them.

That still didn’t mean it fucking stung as Robby stood there, hands stuffed into his hoodie, narrowing his eyes at the limp hand in Frank’s trembling hand, clearly baffled.

“What the fuck—“ Frank hissed, brushing a thumb against a particularly nasty bruise on Mel’s knuckles. Splashes of molted black and blue spilled into a pale canvas. He kept his voice low despite the steady beep of the monitor; she was blissfully floating away in her mind, sedated heavily enough that Frank and Robby could break out in a screaming match and she still wouldn’t know. “Why does that surprise you, Robby? It’s not like we went out of our way to hide anything.”

Robby shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Frank would be more angry, more prone to spitting out insults, if the other man’s gaze was full of concern and confusion, no disgust or anger in there. He knew that like most people in this hospital, Robby had a soft spot for Mel. It was impossible not to, with how genuine she was with everything she did.

Robby gave a valiant effort at connecting the dots. “You didn’t look at her like that, Frank. The two of you were roommates, yeah, and close friends. There was never a moment in this past year that I thought…” he trailed off, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

“That we were dating?” Frank finished. He turned his attention back to the bed where Mel was hooked up to IVs and an abundance of wires. She looked tiny lying there, tape still clinging to her eyelashes. Why the hell had Garcia left it on? Why didn’t she take it off? Brushing a kiss across Mel’s knuckles, Frank gently lays it down and stands up to carefully pull the tape away. “You know I have a sisters’ Robby. You met every single one of them. Tell me? Do I look at Mia or Lizzie the same way I look at Mel?”

Robby an undefinable sound in the back of his throat. “No. You don’t.”

Frank was fucking over this whole conversation. Whatever sliver of hope Frank had in his heart that Robby cared about him on a personal level, instead of just a professional one, truly care, trickled away. Two years out of that fateful day and Robby still watched him like a hound dog. Still analyzed his medical decisions involving medications. Frank sat back down and picked up Mel’s hand again, fingers desperately pressing on a pulse just to confirm for himself that Mel was okay, that her heart was still kicking, that the monitors were telling the truth.

Robby slowly approached the other side of the bed. He kept himself occupied by double checking the monitors—adjusting the wires so they laid flat instead of tangled, equally lost in his thoughts like Frank was.

And then he cleared his throat. Gravely, like something was lodged back there. “You could have told me too, you know. But you never said anything, Frank. Not one time did you come to me…and say anything. I would have understood.”

“Would you, though? Understood?” Frank asked. His patience was starting to thin enough that when he looked up at Robby, he felt numb. Burnt out. Like he couldn’t bother to expel anything else. He had nothing left to give. All Robby wanted to do though, was take and take and take. “I don’t think so. Which is ironic. Robby, you were the one who drew the line. Every time I tried to cross it you shoved me right back.”

“That’s not true. Langdon—“ Chest heaving and eyes blazing with an emotion Frank couldn’t identify, Robby sucked in a deep lungful of air. He glanced down; at Mel, crimson blood still crusted along her hairline. He swallowed thickly, eyes falling close. “Maybe it is.” He admitted. “And that’s on me.”

Frank didn’t react when Robby reached across the bed and squeezed his shoulder. There was no hope of salvaging that relationship, was there?

[stupid-fungus]

Okay here's my crazy 9-1-1 post 8x15 conspiracy theory....

We don't see Bobby's body. We do see him get carried out of the room in a body bag, and his helmet that's left behind.

I think! That! The US government kidnapped Bobby in order to experiment and run tests on him!

Think about it: the military was angry at Athena and Buck for getting to the antidote before them and using it all up on Chimney. And for some reason, they're just. Not gonna detain Athena somehow? Get her in trouble somehow? It's the freaking US government, okay, you wanna talk about realness? IRL Athena would never be heard from again. Again, this is the US-friggin-government.

So, no antidote.

But!

They do have a guy who has the virus (who for some reason didn't show any symptoms at all until the last five minutes of the episode??). Chimney was coughing up his organs after like ten minutes, no way Bobby would have survived for that long and without any coughing or whatever (I'm not buying the 'adrenaline' defense hell naww).

