#that are designed to keep people sick and trapped

[savage-rhi]

💙

[somerandomdudelmao]

There's so much to take in during this scene. Donnie was having a nightmare about his sickness, about it coming back and trapping him in a body that won't listen. About people watching and thinking of him as already dead, even though his mind is still as strong as it ever was and begging for someone to listen to him, to notice that he's still there and alive.

And someone does. Two someone's, in fact.

Mikey and Leo, the two brothers that can't actively comfort him because they're gone. They're gone, and he's still there. And maybe dream Donnie doesn't know this, because he's dreaming and isn't aware he's dreaming. Earlier, he was yelling for Mikey and Leo, crying for them to come back because in the waking world he's trying to bring them back.

So in his dream, he goes looking for them.

And they heed his call. When he's given up or is too weak to keep trying to tell everyone he's still alive, they notice that he's still there and they pick him off the ground and comfort him. They know that it's only a matter of time until the sickness claims him, and yet they help anyways. Because he's not dead yet, and they're going to keep him as comfortable as they can until it's his time.

They see him, they see Donnie, and they refuse to just let him rot. Because someone who is still alive can't decay, and they know this.

Mikey knows his magic can't take the sickness away, can't fight it off for Donnie, and he still tries anyways. Because it does help, even if only a little. And Leo knows how much Donnie hates being so weak, so he picks him up the same way he did when Donnie knew that today would be his last. Because Donnie trusts him to pick him up without mocking him, because Donnie knows Leo is someone he can rely on to be there for him.

And Leo knows Donnie isn't weak, he thinks of Donnie as one of the strongest people he knows. It's impossible for Donnie to be weak, because he was never weak before. Just because physically he's not the strongest of them, doesn't mean his mind is weak.

He's strong in the way the Krang designed a sickness specifically to kill him and him alone. They could've taken Mikey out, but they didn't. They chose Donnie. Because they knew without Donnie it was only a matter of time until they won, and they were right.

He's strong in the way he lasted so much longer than he should have, in the way the Krang were shocked he lived so long. Because he never stopped fighting. Never. Even when he was so weak he needed CJ to support him, he still decimated the Krang in a way that even Mikey couldn't.

He's strong in the way he reversed death, he's strong in the way he kept the Krang from breaching the Resistance's defenses for what is implied to be close to three decades, he's strong in how he did everything he could to keep the Resistance alive without him before he passed. He's strong in how even when he's at his worst he's still stronger than the enemy.

And yet...

And yet.

And yet, despite this, his family still go out of their way to help him, to hold him up, to check on him and take care of him despite how strong he is. Because they care about him, they care about him so much that they hate seeing him in pain. And so they ease it in anyway they can.

Donnie is so strong, but his family still holds him up.

Because that's what love is.

[boywonderloverr]

shout-out to mentally ill/neurodivergent/disabled/chronically ill people who:

grew up wondering what was wrong with them and why everything that was hard for them seemed so easy to other people. who felt so confused and stuck all the time because they didn't understand what was happening to them. whose symptoms aren't taken seriously. who struggle to ask for the help and support they need. who feel weak and helpless. who wished they could be "normal." who feel like a burden on their friends/family. who feel hard to love or even unlovable because of their condition. who feel guilty all the time. who feel like they aren't sick or unwell or neurodivergent or disabled ENOUGH. whose condition makes them feel lonely and isolated because they aren't able to connect with people or maintain relationships. who are exhausted. who are scared that they'll always feel lonely. who are tired of feeling trapped in a world that isn't designed for them.

you are worthy of love, support, understanding, and acceptance. you are not a burden. you deserve safety and happiness. you deserve community. you are stronger than you think. keep fighting. i know how draining and hopeless it feels sometimes but we have to keep fighting. there isn't space in this world for people like us but we will make space. don't shrink yourself. keep being you and keep having hope for a better future.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Cast: The Smiling Critters (or "Smiling Buddies")

Please refer to the below post as well:

(Attached link is for both halves of the art, designed by togebora)

A colourful band of friends, these are who you may (or may not) know as the Smiling Critters! Well, they are different in the IAB! continuity than you may know them in Poppy Playtime, especially over in Dimension MP-2021, where their roles are most prominent.

In this universe, they are NOT fictional characters from a TV show or toy lineup, but they are instead real characters in-universe who co-exist alongside everyone else in MP-2021. As it happened, all eight had applied for Bumper High School at the beginning of One More Hero and were getting ready to study alongside OMT!Tails and the ApocalypseTitan kid characters.

Daylight the Pup (DogDay)

The leader of the friend group and one of the most optimistic of the eight. He's shown to be very loyal to his friends, and he's one of the first OMT!Tails passes by on the open week at the school.

Bubba the Elephant (Bubba Bubbaphant)

The blue elephant member and one of the top students in classes, up there with OMT!Tails (mainly in math and science) and Max Cartwright. He's naturally smart and has a really good memory for things, and he's sometimes about to keep check on the below-mentioned petition and see how it's coming along.

Kickroyale the Chicken (Kickin' Chicken)

The yellow chicken member who is full of radical attitude for those around him and can be pretty smug about stuff. Though it does cause trouble on occasion for those around him, he's still got a good heart, and he's a bit of a softie deep down. Though he is the "cool kid" of his gang, he is pretty prone to fear, and is open to asking others for help if he really needs it.

As it happens, in One More Hero, he's the first to come to OMT!Tails and Bobby's aid when Benny starts bullying them for the heck of it (and even had the gall to mock Bobby's all-loving status), and he kept his trap shut when Richard attacked the school in More than One Universe to avoid being noticed.

Picky Patch the Pig (PickyPiggy)

The pink pig member and the big eater of the bunch. Contrary to her name, she isn't picky, but she enjoys lunchtimes at school and usually picks something filling and healthy to have for her daily meals. Of course, she can be picky about trying light snacks or fast foods, due to not wanting to be unhealthy in her life.

Picky is also one of the most optimistic and level-headed in the group, and is there to calm the others down if things are getting out of hand. And out of the goodness in her heart, when she heard that OMT!Tails was off sick, she shared some apples she had picked from an orchard for him to enjoy.

Hoppy Scotch the Bunny (Hoppy Hopscotch)

The green rabbit member and the most excitable of the bunch. She gives a lot of enthusiasm to friends around her, though can come off as loud or impatient sometimes because of this, so she does make time to slow down for her friends.

Of the bunch, she was one of the bigger fans of OMT!Sonic when he was still alive, and aspired to be able to run fast like him, hence her decision to ask OMT!Tails to give running or hopping a shot with her whenever they got the chance to hang out.

Crafty "CraftyCorn" Canvas the Unicorn

The white, yet colourful, unicorn member and one of the more shy members. She is shy around meeting new people, but especially enjoys art and the vast wonders it can create. As an aspiring artist, she finds it very important to share the art she creates with others and finding beauty in pretty much anything around her.

She's the Smiling Buddy who has the most influence in points of One More Hero's plot, as she had heard about the rising prevalence of AI in art theft and disliked the idea, so she enlisted OMT!Tails's help to go and get people to sign her petition to make AI art outright illegal in Dimension MP-2021.

OMT!Tails did find some difficulty in getting all the required signatures at first, but when the alternate crew from the Blur Gang came along, that's when he made excellent progress, and he handed the finished petition back to Crafty at the end of the story for her to put forward. She even painted a picture of him (including one with his nano-suit) and sent it to him as a thank you for what he did.

Bobby Hugster the Bear (Bobby Bearhug)

The young red bear member and the all-loving part of the gang. She's a young girl who shows love and compassion for pretty much anybody, no matter who they are. However, this all-loving status doesn't come without its flaws, as it leaves her vulnerable to bullying, which she wouldn't have made it through if not for people like OMT!Tails and Kickroyale having her back.

In One More Hero, she's the first to see how nervous Tails is about settling into his new school in those next six months, and offers him some starting companionship while he gets to grips with the place. And once she heard about what went down with Uma, she's the first to comfort OMT!Tails once he returns to the school dorms, knowing just how difficult it must be for him to cope with.

Of course, thanks to her being there whilst OMT!Tails was being comforted by the Blur Gang, it meant she also got caught up in the crazy hide-and-seek when Danny entered the room, and then pinned in the room with OMT!Tails when the Blur Gang headed out to shut down Eggman Nega's invention themselves, though she was freed once Tails got his heroic second wind.

Naksh the Cat (CatNap)

The last member of the Smiling Buddies, and arguably the one who's changed THE MOST from his original counterpart. He's not constantly sleepy, but he is selectively mute and hasn't smiled a lot, even when with his friends. He had a rough home life and finds comfort in being around people who genuinely get it.

He does show up to help comfort OMT!Tails after Uma is hospitalised, though due to being more nervous, he doesn't stick around after the Blur Gang arrive at his dorm, though does show fascination when he witnesses proof of the multiverse from them.

Through this knowledge, he saw about his portrayals from Playtime Co. and the horrors of the factory, and isn't afraid to show his dislike for BOTH portrayals, feeling they don't capture who he really is at all.

And in general...

Each of them enjoy being around OMT!Tails and have all supported him from the sidelines in his quest to protect Mobius from destruction at the hands of crazed villains. Though their roles are not as major as anyone from the Blur Gang, Quill Society or rogues gallery, they all still make sure to do their part where it counts.

Small Note

For all you Poppy Playtime fans that saw this post and liked it, welcome to my blog, where I post stuff related to a story based on Spider-Verse, but with hedgehogs, foxes and other characters from the Sonic multiverse. Be sure to stick around here to see more!

And as a side-note to you guys, the Smiling Critters (who I'll admit are my personal favourites from the game) are going to be the ONLY representation of Poppy Playtime in ALL of IAB!. That means the rest of the characters are absent in Dimension MP-2021 outright.

[indigos-stardust]

Four Keys: Buwe (Blue)

(reblogs appreciated)

This is Buwe! (pronounced similarly to Dew), he's this au's Blue! Buwe's people, Selkie Folk, live in different communities on arctic Islands that rely on fishing seasons to survive.

Unfortunately, a horrible sea ice witch threatened them. She threatened to freeze all the sea, the sea that gave them their fish and their life, unless they paid. With wealth or manpower. Their tribes are like brother and sisters.

