#sure he isn't into gears and cogs

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Order as Antagonist in TDP

So how about that trailer, eh? I was so excited I didn't notice this text up top on TDP's tweet for like. An hour.

We haven't heard anything about this Cosmic Order before. Is it a specific group? Is it a vibe? Is it a Startouch thing? Hard to say, yet. But there are some vibes from the Starscraper shots we've gotten in the trailer and teaser that may point us in the right direction:

This place has eight pillars, each with a recess that holds a relic staff seemingly identical to the one Viren's been toting around. It's not unique, and Aaravos didn't craft it. He stole it.

This is the Prometheus part of Aaravos' character. This is the fire that he stole for humans, from the gods. The relic staff. A relic staff, one of many.

Why did he, a godlike elf himself, feel the need to commit this act, for which he was cast down, exiled, and stripped of much of his power? Why?

Hard to say yet, but knowing all that he is capable of, I think it comes down to one thing: stealing it was the only way to get it. Nothing else he could think of would work. And he's pretty imaginative. But the system, the Cosmic Order, had him, too. He's a magic elf, bound by the same forces as everyone else up there. Breaking the rules was his only remaining option.

Aaravos chose Chaos over Order and put his money where his mouth is. He did get exiled and cast out, but humans have magic now. Somehow, that's not a thing the Order can take back from them, once it's out - rather like Pandora's Box.

But I want to look at this Order, and how pervasive it must be. How else would a powerful elf like Aaravos be reduced to petty thievery to accomplish his ends? Surely he tried other ways, other options, other persuasions. Why didn't they get him anywhere? Why did he have to take such a - for lack of a better term - human approach to the problem?

Let's back up a second and look at a seemingly random list of likes for one specific elf: Runaan. (no of course it isn't random, this is why this theory post exists. but shh, it'll make sense I promise)

Runaan likes four things in this list. Two of them are his immediate family. One is his favorite food. And the last item on the list?

Order.

I used to think this was just a bit of a wink to him being autistic-coded and liking his patterns. And I still do think that's accurate. But my third eye got pried open by the Cosmic Order text, and I think it's more than that now.

Runaan is a tiny cog in the grand engine that is the Cosmic Order. He goes where he is told, he kills who he is told to kill, he obeys without question, no matter how heinous his acts would be - he would have killed Ezran without blinking, because that's what the Dragon Queen told him to do.

Runaan is the most Moonshadow Moonshadow, according to the Deluxe Elf Interview. He's the epitome of what it means to be a Moonshadow elf. His devotion, sacrifice, and adherence to the rules are what makes him a good Moonshadow elf.

How convenient for the Order.

Runaan is still an individual, inside his own rules. He chose to become an assassin, and he did it to spare others from having to take lives and live with the weight of those acts. But that does imply that if he hadn't chosen this path, someone else would have, and people would still be dying.

And I think he's right. Maybe his love of order actually lets him perceive the great gears grinding over his head, up in the stars, turning the wheels of fate for everyone they control. Maybe he knows full well that he's part of a grand system - but there's nothing he can do about it except stay alive or die, because he is trapped inside it. He cannot change his fate because he is locked into it, just like everyone around him.

The Book 1 novelization tells us Runaan always expected to die on a mission, and that he meets that fate with a calm resignation on the balcony. He surrenders to his fate, because he cannot fight it.

What could lock Runaan into a fate that ends with him dying on a mission?

His own choices? Think bigger.

His society, then. Obligation, honor, guilt. Hmm, bigger than that.

It's been there the whole time - something that all the elves and dragons possess, but humans don't. Something which caused the imbalance in the first place.

Magic.

Magic is the Cosmic Order.

yes it has eight points and yes I'm back on my bullshit

Quick aside: The Cosmic Order is turning out to be the big magic version of King Harrow's Narrative of Strength, which he contrasted with the Narrative of Love - and we'll get back to that at the end of the post.

Alrighty, back to magic: The worst offenders seem to be the primal magics, which have locked the elves and dragons into very tight little boxes as far as what they can and cannot do, think, and imagine. An elf with a single arcanum can only think in terms of that primal source. It's as bad as an irl human who only knows one language, and so their brain literally cannot conceive of concepts that exist in other languages. (Learn more languages, guys, it's genuinely good for your brain, I am not kidding)

This helps explain why Aaravos was able to think a little bit outside his box and consider giving magic to humans when the Order said they didn't deserve any. He is an archmage, and he speaks many magical languages. He knows all six primal magics, as well as the ancient blood magic and dark magic. That's eight different ways of looking at a problem.

(is this why elves only have 8 fingers, because they literally cannot grasp anything outside of magic?)

From his multifaceted viewpoint, Aaravos can see the inherent unfairness in humans being forced to abide by the Order without getting any magic for their trouble. It's basically taxation without representation.

The Americans among us can attest to how well that went over in our own history.

Aaravos: Prometheus, Lucifer... Che Guevara... Guy Fawkes?

Aaravos really does love revolution.

Further thought: this post about Ethari's design has reminded me again about his lower-than-average magical ability and how that has manifested in his unique design and in his character. And I'm looking directly at how Ethari's lesser magic power may be the reason he's so mentally flexible. If he can challenge Runaan directly about how Rayla is not ready for that mission when everyone else is going along with it, isn't that lack of narrow-mindedness the thing that sets him apart?

What else might that freedom of thought do for him? Is this the reason he is actually able to invent at all? Because he is capable of envisioning that which does not yet exist? How rare that must be among Moonshadow elves!

tldr: Ethari is actually bad at being a Moonshadow elf, and that could very well be what saves him.

Contrast Ethari with Karim, who is a powerful Sunfire mage, and very much locked into his traditional views of elf vs human. He's willing to go to war in order to impose his views on all of the Sunfire elves if he can, because he genuinely believes he can see the Order of things better than anyone else can.

He believes in the superiority of the elven ways, while Janai has let her heart change her mind. Janai fell in love with a human, and it broke the Order's hold on her. She makes history now - it does not make her.

Side note: Is this... is this the formula, then? Is this how enduring ships work in TDP? An elf with a normal arcanum, paired with either a human or an elf with a "flawed" connection to the Order inside them? One who can anchor, and one who can imagine?

Let me make a quick list:

Claudia+Terry

Ethari+Runaan

Callum+Rayla

Amaya+Janai

Well. How bout that.

Ironically, this is a different path to what was going to be my final point in the first place: Order may be the default for elves and dragons and the way they are supposed to follow the rules of the universe, but love still exists, and they can always choose to embrace it. They can all be saved by love, in the end. It's their choice. In fact, choosing Love over Order is an act of defiance in itself.

Terry chose Claudia over fear. Janai chose Amaya over war. Rayla chose Callum over vengeance. And Runaan, my poster boy for stubbornness and suffering, chose Ethari over Order itself.

Saved by love.

[icyrambles]

of all my transformers takes, i feel like the one that'll get me sent directly to fandom hell is my feral hatred of the term "femme"

like genuinely it's such a stupid term. not because i don't think the robots can't have gender. because i do think they have some concept of gender. but because it's just woman 2.0

like you've got this super interesting alien species. they've got their own culture, their own language, their own ideas of sexuality and right and wrong, and their own religion. and to see most of the fandom look at that and go "but what if i just made man and woman but for robots" pisses me off

it makes me mad because it's fucking boring as shit. you've got all this cool worldbuilding and lore and you decide that the best thing to do when discussing robot gender is just to give them human gender but slightly to the left

"but icy, how to you distinguish the women transformers from the male ones?"

just fucking use mech for all of them. i use mech/mecha as a catch all term. it's my replacement for person or man or guy. like when someone says "you guys" they could obviously be referring to a group of all men, but let's be real here, "you guys" as it is used in colloquial english, is a gender neutral term despite having a more gendered term within it.

and it's specifically the term femme that grinds my gears. i don't have any issues with people headcanoning characters using she/her pronouns. i think that's cool as hell because pronouns do not equate to gender and in a fandom where like, 90% of the characters use he/him it's nice to see some switchups for pronouns because it gets a little repetitive after a while. but the term femme just tells me that you subscribe to the idea that the alien robot species who do not have the same concepts and ideas of gender as humans do, somehow managed to craft together the exact same gender concepts as an organic species halfway across the galaxy.

and i'm sure someone might be like "well it's not a gender thing" but i only ever see the term femme used to describe a canon character who uses she/her pronouns (like arcee or elita-1) or to describe a fandom headcanon that revolves around a character using she/her pronouns (like starscream or ravage) it has everything to do with how the fandom seems to cling to the idea that cybertronians have to have the same concepts of gender for humans

i've been in this fandom for a little over a year and despite going through forums and tumblr posts and even looking at twitter for a tiny bit, i've yet to see an actual attempt at exploring the concepts of cybertronian gender.

so here's mine; taken from my worldbuilding ideas that i'm sorting out for my in the works fan continuity

cybertronian gender, like a lot of their societal norms, is tied to one's altmode.

as taken from the marriam-webster dictionary: gender is - a subclass within a grammatical class (such as noun, pronoun, adjective, or verb) of a language that is partly arbitrary but also partly based on distinguishable characteristics (such as shape, social rank, manner of existence, or sex) and that determines agreement with and selection of other words or grammatical forms

now applying that to a species that has the specific characteristic of being able to literally change shape with the assistance of an internal organ (ie the t-cog) leads me to the idea that instead of gender being based on the biological sex like it is for humans, gender is instead rooted in the altmode.

the terms of seeker and speedster are adjectives to describe the altmode of a cybertronian, but also can describe the gender. this isn't meant to be a direct 1-1 copy of human ideas of sex and gender but instead a theoretical worldbuilding exercise in how a species that does not reproduce in a sexual manner would develop similar concepts of personal expressions through their established canon biology.

within my worldbuilding. the common language packs of cybertron come with three sets of standard, altmode neutral pronouns. these roughly translated into english, are he, she, and they. notice how i said altmode neutral pronouns. that's because most altmodes have their own sets of established pronouns that crop up within the groups.

this particular idea ties in with how my versions of cybertronians communicate. basically cybertronians communicate both via verbal speech, such as talking using a vocaliser, but also via manipulating their EM fields, and attaching non-verbal alterations to their spoken words via radio waves and the EM field.

so the pronoun [He] when used in a sentence, might have extra attachments added onto it.

EX: [He (positive/neutral) went to my house the other day.]

So in this case the speaker is referring to someone in a positive or neutral manner.

Here's another one using pronouns on a personal level when referring to one's self.

EX: [Hello. (courteous) My name is Starscream (Vosian - Seeker). I use He/Him (Neutral) pronouns.]

This is a typical cybertronian style of greeting. It includes a hello to the other party/s, the title of the individual along with their region of origin/residence and altmode, and finally their preferred set or sets of altmode neutral pronouns. In this case, Starscream would tag his "Hello" with a neutral emotion, being courteous but not excited because the mech he's talking to is someone he doesn't know but isn't enemies with. He then attaches his region of origin "Vos" and his altmode group "Seeker" and finally caps it off with his preferred set of pronouns "He/Him" which has a neutral emotion modifier tagged onto it because while it's his preferred set of pronouns in the neutral sense, it's not what he'd like to be using all the time.

he/him, she/her, and they/them are all equally neutral and for all cybertronians they exist in a state of purely personal preference. there's nothing about arcee using she/her pronouns that makes her more woman gendered anymore than starscream using he/him pronouns makes him male gendered. that's just human bias. they're robots, so they don't view themselves in the same way. those sets of pronouns, again, are merely translated into english for the reader's convenience.

Now I've thrown around the term "altmode neutral" quite a bit so here's an explanation for that.

Cybertronians with the same or similar altmodes will often develop languages and cultures surrounding those altmodes, similar to how many cultures and identities are developed through similarities with each other. This varies from region to region, with many languages and cultures not meshing together even if those mecha have the same altmode.

A jet like Pharma who was raised in Iacon around primarily ground based altmodes tends to use pronouns specific to grounder based language families while someone like Starscream or Thundercracker, who are from Vos, use altmode specific pronouns indicative of language families developed by mostly flight frames.

The common language data pack exists as an easy way for mecha to communicate with each other without potentially butchering another individual's native language. While one could theoretically download a whole language into their brain module, their actual speech would likely sound distorted or unnatural due to the fact that the brain module only retains the information that was on the download and is unable to account for things like accents, region dialects, and other such nuances in languages

Altmode specific pronouns are often tagged with extra modifiers and would function similarly to the concept of neo pronouns in english.

