#reflex��es

[queernarcissus]

Bdubs and branding? 👉👈

the pain when it touches his skin is all encompassing and overwhelming and bdubs wants to scream but the gag in his mouth prevents any noise from escaping, his whole body tenses up and beef feels his thighs tensing under his hands as he holds him down, its not really necessary with all of the ropes criss crossing themselves over his body and tying him down

bdubs comes back to himself unsure how much later, but ethos murmured reassurances finally are reaching his ears, along with the feeling of the cold ice gently pressed over the brand, his dick still hard resting in beefs mouth, bdubs notices his hands are no longer tied down as his hand is resting in beefs hair, beefs eyes meet his and he swallows around him. bdubs hand curls into a fist, gripping his hair, but not moving him one way or another. ethos own hand comes into bdubs view, laying atop of bdubs and gently pushing beefs head down, beef swallows again as his dick goes further and some drool starts to fall from his mouth

and then etho like digs his nails into the fresh wound & bdubs cums bcos of it but. i dont know how to write that nicely rn. so 👍

[wingedcat13]

Siren Call: 3

[We’ve had past and present Minerva, but what about future?]

One day, Minerva will be familiar with the island’s crags and shelves. She’ll know the way the shore slope becomes a drop off and where the sandbars are, the color and density of all the coral, the migratory patterns of the species who pass by.

Today, she knows enough to avoid triggering the sensors. Even pauses to adjust one that’s started sagging out of place.

Minerva chooses not to walk up the beach, not wanting to track sand into the - house? Facility? Building? - not wanting to get sand caked to her feet and legs. Jumping straight up to the roof in a waterspout is also unnecessarily dramatic when there isn’t a fight to get to. So she just gathers herself, waits for a wave, and urges it a little higher, placing herself at its apex.

It gets her high enough that she can reach the railing of the overlooking balcony, with enough momentum to curl and tuck her body, cartwheeling over the rail partially just for the joy of motion. Even the smooth tiles feel rough compared to the water, strangely unyielding, and she wobbles just a little as she catches her bearings. Belatedly, she realizes she almost kicked the crap out of one of the balcony’s chairs. The little swerve she does is automatic. At least there wasn’t an audience-

“Minerva.” Says Synovus, sitting on the table because they’re deranged. There’s a surprised tilt to the end of her name, like half a question answering itself. They’re wearing civilian clothes again, and some part of Minerva’s mind can’t help noting that their arms are bare. “Welcome - back.”

One day, Minerva won’t scowl at them on reflex.

Today, she demands immediately, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Y-es?” Synovus hedges, not moving. “But also no? I was - I thought you’d be coming up from the shore.”

They sound almost abashed. But that’s too close to ‘embarrassed’ and Minerva is well aware that Synovus has no shame. She may have genuinely surprised them - they’re perched on the edge of the table, and had leaned away slightly. Synovus wanting to be a problem would have chosen a much more… blatant posture. Or at least to sit further back in the shadows. The absence of either a gaudy attention grabber or deliberate stealth indicated this middle ground was not an act. Or perhaps that’s what she’s meant to think.

One day, Minerva will not have to consciously pick aside the paranoia to see what is in front of her.

Today, it takes effort - but she does it.

With a sigh, she closes her eyes, and focuses on each part of her body, bringing herself down from the mild surge of adrenaline. One hand draws back the wet strands of her hair. The other removes the mask that was a gift. She leaves her eyes closed while she rubs the red marks out of her skin.

With her eyes closed, it’s easier to skip past the defensive retort, and say instead, “You could’ve at least had a coffee waiting for me.”

“I don’t actually know your preferences in that regard.” Synovus admits, and for a heartbeat Minerva is worried this will turn into a far too blunt conversation about homecomings, but - “Do you take it black? Iced? Green?”

Minerva scoffs, but it might have just been a laugh. Even she’s not sure. “White chocolate mocha.” She answers. “One shot espresso, oat milk.”

“Ah,” Synovus says, as Minerva opens her eyes. They seem to have had a revelation. “So that’s why Alexandria likes those Unicorn frappes so much. Hm. And here I usually go for the cider.”

A smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at the thought - Synovus, dread assassin, going to a coffee shop and ordering hot apple juice with whipped cream.

Minerva sets her mask on the table. “Stand up a minute.” She tells Synovus quietly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves below.

“I don’t take direction well.” Synovus replies, even as they slide off the table and to their feet, turning to face her. There’s a caution to their movements, but also curiosity, written far more liberally across the unobscured face Minerva once never thought to see.

If Minerva meets their eyes too long, she’ll lose her nerve, so she winds up staring somewhere around Synovus’s collarbone instead. There’s a scar there, hidden for now by a high-necked top, and Minerva knows that because she put it there. It had been a targeted move: Synovus had broken her collarbone the fight before.

She wants to be better at giving back things other than pain.

“Just - give me a moment. Don’t move, please.” She’s pretty sure it’s the ‘please’ that gets them. Synovus goes so statue-still that Minerva’s not sure they’re blinking. But they don’t protest. And they certainly don’t move as Minerva steps forward.

And in one of the most awkward movements of her life, slides her arms around Synovus’s ribcage, setting her chin gently on their shoulder.

This is instantly easier when she no longer has to look at Synovus’s face. Well. When she can’t look. Can’t fixate on finding and parsing the smallest of expressions, assigning meaning to the specific tilt of a chin or speed of a blink. She’s still bad at it - hugging - because she usually just lets other people hug her, and initiating it is weird, but she can’t imagine Synovus is particularly good at it either.

After all, they’re still standing stock-still, and if Minerva wasn’t currently very aware of their breathing, she might even think they were panicking.

“Not a trap.” She mutters, and feels as much as hears Synovus’s responding huff. But their arms slowly, cautiously, hesitantly come up to return the embrace, hands resting lightly on her back. The side of Synovus’s head tips gently into hers.

One day, Minerva might not feel awkward about body contact and physical affection. One day, she may find herself as familiar with Synovus’s scars as she is her own. And she just might reach a point, eventually, where one of them could make a joke about this just being an excuse to get Synovus wet and not immediately both perish from the agony of an accidental allusion to arousal.

For today, this awkward embrace is enough.

———————————————————

Minerva probably won’t ever see a crowd as something other than a threat to be monitored.

Large groups have always made her tense, and that instinct had only gotten worse over the years. Most villains respect the ad hoc agreement about making an entrance, but there are a distinct few who would kill from a crowd. And there are those who are not villains in the distinct, identity sense, but would wreak havoc nonetheless.

So she scans the mall’s sheltered internal colonnade from behind her sunglasses, and listens to her daughter tell her about her day.

“- I just told him that I’d come from further South, and he didn’t ask me any more questions after that, but then freaking Brad asked me if I was an ‘illegal’ and I know what you mean now, about temptation to cram people into lockers. He’s lucky he’s so tall; I couldn’t fold him up to fit without taking some limbs off.”

Alexandria huffs, taking an aggressive pull from her milkshake. The stress of her life is getting to her - no teenager should have worry lines, or bags under their eyes that deep - but she insists this is what she wants. Even if Minerva sometimes wonders whether Alexandria sees herself as a member of the school’s attendees, or just a spectator who sometimes catches a stray ball.

“Did you tell Brad that?” Minerva asks mildly, mostly curious.

Alexandria sighs again, “No.” She says sullenly, shoulders slumping. “I asked him if he thought the government should determine who gets to live where, and then when he started to argue with me I told him I hoped his yacht sank with him on it.”

“Alexandria.” Minerva was still learning to find the right tone. The right amount of reproach, without exasperation or accusation. She must’ve gotten close, because Alexandria just lifts one hand in a ‘not me’ gesture.

“Specifically so he’d wash up in Mexico or Hawaii and get to be illegal himself.” She clarifies. “I don’t think that convinced anyone I wasn’t an immigrant, though. Til Seanna pointed out my grades in Spanish would probably be better.”

Minerva’s sigh is more restrained, but she points out, “There are other languages in South America. Brazilian Portuguese, for example.”

She’s not sure why she’s entertaining this, really.

“That’s true.” Alexandria ponders that for a moment, drinking more of her milkshake. “I mostly just meant to imply I was from one of the towns that got fu- uhhhh, screwed up by the power grabs.”

Minerva briefly leaves the conversation, remembering that shell of a place. The layouts, the dressings of a town, not quite abandoned yet but with nothing else to bleed.

Judging by the nudge she receives under the table, Alexandria isn’t totally oblivious to her distraction. She’s also changed the subject.

“So.” Alexandria is saying, drawing one syllable into three, “How are you and my godparent getting along?”

