#thread: an unlikely partnership

[after-witch]

Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 

In surprise.

In trepidation. 

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 

How lucky for him. 

How unfortunate for you. 

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 

It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 

You.

What to make of you? 

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 

He remembers such a living. 

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You stiffen. 

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say. 

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

--

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

--

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 

What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

--

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 

--

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

--

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 

[witchofthesouls]

Tbh Star Saber’s reaction is justified. Sentinel just claims this random bot as a bride (probably doesn’t even know their name too) I’d be miffed too if I was his protector. But what about said bot’s reaction? You wake up after passing out and suddenly your hitched, I’d be backing up Star Saber in the background as he yells at Sentinel.

(You're going to be busy trying to deal with alien biology to start yelling. If anything you're yelling at whatever drop-kicked you into this timeline that's the dumpster fire that makes up Bayverse.

Get ready for misunderstandings and failed negotiations:)

Consciousness doesn't gently trickle back. It kicks you in the teeth without any warning. One moment, darkness. The next moment, you're heaving up and accidentally slamming into something hard.

That something yelps.

While you have the grace of facial protection, Sentinel isn't as lucky. You still have a throbbing headache, though. It flares whenever there's the incomprehensible electronic noise of their native tongue is being spoken.

Your head pulses to an excruciating degree when suddenly it clicks. The noise becomes words.

And you don't like them.

"Look, it can't even speak. Let alone understand us." Star Saber - your HUD factually pings, rapidly scrolling all of his positions, achievements, strengths, and possible weaknesses - says like an absolute cunt.

"Oooooo. Cooon-tuh." The High Lord Protector sounds out the English your ass of a mouth that not even a supercomputer brain could leash have shot out. The Seeker is unamused, and you don't even resist the urge to stick your tongue out since you're wearing the visor and he can't see.

You have a vague sense that you're forgetting something important. The wisps of a strange dream linger in the periphery edges of your mind, but a hiccuping wail interrupts everything.

Nearby and attached to the berth (fanon terminology don't fail you now!) are the infants. You immediately pick up the crying one. The tiny face warps from the force of their distress. Something compels you to cradle it up to your chest, and they settle down to snuffly whistles.

Of course, the other one starts up when your hands are full.

Sentinel picks the second infant to maneuver them to you. You never expected this asshole to have gentle hands, but he does. At least for the babies.

"They're split-spark." He explains as both of them grab a hold of each other, whistling and chirping between a songbird and a hot kettle. "They have to remain close together until they're third in-star."

There's a moment of silence in the room, only interrupted by the newsparks' chirping babbling and fretful meeping.

"Not to be rude," you slowly test out the digital language, and Star Saber doesn't snort or move his expression, but he definitely disproves. Fucker. "But why am I here?"

"Yes, Prime," the Seeker knows how to turn a soft voice into an assassin's thread. "Why do we have such a guest here?"

The words he chose have so many insulting undertones and stresses that if you didn't have your arms full, you might as well slap him. High Lord Protector be damned.

He wants you far away, and you want to be farther than Star Saber could dream of.

Of course, neither you nor Star Saber gets those desires granted.

"You're here," Sentinel’s tone shifts. Formal. Very formal. A strange mix of anticipation and... duty? "In the privacy of my household and in the presence of my most trusted-" Star Saber's expression is set in stone and just as cold "-to declare our sparks together in front of Primus."

Unlike fanfics where Sam Witwicky has the Allspark to handily act as a translator, you only have the equivalent of a more sensible Google translate with all of the additional kinda-helpul-but-not-really dings of subharmonics and underlying glyphs to provide more context. It sounds like a marriage proposal, but the way Sentinel emphasized it is more akin to a 'Guardian seek out an equal partnership in a (business) venture.'

Thanks, Google. Great help as always. Never change.

Unless you've taken over the body of a noble with capital to buy out galaxies or some sort of daring pirate/elite assassin with that ghostly possession of hidden skills, you have no idea why he's asking you for this kind of proposition.

You need to bite the bullet because you don't know what you're walking into, and maybe you can jump out another window and speed away.

You start searching the lexicon for the right words. Hopefully.

_____________

Even with the visor eclipsing your face, you're refreshingly honest and it's something Sentinel profoundly misses ever since he's been taken from the Guiding Hand's Towers.

And right now, they know your possible intention to jump again beneath the tangle of confusion and worry.

The windows here are reinforced and capable of withstanding artillery blasts and extreme heat resistance as well.

:: The foundlings are completely attached to this one. :: Hard and unforgiving Star Saber may be, but there are a few things that soften the mech. It may be the Seekerkin-coding in him that invokes protective feelings towards the very young.