Megatron as an example has a tank altmode and his specific altmode pronouns are chk/chiks and using them in spoken dialogue would require one to either create a noice similar to a tank canon loading with their vocaliser, or in another tank's case, would simply have them use their own tank barrel to produce the noise.

flight frames often clank their wings together or whistle as their altmode specific pronouns. speedsters will revv their engines. smaller cars like bumblebee or cliffjumper will beep their horns, and ambulances like ratchet will whoop their sirens.

going back to my "pharma raised in iacon" example. he's a jet, but rather than clanking his wings together, he'll utilize his inbuilt siren (installed while he was in medical school) as his altmode specific pronouns. it, roughly translated to written form is wheep/whoop

this also extends to preferences for partners. i've seen people joke about how ratchet has a thing for speedsters because of his thing with drift and rodimus, but genuinely i do think that within the idea of altmodes being tied to gender, mecha would develop preferences for certain altmodes.

and when i say preference, i do mean just a preference. altmodes are fluid things within cybertronian society. megatron, as an example, is a gun, a tank, and a heavy bomber plane across varying continuities, yet at the end of the day, he's still megatron. his altmode is not what defines him as a character.

therefore i think changing altmodes is purely a thing that's tied to economic status. it's very expensive to have the whole exoframe completely reformatted so those who regularly change their altmodes either have shanix to spare, or have saved up enough money to have the procedures done.

this is even touched upon within idw's version of cybertron, what with the existence of relinquishment clinics, where mecha will go and donate their frames for money, and then those shells can be bought so another individual can have a new altmode.

when a mech decides to have their altmode changed they'll often shift up their altmode specific pronouns too. a smaller car changing altmodes into a bigger vehicle will instead honk their horn instead of beeping or maybe they'll revv their engines louder just to signify that they've changed altmodes.

going back to my sentence examples. here's one with ratchet and pharma introducing themselves to a patient

EX:

Ratchet: Hello (positive/friendly/welcoming) My name is Ratchet (Vaporex - Ambulance - Medic) I use He/Him (Positive) and siren whoops pronouns.

Pharma: Hello (kind). My name is Pharma (Iacon - Jet - Medic). I use He/Him and clanks wings/whoops sirens pronouns.

like i said, this isn't meant to be a direct 1-1 with human genders. cybertronian altmodes within my fan continuity defy more than just how another individual views them. they can signify occupation, social standing, and economic class. and some mecha even choose to disregard their altmodes entirely when it comes to their personal expression, sticking exclusively to the gender neutral pronouns.

anyways this post is half rant half worldbuilding so if ya made it to the end i'd be happy to hear your thoughts. and as always, if you liked this post please feel free to reblog :]

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Hi! Doll anon from awhile back who requested the Jervises (Jervii?) reacting to an S/O who's literally a mechanical life-sized doll, and 'taking care of' her abusive creator. Can I get the same scenario for BTAS and 2022 Penguin, where she's very uncanny (you can hear her gears turning, she turns her head the wrong way, etc.) but loves them dearly? Bonus points for how they'd deal with her creator trying to take her away!

"A Real Doll and Her Unfortunate Past" BTAS and 2022 Penguin x F!doll!s/o

Man, that one was a while ago, huh? Almost like I need to start getting faster on these LOL. But fuck yes we love the uncanny mechnical doll bride!

TW: dolls/dollplay, body horror, Murder, implied abuse, being fed to animals

BTAS Penguin

Rather fascinated! He'd grown up with a spectacular amount of old clocks, clocks with exposed cogs all about him as a child. To see such machinations powering a physical being... It's difficult to see where the doll ends and the person begins. In his mind they're almost separate entities. But that would be rude to say, so he's just not going to.

Briefly he wonders if he could make more "dolls" to do his bidding for him- and then nervously laughs as she ribs him for even thinking of such a thing. Of course, dear, no one could ever be as special as you anyways, dear.

He would love to see the inner parts! Like walking into a clock tower. Seeing every intricate working that makes her heart beat for him. There's something quite romantic in that, isn't there? The most prized of all treasures in Gotham and she chooses to be with him!

So when she sees a man in a crowd and looks frightened. Oh no, that won't do at all. He's thinking of the ways to take care of this when the man has the unmitigated gall to approach them! Grabbing her arm, almost ripping the sleeve of her dress. Telling her she must come home at once, or there will be grave consequences.

Oswald is quick to act, pointing the business end of his umbrella towards the man's gut. He tries to remember which one he packed today. It wasn't lethal, he knows that. The Creator calls him a loathsome little toad and to back away from his Precious Girl. Oswald fires and a small fireworks explosion erupts, burning the man and temporarily blinding him.

It gives them just enough time to escape, his doll in tears and begging not to be returned to that cruel man. That if he loved her, he wouldn't. That he would "shut her down" before considering it! Oswald calms her. She's never going to have to worry about him ever again.

There are some people in Gotham who owe him a favor... It's simple enough. Have his doll safely watching via computer feed set up by the Completely Non-Egotistical Edward Nygma and Pamela Isley in his dolls clothes. They were only too happy to help after hearing about the situation.

Pamela lured the man in, paralyzing him with her kiss. He might realize it's a rather large aviary he's been led to. Paralyzing him meant Oswald could show the man the true meaning of fearing for his life as his darling did seeing him. He has a very specific collection of birds who are going to feast upon his flesh over time.

She can choose to watch. Choose to leave the room. Whatever she likes. Oswald will be sure to confirm the man's death for her so she never has to fear again.

2022 Penguin

At first, he's genuinely freaked out over the real doll thing. What in the goddamn... Nothing against it! The first time she turns her head backwards, though, he is going to scream about it for at least ten minutes. Warn a fucking guy! Scared the hell outta him!

He does not want to see the inner workings. This is not to say he's frightened or ashamed or any negative feelings about it, per say. It's just. Something about the parts and pieces moving and he thinks about how fragile it all is. How one piece not moving could stop her from moving at all. He doesn't want to get his big mitts anywhere near that. She's too important.

People talk, unfortunately. Word gets about, especially when your girlfriend doesn't quite realize how uncanny and different she is about people. It all leads to a man arranging a meeting with him, a suitcase full of money to give him in return "for what's his." The man states that she's his ward, that her escaping is the product of faulty programming on his part. That she must be returned and that he'll offer even more money.

Oswald thinks on it. He calls her in. If the look of horror on her face wasn't telling enough, seeing the things she was carrying in her hands clatter to the floor was a sure sign. She sputtered, asking how he found her. The Creator merely replied he was taking her home, that he had given Oswald money for her. The heartbroken look in her eyes...

"Woah, hey, I never said we had a deal." Oswald iterates. He motions with his hands for the doors to be shut. When the creator takes out a gun, Oswald already has his own pointing to the back of the man's skull.

"Wanna do the honors, sweetheart?" He asks the doll. Whether she takes him up on it or not, this man, this creator won't leave the room alive. Anyone who causes that much fear in someone he cares about, someone he loves... They're good as fucking dead. He doesn't need a reason.

Though he's ready to listen to her when she's ready to share.

[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 18: Rise from the Ashes

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: canon-divergence, canon-typical violence,

Summary: No one dares to move; no one but Armin, the missing piece and he joins them, intertwines his pale fingers with Eren’s tanned ones, and for a moment almost too brief to matter, this makes sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, make something like the word family.

Notes: [01] || [17] | [19]

A/N: heads up, this isn't beta-read but i just didn't want to let you guys wait any longer ;;

18: Rise from the Ashes

Another window breaks open and three shadowy figures drop through the entrance, landing just behind Reiner and Bertholdt. The first you see with a bright shock of relief is Mikasa, falling through the air like an arrow shot from a bow, sure of its target. She hits the floor with an assured lightness. Connie and Armin follow shortly behind, tumbling through the window in a jumble of limbs and gas canisters clunking on the floor.

The noise in the room doubles—voices overlapping each other, inquiring, shouting, demanding; boots beating on the wooden floor as everyone crowds around Mikasa.

You are still staring outside the giant hole from where you can hear the tell-tale sound of flesh hitting flesh and the blood-churning roar of a Titan. It is still unbelievable what you just witnessed, and the rational part of your mind is adamant that you have died sometime during the last hours and this is just Hell, a never ending battle against the Titans where anything can happen. Even something as crazy as a Titan killing another Titan.

“Hey, are you listening?” Jean appears by your side. Some colour has returned to his face, his eyes a brighter shade. Hopeful, even. “We’re going to take back the supply room.”

“What is that thing?” You shimmy towards the gaping hole, careful the floor doesn’t give away under your feet.

“Isn’t that crazy?” Connie joins you, nowhere near as careful as you. Some rubble crumbles away under his feet, falling a long way down, and you instinctively reach out and take hold of the back of his jacket. “That monster came outta nowhere and started going haywire on other Titans!”

“Looks to me it’s just getting warm for the real deal.” Jean scowls. “Us.”

“I don’t think that’s it … “ Armin rubs grime from his face with the back of his sleeve. His eyes are a striking blue, clear and undisturbed from grief and loss. It is a good sight on him; it means the cogs of his brain are turning, constructing a plan that will hopefully get you all out of here alive. “It didn’t care about us at all. I don’t think it’s after humans.”

“You must be tripping if you think a Titan could ever be on our side.” Jean’s tone is listless. He has obviously neither curiosity nor interest to spare in why that Titan seems different. “Now stop gawking, we’ve got a job to do.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to kill Titans without our gear?” Connie looks worse than on the roof—visibly exhausted, hollow-cheeked and whittled down to a sharp, lean core.

“What about these?”

Your heads turn towards Reiner’s voice on the other side of the room. He’s wiggling a rifle in the air and nods towards a small pile abandoned by the support squad in a corner.

“Either you know secrets about Titans we don’t,” Jean starts, moving towards him across the room, “or I missed out on any other weak point they got except their neck.”

Reiner gives Jean a lopsided grin. “If worst comes to worst, we could just shove it up their asses and try killing them like that.”

“Great, Reiner. That could be your last words.”

Despite everything, you bark out a laugh. From across the room, Marco joins you. You feel the tension loosen slightly, notice the weary smiles on everyone’s face. Strange, that despite everything you can still laugh. As though even in the darkest night there is nothing to be scared of as long as one single star shines and casts light.

Yes, everyone is smiling. Except Mikasa.

She is still gazing outside the hole in the wall, her usually impassive expression turned pensive.

“Mikasa?”

She doesn’t hear you.

“Mikasa.” You gently tug her sleeve, making her start in surprise. “Mikasa, we’re moving out.”

She blinks at you as though trying to free her mind from a haze, then nods and follows the others. With Armin and Marco’s instructions, you build a plan on how to retake the supply room. Have the best of your year finish them off while the rest draws them in as decoys, trying to deal as much damage as possible with the rifles. Working with a plan feels good. It shuts off your mind for the time while you load the rifle, check the barrel isn’t jammed, that the trigger gives under our finger. As you get ready for the operation, Armin pressed against your side amidst the other cadets, you wish Eren were here. You don’t know if you have the capacity to mourn both him and Emil; whatever part of your heart has regrown during your cadet times has been carved out now as well, leaving a vacant space inside your chest.

That won’t do. As if Eren would allow you to go out quietly, unheard of and written off as less than worthless. Wash your rage and grief clean into purpose, temper your will in the fire of anger and hone it into a sharp weapon, a crimson arrow. Deep in your soul there is no more hesitation.

It’s a miracle how everything works out for a change. After the Titans lie slain, the heavy weight of your replenished supplies feels good. You make sure everybody is good and ready to go, moving back up to the roof of the building to see how things look outside.

Titan carcasses block the streets like upheaved mountains, like gods emerging from mould. The smell of blood and iron is heavy in the air, tastes like copper on your tongue as you take in the havoc—caused by one of their own.

Jean holds his hands behind his head, his fingers crossed, expelling air very, very slowly as he observes the city. “Fucking hell, look at what that monster did to all those Titans.”

“It cleared a path,” says Connie in awe as though he’s managed his pet dog to perform an outstanding trick. “We can easily make it over the Wall and join everyone else.”

Marco squints at the far wall with narrowed eyes. “I can see them. They’re watching, I think. Waiting for the right time to join us for support.”

“There is no right time,” Reiner says. “We either go now or we miss another chance.”

“Wait.” You turn towards Armin’s voice. He and Mikasa have moved to the other side of the roof. “Something’s happening to that strange Titan.”

He’s right. After killing the remaining Titans, its knees give out as though he is incapable of holding himself upright any longer. Like any other Titan incapacitated, it drops dead. Steam rises from its nape, though you must have missed when it got hurt.

As you watch the steam rise, Jean’s voice sounds from your right. “See, it’s done for as well. Something like that will never be our companion. Titans will always be Titans.”

But nobody is listening to him because you’re all staring at the Titan lying on the ground as more steam rises from its neck. And even more steam. A lot of steam billows into the sky in thick, white clouds until it begins to dissolve, showing the silhouette of a dark figure sticking out from the Titan’s neck. Now that draws everyone’s attention.

As the steam dissolves and the skies clear, even from this distance, you recognise the boy—broad-shouldered, unruly brown hair sticking to his forehead.

Mikasa makes a little gasping sound, and before anyone can move, she is already lowering herself to the ground. You’re frozen for a moment, heart beating in your throat. Standing this still, the world cannot touch you and all depends on how immobile you are against the turning world—just in case that this moment might shatter at your slightest movement and reveal this is all but a dream, an imagination of your mind.