‘Godparent’ has become Alexandria’s favored way of referring to Synovus in public. It’s a joke on multiple levels, some of which Synovus seems to appreciate. But Minerva thinks it also makes them slightly uncomfortable, in a way they refuse to express to Alexandria.

“It’s fine.” Minerva replies, on rote. Her eyes flick to Alexandria, then back to the crowds. “What is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it,’?”

“You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want something in particular.”

Alexandria’s mouth twists down, “Can I just get an answer without fishing for it, for once?”

Startled, Minerva looks at her again. Takes a better assessment of her daughter’s body language, the tension there. She knows she’s also gone tense.

Anger creeps into Alexandria’s voice, replacing the annoyance. “I’m not going to lose control. I’m not-“

She cuts herself off, abruptly looking away. Her fingers relax around the plastic cup, deliberately demonstrating that her strength won’t get away from her.

Minerva has a suspicion of how that sentence might have ended. I’m not like you and dad.

Reaching out physically feels like the wrong move here. So does stiffening up further and refusing to talk about it. Be better, she thinks to herself desperately, her mind flicking back to an image of a person with one foot in the water, one on dry land.

“We still… disagree, on some things. Some major things.” Minerva makes herself say. She still doesn’t like that Synovus kills people. She doesn’t like that Synovus has ostensibly killed for her, or for Alexandria. But she also feels relief that Synovus did, and a sense of gratitude she can’t quite smother. It makes her feel dirty, oily, and she hasn’t found it’s root.

Taking a breath, Minerva continues, “But… I don’t think they mean either of us harm.”

Alexandria has relaxed a little, absorbed by what Minerva’s saying. And probably having to pick through it for what she isn’t saying either.

“Would you say that you, I don’t know, maybe, trust them?” Alexandria prompts.

Minerva’s grimace is answer enough.

Alexandria sighs, “Mom.”

“It’s complicated, Alexandria.” She says, but it’s not the abrupt conversation-closer it would have once been. More… beseeching.

“Do you trust anyone?” Alexandria asks, “And like, I don’t even really mean me, here, but like. Anyone?”

Minerva remains silent.

“Do you trust yourself?” Alexandria asks, sounding a little alarmed.

Minerva hesitates - but she can’t really answer that one either.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just the background roar of the mall’s crowds between them. Minerva hates this. She hates feeling like she can’t actually control herself, can’t master the emotional impulses she’s forcibly crammed into a box for years. She hates that Alexandria is having to pick up the conversation, make the overtures, do the work.

But any time she tries to think of a way to do it herself, her mind shies away from it. The words wilt and die in her throat. Because what if she gets it wrong?

What if she has more to lose?

Eventually, Alexandria looks at the melted remnants of her milkshake, and asks, “Can we stop at the Hot Topic before we leave.”

One day.

———————————

A week later, Rosie pokes her head into the common room Minerva’s reading in. “Minerva?”

She’d finally been asked point blank by one of them what she wanted to be called, because Athena no longer seemed accurate. Committing to Naiad hadn’t felt right either, so she’d given up her civilian name. Synovus already knew it, what was the point?

(It had occurred to her, later, that the small thrill she felt at being addressed by it was possibly what Alexandria felt at being addressed by her chosen name.)

(Also, it would’ve made Albion furious.)

“What is it?” Minerva asks now, letting one finger hold her place in the book as she sits up.

“There’s a fight drifting our way - Zephyr and a few others against the Eye. He’s made another floating platform again.” Rosie rolled her eyes, providing her professional opinion.

Minerva tilted her head, hesitating. Zephyr was a hero she’d worked with before, though they had never gotten along. He’d offered to take her flying, she’d taken that as flirting and shut it down, they’d never really overcome the resulting awkwardness. She had no idea who he’d be working with.

Eye, in contrast, was Eye in the Sky - a villain obsessed mostly with surveillance, and not being observed himself. He was a center point of several conspiracy theories involving the NRA, CIA, and a number of international organizations. She’d never fought him before, just heard the stories.

“What’s the protocol?” Minerva asks, rather than offer any of that information. She was certain this group of people knew far more about everyone involved anyway.

Rosie smiles, “Not much of one, just a lower alert status. Doll and I will make the rounds and check on everyone, Synovus is going to suit up just in case, but we won’t get involved unless territory agreements are breached.” She added, “Alexandria’s still on the mainland, we’ve made sure she knows to be suited if she makes her own way home.”

Minerva taps at the cover of her book, thinking. She feels adrift, still. This isn’t an actual fight, unless she wants to go and be Athena, and the idea of that is physically uncomfortable. It would also invite too many questions. Naiad would-

Hm. “Does Synovus want me in uniform?” She asks, sardonic.

“I didn’t ask and don’t plan to.” Rosie replies flippantly. “If they want you to do something, I imagine you’ll hear about it directly.”

Somehow, that isn’t the response she wants. “I don’t-“

“They also haven’t given any orders that you’re to be stopped.” Rosie points out, cutting her off. “The rest of us will be either in the operations room or up on the roof to watch. Klaxon if there’s trouble.”

She gave Minerva another smile, twiddled her fingers, and withdrew. Minerva shifted, and opened her book again.

She made it through two more paragraphs, then left it unceremoniously on the floor.

———————————-

On the roof, Synovus was pacing.

In a way, that’s reassuring, because even Minerva knew by now that if there was imminent danger, Synovus would be stock-still. The sun glints off the dark helmet, and threw the matte black of the rest of the suit into stark relief against the sandy-colored rooftop. Wind off the sea ripples through the cape, keeping it blown back, perpendicular to the path Synovus is walking.

The sun is kinder to Minerva’s costume, and there is no cape to blow. The dark mask helps keep her from being blinded by the sun. Athena wouldn’t be of much use here; Naiad might be.

Doll - the larger, Russian man who Minerva thought of as Synovus’s second in command - stood up here too, a viewfinder raised to cover his face. He’s looking into the direction of the wind, angled out and up, and Minerva follows that direction.

There it is - flashes of distant, shimmering silver in a cloud bank that’s thinning. Some masking device, most likely, now disabled. There’s tiny flashes of what must be powers or weaponry at use, but she can’t make out more than that.

“How bad is it?” She asks anyway, brisk and businesslike.

“The wind isn’t in our favor.” Doll comments. He’s always answered her as if she’s a coworker, and she appreciates that. “I can’t tell how much of it is powered and how much of it drifts. If there’s been damage to it -“ He lowers the viewfinder to make a hand gesture. “It might not be able to control its direction anymore.”

“Sloppy.” The comment is out of Minerva’s mouth before she can stop it. It draws Doll’s attention, if not Synovus’s. At the slightly raised eyebrow, she sighs and continues, “Disabling propulsion or navigation creates unnecessary risk to everyone involved. The only time it becomes necessary is when there’s weaponry that absolutely must be disabled, and you don’t have either the training or the time to sort out different power systems.”

Doll nods, offering her the viewfinder. “It could be self-inflicted,” he points out.

“Possible, but suicidal. That would require an exit strategy. Do you think Eye has one?”

“He’ll have three, only two of them will work, and none of them will be enough to keep him from getting captured.” Synovus breaks into the conversation abruptly, annoyed. Or perhaps professionally offended. “They’ll be personal craft.”

Meaning the rest of the platform’s crew would be left to die. Incentive for the heroes to try and rescue them rather than pursue, but what a waste.

The viewfinder lets Minerva get a better sense of the platform’s size, and also an estimate of its height and distance. She can make out a glimpse of a gray-shaded costume, diving through the clouds: Zephyr.

“If you interfere,” She asks, while her view is disconnected from her surroundings, “What would that look like?”

There’s a hesitation. A gust of wind snaps at Synovus’s cape. The distant battle continues.

“If they cross the boundaries, there must be consequences.” Synovus says reluctantly. “I will destroy the platform. Survivors will become my prisoners. If the heroes protest, I’ll fight them.”

Minerva lowers the viewfinder, and returns it to Doll. Synovus has stopped pacing. “You don’t have the facilities for a mass casualty event.”

“No.” Synovus agrees. “I don’t.”

————————————

Rosie has come out to join them on the roof by the time there’s significant change. The wind has died down some - likely a marker of Zephyr changing it, finally reaching their shores. The air feels thick and dead without it.

They’ve mostly stood in silence, watching. It feels longer than it has been, and Minerva knows it’ll be worse for those actually fighting. She’s surprised she hasn’t felt more of an urge to intervene.

Though she has been keeping watch for anyone falling to the water below.

It’s hard to say which of them notices first - their attention is collectively on the sky platform, and not each other. But there’s a decided tilt to the mostly-exposed metal monstrosity now, and in very short order, it begins to fall.

“Catch it.” Minerva finds herself murmuring. “Catch it. At least slow it-“

But no one does.