You and the newsparks have sealed a guardian/parental bond. They can't separate them from you. The strain will most likely kill them, and possibly you with your recent recklessness. You may have a powerfully dense spark -a hallmark of mecha with Primal heritage- but you're still young, barely past the ninth in-star, and still developing towards an adult frame.

Ratchet had been torn between absolute fury and begrudgingly impressed by the one that had done your frame-schematics. It's a remarkable mix of stealth modifications, hidden components, and security. Your systems had literally chewed up suppression codes and medical overrides and spat them out.

Either you have a creator that's a fiend of a weaponsmith or you have ties to the legendary War-Forged, too. Unbelievable, but no one expected any frames out in the Wastelands to be blessed by Primus, and yet here they are with not one, but two individuals.

And Sentinel is asking the mechling for a formal courtship with the intention of bonding.

"Are you-" you speak carefully, testing out the glyphs, and he wonders what kind of dialect the Wilders speak "-asking me to bond with you?"

The phrase makes logical sense. However, Sentinel can't help but choke at the subglyphs you used. Instead of 'unity of wedlock between two parties,' you attached something akin to sponsoring a courtesan for an exclusive relationship. An explicitly sexual one.

Star Saber doesn't budge. The Seeker's body langauge is impeccable and beyond reproach to stand as a witness to this mess, but Sentinel feels the icy talons of their shared bond flare to a vicious burning grip.

:: If you say any sort of agreement to that poorly worded question, Sentinel Prime. :: Star Saber's terrible words cut into Sentinel's spark. :: I will personally make the rest of your limited time on this planet a new level of Unicron's Pits. ::

Sentinel had to lock his joints to keep himself upright and not sprawled on the floor. After a long moment, he manages to grapple with the bond to sear away Star Saber's influence. :: I wasn't! ::

Slag all those that deify their partnership as the original split-sparks Prima and Megatronus, it's a slaggen mockery of a marital bond.

Sentinel gathers every scrap of his intentions to make it work with the newly found Primal-descended and throws it at Star Saber's end. It's still a raw wound. He finds it deeply discomforting to be intimately tied to the Seeker upon the confirmed demise of an unmoored Zeta Prime. Just barely after the Temple's blessings to establish suitable compatibility as a Prime and a new Protector.

(If Sentinel thinks too much about it, he will scream until he burns out and -)

Star Saber quirks a plate at his efforts and releases the onslaught. :: Look at that. Perhaps there's a warrior underneath that softness, librarian. Correct your Intended before the Wilder escapes with the newsparks. ::

During their internal spat, you pressed your back against the wall, plating closed to minimize noise. You've silenced your biosignature as well. Even the foundlings are silent -a natural defense that's driven by terror of the sudden tensions and your own reaction.

Fan-fragging-tastic.

[abigailnussbaum]

Dead Boy Detectives

I'm sure this will be all over my tumblr feed in a couple of days, but I just wanted to get in early and say that Netflix's adaptation of the Dead Boy Detectives comic is extremely charming and fun. I went in with zero expectations, given the track record of previous Neil Gaiman-based series (Good Omens, carried on the backs of David Tennant and Michael Sheen's performances and charisma; American Gods, a glorious mess at times but still a mess; Sandman, meh), not to mention Netflix's rather low bar when it comes to fantasy adaptations, but I was very quickly won over.

The key, I think - and this probably has something to do with the production team overlapping with the Arrowverse/Doom Patrol people - is that this is a show that does monster-of-the-week extremely well, spinning elaborate and often whimsical supernatural mysteries. There's a bit of a Pushing Daisies vibe in the quirky small town setting and fun guest characters (note: this show isn't nearly as good as Pushing Daisies, but even making me think of it is a feather in its cap). And the supporting characters are really well done, and manage to make the setting feel rich and multifaceted in a very small number of episodes.

It's not a flawless show by any means. The dialogue is pretty unimpressive, and like most Netflix shows these days (and again, most Netflix fantasy shows especially) every frame looks like it's been run through a murky-grey-and-boring filter. Most importantly, for as good as the show is at guest and supporting characters, the main characters - the titular dead boy detectives and the living girl who joins their partnership - are also its least engaging. Maybe this is because these characters are where the bulk of the show's melodrama lies, but while it was clear these people would die for each other, I never really believed that they were genuine friends who enjoy each other's company and like doing stuff together. They all ended up being more fun to watch with other, supporting characters than each other.

Still, that's made up for by the fact that the show is never too self-serious - unlike other recent, youth-oriented fantasy shows on Netflix like Sabrina or Wednesday, it doesn't lose its light touch even when the plot gets heavy. And with only eight episodes, it still manages to tie up a lot of plot and character threads while maintaining its episodic structure. The resulting season ends up feeling satisfying and delightful, but also leaves you wanting more.