For it cannot be that Eren has emerged from the Titan’s neck, alive and breathing.

You’ve lost Emil once and he didn’t return; and then the same thing happened to Eren but he has returned. You’ve always know Eren is different, someone so rarely existing in mankind’s history that his name will be eternal, but this—this is not how you expected it to be.

Eren looks as though he is sleeping. His closed eyes are fringed with black lashes the shade of ink. His head is drooping slightly, his face relaxed and vulnerable in sleep, softer and less angular than when he is awake. It feels … unfamiliar.

After Mikasa pulls him out of his flesh-stringed chains, she holds him like … well, like she has lost him once already and would move Hell and challenge Heaven if anyone dare take him away again. Her cries fill the street, raw and heart breaking as though pulled out of her with a sharp hook—and you understand it better than anyone; you feel as if your heart is made of cracked glass, and the shards are like tiny knives inside your chest when you breathe.

No one dares to move; no one but Armin, the missing piece and he joins them, intertwines his pale fingers with Eren’s tanned ones, and for a moment almost too brief to matter, this makes sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, make something like the word family.

“How…” His voice is thick with tears, with hope, with love. But also wonder. “How can this be…”

You feel as if someone has reached inside your chest and unlocked a box that holds your heart, spilling tenderness like new blood through your veins. Never have you felt such an overwhelming urge to fiercely protect a group of people, to wrap your arms around them and curl up tightly with them, alone and from the rest of the world.

The silence that follows is deafening. Jean turns slightly, overlooking the destroyed streets filled with Titan corpses. You barely recognise his voice. “This . . . Eren did this?”

Ironic, isn’t it? That all of you knew Eren would slay hundreds of Titans with his hate for them burning hotter than the sun, but nobody expected it to happen like this. He didn’t take an axe to a tree—he clear-cut the forest with gasoline and everything is still burning.

The moment doesn’t last long. Voices echo from down the streets, followed by the sound of wires zipping through the air, gas cylinders, scraping blades against metal. The roof vibrates with heavy boots stomping towards you. By ingrained training you salute, fist against your heart that beats hard against your ribcage, trying to break out and go where? Outside the walls? To Eren?

One Garrison soldier tackles Reiner and Marco for answers—screaming and shouting as if it is their fault, all an elaborate hoax by the current graduates to pay back three years of slaving away under their seniors. A tall man with a fairly muscular build and hazel eyes draws closer, his dark blond hair tamed into a low ponytail. Team leader Ian Dietrich barks orders, to gather, to give status reports, to rattle off HQ’s inventory. When his eyes cut a way in your direction, he points at you and Jean. “You two, get down there and take their weapons.”

Nobody moves, the question marks evident on your faces. Connie finds his voice first. “Take their weapons? They—they saved us.”

“Oh yeah?” Dietrich steps closer to Connie, easily towering over him. “All I see is a guy who just got out of a Titan’s neck. You wanna explain that?”

Silence. There are no words to explain this.

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbles before raising his voice loud enough Connie reels back. “MOVE IT!!”

Jean and you scramble off the roof. He’s muttering under his breath, but all you can think of is that you can see Eren up closer, all that matters is that he is all right, all that matters is that he’s here—

Sensing something is off like a hound scenting danger, Mikasa steps forward, her hand jerking towards her blades, making you realise what a frightening reality it would be with her as your enemy.

Luckily, Jean finds the fitting words right away. “What the fuck is happening?”

“We need to get Eren away from here,” Mikasa says, her voice colder than steel. “The senior soldiers, what did they say?”

“No, I mean what the fuck is going on with Eren?” Jean snaps—snaps at Mikasa. She opens her mouth, closes it. Shakes her head.

“You mean even you didn’t know?” Jean sounds doubtful. “That he’s a Titan?”

Mikasa’s usual impassive expression shatters into honest puzzlement. You look at Armin, but even he seems at a loss for words, still holding onto Eren.

“We’re here to take your weapons,” you explain. It feels wrong. “I don’t think the Garrison soldiers trust you.”

“Not that they can be blamed,” Jean adds, and flinches away at the scathing glare Mikasa throws at him.

“If they touch Eren—” she starts and it seems for a moment she’s ready to cut your heads off for it first, but Armin bolts forward, grabbing her arm.

“We’ll surrender them,” he says quickly, ignoring Mikasa’s betrayed expression. “Working with the military right now is the best—the only option we have.”

You lean into Armin, lowering your voice, aware that your neck lies bare for Mikasa to make her threat come true. “Do you have a plan, Armin?”

His eyes are big, blue, bright and he is so frightened, but Armin’s always been the one whose brain works the best under pressure. “No,” he whispers, voice shaking. “But I—I’ll think of something.”

Of course. He always thinks of something, bright-minded Armin, soft-hearted Armin. His shoulders are shaking. You see him standing on that roof, shortly after declaring Eren has perished, right between Jean and you and remembering the fierce feeling: you would lay down your life for him, for Jean, for Mikasa. For Eren.

They surrender their weapons without complaint, Armin more willingly than Mikasa. Before she can relinquish her last blade, you catch her hands, feeling her stiffen under your touch.

“Keep it.” All eyes rivet on you. “You might need it.”

Mikasa’s lips part, but Jean is quicker. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

“I don’t know!” Your hands shake as you make sure her blade holsters hold and the last one is sharp and unused. The answer is pretty obvious though. “Helping our friends?”

Jean groans, throwing his head back. Drops of sweat roll down his jaw. “This can’t be happening…”

And then he’s right beside you, fumbling with Mikasa’s gas cylinders. “I know you spent yours more down in the cellar. Give them to me.” Mikasa blinks, but quickly follows his instructions. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not doing this for—for whatever the fuck Jaeger is; I’m doing this for you.”

“Eren is still Eren,” Mikasa immediately replies. When you glance at Armin, he remains silent.

Jean doesn’t look at her. “That remains to be seen.” When he’s done, he takes a step back, carrying Armin’s blades. He turns to you. “Come on, let’s go.”

With a last, desperate look, you squeeze Mikasa’s hand. She squeezes back. “Don’t stop fighting,” you tell her. “And don’t stop thinking,” you say to Armin. They both nod. When you cast your eyes to Eren, still unconscious, still breathing, it takes every ounce of self-restraint to not drape your body over his just to keep him away from harm.

If you all make it … when you all make it, you will have your answers, no matter the consequences.

You find Daz in the courtyard with the other soldiers, all who have just written off their lives to the absurd plan that somehow, Eren will seal the hole in the Wall and everything has been an elaborate experiment by the government to see if man can turn into Titan and fight them with their own weapons.

It sounds like a pile of horse-shit. You don’t believe it. Your cadet corpse doesn’t believe it. But like flies you gravitate towards it because right now it seems the only way of winning this.

But if Daz thinks he should be only scared of Titans, he’s wrong.

Jean, trailing behind you, reads you like an open book. His instinct kicks in and he grabs for your arm as you lash out to punch Daz in the face. He’s too slow. Your fist connects with Daz’s jaw and there’s a satisfying crack.

“You disgusting, pathetic roach,” you seethe as he tumbles to the ground, holding his jaw as tears spring to his eyes. “You abandoned us.”

Daz whimpers. Lips trembling, he opens his mouth—and tries to scurry away on all fours. You trip him up, moving to kick him in the head but this time Jean gets a hold of you, strong arms hook under your armpits and he lifts you up as though you weigh nothing. It doesn’t stop you from kicking out, and when you manage to hit Daz’s side, you bark a triumphant shout.

“I—I didn’t know what else to do!” Daz screams back with tears and snot on his face, turning it into an ugly, revolting grimace. “L-look, you’re here, how—how bad could it have—”

You see red. “They died because of you!” You fight against Jean’s hold, he must be saying something but you can’t hear it against the rushing blood in your ears, buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. “Karl and Franz, they’re dead because you’re a fucking coward!”

“They’re dead because we. Can’t. Win. Against. Titans!” he screams back, spit flying. “This—this all is just a plan to get rid of us! Eren Jaeger is a Titan fighting on our side? They’re all lying! We’re just here so they have time to save their own asses! Don’t you get it? The Inner Wall doesn’t give a shit about us! But I am wrong? I am the problem?! I’m just trying to survive this! What is wrong with wanting to life?” Daz jumps to his feet, maybe trying to shove you back in his anger, maybe trying to grab your shoulders and plead that he did nothing wrong, that he alone is the sane one for trying to save his own hide.

Jean swiftly moves you out of the way by taking a step to the side and dragging your with him. Daz trips over his own feet and this time when he falls, he remains on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut off. Sobs wreck his body. You can hear him mumble faintly, words like “I didn’t mean for them to die.”

You stop struggling in Jean’s grasp. He waits for a moment, judges from your body language if you’ll lunge at Daz again. You’re very still, and finally, he releases you.

“Hope that your new squad members aren’t as scared as you are. For your own sake,” you say quietly. “I’ll go standing somewhere you’re fucking not.”

You stomp past him, relishing in how he flinches when your boots barely miss his outstretched fingers digging into the ground. Jean follows after you, keeping a small distance from you as you wind through groups of soldiers waiting for further orders from their squad leaders.

In a quiet corner, you finally stop, willing your racing heart to calm down. Daz isn’t worth it. He doesn’t understand what is at stake. Especially after Commander Pixis’s speech—you’re all fighting for a greater cause, to save more people at the cost of a few sacrifices.

“What’s wrong with wanting to protect yourself? To stay alive?” Jean’s voice sounds distant, mirroring Daz’s words. You whirl around, glare up at his grim face—and step back from the accusation you find in his expression.

“We don’t get to make that choice anymore.” You shake your head. Your pulse thunders in your ears. “Not after today. You see what’s at stake, we can’t just sit by.”

“We can’t go into this fight without thinking either,” Jean snaps, voice barbed wire that grates against your spine. “Haven’t we lost enough already?”

“Which is exactly why we need to fight!” Frustration raises your voice, as if just by speaking the notion loudly into existence Jean might adopt it. “I thought you cared. About our friends, about me.” Your voice turns hard like ice. “About Marco.”

Jean’s face goes slack; wiped clean as a slate: beautiful yet terrible to behold, like a night without stars and you have caused this. It dissolves the anger, allowing a hot-prickling shame to bloom in your chest.

Steeling yourself against Jean’s outburst, you’re surprised his voice is calm—calm but tempered in determination. “I do care. But I’ve got a brain I can use instead of just running ahead without thinking. You think Eren is the solution to everything; if anything, he’s a barrel of gunpowder about to explode any time. In a way, he did.”

“I think I understand why you hate him,” you say quietly. “You’re jealous. Because he does all the things you’re afraid of.”

His gaze flicks to you, the warning in their tawny depths clear as a length of exposed steel. “If I’m a coward for fearing death, what does your overzealousness make you?” He looks as if he’s one argument away from a scream. “Turning into another suicidal maniac won’t change anything. And I will not—” Jean inhales sharply, his chest heaving with the force. His voice turns so quiet you have to take a step forward to hear him. “I will not suffer your loss.”

His words land like a blow. You take a deep breath, nearly choke on it as you swallow a lot of sadness.

“Jaeger calls me selfish,” Jean continues. “If wanting a life where you and I are happy is me being selfish, then I guess I am.” He studies your face, taking apart every muscle twitch, every twist of your lips. He puts so much time into handling you, your Jeanie.

All the tension leaves from your body as you take the first step towards him. Jean moves in tandem, already embracing you before you lift your arms. It feels like home. He smells like home.

For a moment you stand still in the circle of his arms, hearing his heartbeat, his hands patting half-awkwardly up and down your back, your hair. “All I want is for you to be careful,” he mumbles. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’m always careful. ‘S like my middle name.”

He snorts. “You said the same thing when you jumped into the river when we were thirteen.”

“And I was fine.”

“You broke your ankle.”

“It made me the toughest kid in the neighbourhood. It was worth it.”

Jean tugs gently at your hair. It reminds you of the years when you used to wear your hair in braids and Jean would yank on them, with considerably less gentleness than he is showing now.

“You should be careful too. And what I said earlier—I know you care. You always care and worry, about me, about Marco—”

“Marco is with Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie, it doesn’t get safer than that, so no, I’m not worried about Marco,” Jean says, but you can hear the nerves under his flippant tone. Instead of shushing him, you reach down and take his hand, winding your fingers through his cold ones. His hand is clammy, but he returns the pressure with a grateful squeeze.

“I know it’s dangerous,” you say quietly, “but you just have to go along with me. Trust me.”

Jean’s amber eyes are serious. “I trust you,” he says. “I don’t trust someone who happens to be able to turn into a Titan.” He cuts his glance toward the Wall, to somewhere up there where Eren is currently with Commander Pixis.

“Well, try,” you say. “We don’t really have any other choice, do we? He’s all we have to stand a chance against them.”