The platform hits the water at the full speed gained from a several thousand foot drop, slamming into the ocean. Those watching know that the metal will crumple on impact, water at that height and velocity worse than slamming into concrete. The surface area only makes it worse; tilted in at a slight angle, it displaces the water in a specific direction.

Towards the island.

Minerva had studied the ocean as much as she could. She knows this phenomena, and can cite times in the past it’s occurred. Not caused by the shifting of the ocean floor or tectonic plates, but by a sudden mass displacement.

They call it a super-tsunami.

Synovus is a statue beside her from the moment the platform starts to fall. Doll catches on once the surface of the water rises - and then doesn’t fall again.

“Three minutes.” Minerva calculates, based on distance and the probable speed of the wave. As many miles to cross. Much taller. “Evacuation?”

“The Jet is under repair, we can’t get it into the air in time.” Rosie answers, grim.

“Seals on the inner portions of the facility might hold, but we don’t know how long we’d be underwater.” Doll says, hitting the klaxon anyway. “The fridges?”

“Only as good as long as the power lasts.” Rosie replies. “Alexandria?”

“Still on the mainland.” Doll growls, running a hand through his hair. “Even if she could reach us in time, we’d have to get everyone onto the plane-“

Synovus has, so far, said nothing. Minerva is the only one close enough to catch when they choke out a strangled, “-fucking submarine -“

Minerva had expected Synovus to have a plan. A power, a strength, a defense mechanism. The realization that they don’t is like a fire’s been lit at the base of her spine.

She doesn’t remember grabbing Synovus’s collar, or dragging them to face her. She does remember saying, “I can stop it.”

Synovus doesn’t hesitate. “What do you need?”

There is no questioning of if she’s sure, or recommendation that she go into the waves to ride it out. No suggestion of running.

“Get me in front of it.”

Immediately, Synovus has one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and they’re running. Off the edge of the roof, not quite flying, flickers of shadow beneath their feet. Minerva doesn’t have time to question it, because her attention is on the big damn wave.

When she had said she could stop it, she had spoken with a bone-deep certainty. But she’d never actually tried to divert a tsunami before, let alone one of this size. The largest amount of water she’s worked with has always been as much as she needs to accomplish her goal, and nothing more. Diverting some rain-induced flooding is nothing compared to the power of the tides.

But she can feel the ocean beneath them, as Synovus clears the island’s coast. She can sense the oncoming wave, so fast to them, but to the ocean like a flinch in slow motion. The ocean doesn’t know how to control a fall.

But Minerva does.

The trick is in grasping the majority of the wave without over extending. She doesn’t need every droplet, every molecule, but she does need the vast majority of them.

It’s like trying to get a grip on something flat with only the pads of her fingers. It’s like misjudging a stair and finding herself both plummeting and ramming into an outside force. It’s like taking the first breath of rain-rich air in the early morning, and feeling life enter her lungs again.

Minerva twists the top back over itself, breaking the wave in the wrong direction. She cuts it down the middle, diverting it off to the sides. She forbids it to go forward, as though it’s met a cliff. And as the water falls, the wave collapsing, so does she.

It takes a brief second to put together that the body that had been holding her aloft is now limp, twisted slightly as though to put itself between her and the wave. Synovus is unresponsive, the shadows gone, only the cape whipping around them as they fall. Minerva is able to catch them, now, grabbing on before they can drift away.

She reaches for the water below them, calling it up to catch them with less than bone-breaking force. It’s easier, somehow, but also harder, and she’s having trouble fixing a direction in her mind for where the wave was and where the shore should be. Hot air, harsh wind, cool water and the dimming depths as they’re both drawn down.

And she remembers, finally, that Synovus can’t swim.

—————

The disorientation has mostly worn off by the time Synovus wakes up.

Minerva had managed to follow the upset currents, but hadn’t wanted to risk trying to shape and change them. Or to fight them overmuch, with her cargo. So they’d wound up washed not to shore, but to a small opening into one of the partial lava tubes at the island’s base.

Outside, saltwater rain is still falling, though it will stop soon. The ocean’s roar sounds, to her ears, slightly confused. The sun is still shining, and the wind has picked up again. ‘Calm’ is a subjective definition, but they’re approaching it.

Minerva had been relieved to find that Synovus’s helmet was intact, even with the impact to the water. She’d managed to find its clasps, and to remove it, making sure the seals had also held and that Synovus wasn’t drowning in their own personal fishbowl. They’re propped up against her legs, which are folded beneath her, and she’s prepared for a violent awakening.

But Synovus’s eyes blink open, and Minerva is able to watch their facial muscles work as they come to terms with their surroundings.

“You fainted.” Minerva informs them.

Synovus squints at her, but doesn’t immediately protest. They also don’t try to move much, other than a slight squirm that Minerva recognizes as a full body check. Do I still have my appendages? Do my fingers and toes all work?

“Yeah.” Synovus concedes. Their voice is raspy with saltwater, even though they didn’t get much of a chance to drown. This time.

Minerva should probably start somewhere else - like making certain they’re okay, or assuring them about the conditions outside, that the wave had been averted. Instead, she all but demands, “If you’re so terrified of water, why in the hells did you build on an island?”

She can see the balk in Synovus’s expression: a furrowing of their brow, a twitch of the nose. Synovus lifts a hand to consider covering their face, eyes the sand on their glove, and lowers it again.

“I already know you can’t swim.” Minerva says flatly.

“I can swim.” Synovus shoots back, annoyed. “I cannot swim well, there’s a difference.”

They sigh, and move to sit up. Minerva doesn’t stop them. She doesn’t expect an answer, at least not without further prompting, but Synovus continues:

“It’s… easier. The isolation. Clearly defined borders. This is mine, everyone else fuck off. And it…” Synovus shakes their head. “It serves its purpose.”

Once, Minerva would’ve accused them of grandstanding. Of the island being a show of wealth and status. She knows better now - knows that while that is true, there’s other reasons, layered beneath.

And she thinks about everything Synovus has ever told her about self control.

“It contains you.”

Synovus hesitates, partially grimacing, but nods. “Serves its purpose.” They repeat quietly.

The two of them sit in silence, in the dark shadow of the cave. They listen to the water, and the waves as they return to normal.

“Thank you.” Synovus says, into the silence.

“I don’t require thanks.”

“But I feel you deserve it, and it’s mine to give.”

“And if I don’t want it?”

“Refuse it. I will survive the disappointment.”

Minerva has the uncomfortable feeling that they are not discussing only gratitude. Rather than address that, or continue the discussion, she says instead: “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Synovus doesn’t reply. They tilt their head, studying her in the dark. Minerva’s dragged them into a cave and confronted them with truths after they passed out from fear doing something on her word, she should give them a break. She doesn’t.

“I should be out there looking for survivors, or recovering the dead. I don’t want to. I should’ve involved myself in the fight, reminded them to be careful of the platform’s vulnerabilities. I didn’t. I don’t feel guilt. I feel… annoyed. Angry. Because they should’ve known better.”

Synovus just turns a bit, to rest their back against a rock. “And that in turn makes you feel..?”

“Foolish. Arrogant. A bad hero, and a worse teacher. I should be patient. Forgiving.”

“They nearly killed you.” Synovus points out dryly. “You’re allowed to be angry about that.”

“And more would’ve died if the wave had reached the coast.” Minerva grits her teeth. “But that anger should be - I can’t control them. I cannot fix them. But I didn’t even try to intervene until it was almost too late.”

“But you did intervene.”

Minerva gestures, attempts to pinpoint the logic fruitless and frustrated. “Am I a hero or not?” She demands. “Do I act for others or only my own skin? I’ve spent years - decades - so sure of the answer but now -“

She raises her hands, half-fisting them in her hair. The sensation provides a little bit of grounding, enough of a distraction she doesn’t think about the words before she says them. “- now you make sense to me, and the things I thought I believed in enough to die for are - are hollow or gone or dead. And I let you kill them. I let you kill him.”

Abruptly, she draws her knees up, burying her face in them. “I let - I made - my child - our child -“

Minerva can’t tell if she’s crying or not. Her breath is coming in gasps, and her face feels hot, and this was always the part of weeping that she hated the most; the lack of control, the inability to communicate. Her eyes burn. So does the center of her chest, her stomach.

And Synovus is here, as her witness. Why not? They’ve seen every other ugly part of her, every other failure. She’s spent a good portion of her adult life fighting this person, exchanging scars, only for them to pick up the pieces and try to protect her. She’s finally had the upper hand, proven that she does have power, that Synovus now owes her in the brutal calculus of lives, and instead of reassuring her it’s broken her.

Because Synovus doesn’t trust themself either.

But Synovus trusts her.

“Do you wish I wouldn’t have killed Albion?” Synovus asks quietly.