Paying her, it would have debilitated them until there was nothing left. It would kill them. Going against the other tribes would kill their souls. It was a trap to let her get more power. With the walls of ice surrounding them, and air so frigid no messenger bird could be sent, there would be no help to free them.

Buwe decided, that if she wanted a warrior, he would give her one. One that would take the breath from her lungs as he strangled her. No sick child of his home, his tribe of Kunae, would die again, because of her. Coughing blood and becoming brittle.

He found a weak spot in her ice walls and after nights of hard work in secret, he left. Filled with rage, knowing he'd never survive making it to the other tribes, he decided to go straight to the mouth of the beast. Her little hideout, hidden in the ice, under the freezing water.

He's never seen a place so beautifully sculpted, yet so revolting. Patterns of swirling ice with windows to the wide ocean outside, columns fashioned with utmost care. Icy statues of figures posed beautifully appear along the walls. The bones of children as adornments. Red stained fabrics, draping down the entrances.

It's nothing like the castles he's learned about from books, its far too small and the design itself is far too close to home. But he knows that's just now, she wants to expand this. She wants more. She'll build it out of pearly white bones if she has to.

He catches her by surprise, while she's tinkering with some sort of map. Planning for the attacks she'll lead them in, when they all crack and serve her in their grief. When they let her take control of their very minds with a binding oath made of pure dark magic.

She's amused at first. She knew how great of a warrior, and determined a man he was. She reminds him of her offer. To be hers. Only the finest would be hers, after all. He's sick. This monster, the way she talks, the way she watches him. It's nothing but a freaking game.

"No? Pity, Kunae man, but I don't want to kill you ,you know... Such a wasteful thing, yes?"

He stands in silent fury. He's ready to fight, to end this.

"Fine then, you can be, another one of my... perfect sculptures. My favorite one, in fact. That way, you could stay by my side forever, hm?"

She steps to him, closer and closer. He will not be afraid.

"Even back then... So brash and brave, when I came, I just adore you..." her hand caresses his face, he's tense, " That's the face I want to keep for myself forever."

His dagger lurches into her gut, but not before a thin blast of ice blasts off forcing them apart. Buwe moves, the end is near. The end of suffering, or the end of any chance of hope. The end of her, or the end of him.

Buwe nearly dies in that fight. He was fighting, on her terf, already weakened, with his own ability already diminished from the hunger. But the rage fuels him on, and he knows he will End Her even if it only happens during his last dying breath.

She gives a final attack of defense, he got too close, his grand tactical mistake made out of desperation. Her eyes say the words he can't hear. It's the blessing of a curse. He can feel his legs freezing over, the ice in his bones spreading and paralyzing reaching itself tendrils outward. The sound of her cracking neck is nearly mute in the water, an endless abyss of the dark. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. The light leaves her eyes.

He tries, Buwe really does, to transform again into a selkie, to let him swim to the surface, and maybe reverse her curse just long enough to see his home again. Just the walls and the glistening shining snow, that the children would soon play on again. He manages to transform, but it's too late. Every thought slows, muffled and pained. He will be lost, but he won, for them. That's all that matters. The world is deafening, as he sees the blackening ocean turn icy white. The world is dark again.

@slaingelo @vamqiredove @shadylink enjoy lol, it gets worse probably

[123-and-aubergines]

Entirely inconsequential and very likely improbable undertale theory time!

Chara, given the Narrator!Chara theory is true, was the one to run away during the Undyne fight.

Evidence:

In a neutral run, Sans' Judgment Speech includes the following line of dialog ...

... even if you never run away from a single fight during random encounters.

The only character you HAVE to flee from is Undyne in order to get her to Hotland. It's also one of the few fights where Sans is physically present to witness (with the others being Gryftrot and Shyren, both of which can be ended through sparing). With no other examples, this has to be the running away Sans is referring to.

But, why in the world would Frisk be smiling?

This is the most dangerous, difficult battle Frisk has been in so far. It's the only boss fight, to that point anyway, where the attacker has genuine desire to see you dead. On top of that, Undyne comments on your actions throughout the battle - your sparing, your pleas, your determination. There's no way that she WOULDN'T comment on a smile unless she somehow missed it (say, you had your back to her).

On top of this, Frisk has never been described smiling except in reference to Chara during the genocide route, where both Monster Kid and Flowey comment on their "sick" and "creepy" expression, repeatedly telling you that the situation isn't funny- implying the iconic smile.

It's also been suggested that Chara tends towards smiling in stressful situations, so perhaps they realized that sticking around was bad news and tried getting Frisk to bolt by opening the FLEE option.

But getting past speculation, here's the slight bit of evidence I took and ran with:

The narration only speaks in the first person when Chara is the subject, sometimes in white text.

The ESCAPE dialog, though typically basic, will occasionally read:

...entirely in the first person.

This is also the only time the RED soul does anything interesting, unlike the others, who each have special properties in battle. (BLUE has gravity, GREEN heals and keeps you in a closed space, YELLOW shoots, PURPLE traps, ORANGE punches and moves, CYAN is still until its safe to move). It's possible that DETERMINATION, or RED, has the ability to use MERCY in battle or, at the very least, FLEE, given that the soul changes to have legs.

With all this put together, there's at least some chance that Chara stepped in during the Undyne fight to allow the option to flee. Perhaps the soul resists Undynes' magic in some way? After all, she has no reason at all to turn Frisks soul from Green to Red, especially after the first time they escape. Maybe it's just too difficult to keep a constant hold on them, so she relents for brief periods until she can gather her strength again? This would explain her frustration with Frisk running away, but her apparent inability to do anything about that as the fight progresses. It would also explain why Sans mentions Frisk smiling when fleeing her.

While this is mostly just a fun idea that adds to Frisk and Chara's dynamic and makes a funny scene, it could have further implications. For example, it might imply that Frisk's choices are given to them by Chara. This might explain the repaired MERCY button during Asgore's fight. It would also suggest that Chara is constantly supplying Frisk with helpful information on the underground and the monsters, including peaceful pathways to resolve conflict (because honestly, most people encountering a weird alien creature trying to steal you soul would not immediately think that Flirting with or being cleaned by them would lead to success).

What do you think? I personally highly doubt this was intentional and was just a throw-away line for dramatics on Sans' part, but I also like to think that the dialog and set designs are very literal and reflect a wider world/ story. Please let me know your interpretation!

[ladylynse]

A DP ficlet for @schwoopsiedoodles. The prompt was technically 'New Years' but, uh, that was more of a starting point than a focal point with this one.

Phantasmagoria [FFN | AO3]: At first blush, the new year seemed like it would start off normally enough, but Danny should really know better than to expect normal by now. Still, this was not what people usually meant when they talked about a new year yielding infinite possibilities.

-|-

“Happy New Year, little brother,” Jazz said as she wrapped Danny in a hug. Fireworks burst on the TV, some celebration they’d switched to just before midnight, but Jazz clearly didn’t think that was loud enough to cover her next words because she lowered her voice before adding, “We made it through another Christmas, and we made it through last year, so we’ll make it through this one, too.”

“Happy New Year, you two!” Maddie said as she joined them and turned the affair into a group hug, and then Jack was on the other side, wrapping them all in a bear hug, and Danny—

Danny was being squeezed too tightly from every side now, and he was getting hot enough and feeling trapped enough that not phasing out of everyone’s grip was more of an active decision than what should be the tangible default of remaining in place. Jazz’s hair was tickling his nose, but better the smell of her shampoo than the scent of ectoplasm from his parents’ HAZMAT suits that lingered despite the intense decontamination and washing protocols. He should say something, maybe force out a laugh or joke about Jazz not breaking into song like usual, but—

But maybe that was it.

Maybe that’s what was bugging him, why he wasn’t as happy as he should be even though he knew, objectively, that Jazz was right, that everything was as good as it ever was these days.

Jazz wasn’t singing Auld Lang Syne.

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like she had to sing it. She just always had; it was practically as much of a family tradition as the annual Christmas argument. She liked the song—she had for as long as he could remember—and Maddie would join in once she started. So would Jack, even though he couldn’t sing any better than he could aim.

So why skip it this year?

There was something niggling at the back of Danny’s mind, a sort of awareness that came slowly, creeping over his skin and making it crawl in the process.

He didn’t feel hot any longer, but the feeling of being trapped definitely hadn’t gone away.

Maybe that was a good thing.

That meant that whoever was doing this to him didn’t know he’d realized something was off.

This didn’t feel like the Ghost Writer. Even if he’d mercifully decided to weave his stories into reality without rhyme, Danny doubted he’d give up the background narration entirely. He liked being in control of the narrative too much.

Danny wasn’t ruling out this being a dream, though, or some other happy simulation designed to keep him under, to keep him from questioning it. Things hadn’t worked out last time when he’d been dreaming of his friends, so if this was round two of ‘keep Phantom out of things by keeping him asleep’, shifting the narrative to his family might make a sick sort of sense. It would make more sense than an attempted reality rewrite from someone like Desiree—or someone armed with something like the Reality Gauntlet.

This was too personal for that kind of thing.

“Uh, Dad?” Danny finally tried. “You can let go now.”

“I’ll never let you go,” came the response, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice, it was Sam’s, and he was smelling her shampoo now, not Jazz’s, and Tucker was sandwiching Danny between him and Sam, and—

Shouldn’t he feel sick after a transition like that? After a lack of transition like that? This was a dream, but if Nocturn or whoever it was was trying to keep him down, wouldn’t they at least make him a little dizzy? It all might have felt seamless, a shift occurring between one blink and the next, but the whiplash between what is and what was—

“Dude,” said Tucker as he released Danny and stepped back, letting Danny see that not only was he no longer in his living room but he was also no longer in his house. They were in Sam’s room, and it was decorated the same as always; nothing seemed out of place at a glance.

Then again, if this was a dream, and he thought he knew how everything looked, would anything feel out of place when he was the one imagining it in the place it was now?

This was making his head hurt.

It just didn’t hurt enough to wake him up and snap him out of this, which was annoying.

Tucker was biting his lip, but his words burst out of him a split second later. “I know this is kinda a stupid question considering everything, but are you okay?”

He really wasn’t, but fine, Danny could play along. That was easier now that Sam had let him go at Tucker’s words, which had the unnerving effect of lessening his feeling of being trapped even though he knew he was still very much trapped.

But if the shock of the transition wasn’t enough to snap him out of it, and the shock of realizing what was going on wasn’t enough, what would be?