A little shudder passes over Jean. “How did it come to this? I should be on my way to the Inner Wall. We—we were supposed to be prepared for shit like this, and now, there are fucking Titans everywhere and our friends are dead and I don’t even know if we’ll live to see tomorrow—”

“You don’t have to stay here,” you say quietly. Since Pixis has declared deserting will not be punished, the ranks have noticeably thinned.

“Yes,” Jean says, squeezing your hand. “I do.”

You stand like this for a moment, leaning close together, the way you always do when you share a moment, curving into each other when you speak, in your own contained universe. That is until the sound of a horn rips into your quiet bubble and drags you back to the present.

Jean’s face falls. “It’s starting. We’re really trying to make a Titan close the hole in the wall for us.”

“Eren,” you provide quietly. “It’s still Eren. He’ll do it somehow.”

“Yeah, well. Looked as dumb as a pile of shit up there, so yeah, it’s Eren no doubt,” Jean mumbles. He leads the way back to the Main Courtyard, to your friends who are sorted into squad teams assigned a task each. A map of golden hair catches your eye, and with great relief you fling your arms around Armin and squeeze him hard enough he turns blue.

“I knew you’d think of something,” you mumble into his mud-caked hair, not caring that he smells of sweat and blood and dirt. You’re sure you don’t smell pleasant either.

Armin sputters something, but his lithe fingers press into your sides, hard, as though convincing himself you’re really there.

“Let’s just hope Eren can really pull it off,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck before letting you go.

“Everything Commander Pixis said about … about Eren being a human experiment. How much about that is true?” It’s been nagging you ever since Pixis’s grand speech, like a splinter sitting in your brain. “Did you know? Did Mikasa now?”

“I’m sure Commander Pixis came up with that on the spot just to have some sort of explanation. I don’t want to imagine the mass panic breaking loose if people think the military doesn’t have it under control.”

“But—what is really going on then?”

Armin’s eyes look too big for his face, fearful and uncertain. “I don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” Jean snaps, having listened into the conversation. “What are we supposed to do if you don't even know what’s going on.”

Armin opens his mouth, but from the corner a squad leader barks Jean’s name, ordering him to join the squad. Jean storms off, not looking back, and for a moment Armin tenses as if moving to follow after him.

You grab his arm. “It’s okay. He’s not really pissed, he’s just—just confused.” Like everyone. ”We’ll talk later to him, okay?” As if later is a possibility you don’t have to fear being ripped away by the absurdity of this mission. “Don’t worry, he won’t tell. He gets it, Armin.”

Armin trots after you, an anxious, jittery mess, gnawing at this nibbled-down fingernails until they bleed and leave red smears around his mouth. You take Armin’s hand and hold it all the way to where you take position up on the wall to draw the Titans off Eren’s path. Armin squeezes your hand hard enough your bones ache under the pressure.

“I promised Eren … that I wouldn’t die here,” he says quietly. His free hand, balled into a fist, shakes. He’s so scared, but that’s the thing. You’re all scared. And still, you have to fight. You have to move forward.

You stand close to him and wrap your other hand around his shaking wrist. “Don’t worry about that. Because I won’t let you.” Not you, not anyone else. To save one is to save the world.

It is naive, but it burns so strongly within you, this conviction that no one else from your 104th Cadet Corps will die. That somehow, you can prevent it and protect them all. Armin bows his head in your direction, presses his shoulder into yours. And then he meets your eyes and nods. In his face you see all your friends who won’t return ever again. Franz, Hannah, Thomas. Mina.

You have to try. You have to try for their sake or else their deaths were for nothing.

“The goal for now is easy.” Armin’s expression steels into courage. “We keep the Titans away from Eren’s path, he seals the hole. The leader of Alpha Squad, Rico Brzenska, will notify us with a smoke signal about the operation’s status. She’s shot the green smoke flare, which means the operation’s started. Should anything go wrong, she’ll signal with a—”

His voice breaks off as his eyes stare off at something behind your shoulder. You turn around, tiny stones crunching under your boots while you brace against the sudden gust of warm wind hitting you like a solid wall as though summer has suddenly fallen upon the city.

There, just off the Market Square, Eren’s Titan rises with an ear-shattering roar, and right behind him, cutting through the azure-blue sky, red smoke rises upward like a smear of blood.

taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelz, @berriesandcrem, @im-just-star-dust, @rui-0836

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request Yan Jd relationship with reader that look a like her mom? It's up to you if it's platonic or romantic

I wasn't quite sure what you meant but I hope this works ^^;

This idea is based on these HCs, for this you are the daughter of Marcus's darling.

Yandere! Platonic! JD Fenix Concept

(Mother! Darling AU (?) - Extended Idea)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Yandere sibling, Angst, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Marcus is yandere for your mother, Forced family dynamic, Blood mention, Violence implied, Forced companionship.

I'm not going to lie, I feel like JD would resent you and your mother at first.

Your mother has been his father's obsession for... years.

Even when he was with Anya, he never loved her as much as your mother.

JD already has a strained relationship with his father.

So when he first meets you he's... unsure.

His father looks so happy around your mother.

Although, JD himself is a bit envious that Marcus acts like a father to you.

While JD may hate you at first... when working alongside you, he begins to realize you aren't that bad.

You are friends with Kait and Del, so JD begins to feel a bit bad for resenting you due to your mother.

He probably shouldn't even hate your mother, she doesn't seem to support his father's behavior.

However, when Marcus does announce that he is officially getting together with your mother, JD accepts it.

You're technically his sibling now... with the whole Swarm situation going on, he doesn't mind that anymore.

You two really do fight better alongside each other.

JD goes from hating you to seeing you as family.

Even more so when Marcus tries to encourage JD to see you as a sibling.

Marcus is doing his best to create a new family.

Marcus wants your mother as his wife, you as his daughter, and JD to be your brother.

While JD originally wasn't fond of you, he's always been loyal and protective of family and friends.

So you have him as your overprotective brother... making your little "family" have two yanderes.

JD may even apologize to you for blaming you.

Truth is, none of this was your fault... or your mother's.

JD may even know how toxic the bond between your parents is, but ends up feeding into it.

If anything, your beliefs swap.

You're against the whole thing while JD supports it.

He tells you he loves you as his new sister, that it actually isn't that bad being your step/half-brother.

JD makes a promise to his dad that he'll protect you in battle.

That or if Marcus wants you to drop working with the COG and come live with your mother, JD will support that too.

JD can't really blame his dad... even JD is coming to terms with the idea of losing those close to him.

For example, Del in Gears 5 if you make the choice.

So, in a similar manner to his father, he wants to protect you.

The Swarm may be a problem, yet when it's all over...

Maybe you can all be a family?

You and your mother are the only ones in the family who can see how wrong this all is.

JD sees you as the sibling he never had, his mother died before she could give him one.

He regrets ever hating you or your mother.

He loves you both and makes it a goal to keep you all happy.

If anyone tries to harm you, JD will be there to defend you.

He doesn't mind getting a little bloody for those he loves... just like his father.

If you tried leaving with your mother, he'd help his father find you both.

Anything to make his father happy... the two understand one another as time goes on.

He's... a lot like his father, actually.

While JD's hugs would feel innocent when you were both just friends...

Now they just feel like a cage...

After all, JD is just like his father in the end... and you can never leave your family.

"Y'know... being siblings doesn't seem that bad, does it? I'm sorry I hated you... I see you're important to me now. I'll be sure to protect you with my life... now and forever."

[kingsleywrites]

A Custom Gadget For You!

Tommyinnit x male reader (Slightly geared towards romantic but can be seen as platonic)

Fluff

Prompt: M/N makes gadgets and after Tommy loses his discs he makes him something to remember them by

CW/TW: Cursing

M/N is used (meaning male name)

A/N: Just found out that it's L'manberg with an E not a U how did I not find this out until now??? 😭

"Wilbur..." Tommy spoke softly into comms. All of the citizens stood in the ruins of L'manberg, Tommy had said that he wanted to talk to Dream after their duel, so now everyone was waiting for Tommy's arrival back into the walls so they could get their stuff and leave.

"Yes, Tommy?"

"I've secured our independence." The tone of Tommy's voice sounded like he was completely drained, like he had lost it all.

Everyone stood there dumbfounded, staring at each other with shocked eyes. "Wha- How?" The confusion in Wilbur's voice was evident.

"I gave Dream the discs."

"Wait both of them?!" Tubbo spoke quickly.

"But I thought the deal was to only give him Mellohi?" M/N inquired.

"Yes, I gave Dream both Cat and Mellohi, in exchange for L'manberg's independence."

"Tommy my boy, get back here right now! We have to celebrate!" Wilbur shouted as everyone began to cheer.

[Time Skip to 2 days later]

After L'manberg was declared independent from the Dream SMP everyone started to clean up the debris and fill in the craters.

Or most of them.

"M/N where are you? Tommy and I don't want to be the only one fixing L'manberg." Tubbo complained, the sound of splashing water made it clear that they were probably getting the river water out of the craters.

M/N rolled his eyes and continued to work, ignoring Tubbo's complaints. "Why don't you ask Fundy to help? I'm sure he'll help y'all."

"What? You think I want to work with fur boy? Working with Tubbo's already annoying enough."

"Hey!"

"Okay, I'm leaving this VC before you two start fighting and blow out my ear drums, Ciao."

The signature sound rang through the boys' ears as they heard their comrade leave.

"I'm ringing him again." Tubbo pulled out his communicator, ringing the boy once more.

Tommy rolled his eyes and continued to shovel water out of the crater.

After a few minutes M/N picked up. "Tubbo, I'm busy!"

"With what? I'm gonna need a reason to tell Wilbur when he gets back and doesn't see you helping."

M/N stayed silent before speaking. "Is Tommy here or like really close by where he can hear you?"

Tubbo looked around and saw Tommy putting away some extra materials in a chest. "No he isn't close but why would that matter?"

"I'm making him a gift."

"A gift finally confessing your love?" Tubbo half joked.

"Ha, ha very funny Tubbo, but no, ever since he lost Mellohi and Cat he's been well, more moody? I know that he plans on getting them back but until then I wanted to help out, The both of us know how important those discs were to him."

Tubbo went silent for a moment. "Alright well hurry up, I don't want to cover for your ass."

M/N laughed. "Alright, I'm almost done so I'll be heading over in a second."

"Okay, see ya when you get here." The two said their goodbyes before leaving the VC and M/N alone with his thoughts.

After a couple of minutes messing with the mechanisms, M/N was finally done, he smiles slightly, proud of his work and lifted up the top of the box, inside on a small pedestal was two figure, both were of Tommy, though one was him in his normal attire and the other was him in his L'manberg outfit. The Tommy in normal attire held the two discs high in the air with a bright smile on his face while the L'manberg Tommy had one arm outstretched with both discs in hand, simulating Tommy giving the discs to Dream. Placing the box down, M/N twisted one of the cogs on the back and when he let go, he admired his work, the two figures were spinning slowly in a circle while cat played through the music box, after a few minutes the sound stopped and M/N twisted the other cog, this time, Mellohi played, the two figures spinning once more.

M/N smiled brightly and closed the box, halting all music that was playing and tied a red ribbon around it. He walked out of his house with the music box in hand, towards the walls.

Tommy was almost finished fixing the craters that were left over from the war, Tubbo had ditched him not to long ago for something he didn't remember so he was left to fix up the rest of the ground, which also meant, taking his time to walk back to his house to get some more dirt seeing as he had ran out. So now he was on his way back, he slipped past the trees and out onto the clearing where the broken caravan sat. He was looking down, not really paying attention to where he was going until he heard his name.

M/N walked towards the boy with a box of some sorta in his hands.

"Hey M/N where were you?"

"I was busy, why did you miss me?" The boy replied in a mocking tone.

"If by missing you, you mean that I missed the fact that I could've been done filling in these craters. Then yes I missed you." Tommy had a smirk on his face, using the same tone to M/N.

Tommy's eyes glanced at the box in M/N's hands.

"What's that?" Tommy questioned.

"Oh! This is for you, it's a gift." M/N handed Tommy the box, who had a puzzled look on his face.

"Why? I mean I'm not complaining free stuff is free stuff but why?"

"Well I noticed how down you looked after you lost your discs, so I made you a music box to remember them." as M/N explained, Tommy untied the ribbon and opened the box.

"Is- Is this me?"

M/N nodded and stood beside Tommy, turning the music box around, showing him the two cogs, one was green and the other was purple.

"When you turn the green cog, it'll play cat while the purple one plays mellohi." he explained

"And I know you're getting your discs back but until then, you have a way to listen to them." M/N smiled

Tommy pulled M/N into a hug, "Thank you."

M/N wrapped his arms around Tommy mumbling a small "You're welcome" back to him.

********

My apologies for this one taking so long, I honestly shouldn't have considering I knew exactly how I wanted everything to go it was just a matter of writing it. But it's here now! I hope you all liked it, just some sweet fluff, and I have another draft that I may or may not get out some time this week, who knows.