The answer is as simple and certain as the water. “No.” She says honestly. “No I - I don’t.”

There’s a pause. Then, “Do you wish I would’ve killed you too?”

That answer isn’t as clear to find. “I - some days.” She says hoarsely. “I committed the same crimes.”

Synovus exhales, across from her, and it isn’t quite a sigh. “Alexandria feels differently.”

Minerva stops breathing.

Of all the answers Synovus could’ve given, that’s the one she can’t counter. She can’t afford to do this. To wallow in self recrimination. Her daughter is out there. And while maybe - maybe her morals are falling to pieces, and she doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that whoever she is loves Alexandria.

“Is it pathetic?” She asks Synovus, in the dark she can’t see through and Synovus can. “To need someone else to determine who I am. What I believe.”

She can hear the twist in Synovus’s expression as they reply, “That’s… inherently not a question I can answer. But, Minerva?” Synovus doesn’t hesitate, so much as pick their way across uncertain footing, “I don’t think you would’ve been able to turn back that wave if you weren’t… as much as you are.”

It’s clumsily phrased. Wavering and uncertain. But Minerva, whether because she’s reading what she wants to from it, or because it’s actually Synovus’s intention, understands.

She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then she stands, and offers a hand in Synovus’s general direction. Her voice is much more certain, calm, when she says, “I need to go organize a search party.”

——————

Minerva may not ever come to terms with her role in her ex-husband’s death, or the harm she caused her daughter. She might not ever find the rock-solid beliefs that she once thought she had.

But she might - just might - come to terms with that uncertainty. The ocean doesn’t have roots either.

She’ll have good days and bad days. She’ll need to make decisions about who she wants to become, and how she feels about who she is. But as both Naiad, and Minerva, she has that freedom.

She’ll never touch the Athena costume again.

And one day, while she’s working on a laptop in one of the common rooms, Synovus on one of the other couches and Alexandria sprawled on the floor, Minerva will say, “I have an idea. Something I’d like to do about the Pacific garbage patch.”

And Alexandria will roll over to look at her, and Synovus will glance up. And Minerva will add, “It’s not precisely legal.”

And Synovus will say, “I’m listening.”

——————————

[And so ends Siren Call! This took much longer than it’s other pieces, and there were things I debated including and things I wanted to cut, but in the end, this was the flow the story took. I’m not saying I’m *done* with Synovus and co, but I will say that I’m glad to have this chapter closed and tied off.]

[As per usual, a copy of this will go up on Ao3 soon, and I’ll find out how long it is, because I’ve once again written directly into tumblr drafts. It’s where the Synovus muse lives, apparently.]

[junax]

Der Kuss: ein Stück in fünf Akten

spielt auf der Yes!Con am 04.05.2024

1. Akt:

"... dass Klaas da ist, ist natürlich auch toll"

"Wenn wir so Ringe aufgesteckt bekommen, das weckt traumatische Assoziationen hier."

[schaut zu Joko] "Wir beiden jetzt, ne?"

*Joko lacht*

"Naja, egal", versucht Klaas das Thema wieder zu schließen, aber beide schauen die identischen Ringe von sich an, die da nun Platz gefunden haben. Es riecht nach Heirat, Verbundenheit.

2. Akt:

*bekommen Urkunden überreicht*

"Ahh, Hochzeitsfotos noch?" und Klaas kann es dann doch nicht lassen.

Er sieht Joko an und dann es kommt es schnell & leise nuschelnd.

"Darf ich dich jetzt küssen?"

Joko lacht schallernd mit Klaas. Joko wiederholt die Frage laut, streckt seinen Arm nach Klaas, zögert, zieht zurück, lacht weiter. Mal wieder nicht nur amüsiert, sondern vielleicht auch ein wenig überfordert.

Doch die Möglichkeit ist ausgesprochen, der Zünder für den Kuss - von Klaas. Denn was ein Scherz ist, kann auch Realität werden, besonders bei Joko und Klaas.

3.Akt - Der Höhepunkt:

In einem kurzen Moment kommt es zur schnellen, nonverbalen Einigkeit eines Kusses. Keiner zögert. Was ist schon dabei?

Joko antwortet nun doch entschlossen auf Klaas' Frage, indem er ihm gebeugt entgegen kommt.

Und Klaas ist sowas von bereit, reagiert so schnell als hätte er es erwartet, als wäre es ein Reflex, als wären sie miteinander verbunden. Es ist plötzlich wie eine Selbstverständlichkeit. Joko hat noch nicht ganz seinen Arm um Klaas' Hals geschlungen, da reckt er sich schon Joko entgegen und schließt die Augen.

Jokos Arm und Hand federleicht auf Klaas' Schultern abgestützt, treffen sich ihre Lippen nicht mal für eine Sekunde, aber jede Bewegung der beiden ist so flüssig und innig und passt ineinander. Und da kann auch das "maah" von Joko nicht darüber hinwegtäuschen, dass es kein Schmatzer, sondern ein echter Kuss war.

4. & 5. Akt:

Und beide grinsen heller als vorher.

Klaas schaut erstmal wieder in die Kamera, posiert glücklich, zufrieden, stolz, als wäre alles so gekommen wie er wollte und als wäre gleichzeitig überhaupt nichts gewesen.

Joko wiegt sich von einem Bein aufs andere und zurück und es ist als wäre unendliche Energie in ihm gefahren, denn er lächelt so doll, dass ihm das pure Glück ins Gesicht geschrieben steht, vermutlich muss er sich ein "mein Bruder" unterdrücken. Und nach einem kurzen Moment der Realisation, schaut er zu Klaas und sie lachen wieder vereint.

Die Absurdität der geschehenen Handlung um sie schwirrend. Es ist noch nie vor Kameras außerhalb ihrer Shows passiert. Doch eine implizierte Heirat ist nicht neu. Ein Kuss ist nicht neu. Sie sind Joko und Klaas, sie haben schon alles miteinander gemacht, was zwei Menschen miteinander tun können und mehr. Und so stehen sie nebeneinander in vertrauter Akzeptanz.

"So haben wir das auch! Gut! So Leute, jetzt müssen wir auch in die Flitterwochen! Tschau"

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Needlework.

A grab-bag commission for the very lovely @pale-horse-writing.

Pairing: Yandere!OC x Reader.

Summary: Your long-term captor takes one more step towards making you his perfect little doll.

Word Count: 1.2k.

TW: Injury To Reader, Infantilization, Dollification, Feminization (Reader Dressed Femininely and Specifically NOT Cool With It), Implied Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, and Non-Consensual Drug Use.

Every stitch took exactly fifteen seconds.

Two for the tip of the needle to pierce your skin, three more to find its exit-point, and ten for Dottie to pull the long, braided string through your punctured flesh. The final result was two perfectly symmetrical rows of neat, pinkish white ‘x’-es leading from the curve of your foot to the bottom of your knee, binding vinyl to skin and ensuring you wouldn’t be able to remove it without a great deal of trouble, without ruining your perfect white gloves and perfect white dress. The shoes themselves – because that was the point of this, as difficult as it was to remember, to make sure you couldn’t misbehave and remove your real punishment – were silver and well-polished, a pair that he'd just brought home a few days ago. There had been crossed strips of ribbon down the front at one point, but they’d been removed in favor of leaving that much more of your skin exposed, and in place of the dainty, delicate heels he usually preferred were thick platforms; about six inches tall and specially weighted to limit mobility. You couldn’t imagine where he’d gotten them. You couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten it into his head to use them for something like this.

Dottie brought the needle to your skin for the final stitch, the point sinking into your numb calf for the thousandth time. Despite everything, he wasn’t a sadist – the mask fitted over the lower half of your face and the canister it was attached to made sure you stayed limp, complacent, too strung-out to move or run or think as he worked. A few months ago, you would’ve protested, kicked and screamed and threw the kind of tantrum he’d have to calm with a hushed tone and a handful of sedatives, but you’d learned better, since then. He was going to do whatever he wanted to you, no matter how you reacted to it. The only thing you got to decide was how much it was going to hurt.

There was an airy chuckle, the sound of a thread being cut, then a fleeting kiss to the inside of your knee. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, peeling off his latex gloves and discarding them along with his bloody needle before turning his attention back to you, to your prone state. Your mask was removed, but your vision remained unfocused, the fog laying over your thoughts still thick as Dottie ran his fingertips over your cheek, rubbing out the lingering indents. Out of reflex, you leaned into his touch, eager to savor his gentleness before the numbness wore off and the ache let in, and your desperation was rewarded with a light hum, another kiss – the one to the top of your head. “You did beautifully.” You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “I couldn’t ask for a better model.”