“I’m fine,” Danny said, and Sam promptly punched Tucker in the arm, who yelped.

“What was that for?”

“Asking a stupid question,” she ground out, “that made Danny feel like he had to lie to us and say he’s fine when he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to him. “What Tucker means is that it’s okay that you’re not okay yet, but we’re going to be here for you for as long as you need us.”

Wait.

What?

Tucker blew out his breath in something that wasn’t exasperation or a sigh but something else, something closer to…regret? Jazz would do that sometimes—she said it helped her to centre herself and get her thoughts in order—but had he ever heard Tucker do it?

“Sorry,” Tuck said. “I didn’t mean are you okay okay, because obviously this being a new year doesn’t mean what happened a couple weeks ago didn’t happen. I meant it more as a sort of ‘are you okay because you suddenly seem less okay than you were ten seconds ago’ and I wanted to know if it was something I did. Or Sam!” Tucker’s eyes flicked to Sam as he quickly added, “Please don’t hit me again. That really hurts.”

Coldness pooled in Danny’s stomach again, spreading outward and freezing his lungs. It was harder than it should be to repeat, “A couple weeks ago?”

Tucker’s laugh was a little too high not to be full of nerves. “Or, like, last week, with the funerals. And Vlad.” Sam’s foot shot towards Tucker’s leg, but he was already dancing back in anticipation. “He asked!”

“What about Vlad?” Danny pressed.

Sam stopped her attack on Tucker and frowned. “What do you mean, what about Vlad?”

“See?” Tucker flung out an arm towards Danny. “That’s why I asked if he was okay!”

Sam scowled at him, but it melted away when she turned back to Danny. “Okay, I get that it probably doesn’t feel worse than what he was always trying to do, but the paperwork’s that much closer to being official now, and I just…. I don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose you. And if we can’t figure out some way around this….”

“We will,” said Dani’s voice from behind him.

Danny jumped before spinning to face her, the what? spilling from his lips before he could think twice about it. Danielle was in her human form but in a black T-shirt and shorts he didn’t recognize, and—

And that wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.

A far cry from Sam’s bedroom, this place was basically a white box, sharp clean lines and maybe twice the size of his bedroom back home. Not small, but not necessarily big, considering it didn’t have windows or a visible door or, well, anything.

Anything, he realized as he looked around again, except some poorly hidden cameras.

Crud.

Maybe he didn’t have to recognize this place to know where he was.

Danielle was ignoring the cameras, apparently. She must’ve seen them—Vlad had trained her and he wasn’t incompetent in that, Danny was pretty sure—but she wasn’t looking at them. “We’ll get out of here,” she said. Repeated, presumably. “I can’t tell you how, obviously, but we will.”

Danny walked over to the nearest wall, turned his hand intangible, and promptly failed to stick it through the wall.

He wasn’t surprised, considering he’d dreamed himself up what must be some luxury cell courtesy of the Guys in White, but it was really disappointing to confirm that he was aware that he was dreaming but couldn’t control it.

(This had to be a dream. Nothing except dream made sense.)

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to separate us.”

“No,” Danny said with an assurance that better suited Jazz than him as he studied the wall for what seemed to be nonexistent flaws, “they wouldn’t have risked putting us together if they didn’t want something.”

“Yeah, and giving it to them would be bad. Got that. Hence the whole ‘not telling you how we’ll get out of here’ thing.”

“Except even that tells them something.” He turned back to Dani. “It tells them you have a plan.”

“Or it tells them I want them to think I have a plan.”

“Which is still technically a plan. It’s just a poorer plan.”

“Like you’re an expert on plans.” Danny snorted, conceding her point, so Danielle continued, “All that really matters is they’re guessing. Which they are. Because they don’t know us. Not well enough, anyway. It’s going to be their downfall.”

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

“Of course I’m right. I’m me. Besides, I’m not spending my entire birthday locked in here.”

Danny didn’t bother to verbalize the look he sent her; even someone as dense as the GiW agents he’d run into in Amity Park would be able to interpret his confusion.

Dani rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, my chosen birthday. New year, new me. Everyone else can have resolutions. I want cake.”

Danny grinned. “Cake would—”

Alarms swallowed the rest of his words.

He jolted awake, fumbling without opening his eyes for the whatever-it-was that was making that racket so he could make it stop, and it took a precious few seconds to blink awake and remember and scramble to make sure there were no remnants of any ghostly tampering.

Nothing, as far as he could tell.

No helmet, no dust, no goo, nothing new or out of place. He was still in bed, but he was awake. The beeping had stopped by now, so maybe he had imagined it? Maybe it had simply been the last bit of a dream before it had woken him up?

Danny crawled out from under the covers so he could take a peek out the window, and he winced at the glowing green eyes of his reflection before blinking them back to blue. He really had been on edge if his powers were this close to the surface. Maybe he should head downstairs for some water and—

There was someone sitting on the roof across the street.

They were looking in his direction.

They’d probably been looking in his direction the whole time.

That wasn’t as bad as it could be, considering the things that could be explained away because this was the Fenton household, except that Danny knew the silhouette of that particular someone.

It would explain the beeping, too, though he’d never realized it was that loud.

Against his better judgement, Danny opened his bedroom window. It wasn’t particularly cold out—Jazz probably had her bedroom window cracked right now—so it wasn’t like he had to break through a seal of ice to get it open. The main reason he kept his window shut was to discourage ghosts from popping in on him, and that only worked with the polite ones. Still, mild weather or not, he hadn’t been woken by his ghost sense.

“Valerie?”

She heard him, or maybe she just saw the window opening, but either way, she called up her sled and slid almost silently through the air until she was less than three feet from him. Her visor wasn’t shielding her face, and her arms were crossed, which he was hoping to take as a good thing and not a bad thing. “How long?”

“How long what?” Even as he asked it, he realized what she must mean. Oops. She’d heard him after all. “Sorry. From the beginning. Like, the beginning beginning, not just since Technus gave you your new suit.”

Something in her expression tightened. “Please just be straight with me.”

“What? I am!”

“No, I mean—” She broke off with a frustrated growl. “Look. If you answer my questions, we can leave the past in the past. Start fresh. New chapters and all that. But if you insist on playing dumb, I have no reason to trust you—or give you the benefit of the doubt. So how long?”

“I don’t—”

“How long, Phantom?”

Oh.

“Could you, um, be a little more specific than that?”

He was waiting for the dream to shift on him again.

It didn’t.

As Valerie’s frown deepened, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he really had woken up. “Please?” It never hurt to be polite. In theory.

“How long has this been going on?”

She was still watching him, but there was a catch in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and it seemed real enough.

Of course, everything else had seemed real, too.

If this were a dream, his response wouldn’t matter. His response might even shift him somewhere else entirely. If this were really Valerie, though? This Valerie looked lost and was doing a poor job of hiding it behind a show of familiar anger. This Valerie—

“And how long,” she croaked, her composure crumpling entirely as her voice cracked, “is this going to keep going on?”

Wait.

“I don’t want to do this again.”

The dream—not-dream, whatever this was—did not conveniently remove him from the conversation.

“Don’t want to do what again?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I can’t keep jumping through possibilities.” The words were soft, more of a reluctant admission than anything else. “If this is you, stop it. It’s cruel even if you don’t think it is, and you always insist that you’re the good guy anyway. If it’s not you….” She swallowed. “Help me. Please. Even if you’re not my friend, be my ally. I— Our truce doesn’t have to end when this is over.”

She sounded like she meant it.

Maybe he should hope this wasn’t a dream after all, if only so he didn’t have to worry about having Valerie on his back all the time.

Then again.

If this wasn’t a dream, she’d be spitting distance from his secret even if she thought Phantom—in a feat of spectacular stupidity—was currently overshadowing Danny while under the same roof as the people who hunted him down at every opportunity.

If she were being honest about what might be an indefinite truce, though, that might not be a bad thing.

Danny wouldn’t say this in Sam’s hearing, but Valerie was a better shot than her, and having Val back him up from time to time would be beneficial in more ways than him not having to worry about her taking a shot at him.

“Indefinite truce if we get out of this alive?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She didn’t look amused at his choice of words, but she swallowed whatever scathing insult she’d wanted to spit at him and shook his hand instead.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me on the roof? I should really change for this.”

That earned him an eyeroll, but she grumbled, “Fine.”

He really did change before following her, first out of his PJs and into clothes and then transforming into Phantom, but she was waiting for him on the Ops Centre without a blaster, so that was a win.

“Thanks,” he said, even though he hadn’t really thought she’d fire at him right after being the one to call a truce. “And—please don’t shoot the questioner—can you elaborate on the whole ‘can’t keep jumping through possibilities’ thing?”

She sighed and sat down, hugging her knees and looking out at the horizon instead of at him. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it takes longer for the shift to happen, but whenever it does, I’m somewhere else, in a new situation, and most of them aren’t pleasant.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Case in point, finding you where I found you, because I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what’s going on there.”

Danny winced, and not just because his parents were proof that geniuses could be astoundingly blind when they weren’t looking for something. He didn’t want to get into what Valerie thought now, though. They had more important things to talk about. “I’ve been doing the same thing. The shifting between situations like it’s a dream thing.”

“If you’re going through the same thing, then which of us is dreaming?”

If Nocturn or someone like him was involved, it wasn’t necessarily one or the other. They could both be dreaming.

Or this could be something else entirely and neither of them were dreaming, since Danny wasn’t sure why Nocturn would want them both to be aware that they were dreaming when that meant they’d be actively trying to snap out of it.

Still, better that they were dreaming than some something horrendously damaging and somehow unforeseen had happened to the timeline and they were dropping through alternate realities like they were tissue paper faster than Clockwork could sort it out.

“Beats me,” Danny said, offering Valerie a grin in the hopes that it would cheer her up. He held out a hand, and she took it and let him pull her up. “Let’s find out.”