Word Count: 1059

[love-beyond-space-war]

Can I have Dom x reader where they fall in love after maria passes and Dom survives the events of gears 3?

I'm rusty but I managed to remember what I could about the plot of Gears 3 to write this AU :) We about to get real sad with this one. My main blog is slowing down so hopefully I can pay more attention to this one :D Hoping this is long enough!

Filling The Void

Dominic Santiago x Female! Reader

Synopsis: Even with the war over Dominic is still not in the best place mentally. Dom feels like he's lost it all with the passing of his wife... then you reminded him he still has someone after the war other than Marcus. Maybe you're what he needs to feel the aches in his body?

Content Warning: Romantic Pairing, Female/Male pairing, Angst, Depressing themes, Grief, Mentions or mercy killing (Maria's fate in canon), PTSD, Mentions of war/post war fic, Dom's scared to be in another relationship, Guilt.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds. With the Lambent and Locust gone Dom should feel relieved. It's just that... he and Marcus both have lost so much to get to this point.

Dom couldn't get the image out of his head. The images of Maria's face, a shell of her former self. Dom still thinks of when he had to pull the trigger....

It had to be done, he knows this, but...

Part of him wonders if he should've left this world with her.

Dom's thoughts leave him the moment he feels a hand on his back. The touch shocks him, the sudden comfort makin him quickly turn around. His wide eyes soften when he realizes he isn't in any danger.

You stand behind him with a soft smile in your face. You and Marcus had always been there for him after the war. Especially after Maria....

During the Locust war you had been a rookie for Delta Squad. Normally rookie's don't get too far yet you managed to thrive. Pretty soon by the end of it all you had become your own person no longer having to wear the usual COG armor.

You had always been dedicated to your team. Even after the war you tried to keep track of Delta Squad. Far as Dom knows you weren't just in contact with him and Marcus, you most likely talk with Cole and Baird when they have time.

It surprised Dom when you said you wanted to stick by him even after the war. He already expected Marcus to stick by him but not you. Despite the surprise... he will admit you've helped a lot.

"See you're deep in thought...." You admit, sitting beside Dom. Dom moves back to look at the view of Sera. Sometimes he just needs to sit and think... he needs to cope.

"As usual." He sighs, trying to ignore your piercing stare. He knows what you're going to say and he isn't sure if he wants to answer.

"Thinking about Maria?" You ask, wary of re-opening healing wounds. Dom is silent and that confirms your suspicions. He feels your hand on his back again in an attempt to comfort him.

"... Why did you want to stay here with me?" Dom finds himself asking in an attempt to ignore your question. You're taken aback by the question and stop your attempts to comfort him.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is... you're a young woman with a life ahead of her. What do you get from staying with me?" Dom continues, turning to look at you. "The war is over, you don't need to be here anymore."

Dom wonders if he stepped too far when you give an uneasy look. He doesn't mean to come off as harsh. He just wonders... why you are always at his aid.

"... is it so wrong to care?" You ask softly, causing Dom's heart to clench. "If it helps... I see Delta Squad as my family. Plus..."

You're very cautious. He can tell you're worried you're intruding when you shuffle closer. Dom makes no attempt to move.

"I don't think I can leave you by yourself. I think you need someone to care for you." You admit. Dom takes a closer look at you, seeing your face turn a light shade of pink. Part of him finds it a bit cute but he doesn't say anything. Thoughts of Maria flash in his mind and he finds himself looking away again.

"You don't have to do this...." Dom answers softly, secretly he's thankful but worried he'll take too much of your life. He's quickly torn from his guilt when you turn him closer, hands on his forearms.

"I want to do this." Your expression and tone is stern. "I want to do this because I care for you. Admit it... you need someone."

"I don't think I'm ready." Dom admits, realizing what you're implying. You give him a soft smile along with a curt nod.

"That's alright. I just want to be here for you. Take all the time in the world. We all have to grieve at some point." You admit, going to pull away from him.

You weren't expecting Dom to pull you back, however.

You collide with his chest and feel him wrap his arms around you. You respond by mirroring the gesture, hands softly stroking his back. His rests his head on yours.

Time passes and you begin to hear crying.

You say nothing and just allow him to sob on top of you. You didn't like to see him cry... but it's what he needs right now. You understand his suffering.

"Sometimes I feel like I should've gone with her...." Dom admits, a sharp pain panging in your heart.

"Maria wouldn't have wanted that." You murmur, hugging him tighter. "She would've wanted you to live a happy life after the war."

"I know...." Dom shudders, pulling away with a teary face. "I just don't know how to live without her."

"I'm sure you will..." You encourage, keeping a smile to comfort him. "and I'll help you learn."

Dom appears to calm at your words. He really is lucky to have you. You mean so much to him....

Maybe you're right... Maria would want him happy.

"Thank you..." Dom smiles, snaking a hand to the back of your head. "For everything."

Before you realize it Dom is pulling you closer for a kiss. You allow him to brush against your lips, his facial hair tickling you softly. You feel your stomach and heart flutter before he pulls away.

At first you're in shock. Dom chuckles at this and pulls you close again. You lean into him in comfort.

"I may be scared to give my heart to another... but if you stick around long enough, maybe I'll give it to you." Dom confesses.

"Like I said before, I'll be willing to wait." You promise. "I will because I love you... and I just want you happy."

You two decide to spend the rest of your time sitting in silence. It may not have been much but Dom feels the hole in his heart fill just a bit. Perhaps he really can have another chance with you.

In the end maybe things will work out... you're both willing to wait for one another... both willing to take time to heal...

All because deep down... you really do love each other.

[sandsorghum]

Hello there! Brunch or Supper with corporate!Nanami (2 x chili, open genre), please! I really hope I'm not too late but all goods otherwise. 💖

I go by she/her pronouns btw in case you need that detail. :) Thank you!

Thank you so much for participating in this event! CorporateNanami is such a classic and always an absolute treat to dive into his psyche/back story - so I'm really grateful to have the opportunity to explore that!

The story I'm working on for this isn't complete yet (I'm not sure if it even has a proper title right now :p) but please have this sneak peek by way of an Xmas gift!

___________________________________________________________

Nanami Kento doesn’t hate his job. 

Cogs have no concept of resentment. Cogs rarely have a concept of themselves.

Or of the gears they’re caught in, churning and turning. Teeth fitting into teeth, the mundane devouring of a mechanical maw.

Nanami cranes his neck back and something clicks in his jaw. He winces, an aperture shuttering into astigmatism. Everything is amber-tinted, refracting through crystal tumblers. Through the boozy bokeh, a smoky purr coils around his ears. 

“I was promised a good time y’know.” 

A sigh escapes a mulberry-smudged mouth. A plum, just overripe. Or bruised early. Nanami finds his thoughts inclined towards smears of jam. He swerves sharply away from the idea of acquiring a sample.

“So much for that.” 

The lips don’t plump into the pout he expects. Instead they split into a wild grin, all savage triumph relishing the spoils of battle; Blazers discarded, the abandoned armour of woven reeds gone rotten. Ties and lanyards loosened around wilted collars, with fingers still curled in a death grip around the beer glasses, condensation bleeding into the cuffs around rigor mortis wrists.

Her eyes glitter, surveying the slump of bodies and lolling tongues, shirttails soaking up beer and bravado. She’d seen through them right from the start. The cajoling under the pretext of camaraderie - “It’s good for team spirit, syacho!” someone from sales had simpered while another wheedled, “It’s not like you have a husband to run home to. Enjoy it while you can!” - the goading as rows of shots were shoved into her unresisting hands, then the amused hooting as she slammed them down first, five whole seconds faster than her rivals.  

Their raucous jibes had been eclipsed by her hiccups and giggles, jeering blurring into a cacophony of challenges. 

Who’s next! Who’s next! They chant.

But there was only ever one target. Every man knew. 

Amidst the chorus of compliments for her, an echo of condescension. “Quit bragging, the little lady holds her liquor better than you!”

It’s a feint, this turning on each other, these taunts of masculinity called into question. The truth is primordial, transfigures the pack into a pact. Night wears on, tension coalescing around their truce, straddled somewhere between cooperation and competition.

They each have their own stratagems; a friendly arm slung over her shoulder, a gravitationally-compromised palm claiming the small of her back, essential territory but guarded too soon. Nanami has watched her slip through their fingers all evening, while they were wrapped around one of hers. 

Escape in ecdysis, shedding the coats his co-workers had wrapped over her with a serpentine smile. There’s a certain chimeran charisma to her that the others weren’t wary enough of; a single well-manicured talon pressed to the crease of an arm, lashes fluttering like a falcon taking flight on her breathy laugh, chiding, “There’s no way I’m cold with all this alcohol you guys are plying me with!” 

It would be a longer evening than most, than any of them anticipated, even with their tired routines. Recently hired department heads are the worst. Accustomed to boot polish smiles that keep the axles greased, quaffing just enough to keep the ants underfoot grinding in their mills. But Nanami knows how these things go down with everyone else, these induction rituals of company culture with the fresh-faced graduates, the unassuming secretaries, the summer interns just turned 18.

The revelry is practically rehearsed, the intentions always the same, to strip them of inhibitions. And more, if they’re “lucky”. It’s not like he’s merely witnessed the plays. He’s complicit, even as a calefare. 

Nanami’s old enough to have inklings of when a night will drag on. And just aware enough of how he’s aged to ignore those instincts.

So here he is, observing his new team lead chase down pint after pint, over the rim of whiskeys he’d been nursing, on the sidelines of a sprint no one else realizes will become a torturous marathon.

There’s a residual disgust, clinging like tar to his guts, but mostly Nanami’s desensitized to the way his colleagues openly ogle the gallons disappearing as she tilts her head back, exposing the unmarked column of her neck. Practically salivating, watching her throat grow taut with each effortless swallow, the froth flecking her lips white. 

They had tried everything - tequila, sake, shochu even. All to no avail, her eyes remaining bright and only the slightest slur to the edge of her voice, trilling encouragement as they competed for her favour.

It had been a little amusing, he’ll admit, watching these jackasses’ pantomimed admiration morph into sheer terror at her stamina. 

And now, Nanami’s pinstripes are draped across her shoulders. He doesn’t remember passing his jacket to her at any point, he’d just shrugged it off when it got too warm, the atmosphere too thick with desire curdling into despair. 

On her, it looks less like the final banner unfurled on the battlefield, and more like military regalia. It suits her, he thinks. His lapels fringing the ruffled sleeves of her cream blouse like epaulets, lightly mussed locks tumbling over her neckline. 

He almost misses her murmur, watching her deft hands combing through the dark cascade. 

“So mr last mans tanding, what’ll your prize be?”

He wonders how many times she’s won. He wonders how many times she’s survived. 

“I wouldn’t say no to an extra day of paid leave.”

Amusement reverberates through her, the rich and low hum an antithesis to the airiness of her giggles before. It's an equal affectation, he suspects.

“Request denied, too much administrative fuss.”

Her digits skim the pinstripes tapering up his thighs, cuticles calculative, inching across the lines

“But I have a counter-offer you could still enjoy.”

Tendrils of heat spool in his belly, his focus fraying, the seam of his pants tighter than it was seconds ago.

“Well, a pay raise doesn’t sound bad either.”

“I’m afraid that also isn’t on the table.”

The corner of her mouth twists wry as her fingers creep further toward a breach of subordinate-supervisor decorum. 

“I’m not drunk enough for these antics.”

He grips her wrist, fingers splayed broad and thick against her pulse. She takes a short breath. Nanami pins her with a sharper gaze. It lasts a beat too long. Her mouth draws into a thin line.

And then he follows up, “You aren’t either.” 

Bright, hard points of light flash off her canines; he’s a deer, dazzled and caught in a high beam, blinded by her bared teeth before he feels them cutting into his lower lip, devouring his startled grunt, senses overwhelmed by the contrasting prick of her nails embedded into his chest and the tender grasp of the fine hairs at his nape standing on end. His spine stiffens, gooseflesh rippling over his skin, racing to fight the flush spreading beneath his starched white collar. 

She pulls back, he lurches forward, and in this loss of momentum he sees the parabola of her smirk arc wide. He wears her victory in vermilion stains.

She presses the pad of her thumb over his mouth, plum pigment feathering over his cupid’s bow to notch in the whorls of her fingerprint. Then, she drags it over his Adam’s apple, as it bobs, hard.

“I should clean up this mess,” she tuts. 

Nanami doesn’t have another protest as she pulls him off the bar stool and into a bathroom stall.

A big thank you to everyone in general who supports my terribly inconsistent writing by reading, reblogging or going off in the tags haha. Happy Yuletide! I promise I'll try to update this blog more regularly next year~

As always your comments and feedback mean a lot <3

[tribow]

So I watched The Silver Guardian

A.K.A. Gin No Guardian. Both seasons.