[sunflowerdigs]

Going off of this speculation post, I thought it might be interesting to review clips of Bathena's arc from 4x13 and 4x14. The clips and some thoughts are underneath the cut. I can already kind of see where some similar threads could be pulled on for Buddie in 7x09 and 7x10

This is the fight scene from 4x13 (RIP Michael), which gets interrupted in 4x14 when the call comes in about Eddie. It starts out as a fight about Bobby sneaking around (Athena thinks), but then quickly escalates into a fight about a major issue in their marriage that has gone unaddressed for a long time. Interestingly, Athena believes that Bobby has been having an affair, but actually, he's been sponsoring the drunk driver from 4x09, whose story reminded him of his own.

I could see Buck and Eddie having a similar confrontation near the end of 7x09. Like Bobby, Eddie has been lying to Buck in order to cover up his actions, but unlike Bobby, Eddie actually is having an affair. I wonder whether Eddie might tell a lie similar to the one he told Buck in 7x07, but this time, Buck catches him with Kim and it explodes into a fight.

At the midpoint in the Bathena story arc (so, early in 4x14) Bobby and Athena make up

Here, Bobby and Athena clearly don't want to be fighting and want to be there for each other after the shooting, but the issues raised in their fight in 4x13 are too big to really be solved in a single conversation. So, they settle for reassuring each other of the importance of their partnership (which Bobby called into question in 4x13), and they talk through a few things brought up in the fight.

It seems likely that we could get a similar scene between Buddie if Bobby is hospitalized after an attack early in 7x10. Much like Bathena, I could see Buddie not wanting to let a fight get in the way of their being there for each other through a serious tragedy. It would be a neat parallel to Bobby's speech if we either got some of Buck's perspective on what it was like watching Eddie get shot (and maybe an admission from Eddie that he remembers more than he told Buck in s6) or Eddie's perspective on seeing Buck got struck by lightning. The latter might almost be more relevant than the shooting, as the lightning strike could believably be framed as a driver of some of Eddie's recent actions.

Anyway, the final part of the storyline was Athena rescuing Bobby and then them talking in the hospital.

Again, their issues are far from solved, but they recommit to each other, with the unspoken message being that they'll work through their other issues at another time.

I so badly want to see Eddie rescue Buck or vice versa in 7x10. As much as Eddie could use a win, the obvious parallel would be Buck saving Eddie and recommitting to their partnership despite the mistakes Eddie has made this season. Again, it wouldn't solve their issues - that would be for s8. But it could at least allow them to be more vulnerable with each other and start talking about some of the unspoken things between them, kicking open the door for a deeper connection next season.

Curious to see what others might get from these!

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗦𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁, miss daughter of despair. I have a bias considering all I talked about with @nerimoi, but the idea of two wildly devoted followers being cast aside from their goddesses is niche. Of course, this is speaking to Shadowheart pursuing the exile route, but I have my thoughts about the Dark Justiciar angle, too. In the former, both she and Gale have a deep wanting and gnawing regret. Unlike the other members of the group, they actually love their authority figure, and being spurned from these beings that had both their hearts and bodies to is a severance that rocks them a tremendous deal. Lae'zel has allegiance to Vlaakith as well, of course, but while Vlaakith cruelly betrayed her loyalty, it was Gale and Shadowheart that felt the betrayers. They feel they deserve the silence. They both have to grow beyond the guilt. Together, they share this terrible thread of being the former, ill-fallen Chosen, and watching Shadowheart fight to learn how to pull from not the Shadow Weave, Gale sees himself fighting to cast with his Karsus orb.

But pursuing godhood? Well. Gale has the potential to feel he deserves more than he's ever gotten. From anyone. From Mystra. It's interesting, though. He, as a follower of Mystra, is supposed to be directly opposed to Shadowheart. However, after being so cruelly discarded, there is avenue for Gale to work perhaps in spite of Her--this evidenced when he proposes that he become a god. There, he expresses a want to better the world. He'd use magic in ways he was never once able to, harness power with heights beyond mortal reckoning, and he would reach his full potential just as he's always dreamed of--and, mind you, notably craved for. I remember the moon lantern, how Shadowheart had talked to Gale over it. He was hesitant, of course, knowing Mystra would forbade him from using that magic, but Shadowheart told him to cast away his reservations. Forget Mystra. This could be yours. Do as the Dark Lady bids. It's manipulative, yes, but it speaks to that side of Gale that quietly wants that magic. He knows what's allowed and what isn't under his faith, but he's still a man with a ravenous need for knowledge and more. With Shadowheart, Gale can be something impossibly disastrous. And what if Gale does attain godhood? What would Shadowheart do? There can only be one god as far she's concerned, but if Gale, in time, becomes warped with all that corruption-hunger... It's a brainworm. Maybe, just maybe, they can forge a despicable, sourly beneficial partnership.