(see more fics | check out the awesome fanart for this fic)

[professionalranter31]

I have more general headcannons for the Overwatch heroes

Bastion has yet to really figure out their gender, they identify as he/him currently because of their relationship with Torbjorn but they are still discovering parts about who they are

Bob used to have a voice but Ashe’s parents had it removed when Ashe started to treat Bob as her parent instead of them, it had the opposite effect that they had intended. Ashe is determined to find a copy of Bob’s voice so he can tell her his stories again and talk to her while he makes meals and hum to her when she just needs a hug

When Efi began to create Orisa’s Javelin update she let Orisa pick out her own hairstyle, there are several hair styles stored away because Orisa went slightly overboard with picking one out, Efi is currently debating getting into selling hair styles to Omnics she’s made so many that she’s become that good

Brigitte had a habit growing up of trying to make mech suits for various animals, from a jet pack mech for a cat to a flying suit for a squirrel, Torbjorn already warned Bastion that she may try to do this with Ganymede, but he also knows that Reinhardt encourages the behavior

Widowmaker’s brainwashing did not simply affect her current emotions, the way that the brainwashers ensured it worked was that they altered her memories of her past emotions so that she felt like she was faking them instead of actually feeling them. Once that process was done then they implanted that she only feels real emotions when she kills someone and implanted the urge to kill Gerard. It also has to be stated that barely anyone knows that she is actually brainwashed, the only people who do are those that brainwashed her, some of them are dead, and Doomfist. So most people thinks this is the real Amelie instead of the fake. Angela and a few others just thinks she suffered a psychotic breakdown

Ana has a small holo disk that holds articles about all of Fareeha’s achievements, from her promotions to her completed missions, everything. Fareeha does not know about this

Ramattra has been analyzing certain individuals in order to create generals for Null Sector, or at the very least super soldiers (this is in reference to the Null Sector skins some heroes have, I want all of them to be canon to the lore)

Sombra hates hacking Omnics, the first time she tried it felt so wrong that she ended up getting sick. The issue that arises is that with manipulations there is always some sort of choice, no matter how much of an illusion one may be, but hacking an Omnic takes away all choice, and Sombra hates that because it makes her feel like the people she’s hunting down to uncover the conspiracy. She was sick for several days after she hacked several Omnics in Numbani for Doomfist

D.Va is a really good at making meals, and I mean like from scratch, it was something she learned to do when first entering the streaming scene because she didn’t want to become reliant on cup noodles and snacks for sustenance, which is ironic because she absolutely sucks at cooking games, which is made further ironic because Tracer, who can’t make a meal to save her life is amazing at cooking games

Doomfist’s philosophy was born when he lost his arm, he cried out for help but no one came even though he could see that people heard him, but no effort was made to save him. He had to force himself out of the rubble pinning him down, and forcefully tearing his trapped arm off to get out. That is when his philosophy first began to develop

Lifeweaver is constantly studying plants to try and find new effects he could create with his biolight that could help people, but the first plants he researched after he left Vishkar were some of Satya’s favorites. She had a small garden that she would trim and keep from overgrowing, with a bonsai tree to round it all together. The first plants he designed and created after leaving Vishkar and joining the Arcology were from that garden, he keeps a replica in his room to remember his best friend

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Blessed Heir of the Abyss (Abyssal Prince Childe x Reader) Part 3

Synopsis: After centuries of conflict, Teyvat and the Abyss are attempting to make peace with one another. To solidify new alliances and let go of past grudges, the Abyssal Prince Tartaglia will choose a spouse from the people above to rule over the Abyss with him.

That spouse happens to be you, an ordinary, Visionless citizen of Liyue.

Chapter Two: The Librarian

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Warnings: Mentions of crying, Abyss Heralds and Lectors still hate you (with exceptions), Childe is still mean, allusions to getting sick at the end, mentions of fear, bad Latin (I used a translator), SLOW BURN

~ * ~ You wake to several sharp raps on your door, heart pounding wildly. The sheets on your bed are cold, tangled around your legs as if they’re trying to trap you, keep you in place and drown you in the realm of dreams and nightmares. It’s tempting to fall asleep forever, if it means you can escape the icy confines of your fate. With a tired exhale you push aside the twisted blankets, shivering when your feet touch the gleaming floor- uncarpeted, it shines in the dim light; no expense spared for the Royal Abyssal Palace. The castle must have a name. All magnificent structures do- at least, they do back in Teyvat. But you’re not in Teyvat anymore, you’re underneath, in a strange land of ruins and starlight. The knocking increases in volume and irritation, and hastily you pull on the coat you brought and push open the door. An Abyss Herald looms before you, somehow both looking extraordinarily annoyed and superior despite his inhuman features, and you instinctively back away, blood running cold. “You are late,” the Herald growls, and you swallow thickly, fear gumming up and clogging your throat. “L-Late for what?” The Herald clicks his tongue at your ignorance, claws curled in an effort to remain calm. “Breakfast. As the Prince’s spouse, you’re expected to join him every morning.” “I didn’t know-” “Clearly. Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings.” The Herald’s frigid tone makes you wince, and with another mumbled apology you retreat into your room, turning towards the grand wardrobe in the corner. It looks dull compared to the crystal and porcelain of everything else- yet you know it’s one of the most prized objects in the entire room, for where does wood grow and flourish in the Abyss? And when you pull open the doors, a gasp slips from your mouth at the sight of clothes lining the racks, neatly folded or suspended on hangers, in exactly your size. The designs and shapes are elegant, glittering with tiny stars and gems, fit for royalty.

Not you. Nervously you gulp, intimidated by the rich cloth. But the fabric is carefully woven, warm yet silky to the touch, and the Abyss has been nothing but cold to you, so you pick the least embroidered of the clothes and quickly don them, the air still making your skin prick with chill. A glance in the mirror hanging on the wall tells that you’re presentable- tired-looking, but presentable. The Herald’s still waiting when you open the door, only paying you a single disdainful glance before striding down the hall, waving for you to follow him. Every one of his steps is three of yours and you jog to keep up, shoes tapping quietly on the polished floor. You continuously turn corner after corner, passing room after room, in awe at just how big the palace really is- the Jade Chamber- no, all of Liyue Harbor- is incomparable to its size and level of grandeur, as even the pathway to the dining hall is enormous and gleams with inset gems and gold. The doors smoothly slide open at the Herald’s command, yet still the room falls silent when you enter, the chatter of Lectors and Mages hushing as they all turn to stare at you, nothing but judgment in their gazes. They line the walls, creating a path down the center of the hall for you and you alone, and at the end awaits a small table; two chairs, and one Prince. His Royal Highness Tartaglia watches you from his seat, dull eyes bored and lethargic as he drums his fingers slowly on the tabletop. Tap. Tap. Tap. You’re not sure if the sound is from your footsteps or his nails on wood- either way, it’s too loud. Quietly you sit in the other chair, back stiff and upright, posture Zhongli would be proud of. Your hands twist and wring in your lap as you focus on breathing in and out, slow and steady, despite how your chest attempts to tighten and choke you at the feeling of dozens of eyes boring into you. The Prince waves his hand towards the Court, jeweled ornaments on his clothes making small clinking sounds, and the Abyssal creatures obediently file out of the room, doors swiftly whisking shut, leaving you alone with your husband-to-be. Or perhaps he’s already your husband, you becoming his betrothed the moment he selected you from the crowd. You absentmindedly pick at the corners of your nails and stare at your hands, not daring to look up at the Prince, and he returns the favor by focusing on his breakfast as if you’re not even there. He eats and you only tense further, the silence hanging over you like a thick, suffocating fog. “Why haven’t you eaten?” You start violently, head snapping towards Prince Tartaglia. He’s stopped eating, hand still elegantly grasping his fork, and instead he stares at you with the barest hint of concern in his azure eyes. No- not concern, curiosity. A sick, simple desire to know why, nothing more, nothing less, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not hungry, Your Highness,” you reply, lacing your fingers together, horribly aware of how his deadened gaze burns into your head, through your skin and bones until he can see right through you and hold all your secrets in one hand. “Hmm…” He downs his drink until it’s nearly gone, a trickle swirling in the bottom of his crystal glass. “I suppose because you showed your face after all, I should inform you of this castle’s rules.” Tartaglia glances and arches a brow at you, still scratching at your fingers. “The first rule is to look at me when I’m talking to you.” You flinch and look up so quickly you feel your joints pop, the ghost of a smirk dancing on the Prince’s face before fading away again. “The second rule,” he begins, leaning back into the cushions of his chair. “Is to not disturb me in the later hours of the day.” You nod stiffly, as you weren’t planning on bothering him ever. “And lastly… see those doors?” He tilts his head towards a grand opening, locked shut by the pair of ornate, hand carved doors with pointed stars on the handles. “Those lead outside. You are not to go through them, ever.” Your blood runs cold. “Your Highness… what do you mean-” “The palace will provide everything you need. There is no reason for you to go outside.” “But what if I need to go back to Teyvat?! Visit home?” You exclaim, rising to your feet, and Tartaglia stands to meet you, a cool, icy glare on his face. Instinctively you take a step back, chills going down your spine. “Teyvat is your home no longer, don’t you remember? You are my spouse, and will go where I go, and my domain is the Abyss.” Idly he swirls the water in his glass. “You were given to me as a gift, so here you shall remain, even if my contract with Liyue becomes null.” The liquid he drinks is blood-red in the light, and your eyes widen with horror as he drains the cup and leaves without another word, cloak swishing in some unseen wind. The moment the doors close you sink to your knees, tears pricking and sliding down your cheeks as the walls close in on you, the bars of a crystalline cage. “Your Highness- Ah… is this a bad time, perhaps?” You jolt at the soft voice, glancing up at the Pyro Lector floating in the center of the room. He seems almost awkward, looking from you to the exit and back again, and hastily you scrub your face and shake your head. “N-no! Not at all, I’m fine- Wait. I recognize you…” Blinking, you furrow your brows. “You’re the Pyro Lector who took me to my room yesterday.” “You remember!” You’ve never seen an Abyss Lector beam in delight, but it’s certainly a curious sight as he smiles widely. “Forgive me for not introducing myself- I am called Enjou, Your Highness.” The Lector- Enjou- bows deeply, and you’re quick to bow in return, confusion washing over your being. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir Enjou…” “Please, no Sirs and Madams here, Your Highness! There’s already so much formality around here, anyways.” “Oh…” A small smile spreads across your face, a spark of mischief glowing like rising embers. “Then… you don’t have to call me “Your Highness”, either. Just use my name, please.” Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you clear your throat. Enjou hums, nodding curiously. “Does the title of royalty displease you?” You exhale shakily, shoulders slumping. “I’m not sure… this place is beautiful, but it’s so cold and hollow. I miss my friends and the Harbor and the sun, and the walks Zhongli and I would take together. I miss Hu Tao and the way she would pop up out of the blue, like a sneaky little ghost. I miss my little house and the pen I used to write and the soft blankets- and I- I just want to go home.” Words spill out, one after another until you’re sitting on the ground, face buried in your knees and Enjou quietly patting your back. The Lector says nothing, merely offering you a warm presence to lean against as you hiccup and sob, crying yourself dry of any tears. Finally you sniff, wiping your cheeks and under your eyes- certainly you must look like a mess, but Enjou gracefully says nothing of it. “Enjou, you’re… different from the other, er, people here.” He laughs, glowing a soft orange. “I have been seen as slightly odd compared to my peers- perhaps they think me to be “too casual”.” With a single movement he stands, a hand on your shoulder to bring you with him. “If you have the time, there’s something that might cheer you up a bit- I think you’ll quite like it.” The Lector guides you down the hall, matching his pace to yours as you walk, never more than an arm’s length ahead of you. The palace is still cold, a chill settling in your bones, but somehow Enjou’s aura soothes your rattled nerves, casting a warm glow on the otherwise cool and polished walls and keeping up idle conversation the entire journey. It’s easy to talk to him, you realize- easy as blinking, and he seems eager to chat with you as well, a stark contrast from the revolted glances received by the rest of the Abyssal Court. “Ah, here we are!” Enjou ushers you into a room and you let out an awestruck gasp, for lining every wall and nook and cranny are shelves upon shelves of books. Scrolls and scriptures old and new, books the size of your hand and as tall as Enjou, and journals embossed with gold and tiny locks. You turn towards the Lector, eyes blown wide with amazement, muffling your laugh at the sight of him taking out a pair of rectangular glasses and setting them on his face with pride. “Welcome to my workplace!” He spreads his arms with a flourish, striding around the room. “In terms of the Court, I hold the title of Chief Archivist, Keeper of the Tomes and Organizer of Celestial Knowledge." Enjou winks, a mischievous smile on his pointed face. “Or, if you’re more sensible, I am a Librarian.” The small laugh you’ve been holding in slips out as you take his extended hand, the tips of his claws pressing carefully into your skin. “Not one for fancy titles either, huh?” “Well, not ones that are complex and redundant!” With the flair of a tour guide he turns on his heel, almost dragging you down the aisles in his excitement. “Even so- this is my favorite spot in the entire palace. I spend more time here than in my actual room.” Enjou runs his fingers along the books’ spines, touch feather-light. “And you are more than welcome to visit me whenever you’d like.” You blink, fingers winding around the front of your shirt in daring, fleeting hope. “Really? I can come… here?” Your head cranes back to stare at the ceiling, an artful symphony of swirling gold filigree and mysterious constellations. “Certainly, I’d be more than happy to have your company! And besides,” Enjou kneels, dipping his head to your height. “You are royalty now, and as such you can go wherever you wish in this place.” Your cheeks grow warm in embarrassment at Enjou’s bow, and your gaze trails back down to your fingers, twisted into knots. “Then… I’d like to stay here for a little bit. If that’s alright.” It’s difficult to keep your voice from wavering as you straighten your shoulders, but a smile tugs at your lips when Enjou claps in delight. “Wonderful! I’ll fetch a lamp- humans can’t see well in the dark, if I recall correctly.” The Pyro Lector floats off to scrounge up a light, a little floating star in a glass case to illuminate the way for your weak mortal eyes. When he returns you’re already immersed in a book- The Kingdom of Fallen Light, a History- a wobbly, but genuine smile on your face for the first time in days. It’s late. Too late- you should be asleep right now in your room; that glittering, gilded prison. Yet you simply yawn and turn another page, idly tracing the elegant script with your fingertips. Porta Abyssi Stellarum- The Gateway of Abyssal Stars; the Royal Abyssal Palace. That’s what it’s called, standing alone in the gloom as a shining beacon. The Abyssal people must trust their Prince wholeheartedly- your brows furrow slightly. A carefully crafted breeze ruffles the parchment, your little celestial lamp bobbing up and down as you shiver, the cold air sending chills down your back. You’re too warm. You’re too cold. Your head hurts, and you pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers and sigh. It echoes in the Library, the lack of Enjou’s muttering being filled in by heavy silence. Another page flips, a quiet rumbling in the distance reaching your ears, something clicking on the floor like drops of water. In your exhaustion you don’t notice, only continuing to pore over the book on the table, eyes scratchy and aching. The star-lamp flickers feebly, valiantly trying to provide a few more minutes of light for you. You cough once, then twice, lungs expanding and contracting painfully, and the thumping in your head grows steadily louder. Suddenly it vanishes, leaving a high-pitched ringing that drowns out everything else, and the back of your neck prickles in quiet, dreading fear. Something breathes, then growls behind you, terribly familiar. The star in its glass seal flares one final time, then extinguishes, and you’re plunged into darkness.