This is one of the worst shounen's I've seen. Wow! Seriously that's impressive.

So you got a story where the main character is supposed to be an elite gamer. Yet, he's lame as hell. This guy shows off absolutely 0 skill in every battle he takes place in. He wins his fights not because of himself, but because of an item someone gives had given him. Every single time. He never wins on his own merit.

What makes it worse is how he is set up. He was a famous player who could take down end-game bosses with the weakest gear. His whole shtick is that he was too poor in real life afford paying for the best items, so he manages with the weak gear. (The game seems to be an MMO...think of it like Maplestory if you know that game).

So in this new MMO game, money is literally power. Maximum pay to win energy coming from this game. If you're rich, you're OP. In-game currency is literally your power level (which you can buy with real money). How is the poor main character so good in this new game?

Ah, he was given billions of money right at the start he doesn't even have to actually try c'moooon. What's the point of the setup? Was it all just a waste of time?

Yes.

That's what The Silver Guardian is. A bigass waste of time. What I just complained about wasn't even the premise of the story, just an aspect of the main character. There's no point in discussing the story or the characters. There's nothing to it.

Characters? What about them? They're nothing but a stack of cliches. There's no character writing to speak of here, just cogs in the plot machine.....a machine that explains nothing by the way. The characters may allude you to something deeper within the story, but there's nothing there! There will never be anything there for you!

I'm repeating myself at this point, so how about something actually interesting? The production:

The Silver Guardian is an adaptation of a manhua. It's Chinese....well sorta. The original manhua is certainly Chinese, but the production of this anime is fairly japanese. A lot of the staff are Japanese staff, but the studio is a Chinese one.

Haoliners Huimeng Animation is the studio. It's the first time I've seen their work and it seems aight. Although they got help from BLADE too and there was contracted japanese animators involved as well. It's hard to judge how much of the animation came from Haoliners without looking into it. (Even the opening is a japanese one!)

I'm not debating whether to call this "anime" or anything. I just find it interesting. Silver Guardian is apparently a pretty popular manhua. Surely this adaptation isn't faithful to the original. I can see proper setups to story beats that the anime just doesn't execute on.

Was this trying to pander to a japanese audience or something? I definitely got the vibe of an unfaithful production Could this be some kind of cash grab?

I could be a little too suspicious, but when I saw that Tencent is the publisher of the manhua I couldn't help being skeptical. Maybe the original work is actually that bad, but then how is it so successful? Aaaaaaaaa, I'm so curious!

Well anyway, the show sucks ass. I wouldn't recommend watching it unless you're there for the sole purpose to tear it to shreds. All those youtubers who farmed Sword Art Online's bad writing for views have no idea what some actually terrible writing can be like. THIS is some bottom of the barrel shit that would actually need more than an hour to dissect everything wrong with it. It's truly fascinating how bad this is.

[gloopytits-chaosmod]

Delightful writing from Ill Will :oo make sure to read the whole thing too!

"After creating a profile with the app, it is the “worker, on his own account, who assumes the risks and costs of his work, who defines his own journey, who decides on his own dedication to work.” It is precisely because it describes a reality, and is not mere rhetoric, that autonomy can operate as a central cog in the gears of subordination: while transferring to workers the task of managing their own work, capital also transfers the necessity to extend and intensify their journey while expecting them to shoulder all fluctuations in demand and uncertainties along the way.

Each courier self-manages his working process, but he or she does so within the conditions imposed by these companies in a unilateral and often unpredictable way, beginning with payment itself, which is determined by an algorithm. Ranking systems limit the number of rides that can be rejected; promotions encourage couriers to cater to regions and periods of high demand such as rainy days, or even to accept all rides during a certain period; automated lockouts, both temporary and permanent, punish supposed irregularities detected by the software; and, more recently, scheduling mechanisms encourage previous definition of working hours. As the marginal independence afforded by their occupation encounters ceaseless resistance, couriers are forced to engage in a permanent conflict, creating strategies to resist and fool the control mechanisms of the applications, as well as the traffic authorities and shop managers who police their workspace.

To earn a living as courier, it isn't unusual to need to use (or even rent) someone else's profile, bypassing an account block; to run red lights or exceed the speed limit in order to increase productivity; to cover your plate when passing a speed camera; to dodge police roadblocks which can lead to the seizure of a motorcycle with payments in arrears; or even to embezzle a client's meal as a means of guaranteeing a special snack between one ride and the other. But as constantly breaking the rules is not only part of the game but ensures the functioning of the app — and the city as a whole — the insubordination of the mad dogs [as Brazilian couriers refer to themselves] proves to be ambiguous."

- Work and Revolt at Brazil's dead end Oct 2022

https://illwill.com/work-and-revolt-at-brazils-dead-end#fn45

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a continuation of reader with her look a like child trying to escape from Marcus and Baird?

I can do something small, sure. Sorry for the long wait!

Loose Continuation of This Concept.

Yandere! Marcus + Baird with Mother! Darling

(Darling Tries To Escape - Expanded Idea)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Isolation, Paranoia, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Toxic relationship, Dark themes, Patronizing behavior, Stalking, Trackers, Delusional behavior, Dubious turned forced relationship.

Marcus Fenix

I do allude to the idea of Marcus isolating you for your own safety in the original concept.

He's so overcome with guilt and grief at the demise of Dom, his father, and Anya that he just can't lose you.

Maybe to make it worse he lost his son too, like in Gears 5?

So maybe you were originally okay with the idea of being with Marcus again.

Your child is often asking about Marcus, knowing him from tales and rumors.

You begin to date him again... but things don't go as well as you thought they would.

Marcus is normally very stern and not very emotional.

Yet deep down inside... he's terrified of losing another person close to his heart.

He sees you and your child as a new family.

Even more so if your child is/was friends with JD.

Due to his fears, you end up being isolated in the new house he picked out for you.

He doesn't want you or your kid fighting The Swarm anymore.

Just like all those years ago, Marcus plans to protect you.

Even when you try to break up with him or snap him out of it, he doesn't listen.

You begin to feel trapped by Marcus.

He's always affectionate, even with everything going on, but none of this is healthy.

Your kid is even starting to grow nervous at how Marcus treats you.

Eventually when Marcus starts locking you in the house you realize you need to leave.

You need to find help, you need to find someone to back you up.

Clearly Marcus isn't in the right mindset.

It was only a matter of time before he snapped, he was supposed to be retired anyways.

Due to all your COG training you manage to think of a tactical way of escape.

Once Marcus leaves for the day, you bring up the plan with your child before putting things into action.

Marcus seems like he'd be easier to escape from than Baird.

However, he'll find you eventually.

There isn't many places you can go to hide.

Plus, Marcus will order others to find you.

He may even say The Swarm kidnapped you and your kid, when in reality he's your captor.

No one's going to end up listening to you.

Even when your kid backs you up, people side with Marcus due to his status.

When he eventually finds you he starts off as relieved.

He's just happy to have found you.

No harm came to you... but you had him worried sick.

When others aren't around, Marcus's attitude swaps to anger.

What the Hell were you thinking!?

You could've put you and your child in danger!

Marcus would definitely scold you, dragging you and your kid back to the house and locking everything back up again.

His glare is cold... yet there's some concern in his gaze.

It seems if he wants to have a family with you... he has to try harder.

He won't punish you and will still think you two are together.

If you try this again, however...

He may not be so nice next time.

"What the Hell were you doing!? You could've put our child in danger! I can't let you out of my sight for a few hours, can I?"

Damon S. Baird

Baird is more... difficult.

As I said at the end of the linked concept, it's only a matter of time before he snaps and isolates you.

Soon he'd probably lock you in his lab or a penthouse he managed to purchase with the money from his company.

He doesn't want you fighting, he's adamant on that.

He wants you and your kid to stay away from danger and he's going to do whatever he can to have that.

Unlike Marcus, wherever he keeps you has cameras and DeeBees guarding all entrances.

Which makes him harder to get away from.

Baird always keeps a close eye on you.

When around you he's always flirty, being affectionate to the point of holding you close and kissing you.

With your kid he tries to be a "cool dad" by showing them robotics.

He definitely has an encrypted folder on his PC that has photos of you and a separate one of both you and your kid.

He checks cameras often and rarely leaves you alone.

Yet... your kid learns a lot from Baird.

Enough to learn how to bypass his systems just enough to let you and them out of your prison.

Your kid cares a lot about you.

They want you happy, while they can tell you care for Baird...

You know he's snapped.

The only way you're able to escape is due to learning Baird's code with your kid.

Even when you escape, it isn't easy to get away.

Baird has trackers on both you and your kid, no doubt something he slipped on you when you were unaware.

He'd carefully track your location then use DeeBees to help him hunt you both down.

You both won't be able to get away for long.

He'll have you cornered then order you dragged back to where he keeps you.

When he sees you again, he's angry...

Yet also smug.

He knew even if you did escape, it wouldn't be long before he had you right back where you started.

Honestly, he's impressed.

You and your kid could almost outsmart him.

But after everything...

You're right back here, in his arms...

Where you both belong.

"Clever! Should've known you two would try something like that... Too bad that won't happen again, right? Now come here, let's have a little chat about house rules."

[lavasick]

a low laughter that bubbled up sounded almost involuntary, tinted with genuine amusement as he found it particularly interesting how easy the other man seemed to read him. it was true enough that he could have declined the invitation, true enough that he wouldn't really mind being considered rude for the sake of honesty. aleki just found impossible to hide behind smoke and mirrors ────── expressions always readily telling three-quarters of the story. it wasn't exactly rocket science but he still found it funny whenever it was called out. but luckily enough, badru's insight seemed limited for now. acceptance wasn't because he felt like he had no other choice. and it wasn't entirely because he wanted to learn more about the stranger either. part of it was actually just very shallow: could never really say no to such a pretty face. " don't worry. maybe you'll see me in yours if you're lucky. " a light chuckle slipped past his lips, nose scrunching up when badru attempted to send a couple of waves his way. " isn't that's a little childish ? " and blatant judgment spread across his face, but it was nothing but a fleeting thing ... swimming closer towards the other man so he could splash water towards his face. " maybe if you're trying invoke a god's power. but i think names are just names for all of us who are just little specks in the grand scheme of things. " sure, there were traces of ichor in their veins. but aleki believed that despite their quest to keep the world safe and balanced, despite everything that made them special, there were still only just cogs and gears of a tapestry bigger than the sum of all their parts. " i don't know, guess i'm just not one of those who finds meaning in everything. " he shrugged. aleki didn't like deep downs and hidden meanings and reading between the lines. he wanted action. he wanted to people to show him what made them burn. " but i like your name, badru. rolls off my tongue nicely. " then, another laugh and another splash to the face.

feeling like a prey being watched and hunted by a predator, badru also kept his eyes on aleki. almost like he was an animal in the zoo staring back from the glass dividing them. like a serpent lurking in a bush, he was waiting to see if the fiery half god would be brave enough to dip into the water. that would prove to him if he looked like the innocent lily on the water, when he reality he was the scorpion ready to drown anyone that came in to help him. even if he ended up drowning himself. where was the fun in playing it safe? he always did love playing with fire. " i'm not one of the telepaths, unless you were thinking otherwise. just wanted to make that clear. " he could assume that aleki didn't think that, but again it was fun playing with him that way. " you could've said no if you had no problem being considered rude. " at least he got a show along with everything. badru smirked when the redhead stripped down and waddled into the waters. he tilted his head to the side, once again, studying his most likely predator in the moment. the knees was an interesting choice, was he not comfortable? " aw that sucks. does that mean that you've never seen me in your dreams?" he snickered softly. " badru. " he started to move his hands and tried to send a couple of waves to aleki. although the man needed no help in getting comfortable in the cold water it seemed. " i always care. there's a lot of power in a name. "

[littlegalerion]

A random little snippet of writing, of when Aithilo confronted Divayth about the big secret. 

Divayth set aside his latest endeavor, ready to slide it into a concealed apartment within reach, waiting to see who it was that had entered his tower. He relaxed as Aithilo rounded the corner, striding towards him.

���Ah, a surprise visit?” Divayth smirked. “Come, my boy. Look what I have now.”

“No, we have other matters to discuss,” Aithilo corrected briskly.  

His tone took Divayth by surprise, a frown instantly overtaking him. “Watch it,” he warned. “You may be pushing your 900’s, but I’ll still banish you into a demi-plane for a timeout.”

“About that,” Aithilo grumbled. “So when were you going to sit me down and explain you aren’t my actual father?”

Divayth paused, blinking at him. A million questions raced through his mind, and he didn’t know which to ask first.

“Does it matter?” he finally decided to say. “I am your father. I raised you, I taught you, I was there for every injury, every trial and error. Blood means nothing between you and I- we are father and son, regardless of whatever concepts you now have in your head.”