Shadowheart, Ms. Dark as Their Nights, works curiously well with Mr. Magic and Stars.

[hopalongfairywren]

For the ask game, 🥚, 🔪, and 🏳️‍🌈?

🥚 - To what extent should the Eggpire's former members be held responsible for their actions under the Egg's influence? Oooh special interest, be prepared for a long-ass answer. Also, since this is gonna be so long, I'll just reblog my answer to the other two questions. TLDR for those not interested in individual explanations: It varies character to character but for the sake of angst, drama, personal enjoyment, and enjoyment of seeing my favorite characters going through it, I love incorporating this very question into my own stories as a very real side-plot and moral question between revenge and rehabilitation, which would tie in well with the other concurring arcs' themes of retribution, what the line between justice and revenge is, redemption, loss of trust... Ugh talk about waste of potential in canon.... (God forbid the dsmp ever let multiple plotlines intersect in a way that is cool and ties the whole story together) Anyways, I answered this a long time ago, and since then the egg finale happened, so I have a new opinion. c!Hannah, Ponk, even Ant (although he was a blood thirsty little murder kitty) stay the same in that, they were all desperate people taken advantage of (and sometimes even abducted) into being egg-controlled, much like a real cult. Unlike a real cult though, where no matter how brainwashed someone might be we generally treat them as responsible for the crimes they committed, the egg has mind control at it's disposal.

I still don't know how the egg is supposed to actually work in canon lore, like as an ancient parasite, as a fungus, as a supernatural curse...? And at this point we'll never find out, but the point is these people- all of them but especially those three, were under the egg's complete control of their minds, and if not that then at least their was some version of TLOU cordyceps-esq type scenario, but where even if the egg's influence on their minds could at least wane somewhat, (I'll get back to that with the other three offical eggpire members) It still controlled their bodies via muscles. (This probably isn't intended at all, and if the egg solely controlled their muscles, the infected would probably be less able to do things such as plan banquets... but it's a fun concept to explore) Now for the other three, c!Bad, c!Punz, and c!Skeppy (I know he doesn't technically count but I'm ignoring that.) c!Punz is a special case because I feel like they either forgot or didn't care that they were at one point a part of the early eggpire. They weren't at the red banquet. And even though I thought they'd be a Chekhov's gun type situation where he'd come to play in the revival book lore, where it could have been revealed c!stagedduo were working to strengthen the egg as equal-partnership (at least in their minds) allies, in order to distract the SMP by using the killing of c!Vikk and Lazar as a means to feed the egg. Or maybe the Sam Bucket finale stream, or the c!Sam's multiple bodies finale, or the egg finale, or even maybe the finale finale Tommy finale. Which could have with Punz unleashing the egg on c!Clingyduo, betraying c!Dream for it, or idk, something. But nope he was to busy being a walking revival book and god forbid the loose plot threads of the dsmp ever get tied together in a reasonable manor. Also their was that time he was kinda sad c!Tommy died and showed signs of resisting the egg but that just. Doesn't line up with any further characterization we get of him, especially that finale. But even though c!Punz wasn't there at the most memorable egg atrocity, if we're talking about holding dsmp characters accountable for their atrocities, there's a whole other laundry list of crimes c!Punz committed while fully in control of his body. c!Bad is also interesting, because does seem to be able to break out of egg control for a moment so he can yell at c!Skeppy. But that obviously didn't last long enough for him to not go ahead with the red banquet... But it's worth remembering he like the first three was desperate for Skeppy to come back, although that isn't an excuse for any of his actions. But if anyone besides c!Ant was gonna be punished for the red banquet, or c!Sam being trapped, or the multiple Puffy assassination attempts, It would be c!Bad who organized, lead and founded the eggpire in the first place. (Hey c!Sam why'd you demote c!Hannah and treat her like shit for betraying your trust when c!Bad and c!Ant, the men you had carry out one of the jobs you consider most important, keeping c!dream in the prison betrayed you not once but fucking twice, and three times if you count c!Bad giving enderwalk c!ranboo the prison blue prints? And lastly, c!Skeppy, who wasn't a part of the official eggpire but may as well be the reason it formed considering c!Bad's motivation. But i'm not focusing on that, i'm focusing on the last egg lore stream, where it's revealed c!Skeppy made a deal after waking up from his death unegged and killing c!Bad to uninfect him, and then presumably coordinate everything from the red herring evidence being planted to pushing c!Puffy down the hole. And I think he was reinfected somewhere along the way? Anyways by that point I don't really think anyone cares about how in control you were of yourself or why you listened to the giant murder egg, you done fucked up and started the apocalypse.