[steddilly]

When Wayne moved to Hawkins fifteen years ago to case the town, he hadn’t expected to end up staying. What kind of hunter purposefully cocked up an assignment? A bad one apparently, but he was fine with that. He’d been sent to the small town in rural Indiana after a strange rise in creature sightings, that sort of thing didn’t take much time getting back to the kind of hunters led by his younger brother, Al.

He quickly found out that Hawkins was acting as some sort of beacon to supernatural beings, attracting them to seek out and settle down in the town surrounded by thick wooded areas. Weres of every kind. Vamps of every kind. Witches, shapeshifters, banshees, and just about every other kind of creature you could think of.

What started out as a task to infiltrate the town to get a better idea of the severity of the infestation quickly turned into something more, because then he got to know the residents as more than just what they were and began seeing them as neighbours and friends. They trusted him and welcomed him into their communities, even the supernaturals grew to trust him and he even watched some of them grow up. He couldn’t hurt these people, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

Wayne never heard much from his younger brother or the other hunters, he occasionally sent Al letters downplaying what was actually going on in Hawkins, it was a low level threat that almost wasn’t worth dealing with. He should have known better, almost two decades of peace sounded like long overdue trouble for a semi-retired hunter, and word travelled fast to him that there were two men asking about him. He knew his brother would eventually show up to track him down, but he never expected his nephew to be dragged out with him.

Albert Munson was a ruthless hunter, more of a shoot first and ask questions later kind of guy. Eddie though... The boy he’d left behind was more sort hearted than his old man, he wouldn’t want to hurt innocent people. Wayne would learn that Eddie didn’t agree with the majority of what his father believed, and refused to be brainwashed with his ideologies towards supernatural beings.

The real trouble begins when Al (unbeknownst to Wayne) set up a few traps in the woods and actually ends up catching a Werecub, who lets out the most heartbreaking cries Wayne has ever heard - but he knew what kind of cry that was, it was a cry for help and not just of fear.

“You’ve been slacking, Wayne. Barely a few hours here and we’ve already caught us a baby monster.” Al was so pleased with himself, standing proudly below the strung up cub with his arms crossed. It made Wayne sick to think that he had once been exactly the same as his brother, conflicted at the time or not, he had participated in the same things.

“Dad, there’s no us. I don't want anything to do with this. You’re hurting him, he’s probably just a kid.” Eddie denied, keeping himself well back from the situation, wanting no part in it.

It wasn’t long before the trio heard an answering howl to the cries, high and haunting and designed to travel - it sounded like a very pissed off mama, and suddenly they felt very unprepared for this expedition. They were expecting a Werewolf (the most common type of Were) or a Werebear (because of the cub), but what came crashing through the undergrowth was a monstrous coyote-looking creature, and she was livid. Her fur was shiny and well maintained, dark rusty shades of brown mottled with grey and blonde streaks. She chased the three of them through the woods until they were far enough away for the Werecoyote to double back and rescue her pup.

“Wooah boy, that was a close one!” Al chuckled after they stopped running to catch their breaths, as if they’d just been out for a jog in the woods and not chased by something that could have easily caught up with them.

The worst part was that Wayne definitely thought he recognised the Werecoyote, and if he recognised the Were then he definitely recognised him. Steve Harrington, resident Were and local babysitter to some of the younger supernatural beings in Hawkins, which meant the cub was most likely one of the kids he took care of and considered his pack. He absolutely knew who Wayne was, and now he knew what Wayne was.

“Relax, Wayne, it was just a ‘yote.” Al clapped him on the shoulder, something he bet his brother thought would be assuring and friendly, but it absolutely wasn’t. “Could’ve been worse. Would’a been a whole other story if we’d attracted a wolf.” - Wayne didn’t think so, but he was the one who was going to be suffering the consequences. - “C’mon, take your brother and nephew home for some grub, all that running’s worked up an appetite.”

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 26

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: some violence

Summary: Jason goes to get YN back from the doctor

Notes: only 2 more chapters after this!

Jason knew he wouldn’t be mentally able to plan this mission, so he let Bruce handle it. Bruce studied the small office building they were holed up in, located in Lower Gotham and surrounded by other abandoned buildings. There were probably various squatting camps nearby, innocents they were trying to protect themselves behind. Bruce was going to go into the front, try to keep however many of those working with the doctor distracted while Tim and Dick slid in from side windows to assist. The doctor would most likely stay with YN in case any of them got through, he might have her in a trap. The intent was probably to kill her and see what Jason did so he would have to keep his composure at least a little bit, until she was safe and then all of the rage he felt was going to be released on those people. Bruce would have to deal with them all being dead before Jason left that building tonight.

As they were gearing up, keeping an eye on the tracker just in case YN moved Bruce approached Jason. He waited for acknowledgment and Jason could tell he was worried.

“Sorry Bruce, I’m not going to be your good little Robin tonight,” Jason said, throwing a glance at him. Bruce stared hard at him, still quiet. His favorite tactic, just stew in silence until Jason talked, let him hang himself with words somehow. Not this time, Jason just worked on reassembling his last gun.

“I cannot condone what you want to do to them,” Bruce said finally. Jason holstered his weapon and turned to face his mentor. “They should be arrested and let the justice system deal with them.”

“The justice system in this entire country is shit, in this city its worse,” Jason said. “I am going to kill all of them, take YN away to that cabin, and after getting her help to recover from this whole traumatic experience we will decide if we want to come back. If we come back, then Red Hood isn’t going to be a nice little follower of Batman. People will still die, think of it like this, you can deter the ones who only offend once. I’ll take out the ones that can’t seem to help but be bad. But that’s only if we come back.”