Therefore what better way to make things even than to take Athena's infected husband and use him for government testing in order to replicate Moira's antidote and whatnot! They had even insinuated they would rather keep the 118 inside the lab to see how the virus behaves than to attempt to rescue them (hence literally the title 'Lab Rats'). No way they'd waste such an opportunity after everything that happened!

In conclusion, Bobby Nash is NOT dead (idc!idc!) and is actually held in a government facility somewhere (maybe Athena knows?).

MOST IMPORTANTLY HE IS ALIVE BOBBY NASH CANNOT DIE!!!

[ferrythey]

on fraud, treachery, and loss.

— a long ramble about gabriel from someone who's really, really attached.

so yesterday, i was on the ultrakill subreddit, where someone was posting screenshots from the ultrakill discord server; salad talking about being more hyped for fraud than treachery, francis talking about how there'd be a lore drop like a bomb.

and this, naturally, got me hyped as hell! i can't wait for new content, i'm super excited, i know whatever they do is gonna slap so hard.

...but, with being excited for the new layers comes a thought i always end up thinking.

because, let's face it: it's a tragedy, but i know my angel is marching resolutely towards death in these layers.

backstory about me: i love gabriel. maybe i'll write about all the ways and the whys someday, but to give the short version: i very dearly love him, admire him, root for him. (i may or may not be known to listen to the death of god's will and tear up sometimes—)

gabriel is someone who did a lot of wrong while being blinded; but his reaction to seeing the truth says a huge amount about him. when he reflects on what he now acknowledges as cruel and bad deeds on the orders of the council, he feels great guilt; and when he realises the ways in which council have been doing it all wrong, he turns on them. to liberate the masses of heaven, gabriel severs his last connection to the father's light as easily as the council member's head from his neck.

he does all of this at the cost of himself.

now, i'm hyped for fraud. treachery too, i'm just generally hyped for ultrakill in general, i adore this game and everything about it; but after seeing those screenshots last night, i'm especially hyped for fraud.

...but it's such a weird feeling, knowing that this section of this game i'm so hyped for is the one where a character i cherish is more than likely going to die. don't get me wrong, this isn't my first rodeo with characters i love dying in their source material; it happens more often than it doesn't! but waiting for this update, waiting to see what his fate will be, waiting while knowing it's so unlikely that he'll survive... it's a strange feeling to have it happen in real time, you know?

none of this is meant as a complaint, by the way. i love ultrakill. i love it when fiction gets a strong emotional response out of me. i love a tragedy. without a doubt i will be sobbing like a baby if and when gabriel dies, and i will be loving every second of that sobbing.

...but it is such a tragedy. for someone to have performed so faithfully for so many years, to discover passion and relief for the first time, to finally find what he wants to do rather than what he has to do...

...only to lose it all, only a few hours later. all because of the same cruel beings that had kept him on a leash for all those years.

i'm so hyped for the future of this game. i can't wait to see what's next, how the new layers look, what enemies we'll be facing.

but god, it's a weird feeling knowing that just like gabriel's marching inexorably towards death, we're marching inexorably towards seeing it.

it's a tragedy.

(and i love every second of it.)

[tw1sty-b1tch]

curious little bastard…

Alright, alright. Fine. That thing that calls itself 🪻shouldn’t exist. Anons are able to mildly affect the storyline, but the rule is we can’t directly influence. We have to do it through these temporary bodies. The signoffs that some anons have are dangerous enough on their own, though that’s more because the temporary bodies can be tracked and warned about.

but this… 🪻’s vessel… it’s not supposed to exist. It can change the storyline now, it can mess with things and add its own spin and do practically whatever it wants. Those rules it has for its body? The one where it can’t use its powers on itself? Completely fabricated. It still has access to the anon temp-body.

we’re not meant to be comprehended anymore than you are. We’re not even supposed to be this involved in the first place! A question here, a teleport there, and that is it. 🪻has gone rouge. I don’t even know how it managed to get a body in the first place… but it has to be gotten rid of before others figure this thing out. I thought turning it human would send your instincts into a frenzy, as you showed with Helen, but you barely even touched its mind. I’m not allowing anyone to change it back until it’s dead. And I’d rather you hurry the hell up with it.

aND iF i d0N't¿ % )

[zmrzeltm]