You tried to speak, to respond with something halfway coherent, but your tongue was too heavy and your throat was filled with cotton and it was all you could do to open your mouth, to let out something you could only compare to a fractured whimper. There was a sympathetic coo, a new weight on the edge of the velvet-cushioned lounge-seat he used for your little ‘adjustments’. Carefully, with pains taken not to disturb the delicate bows tied into your hair, he draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. “I know, I know,” he muttered, squeezing you against him before detangling himself from you completely. “But it’s for the best. I knew what had to be done the second I saw what you were getting up to while I was gone.”

What you were getting up to. He must’ve meant breaking his unspoken rules – cooking for yourself, changing out of his meticulously chosen outfits, loosening the strings of the lung-flattening corsets he took minutes out of his schedule to bind you into. You weren’t supposed to do anything, not while he was gone, not if there was a chance you’d bruise yourself or tear the hem of one of his handmade petticoats. He would never say it aloud, but he wasn’t subtle. He wanted you to be something pretty, something useless, something that was doted on and adorned with proof of his misplaced love. You’d heard him admit, once, while he thought you were asleep, that if he had his way, you wouldn’t have to do so much as think for yourself, but thankfully, he hadn’t found an article of clothing that can accomplish that. Not yet, at least.

“This’ll keep you out of trouble while I’m away.” He positioned himself at your side, clapping his hands the way you would if you were trying to get a child’s attention. An animal’s attention. “Why don’t you try taking a step for me, sweetheart?”

Dread, fear, and shame coiled in the pit of your stomach. With more than a little reluctance, you swung your feet over the side of the chair, tears immediately welling up and blurring your vision further as the platforms strained Dottie’s stitching and sent a thousand stabbing, agonizing jolts racing up your legs. Standing was no easier, but you managed to push yourself to your feet, to ignore the way your legs screamed in protest long enough to lift your right foot and took a single, unsteady st—

Your knees buckled, your strength faltering, and then you were on the ground, legs bent into a crumbled heap and dress fanning out around you. Dottie was by your side in a moment, pulling you into his arms as you heard yourself start to sniffle, as you felt warm tears start to drip down your cheeks. “Poor thing.” The sentiment was empathetic, but his cadence was overjoyed, brimming with excitement. It was the same tone he used when he sat you down in front of a vanity, made you watch as he fastened yet another lace collar around your neck. It was the same voice he used when he was on top of you, wiping away your tears as he pretended to care about whether or not you were happy. “Like a puppet without its strings. That’s alright, though. You know I’ll always be here to repair you.”

You rested your cheek against his chest, shutting your eyes. “People don’t need to be repaired.”

“But you do.” One last kiss, this one to the corner of your lips. This time, you couldn’t bring yourself to pretend the affection made you feel much of anything at all. “And that’s why I have to look after you.”

He was taking you back to your bedroom, to the pink-soaked space filled to the point of bursting with soft blankets and stuffed animals and all the things he wanted you to want. You’d be left there until the numbing agent wore off, until the pain was more than you could take, and when you cried out for him and his distorted comfort, he’d take joy in doting on you, in reassuring himself that you were too helpless to take so much as a step without his help.

You could only hope that, whenever he decided you’d learned your lesson, his stitches would come out faster than they’d gone in.

[thecreaturecodex]

Cephalonoid

Image © Terryl Whitlatch, accessed at CG Channel here

[Sponsored by Soluman Blevins, based on art that Terryl Whitlatch did for her book Principles of Creature Design. At one point in development, I intended for this to be one of the illithidae, but found myself getting more and more sympathetic to it, so changed the alignment away from evil. Thus, they became the rarest of monsters; an octopus creature whose behavior is actually based on that of an octopus.]

Cephalonoid CR 12 N Aberration This creature looks like a hybrid of an octopus and a carnivorous dinosaur. Its head is like that of an octopus, except that its beak is on a long stalk, emerging visibly from the nest of tentacles growing from its face. It walks on all fours, but it can rise on its hind legs like a gorilla. Its fingers and toes are jointless and tentacle-like, and a row of suckers runs down its back and along the upper surface of its tail. A coiling shell grows from the crown of its head, with an inflatable pouch beneath it.

Cephalonoids are strange sapient predators that resemble a hybrid of mollusk and vertebrate. They are amphibious, hunting either above or below the waves and then hiding underwater in order to sleep. Cephalonoids are curious and voracious creatures, and spend much of their lives either hunting or playing. These two activities are perhaps synonymous, as cephalonoids seem to enjoy playing with their food.

A cephalonoid’s primary strategy is to grapple prey and crush it while it struggles to escape. Their beaks are more extensible than those of true cephalopods, but still possess a shorter reach than its many grasping limbs. Creatures bitten by a cephalonoid are injected with a numbing venom, all the better to cut their struggle short and make them easier to constrict. A cephalonoid can spray toxic ink, which can form a concealing and enervating cloud both above and below water. They are highly resistant to mind-influencing magic, which has led some scholars to suspect that they have a link to aboleths, illithids, or one of any number of tentacle horrors with mental powers. Cephalonoids show these creatures no love, and may in fact prey preferentially on them if their ranges overlap.

Unlike the octopus they resemble, cephalonoids are long-lived creatures, with lifespans that can extend up to fifty years. They are territorial amongst their own kind and do not tolerate intrusion, except during mating season or in the guarding of eggs. Female cephalonoids lay their eggs in colonies called gardens, where they watch over them, fasting for months until they hatch. The young are then left to fend for themselves, and may be mistaken for mundane octopus for a few years before their skeleton grows in and they begin to move about on land. Cephalonoids do not understand concepts like domestication or private property, and may come into conflict with humanoids above or below the waves for raiding livestock.

Cephalonoid CR 12 XP 19,200 N Gargantuan aberration (aquatic, amphibious) Init +8; Senses blindsight 30 ft.,darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 24, touch 10, flat-footed 20 (-4 size, +4 Dex, +14 natural) hp 171 (18d8+90) Fort +11, Ref +12, Will +14; +4 vs. mind-influencing effects DR 10/magic and [slashing or piercing]; Immune poison; SR 23 Defensive Abilities decentralized brain

Offense Speed 30 ft., swim 30 ft. Melee bite +18 (2d4+9 plus poison), 2 slams +18 (2d6+9 plus grab), tentacles +18 (4d8+9 plus grab), tail slap +16 (1d12+4 plus grab) Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft. (10 ft. with bite) Special Attacks constrict (4d8+15), ink cloud, master grappler

Statistics Str 30, Dex 19, Con 21, Int 7, Wis 16, Cha 12 Base Atk +13; CMB +27 (+35 grappling); CMD 46 Feats Bleeding Critical,Critical Focus,Defensive Combat Training, Diehard, Endurance, Improved Critical (bite), Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Multiattack (B), Power Attack Skills Climb +20, Escape Artist +24, Perception +17, Stealth +15, Swim +28; Racial Modifiers +10 Escape Artist, +4 Perception, +8 Stealth Languages Aquan

Ecology Environment any ocean or coast Organization solitary, pair or garden (3-8) Treasure incidental

Special Abilities Decentralized Brain (Ex) A cephalonoid’s intelligence is distributed through its entire body. This grants it a +4 racial bonus on all saving throws against mind-influencing effects. Ink Cloud (Su) As a standard action, a cephalonoid can create a cloud of ink in a 30 foot radius, either above or below water. This ink impedes vision as a fog cloud spell, and creatures in the area must succeed a DC 24 Fortitude save or be sickened and staggered for as long as they remain in the cloud and for 1d4 rounds thereafter. A cephalonoid can make an ink cloud once per minute. This is a poison effect, and the save DC is Constitution based. Master Grappler (Ex) A cephalonoid gains a +8 racial bonus to CMB checks made to grapple; this replaces the usual +4 for creatures with the grab special attack. A cephalonoid does not take a penalty to grappling without having two free hands, and can grapple up to four creatures smaller than itself at the same time. Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 24; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d4+1 Str; cure 2 saves. Tentacles (Ex) The oral tentacles of a cephalonoid are treated as a single primary natural weapon.