[lightgriffinsect]

fnf family game night au

(rewritten to be better jhsdjs)

I came up with an FNF family game night fic concept a long while back, (link to full thread) and I'm pulling it out again because ideas

It's gonna be an AU.

All three families - the Dearests, the MFM Crew, and the Andromedas/Entity Squad - get mysteriously dumped inside one large mansion of a house. The front door is locked - they're not allowed to leave. They can't see anything through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, only their own reflections.

Inside? It’s full of games. Board games, video games, tabletop RPGs. Whoever it was that dumped them all here with only a typed-up note for context wants them to have a tourney of sorts. Play against each other and form new connections between their factions. Presumably until their bloods have been cancelled, and they can exist in the same room without fighting. To “determine who will triumph from among you.” To “close the rifts that have formed between you.” 

In the process of fumbling through such a task, it is revealed that this house is full of secrets. Notes, news, surprises behind every door. Pertaining to what’s going on, to what’s happening in the outside world. It’s something to explore, between shooting death glares across rooms and aggressively playing every night.

(The person who did all this isn’t me or my avatar or whatever btw. I’m not a big fan of that kinda fic trope.)

Andromeda family: Aldryx, Agoti, Sol, and probably Amora. Still deciding between her and Nikusa, though.

MFM family: pretty straightforward. Sarv, Ruv, Sel, and Ras.

Dearest family: DD, MM, GF, and... Psychic??

BF isn't here. He's somewhere outside this new, tiny, cramped world of hostile enemies. GF misses him dearly. MM mourns her future son-in-law and her daughter’s grief. DD and Psychic privately rejoice.

BF, as it turns out, is too chaotic, in the words of their captor. They’ve taken notice of his deeds throughout the time he’s been with GF. He's too much of a wild card.

They want to see what it’ll be like to pit everyone against each other, create a new story without the main character. See what'll happen when you take the one who calls all the shots out of the picture. Make these three families with bitter enmity between them resolve their differences on their own. In the meantime, instead of the blue-haired boy, why not play around with that interesting little assistant of Dearest's? He'll make a fine substitute, powerful in his own right, but endlessly curious enough to keep things fun and determined to protect his loved ones.

The families scoff. BF? That little freak? He's no main character. He's an unabashed rapper with too much pride and ability and drive and time on his hands. And he's got too few thoughts in that blue brain of his. He's no one to call the shots. He is certainly no wild card. He doesn’t deserve that kind of credit.

...despite being the thread linking everyone here. He’s the reason their paths have crossed again in recent times, isn’t he? Partly even the reason they’re all here to begin with. “Brings back good memories, y’know? But all plot threads have to be resolved, so here we are. At least this should be fun!”

To close the rifts that have formed between you.

Fine. They all resolve to play a few games. Attempt halfheartedly at what this person wants from them. Try not to kill each other just yet. Bide their time, research and explore this unfamiliar manor. It's all they can do for now, trapped and unable to escape.

The backstories of all the relevant mods are canon to this AU. It is unknown to these families who has put them here. Most of them are reluctant. A select few willing. Who will triumph and open the door to their escape? Who will form unlikely partnerships with another, and will they be genuine or out of desperation, or for something to gain? Will they breach established boundaries and learn something new about themselves along the way? Will they manage to not kill each other in the process?

also I just really wanna write Psychic and Aldryx interacting

[philhoffman]

Phil as Gene in The Author's Voice, a 1999 Drama Dept. production of David Greenberg one-act play at the Greenwich House Theater.

Interesting little play—Gene is a "horribly twisted gnome" with a talent for writing. He lives in the closet and ghostwrites for Todd, the handsome but dull guy who serves as the public face of their secret partnership. "The world outside might be a painful place but every place is a painful one, so why not?" "Make me famous, Gene. I want to be famous. People will photograph me and write about me. I'll study how they see me and live inside it. It'll be like a home."

It received some mixed reviews, mostly due to the direction, but most critics praised PSH's performance: "Hoffman is a treat as the sly kvetch of a recluse whose machinations supply both laughs and a neat twist of an ending." This critique, though, is kind of hilariously prescient considering the role Phil would take a few years later:

Part of the problem is that Mr. Hoffman, who has created memorable portraits of more pedestrian losers in films like Boogie Nights and Happiness, simply isn't repellent enough, suggesting nothing more threatening than Truman Capote in a hooded sweatshirt.