“I...I don’t disagree with that,” Aithilo breathed, trying to steady himself. It was rare to see him so off center, nearly trembling. “But you should have! Especially…” He glanced around, checking if they were alone, and then lowered his voice. “Considering I’m some sort of demigod abomination!”

“Demigod abom- what?” Divayth snapped. “The only true con to your nature is the nightmares. Other than that, I think your abilities have served you rather well.”

“I’d throw away my entire reality if it meant ridding myself of the night terrors!” Aithilo hissed. “I… I’m the spawn of a murderer, and even more distantly the spawn of a trickster!”

“And why does this effect who you are?” Divayth sharply asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“My dreams!” Aithilo exploded, face turning red. “I’ve lived through Nerevar’s murder a dozen times, waking up screaming as my own...my own sire was ready to slice off my face! I-I’ve watched figures crowd me, one aim a bow at my chest and watched as my heart was shot from my body! I’ve heard cursing, screams, horrors from Red Mountain! It always haunts me, even now, the closer I get to it, the worse-”

“Enough!” Divayth ordered. “I never told you because of this exact reason. Before, the dreams were nothing but nightmares, which you had to endure but would wake and soon recover from them. Your days weren’t spoiled, were they? But now you’ll lay awake at night, scared to sleep, thinking you are destined for some idiotic dark purpose!” He shoved a finger into Aithilo’s chest. “Your heart is still in your chest, and your face is clearly intact. The shadows of the past may haunt you, but you decide if they control your future. You… You’re too soft, honestly. Emotional. I tried to help you grow thicker skin, but you’re too… giving.” He rolled his eyes. “For once, please, for ONCE, be selfish.”

Aithilo looked at him, at a loss for words. His eyes misted over, tears welling in the corners as he trembled. 

“How did you find out?” Divayth sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“Trechire,” Aithilo whispered, hands curling into fists. “She saw the Clockwork god...with my mother, in a chamber which housed his memories. She saw Sotha Sil pledge he’d be a part of my life...my mother’s one condition.” His gaze grew intense. “Why was there a condition? Why did Sotha Sil not keep his word?”

“I don’t know why Sil didn’t keep his word,” Divayth growled. “I tore his head off for it when Rasulu had you, and I watched myself the life fade from her eyes. No more than a moment later, Sil disowned you. I tried to argue, but in the end I just accepted Sil was Sil, and took you as my own. As for the conditions- Sil wanted your mother as a permanent resident of the Clockwork City. That much I know. So, if I had to guess, Rasulu agreed to stay forever within the city, so long as Sil didn’t close himself off to you, as he always does in general to, well, everyone.”

“He broke his promise,” Aithilo breathed, still trembling. 

“Don’t hold onto that,” Divayth warned. “It isn’t worth it. Sil is unpredictable, distant, and at times I wonder if he is all together in the head. He’s brilliant, a genius- but one can be such things and still be completely oblivious to common sense.” He scowled. “I haven’t forgiven him for breaking his promise, and neither should you, but we do not let these things consume and distract us. Understood?”

Aithilo didn’t reply. He still trembled, and now tears slipped down his face. 

“Aithilo…” Divayth sighed, tapping his fingers across his desk in frustration. “Get yourself together.” When Aithilo turned his head away, and faint sobs began to slip, Divayth took a deep breath. “Alright, alright.” He extended a hand, and pulled Aithilo into a hug. 

Admittedly it had been a while since they’d hugged. What, maybe when Divayth got side tracked in that one dimension for a couple of months and finally came home? Aithilo had been worried sick. Bless him, he actually had feared for Divayth, as if there was a possibility the wizard couldn't have returned. Then again, with his foreseeing dreams, perhaps there had been, and Divayth should have taken note. Regardless, Divayth hugged him tight, Aithilo grabbing onto him and sobbing into his shoulder. He had outgrown Divayth by now, quite tall for a dunmer, but given his bloodline it was no wonder. He stooped down, crying his eyes out, like all the nights he had woken up due to his nightmares and screamed for his father to come save him. 

“Far too emotional,” Divayth grumbled, but held on tight. “You’re nothing like Sil, so stop worrying.” He thought for a moment. “Though you are quite cunning, and beyond mischievous when you want to be. Lorkhan might have influence over you after all.”

“Stop!” Aithilo rasped through his crying. 

“Well, you might be able to take claim to a moon!” Divayth put in, still holding him. “Imagine all we could do with a moon!”

“Father…” Aithilo sobbed, but Divayth detected a trace of a smile as he dared a glance to his shoulder. 

“It would make sense. All these men and women that crowd you, and yet you aren’t interested in either? A cruel, merciless deception,” Divayth snorted. “Robbed me of countless tricks I wanted to pass down to you.”

Aithilo still shook with tears, but a smile seeped through now completely. He took a few minutes, then quietly mumbled, “Thank you for raising me.”

“Completely stupid thing to do, thanking a parent for doing their job,” Divayth huffed, now brushing Aithilo off him. His own face had grown red, and he patted down his now soaked armored shoulder. “Go clean yourself up- but leave that bow!” He pointed to the bow made of random metallic bits and gears clipped to Aithilo’s quiver. “Did you bang it against a thousand trees? Don’t answer that- I already know the answer. Just leave it, and I’ll have it fixed for you when you get back. That was a damn expensive gift, and no son of Divayth Fyr will be seen trotting around the backroads of Blackmarsh with some...some basic bow!”

[newtonsheffield]

I love your Blind!Kate headcannon. Are any of their kids blind too?

Yes!

I think Edmund and Mary are also legally blind, and Anthony absolutely does not get why that's the first thing doctor's keep mentioning when Edmund is born.

"And how are we handling Edmund's... condition?"

And finally he snaps, because he can see the little cogs turning in Kate's head. The part of her that shoulders responsibility for everything kicking into gear as she starts to wonder when he will blame her for this. As of he doesn't already love his tiny son so much he feels he could burst with it at any moment.

"Stop talking about him like that."

"I'm sorry?" The Paediatrician looks up a little startled and Kate turns at the sound of his voice.

"I said, stop talking about my son like that."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Anthony-"

Kate starts but Anthony squeezes her hand letting her know he's okay, Edmund cradled gently in the other arm as he takes a shuddering breath,

"Every time we come in here, all you talk about is how hard his life's going to be, and how maybe if we want more children we should have genetic counselling and I've had enough. My wife's too polite to say something but where she and my son are concerned: I'm not. Neddy's blindness doesn't define who he is, or who he's going to be for the rest of his life. He has an entire personality forming that's incredible. His favourite toy is the fluffy duck, and he likes when our Dog puts his nose on his forehead and he definitely prefers Kate to me which is a huge mood but he likes the feel of my green sweater best, and he loves Taylor Swift songs, no idea why, think he finds her voice soothing, and obviously I know there's going to be challenges but I love my son, and I'm proud of him so spare us your absolute ableist Bullshit."

Kate's hand is tight in his for a long moment before she clears her throat, "I think it would be best if we found a practice with a more... supportive ethos. I'd thank you for your time but... I don't think you deserve it. Come on Neddy, let's take Papa home he's like a cute little bear when he's grumpy isn't he?"

And when his mother says "Anthony, why did I hear you made a scene at the Paediatrician? I took you all there, what's the-"

Anthony, sat next to his mother in law doesn't even look up "More than once He told me I should have genetic counselling to avoid having more children with my wife's... condition, is what He called it. Fucking foul."

"Right." Violet didn't even blink before she took out her phone and started calling everyone she knew with children attending that practice.

[blooberrries]

『midnight, midsummer』 — two

— pairing: shoto x reader — tags: university au, urban fantasy au, selkie shoto, accidental marriage (lmfao), faerie antics, 18+, hints and allusions to some trauma mc has — wc: 3.5k — notes: forgot to mention that this was inspired by howtobangyourmonster's prompt, which lit a fire under my ass like nothing else. this isn't proofread, we die like men also i lied before this is probably going to be closer to 8 parts or maybe ten sorry i'm a mess

“I have no intention of forcing you into anything,” Shoto says evenly, expression neutral despite the roiling depths of his mismatched eyes. He seems to hesitate slightly before he continues. “Let me propose something, then. A bargain.” Your eyebrows shoot up before you’re able to stop them. Shoto is offering to enter a faerie bargain with you? As though he can see the cogs turning in your head, the corner of his lips lifts in a half smile. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes a moment before he lets the air go and meets your gaze once more. “If you find that you do not have any feelings for me at all, come Midsummer’s Eve, then I will dissolve this marriage and leave you be.”

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“What…?” Your heart appears to skip a beat, voice coming out light and breathy. He clears his throat.

He opens the box, revealing a ring with glimmering, clear jewels woven around a natural lavender pearl. Your mouth drops open at the sight, heart tipping into a stunned gallop. He appears somewhat bashful, pink tinging the honey-hued skin of his cheeks.

“I thought we should get married by human standards, as well. It’s nice to properly meet you, wife.”

//

You think that perhaps, your brain has finally fully short-circuited. There’s not a single thought to be found bouncing around up there.

“Uh, I’m… I’m sorry — what?” Your mouth kicks into gear before your brain does, which is a particularly risky development for you.

He takes your flabbergasted response in stride, almost like he’d expected it. Considering he knows you’re human, he probably did. Tentatively, he takes a probing step forward, expression soft as he holds the ring out.

“Like I said,” he begins, blinking at you. “I thought we should get married by human standards, too. So, I procured a ring.”

“No, no, no — wait just a second, hold up.” You lift your hands, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before you continue. It does nothing to soothe the wild drumbeat of your heart against the confines of your chest. “I think… that you most definitely have the wrong person.”

“I don’t,” he says simply, corners of his mouth curling in the slightest smile. It causes whatever coherent thoughts that managed to assemble in your brain to unravel immediately.

“Ok, but you do,” you say, sounding like a child who is running out of comebacks in an argument. “I might have knocked your coat off the other day, but I don’t actually know you.”

He hums in acknowledgement, closing his eyes and nodding once. “You’re right, wife. Let me introduce myself: I’m Shoto.”

He peeks an eye open, the lure of his gaze almost too much for you to handle. “Now you know me.”

“You don’t even know my name!” you burst, running out of rebuttals. You feel like you’re dancing in circles.

He tilts his head, two-toned locks slipping over his forehead a she does so. “What is it?”

You’re so flustered that, like the idiot you are, in a moment of absolute head-empty-no-thoughts, you actually tell him your name. You then freeze. “No, ok wait–”

He says your name like he’s trying it out, weighing the way it rolls from his tongue. Your face heats up like you’ve just stepped into an industrial oven. What the fuck is happening?

“Look, I’m not sure who you have me mixed up with, but I’m not married to anyone and I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I tied the knot with someone who has a face like yours—“

“I’m a selkie,” he informs you abruptly before you can dig your hole even deeper, eyes glimmering despite his neutral expression. He shoves his free hand into the pocket of his slacks, and you wonder why for a moment before you see the slight jiggle of his leg. He’s nervous. “When you knocked my coat and picked it up, you essentially ‘took’ it. Then, you gave it back. By the standards of my clan, we are now, uh, wedded…”

You have a feeling that he’s being sincere, but there is something niggling at the back of your mind that makes you feel like he’s not telling you everything.You’re not exactly in a position where you want to hear it, though, so quickly banish that feeling before it takes root.

You have no idea what you’re meant to do in this situation. You want to remain levelheaded, neutral, but there is a familiar sensation beginning to crawl up your throat, shortening your breath, that you never wanted to feel again. You need to leave.

“Okay, look, you’re cute and all, but this… I can’t… I’m not your wife. You really have the wrong person…” Your heartbeat has begun to quicken, for a different reason this time, and it suddenly feels very claustrophobic between the two looming campus buildings. Your skin itches and your stomach roils. “You’re mistaken.”

You don’t even realise you’ve begun to back away, until you see his gaze flick to your feet. He doesn’t move to follow, seeming to sense that there is something deeper behind your peculiar reaction. It makes you feel bad, but right now the only thing blaring out like a foghorn in your brain is ‘go, go, go’. You shake your head, hands held up in apology, and then turn and make a quick escape.

You don’t need to glance over your shoulder to know that he hasn’t followed you.

//

No matter how much time passes, and however many times you think you’ve finally gotten over a specific experience, there always seems to be some shred of unprocessed emotion and trauma left to deal with.

When you return home your uncle is gone, but his presence is replaced by a guest you’re actually pretty glad to see.

Yu is a young-looking woman who, like your uncle, refuses to admit her age to you. Long platinum curls spill over her shoulders where she stands in the middle of the kitchen, eyes bright and focused on the task at hand — which currently looks to be the careful cutting of a two-tier chocolate cake.

She’s tall and graceful, though you’d almost never guess that she is half giantess. The other half is some shifter gene that she refuses to spill to you no matter how many times you question her. A lot about her appearance is quite deceptive, you muse. For example, you’d never know from looking at her the incredible lung capacity she has.

“Hey, Yu.”

“HEAVENS to the fucking BETSY! Child, do you want to deal with a dead body?!”