[amateur-flamingo]

Can you pls give us some info about your Breakdown design? He seems really cool

OK, I think I'm ready for this post!!! I know that the question was back in July, when I drew a tfp Breaky as a human, BUT a lot of water has flowed under the bridge, I went deeper into the fandom, discovered the Stunticons and now I really, REALLY love them

so I'll tell you about my current design of Breakdown! Besides, I seem to have learned how to draw robots, and I'm no longer ashamed to post it here!)

initially, this is a design from ES, I don't even hide it. I really like it, and especially the fact that it's a Pontiac))

however, at the moment I'm basing it on the story of idw2005 (yes, I read the comics), and Breaky's plot is more likely from there there are very few Stunticons there, but I already have a habit of writing such characters, so yes, I have a story with him! buuut today I'm talking about design, so… it just plays a role too x)

when I reread Primacy, I noticed that there is no white car among the Stunticons

I know that this is more of a blooper, but because of this I got a headcanon that Breaky was repainted several times (with the help of Dead End) and that's why I have a design for his pre-war time and for the present (stolen from ES)

later I'm going to make designs for the rest of the Stunticons, but I haven't gotten around to it yet

this is by the way a headcanon about the Stunticons reflexively sticking to Motormaster in their usual positions in Menasor

there are a lot of sketches here because i still haven't learned how to limit the post

[barbietoiles]

*outstretches hand* mutuals qui veut se marier evily

fully read "marriage civil" as "marriage evil" on an exercise and for a split second thought the french have it way better than anyone else

[useless-catalanfacts]

El meu xicot i jo acabem de tornar d'un viatge de casi un mes a molts diferents llocs de Catalunya, durant el qual parlavem català tant sovint que possible amb la gent, tot i que lo estem encara aprenent. El comportament lingüístic m'interessa, i vaig notar diferents tipus de reaccions de la gent : 1) ens contesten en català amb normalitat 2) ens contesten en català i després ens feliciten del nostre aprenentatge, tenim una conversació, etc. <3 3) ens contesten en castellà i pareix que potser que ells mateixos entenen català però encara no ho parlen 4) ens contesten en castellà i pareix que és perqué som visiblement estrangers i no parlem català perfectament, i suposo que volen acomodar-nos : 4a) ens contesten en castellà però tornen al català quan persistim, o acabem vacil·lant entre els dos 4b) ens contesten en castellà i mai no tornen al català tot i que persistim, mentre els veig parlar català amb catalans 4c) comencen a contestar-nos en català pero canvien al castellà tan aviat que tenim qualsevol dubte o dificultat (que sigui per falta lingüística, difficultat de processament auditiu o senzillament un malentès) 5) ens contesten en castellà i persisteixen super agressivament (un sol cas, afortunadament) Per el número 4, puc sisplau enviar als teus lectors el missatge que quan parlen amb un nou catalanoparlant i que aquest comenci en català, que és millor que segueixin en català, i que una imperfecció, una dubtació o una dificultat momentània a entendre's no vol dir que no parla prou català i que serà millor que canviïn al castellà? A vegades vaig començar a sentir-me quasi que estaven rebutjant a parlar-ho amb nosaltres per a dir-nos que ho parlíem mal, fins que vaig entendre que era només una mena de reflex (ho que entenc, venint d'un pais amb una situació lingüística una mica similar). Nogensmenys, els puc prometre que és més fàcil si segueixen en català, que van una mica més a poc a poc, i que aclarim la dificultat junts. (de fet, a més del fet que vull praticar, potser que serà més difícil si canvies, perqué tindré que canviar mentalment de sobte la llengua que comptava utilitzar!) Gràcies a tu per haver-nos animat a aprendre i fer servir la llengua durant el nostre viatge <3 és clar que, malgrat les petites dificultats, la majoria de la gent ens va acollir super bé lingüísticament i va ser super contents dels nostres esforços, i aixó ens va encantar! p.s. el canal youtube Easy Catalan acaba de fer un vídeo sobre aquest mateix tema :)

p.p.s. shout out al home qui, quan el seu amic ens contestava en castellà, li cridava que aixó no es feia allà i que ens parli en català XD

Teniu tota la raó! Moltes gràcies per compartir la vostra experiència. Espero que hagueu tingut un bon viatge!

[suzukiblu]

shiver, shudder or experience for the ask game?

"That doesn't make sense," the clone says as he gets to his feet in the tube and starts distractedly pulling off the genuinely alarming amount of machinery hooked up to him, looking puzzled. "The staff would be way harder to replace than me. They're, like, real people."

. . . Jon reconsiders the merits of the murder plan. Just, like . . . just a little bit. Just a touch.

"That is a logical conclusion to reach, given both the bias and inadequacy of the information that you have been presented with," Damian allows, and if Damian is actually being patient with somebody who is so objectively wrong in cold blood and without so much as a derisive aside or judgemental look, then Jon really doesn't want to know what's on that computer terminal. Like, holy shit, not ever. He'd like to keep some scrap of faith in humanity, thanks. "Counterpoint: the staff members do not deserve their lives."

"Please don't teach my baby brother that," Jon says, already resigned to spending the better part of the next decade getting that particular sentiment out of the kid's head. "Or my . . . baby uncle, maybe, I don't know. Maybe we'll just start with 'baby cousin' and go from there."

"Maybe he's your baby dad?" Jay suggests with a snicker.

The clone . . . blinks.

"I'm a clone," he says, looking perplexed.

"We know, kid," Jon says, wondering why the kid thinks that's currently relevant as he takes off his cape. Said kid is naked except for the last couple of machines and wires that he's still working his way out of, so yeah, it's definitely time to take off his cape and wrap him up in some basic decency. "Are you cold?"

"Dunno," the clone says, frowning consideringly. "What's 'cold' feel like?"

Jon, again, revisits the merits of murder. Just like . . . just a couple of them. That's all.

"I forget," he admits. "I kind of haven't been cold for a decade or so."

"I maaaaay kind of also forget," Jay says with a wince. "These days I tend to just reflexively stop being tangible when I start getting chilly, it's actually really inconvenient?"

"It is utterly inconvenient to be invulnerable to both freezing to death and the effects of hypothermia, yes," Damian says dubiously. "There are multiple degrees of 'cold', clone, but Superman is currently referencing a basic discomfort. Physical responses to it include goosebumps and shivering. A prickling sensation is not uncommon."

"Please stop calling him 'clone'," Jon says as it belatedly occurs to him that said clone does not speak Nightwing-ese and might be taking that the wrong way. "And 'it', while we're at it."

Also maybe he should stop thinking of the kid as "the clone" himself, come to think.

". . . you're Superman?" The kid frowns up at Jon skeptically. "You don't look like you look in my head."

Jon doesn't even want to understand that sentence.

[brineoffire]

Aaaaay part 3? Also yall lemme know if you have any thoughts about Roland and his antics or questions about the fic. I'd love to hear anything yall have to say, literally anything lmao

Last part:

Clean Barracks

Price is the first to walk in flanked by two more man, one with darker skin, one with a short mohawk. You can't help now your eyes linger on both of them just as long as you stared at Ghost's mask when you arrived. You sit staring for a beat too long when you hear said man clear his throat from across the room. Shaking your mind clear you stand at attention.

"Sirs, Roland Haven reporting for duty." Price chuckles and pats your shoulder as he passes to the front of the room, and the other two share a glance before the mohawked one looks to Ghost. "Oi, take et easy on em yeah LT? Dun' wana scare the runt off a'fore we ge' a goo' look ah him." You hear a grunt in response as the other guy steps closer. "Don't let 'im worry ya much recruit. 'Es got a mean streak in 'em." He holds his hand out. "Garrick. You can call me Gaz." You give him a nod as he moved past you to an empty seat. The Scott with the mohawk taking his spot in front of you.

"Mctavish lad. Call me Soap, an' eye fer one am 'appy ta see a fresh face."

"O' coarse you are Johnny. Jus' means someones 'ere ta' faff about more then you."

"Oh piss off Ghost."

"Alright boys, settle now."

They all quiet down, looking to Price at the front of the room.

"Now you've all met the new recruit. E'yve picked him out personally, so any issues will be brought up ta me here and now." Price barks out.

The three of them look to each other, Gaz and Soap give each other a shrug and a nod respectively before Ghost speaks up.

"Cap'n c'mon now. Do we really need fresh meat slowin' us down?" Ghost still stands near the back of the table, his arms crossed firmly. There's a grunt from Price as he nods again.

"Aye, he won't slow us down. Kid's got good reflexes an' some skills we could use with us on the feild. Has better tech knowledge then the lot of us, an' 'es got a quick foot." You're surprised with how easy it is for Ghost to give in with a shrug. Looking around again, no one speaks up and you bite your tounge this time before going on about dumb luck, knowing Price would shut that down real quick.

"Alright. Tha's settled then. Soap, I want ya' taking him through basics with ya'. Geh him used to the daily routine. Gaz after tha' I want ya' gettin' 'im up to speed with the systems."

"Aye Captain." "Yes Sir."

Price nods his head.

"Good. Keep on yer' toes as always lads. We may 'ave a break now but keep active."