The actor James Urbaniak auditioned for the same role and wrote a really nice article about the experience/PSH's performance in 2014:

Philip Seymour Hoffman enters. He is on the floor, crawling. Army style. Pulling his weight towards the desk. It takes time. His breathing is labored. The energy in the theater has changed. You can feel the audience adapting to the force that has just been introduced. The force emanating from a prone man pulling his big body across a small off-Broadway stage. He’s a big man and his presence is big, theatrical. But also subtle, inward. It rings true. This silent entrance contains a physical intensity and emotional depth that is nowhere near what I had done in my audition. And I am struck by the alarming realization that it’s highly unlikely I ever would have gotten there.

More info on this production is hard to come by, but the reason I read the play and decided to post about it today is a tweet I saw earlier. The thread was about method acting and how it can be done well, effectively, and kindly—without abusing other actors, crew, or anyone else:

Years ago, when I was an intern at the NYC theater company Drama Dept., Philip Seymour Hoffman starred in a play there. He introduced himself to each member of staff and told us, "I'm method, so please tell me if you are ever uncomfortable and I will break character." [He] was a pro.

One of my favorite little Phil stories I've read ❤️

[pjstafford]

The X Files Episode Detour as a Cancer Arc Episode

This blog entry looks at The X Files fifth season, fourth episode Detour in the perspective of where it sits in the cancer arc.

It is worth noting that in 1997 long form television was still relatively new in terms of ongoing series. There were soap operas and there were anthologies, but 1990's shows like Twin Peaks and The X Files brought to television a more cinematic approach. The X Files, in addition, incorporated a flexible framework to its storytelling - able to have both a mythology "arc" and stand alone episodes, as well as having comedic, horror, drama, science fiction episodes. A BBC article from February 24th, 2016 "How The X-Files changed Television" talks about the novelty of "story arcs" in the 90s and says that The X Files served as a bridge between eras.

The X Files is commonly known for having mythology arc episodes and stand alone monster of the weeks episodes. It has, perhaps, become more acknowledged in hind sight that the true "arc" is the relationship and eventual romance of Mulder and Scully. From Season Four to the beginning of Season Five, there was another arc, the cancer arc, which was a thread throughout both mythology and monster of the week episodes. When does the arc begin and end is, like most issues related to the content of The X Files, open to debate. Fanlore.org lists eight episodes as canon in the cancer arc - beginning with Leonard Betts (season four episode 12) and ending with Scully being cured in Reflux II (Season five episode 2). It is acknowledged that earlier episodes such as The Blessing Way, Nisei/731, can be included in the arc and that Unruhe can be interpreted as being part of the arc. Recent discussions among other fans have suggested that those episodes between Leonard Betts and Reflux II which are not part of the cancer arc can be better appreciated through considering that both characters are being impacted by Scully's cancer. I believe that Detour - set two episodes after Reflux II- needs to be considered as part of the cancer arc episodes in this same vein. Please note the episode between Reflux II and Detour is an episode that deals in the past with how Mulder met the lone gunmen and so Detour is the first "post cancer" episode.

Let's view this episode, then, with a cancer arc perspective.

The first time we see Mulder and Scully is in scene three. They are in the backseat of a car with two other FBI agents in the front seat on their way to a FBI team building seminar. As the two FBI agents talk enthusiastically about past seminars and are clearly looking forward to the upcoming seminar, Mulder is making comical statements from the backseat to let you know that he is not looking forward to this.

When last we saw Mulder and Scully in the previous three cancer arc episodes, Scully lies to the FBI for her partner about his apparent suicide, Scully enters the hospital expecting to die, Mulder breaches a Department of Defense high security facility to find an unlikely cure for her cancer. While it makes some type of bureaucratic sense to send these two to a team seminar as they return to the field, it makes no sense in any other way. As the scenes that follows will portray, these two do not need a team building seminar. There might be additional reasons, however, why Mulder wants to avoid it. For these two to spend a couple of days processing how they feel about their partnership which now, surprisingly, they get to pursue together, might be a bit much for two people who are not really comfortable discussing their feelings. Mulder's desire to find a convenient reason to escape the seminar takes on a different connotation when the timing is considered.

In scene five, Mulder is in hotel room when Scully enters with cheese and wine. Scully references that this is against FBI policy and Mulder makes a joke and, then, very quickly exits to do further investigation. Scully says she thought the case was just an excuse to get out of the seminar. As Mulder leaves, Scully takes a gulp of wine. Again, here is some awkwardness around the fact that emotions are high and, yet, perhaps, Mulder is not ready to process them or does not want to take advantage of Scully in a vulnerable position. Mulder and Scully routinely follow their own lines of investigations. Typically Mulder gives Scully assignments or Scully tells Mulder what she is going to pursue and then asks Mulder where he is going. In this case, Mulder doesn't leave Scully pursuing any investigation and doesn't ask her to accompany him. He leaves her in a hotel room drinking wine. Its an odd scene to process if you don't think of it in terms of the cancer arc.