“You would really abandon Gotham?” Bruce asked. Jason rolled his eyes, grabbing his helmet.

“Gotham is important to me, but its not my lifeblood, YN is my lifeblood and if she never wants to set foot in this city of blood again then we won’t,” he said. “Now let’s go.”

The room you were being kept in was, in a word, terrifying. A cage sat in the corner that looked like had once contained a large animal, blood was dried all over it and some scraps of what might have been beef lay scattered on the ground around it. A chair was in the corner, spikes for the seat, straps to hold someone in place. It also seemed to be covered in dried blood. An operating table was in the center of the room with instruments on a stand next to it and they all were, you guessed it, covered in blood. This room was where evil was practiced and perfected. It made you sick. But the thing that scared you most was the noose hanging from the ceiling. That looked new, like it was meant for you. They had dressed you in a white dress, ethereal in its design, some kind of angel they were going to kill to bring out the demon in Jason. You wouldn’t let that happen. You grabbed a rusty looking bone saw from the stand in the room, holding it behind your back, ready for the next time someone came in. You hoped it wasn’t all of four of them, you could maybe take one or two, but all four and you would be hanging dead in minutes.

You knew something was happening when only Strange came into the room, looking frazzled. He grabbed you roughly, turning your body, pulling at the dress, ripping it a little, as he searched and finally found the small injection site on the back of your neck where you had forced Tim to implant the tracker. Once he turned you back to face him you struck with the bone saw, scrapping the dulled blade down his cheek. He cried out, backing up and grabbing at the gash, seeping blood everywhere. His eyes turned feral, and he came back at you. You once again swung the blade, but he was expecting it, grabbing your arm with one hand, the other sending a fist to your face. Your head snapped back at the impact, stars blinding you as pain seeped through your skull. He took this moment and gripped you under your arms, heaving you onto the table, jumping up himself. You recovered and started to scramble, trying to grab at him, pull him down, but he was using all his strength to stay on the operating table. He grabbed your hair, yanking your head back to punch you again, sending more pain blooming through your mind. You recovered faster this time, but he had already stood you up and had gotten the noose around your neck, tightening it. Your hands went to the rope, trying to get your fingers under the strands, yank it off, loosen it just a little, anything to stop the panic that was starting to grow in your nervous system.

“O, Red Hood, lovely to see you,” you heard the doctor say. Your eyes darted around until you realized Jason was behind you and Strange was holding your shoulders steady so you couldn’t turn. “O don’t come too close, this table isn’t very steady, one little push and she will break her pretty neck.”

“You know better than to do that. You kill her, I kill you, then you can’t finish your little study,” Jason said, the mechanical voice bringing you calm. It never occurred to you that Jason could lose. You had more faith in him than anyone else. You assumed that the others were around, probably taking care of the other three, but still, Jason was there, that was truly what made you feel safe. Strange stepped down from the table, leaving you hanging up there, still struggling to free yourself. You felt the table move a little as he pushed it with his foot.

“You may kill me, but you will kill everyone and everything if she dies. That barely suppressed rage brought on by the Lazarus Pit will consume you the moment your world turns gray, and you know you can’t bring her back,” the doctor said. Jason knew he was right. If he didn’t save YN, everything else was going to die with her. There was no point to a dark world without her in it. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He held up his gun and aimed it for Strange’s head.

“I can just shoot you, I’m sure your friends downstairs are already tied and up and ready for me to execute,” Jason said. Strange chuckled a little. He was arrogant, Jason could see that, maybe he thought that they would be joining him soon. Jason wasn’t an idiot, its why he had taken extra time to come up here. He had waited until Batman, Nightwing, and Robin had the other three under control and contained before he came here. Now he just wanted to end this.

“My friends downstairs may be neutralized, but that just means it will be easier for you to start your rage killing spree,” Strange said. He kicked his leg back, sending the table skittering across the room. YN dropped, Jason fired, the bullet hitting Strange between the eyes. He ran over to where she fell, expecting the world to be gray, feeling the rage already pushing to be let out. But that didn’t happen, her neck didn’t break. He hurried, pulling the table back and climbing up on it, getting her to stand. He saw that she had managed to get her fingers under the rope, making the impact of the fall less stressful on her neck, saving her. He panted, getting the noose off of her neck and pulling her close. She panted and looked at him.

“I didn’t mean it,” she said. Jason nodded. “After this…when what’s happened finally sets in, I’m sorry for how I’m going to be.” He nodded again. He helped her up and they walked down the stairs into the lobby of the office where Zsasz, Flamingo, and Stirk were tied up, Batman, Nightwing, and Robin watching them. Jason gently passed YN to Tim, who hugged her tight as Jason leveled his gun.

“Red Hood…” Batman tried to caution, but it was useless. Three shots, three dead murders and one still living. He looked at Bruce and saw the disappointment, but he didn’t care. If Bruce really thought that these men were able to be saved, or could be contained even, he was a fool and Jason wanted no part in his family. Bruce changed nothing, Jason still had control of North Gotham and it was the safest part of the city. What Jason did meant something and Bruce wasn’t going to stop him.

“Just keep my territory safe while I’m gone Batman, did a lot of work to lower the crime rate there,” Jason said. Bruce just nodded. “Come on YN, let’s get home, I’ll call Dr Thompkins.” This was going to be a long road but they would be alright, they were together, it would all be ok in the end.

[shinyarcadehideout]

Hey folks! This is my first post, and honestly, I just wanted to take some time to share my thoughts on the game 'Mushroom Oasis'.

    ⚠️ SPOILERS FOR DAYS ONE AND TWO⚠️

   Some pictures from days one and two will be included. No details about how you can obtain the endings will be given. You've been warned.

First off, I absolutely love this game. When you have a character who is designed to fit in the 'yandere' troupe, it's easy to fall into the same traps or get stuck in one place in your story. The way the creator made mychael an evolving yandere is what makes it that much more interesting. By the public, a yandere is seen as a school girl who is obsessed with a male classmate who is willing to off the people around him so she can have him all to herself. As time has gone on, there have been more appearances of male yandere characters. Though, the male characters don't get too much recognition.

                  What is a yandere?

A yandere is often sweet,caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an extreme, often violent, or psychotic level of devotion to a love interest. -Dictionary.com

Even though this is the main definition, a lot of people don't look past the cute aesthetic the character portrays, and believe this extreme behavior is simply instinct for this character, but this is far from true.

Yuno Gasai (GIF below) is a great example of fan dismissal of concerning behavior due to her aesthetic. Admittedly, the only one being fooled by this demeanor is Yuki (the main character), nonetheless, when Future Diary released a lot of people were entranced by the "cute but deadly" schoolgirl behavior Yuno exhibited.

   Characters with 'yandere' tendencies are often the ones who have a sad/lonely past or present existence. Focusing back on mushroom Oasis, Mycheal is a being who doesn't fit with humans, so he lives in the woods. Even from day one, you can tell something is off about him (not just physically, of course). You can tell he has a good heart, but he allows his weariness to be alone again to make his decisions. Even from day one, he is ADAMANT on the protagonist staying. However, he doesn't do anything drastic until the very end because at that point, he's trapped in his own head.

  The evolving yandere (or the yandere that stays true to the traditional definition) make room for a more through character or even character development. Will mychael get character development in that specific sense? It would certainly be interesting, but probably not the type of thing the creator is going for. To be frank, the main reason why I'm personally obsessed with mushroom oasis is because even though it only has 3 days, there is enough story to make you want more.

    🍄 Let's talk more about Mychael.🍄

What is mychael? As of right now, the creator hasn't given an answer to what exactly he is, but he isn't human. He makes it clear from his very first lines that we are the first human he's seen in a while. When the day goes on, if you make the decision of kindness, mychael will become more attached. Mychael goes to drastic measures to keep you with him. In days one and two, we see a more desperate mychael; a "I'm sorry I hurt you, I just wanted to be together but you should've given in" type of person.

What makes mychael so dangerous?

Putting the topic of yandere behavior aside for a moment, mychael is very human despite the fact he isn't one himself. Mychael subconsciously craves the company of another person, even if he consciously pushes them away. We see him talk negatively about himself in days one and two

On day three, we see mychael portrayed as someone who is sick of going back and forth or being patient with the protagonist. The protagonist WILL stay, and the protagonist WILL live with him. There is no negotiation. Funny enough, the later days are when mychael actually doesn't use his hypnosis as often, if at all. He's relying more on himself and his own physical thoughts, then using his hypnosis to aid him. He gets more agitated, and his mind often keeps drifting off.

Conclusion

I personally find day 3 to be the climax or near the climax for the story. He loses some of the behavior we saw from the days before, and instead, we see him in a more terrifying light. Seeing the obsession build from a pure desire to connect with another person to wanting that individual all to himself helps give depth to mychael then just a 'yandere'. Overall, if you haven't played the game already, I highly recommend it even though it's a 3 day demo (subject to change).

Please support the creator of 'Mushroom Oasis' if you end up liking their work!

🍄 Mushroom Oasis 🍄

@deerspherestudios

And check out these other games of similar taste!

☀️Something is wrong with Sunny Day Jack ☀️

@snaccpopstudios

❣️ 14 Days with You❣️

@14dayswithyou

[ferronickel]

@stainedglassthreads asked about my inspirations when it comes to comics creation, which I am always excited to talk about! (You have unwittingly activated my trap card, so be prepared for a long ramble!)

My comics are primarily a product of the 2014 Image boom and the 2000s webcomic scene....