"Rite then. Les' have a go newbie." Soap calls out, beckoning for you to follow. The two of you end up heading to out to the training feild as he points out the average days exercise. You nod as you follow along, it's mainly cardio and upper body workouts. The cardio? Easy peasy. You've never skipped leg day and you aren't about to skip it now, but the pull-up bar? That was going to take some getting used to, especially seeing as how they wanted you to eventually lift twice your weight with you. God dammit that pull-up bar was going to be your nemesis for the next several months. Soap notices your solemn stare at the bar and grins wide.

"Was' the matter? Not used ta' 'eavy liftin'?"

You shake your head and sigh.

"Not at fuckin all. In fact I hate upper body. With a passion sir." Soap barks out a laugh and pats you on the shoulder.

"Ah, 'ull geh used ta it all soon dun'a worry!"

"I ain't worried, but I can and will complain the whole time." He laughs again and shakes his head.

"Alright then! Les' start with fifty plus on them bars then yeah?" You groan loudly as the two of you walk over to the bar, Soap dropping a fifty pound weight underneath it. Begrudgingly, you set yourself up for the set of reps that will no doubt bring you nothing but sore muscles and regret.

After the pull ups Soap leads you through a several mile run with some hurdles and inclines then the two of you head off for a quick rinse, have breakfast, and you're off with Gaz. He leads you to a small tech room loaded with computers and various communication devices. Looking through the setup you get the gist of what you're working before Gaz even tells you anything. It's easy for you to follow along with his explanations as you get yourself logged into the new setup.

"So how'd the cap find you ey?" He asks while he watches you set up your info from over your shoulder.

"Ah. I helped him outta a tight spot at the last base I was at. Couldn't say no to the pay at all."

Gaz raises a brow.

"You joined for the pay then?"

"I couldn't really say no. Got a shit ton of student loans an shit. Ain't got much else to do for this amount of money." He nods his head thoughtfully.

"Alright then. Jus' don' let us catch ya eyin' enemy offers yeah?" That gets a laugh out of you as you look over to him.

"Naw. I wouldn't know how ta deal in dirty money either way. Besides, I wouldn't be workin' this hard ta pay back my schools if I was just guna go dark side." He laughs along with you and pats you on the shoulder as the two of you finish setting everything up and going over the rest of the equipment.

So far so good, you think to yourself as you head back to the barracks with Gaz afterwards. You're already making a note of the schedule in your head, going over it to yourself as the two of you catch Ghost at the next door.

"Ah. Good timin' then new blood. We're havin' a spar before you get ta lunch." You stare at him for a second blankly before your face scrunches.

"E-excuse me?" Ghost's eyes betray the smirk under his mask as his arms cross over his chest again.

"Didn't stutter. Your ass to the trainin' feild. Now."

You spare yourself a look over to Gaz who shrugs at you apologetically. Looking back to Ghost you nod.

"Understood." And off you go to get your ass handed to you by a giant man in a skull mask. Yay...

[cosmogify]

Schwarz

Uh, this is just me trying to be experimental in writing. Although I still suck at it a bit. The writing is under the cut.

BFs in this drabble fic: WSL!bf (Berry, mine), Yourself around the end (YS, Ochre's version)

CW: EXPLICIT VOMITTING AND BODY HORROR (I think)

It does get better in the end I prommy! :)

Black

Everything was just pitch, charcoal black.

His throat even taste like it, he wanted to puke.

His muscles reflexively gagged, the binding of his jacket made the clogged trachea all the more strangulating. At least he can feel. . .something getting out of his mouth and system.

The dizziness grew stronger with every retch, yet he can't have the solace to hear it. Everything is so, so quiet.

He screamed and wailed, but all that can be heard is a pathetic inaudible wheeze, like a dying dog in an inescapable ditch.

Schatten. . .Schatten- GAGH AGH. . .bitte. . .es tut weh. . . ah AAGH-

He can barely breathe or think right, he can sense every muscle and organ shaking violently, as if it wants to stretch him thin from the inside out, swapping his outsides with it.

His teeth feel like they're forcing his mouth wide apart, his jaw joints were at their breaking point as they were at the teeth's mercy. He can feel even things rushing in and out of the gap, as if the ghosts around him are taking turns playing and ripping his guts for entertainment. His spinning eyes could see those beady stares from the abyss around him, a freaky toy to be entertained by.

He can hear some passing voices of complaint about him, having another psychotic breakdown. . .at least that was what he remembered hearing.

Schatten. . .Schatten wo bist du. .? Wo bist du!? Ich will nicht sterben. . .SCHATTEN-!!

He kept slamming himself into anything that was in his ward, wanting the pain to go away quickly. So far he was only given a temporary numbness before the pain to come back tenfold.

He wanted to cry. Oh, he wanted to cry so badly, yet his eyes didn't seem to think he needs to. His mouth did all the crying for him, but even the liquid coming out of it felt like acid on his skin. Boiling hot skin.

His body twist and bend irregularly, but the jacket wasn't letting it do what it pleases. He was no longer controlling himself, even after all the pleas and begs-

A door opened.

Berry's neck twisted in a way that it shouldn't, his face fully directing towards the sound. A tall figure, Schatten.

It's Schatten, it has to be.

The black liquid that has been dripping down his mouth slowed into a halt on his chin and drabbed clothes. The boy hadn't realized that the figure wasn't the shadow spirit. Far from it. Yet his mind was too far gone at the moment, already barring his stained maw as he made a wild dash at him.

It quickly evaded him, before it picked him up from behind. Kill. . .he needed to kill him. His legs flailed violently at his surroundings, desperately trying to shove whoever suspended him in the air.

The entity didn't budge, instead Berry felt his body being surrounded by something. . .soft. It confused the little boy, but his still continued to attempt to kick the entity. However it slowly grew futile the longer he stayed in the embrace, his muscles soon weakened and sore. His throat no longer felt strangled, and his eyelids were heavy. . .What. . .What was happening?

"Shhh, it's okay now. It's time to rest little guy."

Something. . .Someone was whispering. . .It didn't sound like Helen, her voice isn't that scratchy. . .nor did it sound like Schatten. . .using his own voice against him, nor did it sound this. . .kind. His eyes felt. . .heavy so suddenly. . .

Ich fühle mich. . . so. . . müde. . .

[calliopeslyre]

I think I just found my new favourite Clip lmao

From the newest BastiGHG video

Translation/Description:

Basti: Bro ist am Kochen (bro is cooking)

Kevin: Oh mein Gott. Er spielt das Spiel nicht zum Ersten Mal! (Omg, he's not playing that game for the first time!)

Basti: Kevin, mit der Performance schaffen wir das heute first try, na? (Kevin, with that Performance we're gonna do this first try today)

Kevin: Guck dir das an! (Look at this!)

Basti: Du bist wach! (You're awake! -> 'you're paying attention')

wheeeee

Basti: *wheeze* Bro das hast du gerade nicht gemacht *laugh* Kevin (Bro, you did not just do that... Kevin)

Kevin: Bro, warum ist denn da ein Loch (Bro, why is there a hole?)

Basti: Ja weil wir im Nether sind. Hier sind überall Löcher! ('Cause we're in the Nether. There are holes everywhere!)

Kevin: Bruder, ich mach das aller erste mal ein bisschen Scheiße und es passiert das? Ich war so konzentriert die ganze Zeit, ich wollte einmal kurz ein bisschen Scheiße bauen. (Brother, I'm fooling around one time and that happens? I was so concentrated for the entire time, I just wanted to fuck around a bit.)

Basti: Normalerweise ist ausloggen auch nicht so erlaubt in meinen Challenges also eigentlich ist Tod ist Tod! (normally logging out isn't that allowed in my challenges so death is death!)

Kevin: Bro es ging mir gerade nicht darum was erlaubt ist oder was nicht!! (Bro, at that point I didn't care about what was allowed and what wasn't!!)

Basti: also ich hab hier bestimmt gleich ein paar böse Kommentare unter meinem Video wenn du jetzt nicht stirbst also- (I'll definitely have some mean comments under my video if you don't die now, so-)

Kevin: *sigh* es tut mir leid, es ist meine Schuld, es war einfach aus Reflex okay? *music* Okay, ich versuch’s mal, ich versuch's mal. Ich geh mal rein, ne? (*sigh* Im sorry, it's my fault, it was just a reflex, okay? *music* Okay, I'm just gonna try, just gonna try. I'm logging in...)

*joins game* *plop and fall sound effect*

[spanishskulduggery]

Exciting news for me: I’m working with Spanish-speaking families now in a social work adjacent job capacity! I feel really good about my listening comprehension (as long as it’s not idioms haha), and I think my speaking will get better as I get less nervous.

I’ve been struggling with phone calls in Spanish. Do you have advice for scheduling time/place to meet up? Do people generally use words equivalent to english “meeting up” or does it get phrased differently/structurally?