This brings us to the scene in the forest. There is a joke made about keeping warm and crawling into (non-existent) sleeping bags naked. Clearly, the sexual energy is high. Then Scully asks "have you ever thought seriously about dying?" Here is the opportunity for Mulder and Scully t have a serious conversation about how the possibility of her death impacted Mulder. Instead he he makes a joke. Then, undetoured, Scully reflects on her cancer. If we go back to the conversaton of the rock from quagmire, we remember the conversation about Moby Dick and Mulder's quest for the truth being like the white whale. In this conversation, in Detour, there is a discussion about the fact that giving life and death meaning is the struggle of life.

As an original viewer from the 90s, I never questioned why sometimes there were "breaks" from the mythology or why emotions or circumstances are left unprocessed in subsequent episodes. That was normal in television viewing at the time. As a continuing viewer in the streaming world of today, I was taken at how well The X Files lends itself to "binging" and continual watches. It is true that Inconsistencies and dropped details exist in The X Files which would probably never be found in long form television today, but, for many fans, that fuels an ongoing obsession. There is always something new, something different, a fresh perspective which makes you see the episodes differently. If Reflux II is the ending of the cancer arc, it certainly leaves the feelings that Mulder and Scully have dealt with during the cancer arc unprocessed. As much as I loved the cancer arc upon watching the series, I remember watching Detour as it aired and feeling some relief that we were back to the familiar -Mulder and Scully running in the forrest, having a discussion similar to the conversation on the rock and a reset to life post cancer. I still think it serves this purpose, but, the benefit of binging and long form television is being able to view an episode in a different way. Detour doesn't process the post cancer experiences very well either. It leaves Scully maybe wanting more and Mulder practicing some in character deflection away from his own emotions. But even when we don't know how to process our emotions, cancer and near death experience change people. Soon, Scully will confront her inability to have children, her desire to adopt children which might, also, be related to her reflection on the meaning of life post cancer. There will be conflict between these two partners, jealousy, and more near death experiences. Still, maybe, we can't watch any of the remaining episodes or think about Mulder and Scully becoming a couple together (as opposed to partners) without realizing the impact of the cancer arc on these two characters. The X Files, perhaps, did a better job of running a thread of continuity between episodes then even its long term fans understands or which we are, perhaps, just understanding now.

The X Files is celebrating its thirtieth anniversary this year with two fan based organized events. Podcasts. blogs, and fan discussion are as plentiful as ever. I will continue to watch and gain new perspective from this wonderful series and, from time to time, share my thoughts. Please respond with your own comments or thoughts to continue the discussion.

[gretchenzellerbarnes]

9 people you would like to get to know better

Tagged by @renlyslittlerose, apologies for the delay, this has been sitting in my drafts for ages now 😅

1. 3 ships:

Obikin - I. Am. Obsessed. With these two idiots. My current hyperfixation with Obikin started in the run up to the Kenobi series when I went back and rewatched the prequels and TCW (weirdly Obikin as a ship didn't register for my poor oblivious bisexual arse when the prequels came out). They're equals, more intimate than lovers, two halves of a whole warrior, they spend a lot of their time together bickering like an old married couple. Ahsoka refers to them as her parents in TCW season 7. Where there is one, the other is not far behind. I'm sure it was @/gffa who wrote a meta about how (whether you view their relationship as platonic or romantic) Obi-Wan Kenobi IS the love of Anakin Skywalker's life. To me they are the Star Wars ride or die. They ended tragically in life (in canon). They lived happily ever after as force ghosts. The love was there... 😭. I am Unwell about them.

Ineffable Husbands/Wives/Spouses - An Angel and a Demon. Hereditary Enemies. Unapologetically queer. The Autistic + ADHD ship. The angel is a fussy hedonist who will cut a bitch if they damage his books. The demon is genderfluid and serves cunt on a regular basis (especially at the crucifixion). 6000 glorious, frustrating years of pining. Bad. At. Their. Jobs. Just fuckin' kiss already (heheh, yeah that didn't work out so well 😅).

Thoschei - The Doctor and The Master. They were never married. They're divorced. They're childhood sweethearts. They've killed each other at least twice. They change genders like most people change socks. They should've fucked (you can tell I have a thing for enemies to lovers, right? 🤣). They've both destroyed their own civilisation at least once. Whenever The Master shows up you never know if they're gonna kill each other or fuck nasty (or both). For once brief shining moment (Twelve x Missy, World Enough And Time) they could've been more. Again, they have this tragic thread of "it shouldn't have ended like this, but it did". Unlikely to have a happy ending ever (unless through the pages of fanfic).