...and the main sources of my comics craft knowledge are the works of writer Kieron Gillen, artist Jamie McKelvie, and colorist Matt Wilson. They're an incredible team and everything they've done together is worth checking out, but I'm going to talk about two of their comics here. Young Avengers (2012) is a good place to start. Tons of formalism and interesting panel layouts. It's the first place I looked for inspiration when I was planning the design for Looking Glasses. Definitely worth checking out if you like cape comics, but also worth it if you don't, it's pretty stand alone. (Plus it introduces a lot of ideas and characters that Marvel is currently pillaging for the MCU, so it's always nice to see those ideas in their original context before my employers ruin it)

I can't talk about comics without bringing up The Wicked + The Divine (2014, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Jamie McKelvie, colors by Matt Wilson, lettering by Clayton Cowles). It's an incredible comic and a formalist masterpiece. 12 young people are reincarnated as gods, they have two years to live, and also they're pop stars. Issues frequently challenge the way you read comics, or break into completely other mediums (One issue was written almost entirely by real world magazine writers interviewing the in-universe characters). You can see my influences here pretty clearly: the interstitials, the style shifting, my recent (incredibly blatant) reference to Lucifer's transformation. Also the fashion, Jamie McKelvie is a fantastic designer! This comic is a must read for anyone interested in the medium of comics, especially Kieron's writers notes (all available here on tumblr at @ kierongillen), where he breaks each issue down panel by panel. The writer's notes are essentially a free masterclass in comics craft. (and when you've read that, check out the zine I organized with @gen-is-gone and 37 other artists here on tumblr at @iconic-zine) I cannot overstate that this comic is the reason I make comics.

I feel like I can't not mention DIE (2018, written by Kieron Gillen, art by Stephanie Hans, lettering by Clayton Cowles). Six kids disappeared into their d&d world and returned two years later, now they're adults and their past is coming back to haunt them. It's a fascinating exploration of portal fantasies, and has definitely influenced how I approach the dark world/darkners. (also, if you read DIE and want a good breakdown of the historical stuff, be sure to check out the podcast DIE-Compressed)

Honorable mentions: The visual stylings of Caspar Wijngaard in Home Sick Pilots (2021, Watters, Wijngaard, Bidikar, Muller) The colors of colorist Jordie Bellaire, in this case Injection (2015, Ellis, Shalvey, Bellaire) The work of Emily Carroll Everything from Pretty Deadly (2015, Deconnick, Rios, Bellaire, Cowles) A lot of stuff from Sex Criminals (2014, Fraction, Zdarsky), it's an incredible comic that goes way beyond it's (fairly nsfw) concept. There's a ton of formalist stuff here, and it tackles all sorts of concepts with a level of depth you wouldn't expect from such a silly setup.

In terms of webcomics influence, I am, unfortunately, a bit of a Homestuck. There's a lot to be said about this comic and I'm trying to keep my word count down here, so let's just say that it's arguably one of the most influential webcomics, and while many of it's ideas aren't necessarily unique or are derivative of other works it is singular in it's scope and presence. I find it mainly affects my own work in the way I think about the website design. (Plus, you know, Toby Fox)

Other notable webcomics that have influenced my work:

The works of Evan Dahm Barbarous Stand Still Stay Silent Lackadaisy (and a bunch more, but this has gone on long enough)

[saintsofwarding]

BURIAL

A dutiful daughter is a useful creature indeed. When Elena Lupu falls under Mother Miranda's notice at a disastrous tithing festival, she proves too valuable for the prophetess to kill. Lady Donna Beneviento has been keeping secrets from Miranda, secrets she can't abide, and Elena is the perfect cuckoo to send straight into Beneviento's nest. Spy on her, report her findings back to Miranda, and Elena- and her ailing father- get to live.

But Lady Beneviento's secrets, and her powers, prove more nightmarish than Elena could ever have dreamed. Even as she falls deeper and deeper into Donna's web, she can't help but wonder- who is she really, under the veil?

Chapter 1

Lady Donna Beneviento no longer remembered her life from before. Before Mother, before Claudia, before the gift.

(Before! Donna, you idiot, there is no before, that's the crazy talking, if there was a before that means I wouldn't have been there and that's not even worth thinking about! Stop being stupid and remember us, just us, I'm with you now and that's what matters most of all)

She'd taken that life in both hands and smothered it, like a mouse prised from a trap, its broken leg dangling, its eyes aglisten with pain, its fur wet with blood. Jewels in the candlelight, a handful of rubies against her corpse-white skin.

(A mercy killing, Donna.)

But if she did remember- if she tried, hard, and looked deep, she could- well, a mouse could never be un-smothered, it remained dead, but- a dark place could be rummaged around in. If she searched and searched through the dust and through the mold, she could almost see it again. This was winter, like then, and she was young, a child, her thin shoulders shivering under her fringed woollen shawl as a woman- her mother- urged her, gently, to the edge of the parapet.

The waterfall thundered, spray filling the air with haze, and the wind numbed young Donna's face to wood, but as her mother's hand smoothed over the neat braids of her hair and she told her to look, sweet girl, look down there, the darkness of the valley bloomed with light. It filled the night air, painted the haze with shades of fire-gold and vivid orange, and Donna could nearly taste it. The barley-sugar and the fried dough, the sweetness of mucenici and the rich, salty grease of roasted pork, so much of it it sizzled and spat in the flames as it dripped from the carcass's ribs. White hogs, legendary for their prized fat-marbled meat, were slaughtered for the birth of the cold, the coming of the dark months and the worm moons and the wolf nights. These were bonfires, dance-fires, and they lit up the frozen mountain valley like a reflection of the stars. Donna imagined the whirl of silk ribbons through the flames, the bells jangling, the music and the laughter and the songs.

And the people! Saints, the people, peasant farmers and craftsmen and hunters with their silver-chased guns, merchants hawking wares from caravan and saddle-bag and pack, telling tales of the strange, wondrous beasts they'd seen in the deep forest, the monster wolves, the stags with antlers that branched like a witch's tree and seemed to shift and move on their heads as if alive. Girls Donna's age, faces ruddy in the firelight as they stuffed themselves sick with sweets, whispering about books and embroidery and how much they hated gutting fish for the ciorba. Donna imagined herself, a pale little girl creeping in at the edge of the circle to display her own embroidery, a handkerchief she'd spent the last week perfecting, its design of crow feathers and holly so perfect, so fine, the individual stitches could not be detected, not even by touch.

They would love her. They would love her! If she showed them she could do things, make things, nice things, they would love her.

"Why can't we..." she started, and her mother cut her off with a shake of her head. In the crook of her arm, baby Claudia snuffled, sleeping in her fur hood, ignorant to the cold and the celebrations below.

"Every year," her mother told her, with a click of her tongue. Lady Beneviento looked as she always did, dressed in embroidered blouse and woollen shawl and softly-chiming ornaments that honored the Saints and Mother Miranda alike. She was thin and wan and gaunt around the edges, a great beauty gone to the edge of the grave, her black hair coiled at the nape of her neck like the knot of a hangman's noose-

(You wish she'd just hanged herself like some kind of normal person, didn't you? Instead of what she and Papa did for realsies. The way they looked at the bottom of the falls-! Ooooh, makes me shiver, doesn't it, Donna! The crows found them long before you did, didn't they? And the rocks found them first, and the water, lapping up at them so soft and gentle, you thought they were big dolls at first, big dolls all broken, because how could those faces be Mommy and Daddy, how could the rocks have treated them so badly, smashed apart like porcelain dropped from such a terrible height-)

"Every year you ask me," Lady Beneviento chided her. "Do I have to answer you again?"

Donna said nothing. She turned slowly back toward the valley below, watching the firelight through the mist. The force of the falls vibrated under her slippers, and she could almost feel the house behind her, a looming weight pressing on the surface of her mind like a stone against water.

Don't let it through, Donna.

But she'd been born here, up in the tower room that stared disconsolate over the mountainside as if waiting for something. Her father had taken her afterbirth in Berengario's great silver chalice, in the way House Beneviento had for so many sister centuries, only this time, for her and for Claudia, later, it was not delivered to the monster wolves- holy creatures- at the edge of the woods. It was taken down, down, down the long winding path, over the bridges and through the lych-yard and down and down the mountain to the glow of candles and the click of gilded talons, to a smile with teeth and the taste of mold and incense on the back of the tongue.

To Mother Miranda, who, if Donna's father was to be believed, had taken it from the chalice in his upraised hands as he'd knelt at her feet, had slid her claws deep into its pulpy mass, and had smiled as she sank her teeth into the bloody flesh and tore a chunk out.

Affinity, she'd whispered, and even telling it years later Donna's father smiled like the sun was on his face. Donna had nagged at him to tell her the story as she perched, legs swinging, on a chair by his workbench while he carved his pretty dolls and clever puppets.

House Beneviento had ever been full of silver tongues and quick fingers, ever since the great Berengario had brought his famed silver automata to life within sight of this mountain place, animated by their glowing crystal hearts. It was said ghosts lived within the crystal, that they were what gave the automata life, were what had made them write and preen and dance, all in eerie, perfect silence save for the faint click-click of their mechanical innards. Now, centuries later, his descendant's creations dangled on strings from the rafters around them, paint drying, glue setting, gilt fresh as snowfall, newborn things like Donna had once been.

"What made that so special?" she'd groused. "She ate it? So what?"

"So," Lord Beneviento had said, mocking her insistent tone, "It means you could be special, too, poppet. You could be her child. Her special child."

She'd grabbed at her father's coattails, and when she spoke it was in a high, keening whine, pathetic with anxiety. "But I'm already your child. No one else's. Don't say I'm anyone else's, please, please, please-"

"Donna," her father said, low in his throat.

But her grip tightened, sweaty on the fabric. "Can't you just show me how to carve the hands, how to paint the faces again, please?"

(Oooh, Donna, but that made you excited, didn't it? Not just a princess but the prettiest princess! Miranda's pretty princess. Special, special, cakes and tea, a dress for every day of the year. Those golden talons stroking your hair. Everyone in town not being scared of you and your dead face anymore. They'd bow before you! Shower you with devotion! So much love you could choke on it! But you were too scared, weren't you, and that's what ended up doing this to you, twisting you and maiming you, little mouse in a trap with a broken leg. Maybe if you'd been braver, been bolder, the gift would have given you abilities good enough for Mother. It's all right, I get it. I do. I'm no portrait myself, ha ha ha! I know how it feels. We're a team, you and I. A matched set. You're too scared and too broken so just do as I say, and we'll be just fine)

"I just want to go see," little Donna whispered to her mother.

"What was that?"

"The...the festivals. It's holy, that's what the gardener says. A holy night and it's lucky to dance," she said all in a rush. She huddled deeper into her shawl; the cold had tightened, bitter against her teeth. She barely felt her toes. "Maybe...maybe we could be lucky, I mean me and you and Papa and Claudia, we could all be-"

"No," her mother snarled. Donna shut up with a flinch. "You don't leave. You can't. Never!"