It’s always fun to scare her like this, because when startled she loses all concept of volume control and jumps about two feet in the air. It is truly any pranksters wet dream.

“No thanks,” you answer, trying to make the smile on your face as convincing as possible a smile onto your face. You don’t really want to deal with any questions right now, because you have no idea how you would even answer any of them. You still don’t know what the fuck just happened. It hasn’t even been half an hour.

Yu rolls her eyes, going back to the cake in front of her.

“You ruined the surprise,” she whines, tacking on a huff for good measure. She slips the flat of the knife under a piece and moves it to a plate. “I brought cake to celebrate the one month anniversary of you being here!”

You blink at her, the suffocating feeling in your chest shrinking to make way for a blossom of warmth. That’s… actually really nice of her. Though, you’re not sure why you’re surprised. You’ve known her from all the times you’ve visited your uncle and vice versa, since she’s practically attached to him by the hip. She is his self-proclaimed familiar, though as mentioned before she won’t tell you what kind of animal she can turn into. There doesn’t seem to be an actual reason for her refusal to tell you – your personal theory is that she just likes teasing you.

“Dude, you’re cutting the cake in the middle of the kitchen, right in the open.” You laugh, and she huffs with a small smile. She can’t seem to argue with that. Plate in hand, she turns and delivers it into your hold. As she does so, her eyes do a cursory once-over of your form, and she halts in her movements.

“Is everything okay, toots?”

Having begun drooling at the rich smell of chocolate emanating from the cake in your hands, her question startles you.

“Fine! I’m fine. Just…” you sigh, taking a seat at the bench and dropping your bag on the ground by the stool legs. “Just tired.”

Yu hums, leaning her hip against the bench as she peers at you shrewdly. “The old man did mention you were still having some sleeping issues…”

She hands you a small spoon as she weighs her next words. “… Is it about that, still?”

You freeze, spoon midway to your mouth. You probably should have known better than to think that Yu wouldn’t notice anything. She’s practically a big sister to you at this point. The faint ticking of the kitchen clock drifts into the air as you consider how to respond.

She is one of the only other people to know about it, and one of the ones who actually helped you deal with it… you owe her the honesty.

“Well… yes, and no.” You place the spoon down, the metal sliding noisily against the ceramic plate. The poor cake piece is on the receiving end of your frown. “I thought I was over it, but now I’m beginning to think maybe I’m not, just yet.”

“You know you don’t have to speedrun the healing process,” Yu says, giving you a pointed look. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they don’t recommend doing.”

Your hand bunches in the material of your pants, a frustrated huff leaving you before you can stop it. You wish your eyes didn’t burn every time you have to talk about this.

“I know,” you admit quietly, using your other hand to push a section of cake around with the spoon. “But I just… I feel like the longer I take to get over it, the more power he has over me for that time. I… I hate that, I don’t want him to have that power. I don’t want him to have anything over me, ever again.”

“He doesn’t,” Yu says softly, her words firm despite her tone. “And I know that you know this, but I feel like I have to say it anyway.”

You look up, catching her determined eyes.

“Not only is he being dealt with via the human legal system, but your uncle also made sure he wouldn’t ever be able to show his face before you ever again.” She leans forward, flicking your nose. “In a sense, it’s really you that has power over him.”

Rubbing your nose, you consider her words. She’s right, you know it, but still… in this moment, you can’t help the way that you feel. If speedrunning the healing process was actually an option, you definitely would have done it.

It’s not even the actual events that have scarred you so, more like the ‘what if’s and the possibility of what could have happened. Those are what terrify you. If you hadn’t gotten out, if you hadn’t had your uncle and Yu as an option…

Those thoughts are what prompt your nightly struggle with sleep.

“You’re right,” you say, to appease her if nothing else. “It’s not like I’m scared of him, just… I don’t ever want to be in that situation, feeling like that, ever again.”

I’m terrified of being trapped again.

It remains unsaid, the words stuck in your throat and refusing to budge, but Yu seems to pick up on what you mean nonetheless. She rounds the counter, coming towards you. For a moment, you think she might be about to embrace you. Instead, she slings an arm around your neck and gives you a noogie. Immediately, you erupt into a whine and struggle to slip out of her grip.

“Don’t worry, toots. Anyone wanting to do you harm is going to have to go through me and your uncle, first.”

You give up your attempts to escape her hold and accept her rough affections. Stupid supernaturals and their stupid crazy strength.

…

You do feel a little better, though.

//

A part of you feels like the events of the other day were nothing but a fever dream.

The rest of you, however, is painfully aware of the fact that they weren’t. When you enter campus next, you’re not sure what the correct course of action is regarding the selkie that seems convinced you’re now wedded.

Of course, considering the nature of this city and the province you’re in, you’re sure he is being completely serious. It probably is a marriage ritual for selkie, since their coats are so important to them and so interwoven with their magic. It’s just, you’re having a hard time believing that you simply returning his coat to him makes you his bride. Surely it’s a little more complicated than that?

Regardless, you feel that you owe him an apology for fleeing the scene like you did. Given the situation, what other choice did he have but to approach you? You can’t blame him for that. It’s not his fault either that your own personal experiences affected the way you responded. He isn’t to blame for what someone else did to you.

Despite your noble intentions to apologise when you see him next, your body seems hell bent on doing the exact opposite of what you want.

In the morning, from the corner of your eye, you catch him striding into the food court, presumably for breakfast — and before you can even blink, your feet have turned you around and proceeded to carry you in the opposite direction. It’s like they’re possessed, and you don’t stop moving until you’re well out of sight.

You’re left blinking in confusion when you halt around the other side of the building. Stupid, what are you doing? Your coffee is back there! What if they call your name out and someone else takes it while your gone?! Embarrassed, you turn and make your way back to the food court for the valuable package you left behind. When you return, he is nowhere to be seen, and you snatch your coffee in a hurry before bolting off to your tutorial.

By the time you make it to your third class of the day, a lecture for a psychology elective you decided to take on a whim, you’re ridiculously embarrassed. You can no longer count on only one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him and then turned tail today. Why are you acting like this! You’re not trying to avoid him, you swear! It’s just that every time you see him (and a few of the times that he sees you first and begins to walk over) your body reacts before your brain can stop it, and you flee.

This is especially outrageous, because for the entirety of your life you’ve almost always chosen fight over flight.

“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up? You alright?”

Having taken a random seat in the back of the lecture hall, you’re surprised that you actually managed to find a seat next to your friend without even searching for one.

“When did you get there?” you ask, avoiding his question.

“We’ve been here the whole time!” It’s a different voice that pipes up next, and a familiar grinning face leans out one seat over. “Hitoshi is right, though, are you okay? You seem distracted.”

Izuku is always a little too in tune with the inner workings of your brain for your comfort. You feel like Hitoshi has a good idea of what’s going on up there too, but he’s far less forthcoming about letting you know. Quite courteous of him, really.

“This is just my face,” you say, deadpan. “Sorry if it offends you.”

Hitoshi snorts, but Izuku scrabbles to apologise. He’s a little more fun to tease than most. You wouldn’t expect his personality, knowing which particular creature of the night he takes after.

Given the occupants of this city, there is an unsurprising amount of half-and-half offspring running around. Izuku and Hitoshi are great examples, considering they’re both part incubus, courtesy of their paternal genes. Hitoshi’s mother is a fox spirit (kitsune or gumiho, you’ve yet to find out) on the other hand, and Izuku’s is a dryad who actually takes care of a lot of the city’s park lands. Interesting combinations, for sure.

Actually, contrary to the evidence saying otherwise, it’s actually quite rare to have a true fifty-fifty child. More often than not, one part of the genetics is much stronger than the other and offspring will tend to take after one parent in particular. You suppose you’re quite lucky to know two of the resident halfies who retained qualities of both parents.

“I’m kidding, Izuku.” You put him out of his misery before he can implode. “I just have a lot on my mind. Thanks for asking, though.”

The lecturer enters the room from the bottom of the hall, dimming the lights slightly as he does so. Izuku whispers out a response before he loses the chance, “No problem. If you need anything, just let me know.”

You nod, and the three of you go about pulling out your respective note-taking materials. The lecture goes quickly, the content more interesting than most, and by the time the lights come back on you’re still catching up on the last few lines of your notes. Hitoshi yawns next to you, packing his tablet away and stretching his arms above his head leisurely.

Izuku is still scribbling even after you finish and pack your own notes away, as dedicated of a student as ever. You stand in your place, students filtering past you up the lane-way as they flood out of the room. You’re happy to wait until the flow stops, since you’re not particularly fond of shoving your way through a crowd – especially when you don’t know who, or rather what, you’ll be shoving against.

A tickle against your neck startles you from your thoughts, head whipping around to find a pensive-looking Hitoshi leaning close. It was probably his hair that tickled you, that shit is untameable.

“You smell different,” he comments, dark periwinkle eyes unfocused as he ruminates on the observation. “Not in a bad way, but, hmm… you’re human, your scent shouldn’t change like that.”

You’re absolutely mortified. When Hitoshi zones back in to the moment and catches the horrified look on your face, he barks a laugh.

“Are you telling me,” you manage to say without faltering, eyes wide. “That this whole time, every time you see me… you’ve been able to smell me?!”

He shrugs, a sly smile beginning to curl his lips. “Well, yeah. You can’t smell us?”

“No?!” you lean back, hugging your bag to your chest. This is the worst news you’ve received so far. What the fuck.

Hitoshi hums in thought, Izuku looking up from his notes as he catches the tail end of the conversation.

“Don’t worry,” he supplies helpfully, freckled cheeks bunching as he smiles. “You always smell really nice. Especially since you changed perfumes. This newer one suits your natural scent much better.”

You want to throw yourself down the lecture hall stairs. In fact, you begin to turn in that direction to see if it’s a very reasonable course of action.

“Izuku, I don’t think that’s helping,” you hear Hitoshi say, attempting to halt your friend before he digs his hole any deeper. Anything else he says after that is lost to the void between your ears, because your eyes have caught sight of something a little more pressing.

A familiar head of two-toned hair and enchanting mismatched eyes is making its way at a leisurely pace up the stairs, gaze on the floor. He is only a handful of rows away. Great, a part of you, the reasonable part, thinks. Now you can apologise.

Except apparently the rest of you isn’t quite ready to do so.

“Wow, would you look at the time!” you say suddenly, spinning and grabbing Hitoshi by the shoulders as you worm your way past him and Izuku, making a beeline for the stairs on the other side of the seats to where you were sitting. “Gotta blast, guys. My next class starts in a few minutes. I’ll see you later!”

And then you’re bolting from the room, possessions clutched tight to your chest. As you reach the doorway, you can’t help but throw a glance over your shoulder. Shoto has stopped on the stairs, apparently having finally caught sight of you as you departed. You can’t read finer details of the look on his face, but you could swear you see his expression fall ever so slightly. Guilt takes you by the lungs, weighing them down as you continue on your way out.

Has he always been in this class? It’s likely, you’re not exactly the most aware of your surroundings when it comes to big lectures like these — case in point being the fact that you just somehow managed to sit next to your friends without even knowing they were there.

You’re disappointed in yourself. Since when were you such a coward? You’re nervous, sure – you’ve got the butterflies to prove it. But running away? Again? You’re better than this.

At least, you like to think you are.

You head to your next class, trying desperately not to think about the look on the poor selkie’s face as you fled the room. The chasm of guilt in your chest is enough as it is. For the entirety of the lesson, you fail in your efforts of redirecting your thoughts.

When you return home, there is something sitting on the doorstep. A familiar box, and a small, wrapped and potted orchid.

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[hlfmoonshine]

"the praise isn't for the effort." daniel shrugged, leaning back in his seat, coffee passing back and forth between his hands. he lets oliver work through it, aloud and in his head, daniel wished he had a window in to watch the cogs and gears as they turned. he catches the consistent movement of the other's hands, something inside him wanting nothing more than to reach out and still them himself, offer so kind of stability or grounding. daniel isn't sure it would be received as such. despite talking about the only thing he tends to steer clear of in polite conversation, they are still essentially strangers. "you're welcome." he grinned.

"can i ask a question? it's not a personal one, i promise." he took another sip of his coffee, half done now. disappointment rings out in his chest at the realization that this conversation will eventually end.

he hums. "it doesn't feel particularly impressive. when it feels natural -- is that -- still worthy of praise? on which end do people draw their admiration from? is it the effort and intention one puts in, or the perceived effort?" oliver babbles -- attention running from him when uncomfortable discussions of the self expand outward -- tip into some professional sphere, for curiosity's sake, for survival. he doesn't think there's a surefire answer, because of course he doesn't. daniel's being kind and respectful and complimentary, and oliver wants to wave it off. "maybe it's neither of these things. maybe the positive responses to a -- presumably good thing -- is not about the value of the good thing, but that there is presence of positivity. all this to say --" he pauses, hands finally stilling with intent, "thank you."