I also wonder if you have any tips for improving my “r” pronunciations or learning to roll my “r”s. I have a decent approximation but it kills me sometimes ESPECIALLY with common names it’s brutal.

Last question :D I dont look like I speak Spanish and my name is very USAmerican. I’m obviously not a native speaker. And since I often speak worse when I’m nervous, I’m worried about making sure the family knows I speak spanish / understand it really well so they feel comfortable talking with me. Have you ever struggled with this sort of thing? Do you have ideas for what might be reassuring to tell them?

In my experience, the verb/word in general is reunirse con alguien [or encontrarse con alguien]

It's reflexive, so you would say ¿dónde podemos reunirnos? "where can we meet up?" [or, ¿dónde nos podemos reunir?] - or using encontrarse - same thing, just encontrarnos or nos podemos encontrar

I've found that "meeting point" or "rendezvous" is typically el punto de encuentro/reunión

...And "a meeting" with someone is often la reunión even for things like staff meetings or work meetings etc. Otherwise sometimes people say la cita which is "appointment" but also "a date" so that's not always something I'd recommend but it does make sense

Anyway in general I would be saying like ¿cuándo quieres reunirnos?

And usually it's like ¿A qué hora es más conveniente? "At what time is it most convenient?" or just qué hora; or saying ¿Cuál día te conviene? "What day works for you?"

I've found that people use convenir [with indirect objects] as "to be best for someone" or "to suit someone" or "to work for someone" in terms of being convenient. Or they use venir bien or some idiomatic form [like venir(le) de perlas is "to be really good (for someone)" or "to be great"]

-

As far as RR. I tell people the way to do it is to press your tongue to the ridge right behind your front teeth [people have said "it's the place you burn your mouth when you bite into a slice of pizza that's too hot"], and you blow air

Usually it's that Spanish-speakers put their tongues more to the top of their mouth when saying R, while English-speakers have it lower in the mouth. If you keep it up higher, you'll hear it trill more as you hold it

But in school they had us practice with estoy corriendo en el ferrocarríl a lot

-

I usually do okay unless I'm nervous, then I start sounding worse. And I just try and tell people, háblame más despacio, a veces me cuesta entender todo lo que me digan la primera vez which is "speak to me more slowly, sometimes it's hard for me to understand what people tell me the first time"

And sometimes just asking what words mean like ¿qué quieres decir? or ¿qué significa ___?

Or if I didn't hear someone right I say ¿cómo? "huh?"

Most people are understanding, and usually I can get away with saying things like puedo hablar y entender español más o menos... o sea, a veces es más, y a veces mucho menos jaja and I try and be funny

[hereschoolstudios]

‘Wowee! Other us-es! There are so many… anyways! Hi! I’m Dr. Oliver Reflex, and this is Clicker Baldimore, Principal Kenneth Aurrevoir, our janitor Gilmore Sweeps, and Cassidy Playtime! Lovely to meet you all!’

(To Dr. Reflex, Baldi, Principal, Sweeps, and Playtime!)

[ohii-san]

UNKNOWN HOLY NIGHT AND NIGHTHEAD - BLACK CAROL 1

Tomoya: (The cuff of my shirt's been grabbed… I’m frozen in place!)

Rinne: Oi oi. I don’t care how bad you don’t wanna see me, don’t just run away the second you see my face!

Tomoya: (Why why why why!? This is definitely wrong. No matter how I think about it, I’m the only one out of place.)

(Anzu-san, maybe this time was also a mistake? I mean, that’s it, right? Please say it was~?!)

Yuzuru: That’s right– Mashiro-sama. Setting aside the others, didn’t we have a bento showdown together?[1]

Ibara: Ah-ha-ha. You could sense the shitty malevolence hidden behind Yuzuru’s smiley mask, couldn’t you?[2]

Yuzuru: Rather, it’s likely because Ibara’s words are hypocritical and hide malice. No matter how hard he tries to blend in with society, it's impossible for him to hide his shady nature.

Yes, that’s it, Mashiro-sama must be scared because of the way Ibara is picking fights with me all the time.

Rinne: Really though, isn’t both you bastards’ fault? If I was stuck with seniors like that I’d be scared as well, you get what I’m saying?

Tomoya: Eek?!

Rinne: What’s the issue. I didn’t do anything!?

Yuzuru: You didn’t “not do anything”, you grabbed him by the shirt and intimidated him. I don’t think it’s strange to be scared.

Subaru: Excuse me~☆ Yahoo, yahoo. Let’s work together today~

—Nn? What's everyone doing?

Tomoya: Ah– Akehoshi-senpaiii! Thank Goddd!

Subaru: Eh, what? What’s wrong? You’re hiding behind me…

Subaru: Ah~. So everyone was bullying Tomoya-kun, is that riiight~? Don’t bully your cute junior, okaaay~?

Rinne: I didn’t do that. Rather, why’re you so scared even though I didn’t do anything?

Tomoya: Ah, s-sorry. The pressure was just so great, it was just a conditioned reflex…

That is... I came in here thinking this would be kinda like a petting zoo, with cute animals. But actually, it’s more like a cage full of wild beasts?

Ibara: What’s with that weird analogy…

Tomoya: Ehehe. It kinda just exceeded my brain’s capacity– It’s okay now. I’m starting to understand the situation.

Ehhh. Everyone here is a member of the same “Shuffle Unit”, right? At least, that seems to be the case.

Yuzuru: Well, I can understand Mashiro-sama’s confusion. Indeed, I have doubts as to why these members are here… and whether we'll be able to achieve synergy with one another.

Subaru: Eh, really? But on the other hand, wouldn’t it be more interesting if we didn’t know what chemical reactions would happen?

Rinne: An overreaction could lead to a big explosion though, right?

Subaru: If that’s the case then I’d like it to be a big, beautiful explosion like a firework~☆

Rinne: Just what kinda big-shot are you trying to be. Well, it’s not like I hate that sorta thing, though…

Ibara: Hm? Let’s allow Anzu-san to explain the rest. iIt seems like she’s just arrived. 

Subaru: Ah, Anzu! Yahoo, yahoo ☆ Nah, all’s good. We were all just talking.

Ibara: Now, could you please give us an overview, Producer-dono?

Tomoya: …?

Rinne: The hell’s this…?

Tomoya: ? Excuse me. No matter how you look at it, all that’s written in the board is “we’ll do something amazing”.

Is it a trick or something I can’t see through? Like a code or something…

Rinne: Don’t worry. That’s what I’m seeing too.

Yuzuru: Is this… supposed to reassure us, perhaps? I feel like this is going to be a big problem…

Ibara: … I have a headache. Anyway, Anzu-san. Could you give us some details?

Yuzuru: Let me think… In other words, you mean that one of the producers of the “P Association” disappeared, and they were the one in charge of the “Shuffle Unit” project?

Rinne: And then? There’s nobody left to take over because there’s not enough staff to go around, huh. Anzu-chan came here to explain, but she doesn’t have the time to be able to take care of us either.

Subaru: Hmm. That’s why Anzu wants this “Shuffle Project” to be led by us idols.

Tomoya: Idol initiative… But isn’t this project a big one? Even though we have ES to back us up, is this really something we can do alone?

Ah. That’s right! Saegusa-senpai also works as a producer for CosPro, right? If that’s the case we could ask for Saegusa-senpai…

Ibara: If I could do it myself, I would… But this is headed by the “P Association”, so that happening would be impossible.

Tomoya: Eh? Why?

Ibara: This project is a cross-office project, so in order to keep it fair, producers who belong to other agencies cannot be involved.

Well. If they were to turn a blind eye to my presence, it would be possible to carry out production operations in secret!

Yuzuru: Ibara. You’re causing trouble for Anzu-san.

Ibara: Right, yes. In other words, this time it is necessary that I devote myself to being an idol.

Subaru: Mhm! Besides, it would help Anzu as well! She’s been apologizing for a while– it’s not like it’s even your fault, though, Anzu!

We will all work together and do our best, so rest easy! ♪

Yuzuru: I agree. If this is considered work, then I’ll do my best too.

Rinne: Yeah, that’s right. Problems like this are inevitable in this industry.

Tomoya: (Eehh!? Wait a minute…! Why is everyone so positive!? It’s impossible for us to do the project alone!)

> [1] referring to science

> [2] tomoya's sprite has been visibly terrified, that's what's being referred to here

[spiderman2-99]

can a dog be Spiderman, spiderdog? If so, explain how

js so my dog can be spiderman

- 🐾

Ay Dios mío, esto es tan jodidamente estúpido, no puedo más.

Did your dog get bitten by a radioactive spider, and has it shown any signs of super strength, or enhanced durability, reflexes healing, speed? What about Spider-Sense, spinnerets?

If not, your dog is not Spider-Dog.