"Just one time couldn't hurt," Donna muttered.

Her mother's hand snapped to her face and pinched it, pinched her cheek so hard between her thin fingers the pain felt like a needle through her, hot and throbbing and so sudden she gasped. Her eyes snapped wide as her mother yanked her close, as she bent to Donna's level, as she stared into Donna's face with eyes so huge her colorless irises were ringed in white. She radiated panic, bitter and awful; Claudia stirred in her arms and began to fuss, but Lady Beneviento ignored her.

"You can never go down to the village," she told Donna. "You set foot past the gates alone, you even think of crossing the bridge, and I'll break your legs myself. I'll take a hammer to you like Lord Heisenberg and break them so badly you shall never walk again. Do you understand?"

She gave Donna a shake, nails biting deep into her flesh. "Do you understand me?"

Tears streamed from Donna's eyes; she tasted blood, tasted the acid of fear. "I-"

"Do you?"

"Y...yes-"

"Good." She released Donna and began to rock the baby in her arms, little Claudia grumbling and twisting her small newborn face. Their mother settled, serene, a pale figure in the night, like nothing had happened, but the light had not left her eyes, bright with mania, with a terror that touched madness.

Donna's heart raced. Her face ached, hot and pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She couldn't move, not even when the cold reached her knees, not even when bursts and pinwheels of color lit the night, the smell of saltpeter reaching them through the gloom as the fireworks spiraled higher and higher toward the moon.

(And you stayed that way a long time)

Donna, Donna, Donna, quiet as a mouse. Little Dolly Donna, creep about the house!

I should have run-

(But if you had I would never have been born! And you'd miss me, wouldn't you?)

I can't miss what was never there.

(But I am here, Donna)

The dark closed in. Claudia was a child, bright and sunny, laughing in the garden amidst yellow flowers. She raced ahead, pigtail whipping over her shoulder.

Come find me!

Donna covered her eyes, then peeked, and Claudia was there, face bright with mirth. She took after their father in that way.

Don't look, Donna!

She covered her eyes again, and the darkness grew closer until it was all around, until she smelled the damp and stone and unbroken cold of a place far belowground, that had never, never seen the sun.

And when she took her hands away, Claudia was gone.

She sat on a spindly chair on an uneven flagstone floor, chair legs rasping against grit each time she shifted her weight. The house above crushed down against her, another sense honed by time.

A pale figure glowed before her in the darkness, lace and silk petticoats and porcelain grin, perched on the stone lip of an old, old well.

(I am here, and you are here, and we are never,

never,

never

going away.)

[mushroomjeremy]

I have been holding on to this design for a little while now. Thinking about how best to deliver how I changed the character and if I did enough.

I really want to get to clearing my 'to post' folder out. So I guess its better now than never.

This is Dr. Jair Shimmer a rewrite for SCP 963. Ignore that this is almost the exact same design in my Clight artwork; I liked the design so I kept it.

His main gimmick is that he study cursed object not just 963. He wears many curse object regardless of moral or ethical reasons against it. His office is chalk full of them, enter at your own caution.

SCP 963 isnt to much changed from base one, only thing is the souls in the amulet can be retrieve. Very hard thing to do and Shimmer needs to do that action all on there own and he kinda does not care to do that.

I do want to make more bodies for Shimmer but Im very busy and Im scared to draw women.

Past Keep Reading is just headcanons (do I even call them that at this point?)

The amulet is made of out silver, Red Beryl/Bixbite, and different colored sapphires.

While I am using He/Him in this post, Shimmer is a genderfluid, pansexual, panromantic with any pronouns as long as your not taking the piss out of him

Despite shipping war, Shimmer is with Glass, Clef, and Kondraki. Sometime all at once.

He use to be cautious around cursed objects, but after 963 he started to become reckless knowing he'd always come back after the Foundation found him

963 works a little differently on how is possess someone. All it needed was an initial soul trap and the next person to pick it up will be possessed. If Shimmer kills themselves the curse is kinda broken, he would just be in the amulet and the next person to pick it up is the knew host.

So Able is out of the story.

Shimmer just touched it and became the host.

How he found out about SCP 963 abilities is a informant apart of a different GoI stabbed him in the back cause they thought Shimmer was getting to close to figuring out why they were in the Foundation in the first place

Shimmer went to Deer College to get a degree in Magic and Curses

Shimmer can see, read, and understand magic in objects and crystals but he himself is not a wizard/witch/Type Blue/ect.

He's a lot calmer here with a stern voice, though he still tells jokes when he feel in danger. Force of habit.

I wanted to keep this as I think it gives some good worldbuilding to the Foundation daily life. He does facilitate a betting ring for literally anything. You could put a bet on if the kitchen will be destroyed in the next breach or not.

Shimmer likes to see the personnel fight when bets don't go their way.

Where is Shimmer get money to pay back people? Who knows.

Shimmer has yet to see the gravity of immortality. He's in the phase of getting sick of dying but still careless with his bodies and "clones."

Oh yeah the Clones! How the amulet after a month could be taken off and put on another person? Well the Foundation uses that to their benefit instead of killing them. More bodies that can work on higher clearance levels stuff.

Shimmer can take of the amulet before the end of the month and still retain his body.

I also wanted to keep the Personnel Director position. I like him having all the information on the Personnel of the Sites he is place in. It could cause tension between characters if they fine out about Shimmer knowing those things or it could show how much they care about friends with this information. Example for both: Clef

I want to do the rest of the Family as well but its still a wip. But I will say I wanted to explore ableism as a defining problem for the family in its dysfunction

If I remember or figure out anymore I'll come back here maybe.

[agent-calivide]

Did I post this somewhere else already?

Yes. But I feel it needs to be shared more sO:

IEYTD characters with lovebug/yandere viruses.

The basic thought? Zoraxis tried to make a mind control virus to get everyone to love and worship Zoraxis. Phoenix spits in the virus and drinks the only cure while flipping off Zoraxis, but it warps and now they’re immune to a virus that makes everyone love and obsess over Phoenix.

Zor would be full yandere, but they wouldn't wanna be with Phoenix. No, no they like the distance. They'd be constantly stalking and watching Phoenix, obsessive, creating elaborate plots to trap the Phoenix, but not kill them. If they were to capture Phoenix, they'd put the agent in a gilded cage, fancy, elaborate, maybe a bit gaudy but it's only one room. They like watching them in their cage, keep that safe distance, simply enjoying the fake presence and watching Phoenix squirm whenever they turn on the intercoms and talk, feeling a sadistic joy in knowing that nobody gets the birdie but them.

In a weird way, I feel likee Sans would be the most chill. He strikes me as the type to rationalize the illness as "just feelings" and shrug it off to the best of his abilities. He's still clingy, and if Phoenix goes to leave his laboritory while he's working the have to practically answer a questionaire of where are they going, what are they doing, what's the time frame, etc, but otherwise he's actually very high functioning with the virus.

I feel like Caliente would just be like- an abusive boyfriend. Possessive, aggressive, I think he'd get angry at Phoenix if they paid attention to anyone else. He'd incinerate people right in front of them if he ruled they were getting "too clingy" which could be anything from active fliriting to just talking. He doesn't have them constantly monitored because he doesn't have access to tech like the others, but if Phoenix is out of his sight for a moment he's immediately interrogating them. Where did you go? What were you doing? Why didn't you wait for me?

Hivemind would constantly have at least one bee on Phoenix at all times for monitoring purposes. The bees also have the virus and are super clingy to Phoenix. It would be endearing, if they didn't sting anyone who Hivemind deemed a threat, which was basically anyone who took Phoenix's attention. Resource guarding is a very common thing in the animal kindom, and Phoenix's attention is a resource.

Anna would be incredibly paranoid, even after getting Phoenix to herself. Phoenix would be geared up with body cams, monitors, tracking chips, she's seen what Zoraxis can do, she is not allowing them to disappear ever again. If she had it her way they'd be off the field, but she knew long ago that the secret agent life is the one for Phoenix. However, her paranoia makes her tracking of them beyond extreme. If they're even one minute late getting back from work she already is in the process of a nervous meltdown, grabbing a gun and her tagging gear and is almost out the door to go find them herself.

Solaris strikes me as the type to be very calm, very collected with the sickness when she has Phoenix. If they're in her lab, on the Death Engine, anything the like she's just her usual, slightly unhinged mad scientist self. But the second Phoenix tries to leave she goes off the deep end, getting angry, shouting, demanding they come back right that instant. I could see Solaris threatening to use a laser on Phoenix to make it so they can't escape, either by killing or maiming them.

Fabricator would spoil Phoenix. At least, in the only way she knows how. She'd put them in the lap of luxury, dote on them, give them all sorts of lavish designer items (that she made herself), and always have them resting up in only the finest luxury apartments if she has to travel for work, because obviously she can't leave them alone. However, the other thing she loves is watching Phoenix thwart her traps. She likes watching them panic and struggle to stop the swinging ax, the deadly laser, carefully disarm the desk just in time to be okay. And if they're not? Oh well, now she gets to patch them up, because there's no way she's letting them die on her.

Juniper would be kinda like Zor, but rather than it just being one fancy room and a bunch of cameras, he'd want that person to person contact, that connection. He'd take them everywhere, on set, to Zoraxis meetings, to any celebrity galas or photoshoots or anything. Phoenix would be on a tight leash, always right by Juniper's side, not allowed to go more than a few feet away. Of course, when they go home Phoenix has full reign of any estate, after all he wants them to be happy, but the security is at max whenever they're home. Phoenix is not getting out.

Ollie is clingy, begging Phoenix to stay by his side so he won't be alone like he was in that Zoraxis base for three days. He's never been shown such kindness by an operative, he needs them. He'll do whatever they ask just please please don't leave him alone again.

Prism I think would be kinda like Sans at first, but as the virus went on and she got more and more obsessed with the Phoenix, she'd be equal parts obsessed with Phoenix and improving them. I think it wouldn't help that she was obsessed with proving her robots were better than them, if this is post-I3YTD I could see her trying to create more with Phoenix. After all, "You're the best thing I've ever made", but how can she make them better? What can she add or change about them, maybe prosthetic limbs? New enhancers on the implant? OO- maybe a heart fused with kinesium! Sure, it'll hurt at first, but it's fine. She's making them the best agent the world's ever seen.