“yeah, you know . . about tokyo.” the blonde hummed, her hand which already occupied eimi’s; squeezing it a little tighter with a soft sigh. “i’m actually not sure i’m gonna go . . not this time at least.” she mused in a gentle tone, always afraid she was going to let people down with certain decisions she made. “with me . . you know, doing the whole ‘turning a new leaf’ and all, i’m just not sure a bar crawl is really . . wise? for me. not right now. regardless if there’s like alcohol free stuff or whatever.” syd’ still hadn’t really explained in grave detail how bad her alcohol habit had got and that the way she was explaining this new venture in life was a lot more subdued than the reality of it all. “but, me and you? we’re absolutely going to plan a lil’ girlie trip together, get some good eats, see some stunning sights . . and avoid the devils juice at all costs.” a soft chuckle followed her words; hoping she hadn’t upset her friend with her decision.

tilting her head with playfully wide eyes, she let out a dramatised gasp. “excuse me, what’s wrong with the picture of me in the bedroom? it’s a sight to behold . . actually. if you’ve ever seen fifty shades of gr—“ the californian couldn’t even finish the sentence; which again, yes, was far from serious . . the laughter that inserted itself sporadically throughout indicating that. “no, I’m kidding. maybe. partial to a lil’ whipping, but that’s neither here or there.” nudging her ribcage with a dainty elbow and a humorous wink. the jest subsiding into a more bemused expression at her admittance of being able equip that rather . . specific weapon. “absolutely no fork adorned styrofoam, please. i’m actually like, 99.9% sure he would be totally enamoured with the whole thing, but let’s just not.” a soft head shake followed, brows coming together in a concerned frown. “also, what the hell type of people do you know to get ahold of things like that?”

thankfully the focus on violence was soon replaced by with what could only be described as smitten-ness. the younger of two watched on as eimi had her little moment; truly seeing before her eyes the impact this little gift had on her. draping a tanned arm around her shoulder, she shimmied the female in closely to her side . . not wanting to interrupt her train of thought, but also wanting to show compassion that in that moment, she was probably missing him . . a lot. “kinda sweet you’ll always have a lil’ part of him here with you, huh?” resting her cheek against her skin before her head propped up in curiosity. “carb-y snacks? . . to quote thè queen of pop, Britney Spears . . gimme gimme more.”

pearly whites nibbled lightly at the tip of her french painted nail, softly shaking her head as she allowed her friend to tell tales of those closest to her . . stories of which syd’ was always interested and engaged in. “so they were tryna’ decide on some good eats and maika decided it was a perfect opportunity to drop the bomb?” the blonde attempted to clarify before nodding her head in sarcastic approval. “i rate that. very me coded, if i do say so myself. keep em’ on their toes. don’t let em’ know your next move. i think me and maika would get along just splendidly.” a bright grin sprawled across her bare faced features before she sat forward; showing a hint of seriousness. “and hey now, don’t get it twisted . . it definitely wasn’t that which ‘got me the guy’ . . as a matter of fact that nearly derailed the train right off track. i fear it was close to being game over, alas. must’ve been my charming personality or sumn’.” holding her head high in faux confidence, she couldn’t upkeep said act — a giggle following. “it was more likely my expertisè in the bedroom, if you catch my drift.” nudging the older of the two with her elbow, a devilish smirk in tow.

nodding along in total understanding that eimi’s protection was warranted regardless of what syd’ thought, she wasn’t about to argue — she wanted to do the same for her friends, maybe just not in such an aggressive manner, albeit she would’ve loved to pull off that type of character — she was hardly the most intimidating. eimi, though? the blonde didn’t reckon many dudes would want on her bad side. “oh my gosh, no. no more spikey bats, please. those are a thing of the past.” she hummed a soft laugh, resting her head on the females shoulder; peaking up at her with kind green eyes. “but i do appreciate you looking out for me. i think you guys will hit it off, though. a new buddy pending.” lifting her head from the others shoulder as she brought the incredibly thoughtful gift into sight - an audible ‘awe’ was offered in response. “it’s the little things that make the biggest impact, huh? looks like this lil’ guy is your new roadwife. shan’t be going anywhere without him.”

[tridentkickflipper123]

baby animal