Special shout out to: Rebelcaptain (my other SW ride or die), Mulder x Scully (see below), Ventrobi (what? I'm a multishipper, and these two are constantly flirting every time they fight. They totally fucked after Revenge), Blackbonnet, and Catradora.

2. first ever ship:

Mulder and Scully - I shipped these two before I even knew what shipping culture and fandom was. I remember 10 y/o me watching the first episode of The X Files (and being shit scared to fall asleep for months because I was scared aliens were gonna abduct me lol 👽) and just being hooked on the series. And as the series progressed I became hooked on these two and their partnership. My OG ride or die ship, they are the reason that most of my other ships have that ride or die, banter and bicker like an old married couple, best friends, equals, you cannot find one without the other, no one understands me like this person understands me vibe.

3. last song:

Cat Pierce - You Belong To Me

4. last movie:

Barbie.

Finally watched it last night. Currently have I'm Just Ken stuck in my head 💖

5. currently reading:

Dune by Frank Herbert.

I am. Obsessed. After watching the 2021 film - it's probably my most watched comfort film atm.

6. currently watching:

Loki, GBBO, Strictly Come Dancing, Ahsoka (rewatch), SW Prequels. After question 2 I'm wondering if it's time for an X Files rewatch.

7. currently consuming:

Mint and lime iced green tea (tastes better than it sounds) and rice pudding.

8. currently craving: Chicken noodle soup from my local Chinese takeaway.

I tag: anyone who wants to have at it because I am crap at the tagging lol 😆💖

[thevindicativevordan]

So, Chester turns out to be a mole for Luthor who apparently Became the Mask somewhat and TBH, I thought it was a little underwhelming? I've been honestly excited at a proper story where they clash, since unlike the smug indifference they would feel towards 90% of the Superman villains, I imagine those two would genuinely hate each other.

It's disappointing but unsurprising. Of the team he was the only one who would make sense to be in secret contact with Luthor, given they both feuded with Superman. I was hoping that the inevitable break between Superman and Black would come about after a period of the two working together in the Authority, with the ultimate falling out occurring because Black wanted to push the envelope in a way Superman balked at. Instead it seems like Black and Superman will part ways after Superman learns that Black was feeding intel to Luthor, even if Black ultimately came to enjoy working with Supes and wanted to terminate his partnership with Lex. Doing it now feels too soon, we only just got started seeing this team in Action and now they're basically splintering, seemingly set to lose their two leaders in Superman and Black.

A shame but it seems DC is pivoting back to "classic status quo" which means a lot of the Bendis/Morrison ideas are being laid to rest, although I have hope that PKJ will carry forward some of the Morrison ideas given he's been talking with Morrison - just recently he was in the UK where he chatted with Morrison - and at the very least he wants to address the plot thread regarding Kryptonite Morrison set up. Furthermore I suspect that kicking Manchester Black off the team will be done to open the leadership position for Jenny, either Sparks or Quantum.

[datestunner]

Beyond the Looks: What Makes a Trophy Wife Truly Captivating?

When we hear “trophy wife,” many imagine beauty, elegance, and luxury. But behind the allure of polished appearances lies a deeper, multifaceted reality that redefines the concept. Modern-day “trophy wives” embody intelligence, ambition, and social skills that go beyond mere aesthetics, challenging conventional ideas of marriage and partnership in today’s world.

The Modern Trophy Wife: More Than Meets the Eye

In recent years, the role of a “trophy wife” has shifted dramatically. Unlike past depictions of passive partners in the arms of powerful men, the contemporary “trophy wife” is increasingly influential, driven, and self-reliant. Whether she’s an entrepreneur, an advocate, or a philanthropist, her presence in a relationship extends far beyond looks — she brings a sense of purpose and sophistication that complements and enhances her partner’s life.

One key example is the involvement of trophy wives in business. Many modern trophy wives actively contribute to their partner’s business ventures, wielding insights that fuel growth and add new perspectives. Their involvement often extends to managing investments, building personal brands, or even creating charitable foundations. Through their initiative and drive, they support their partner while also establishing their own identity and independence.

The Power of Emotional Intelligence

Another captivating quality of today’s trophy wife is her emotional intelligence. It takes more than beauty to navigate high-stakes social circles; understanding nuances, managing emotions, and effectively communicating are essential in these relationships. Emotional intelligence allows her to connect with people from diverse backgrounds, contributing to her partner’s network while also enhancing her own.

Ambition and Personal Goals

The allure of a trophy wife today also lies in her ambition and personal goals. She’s not content to be defined by her partner’s status; instead, she seeks fulfillment through her achievements. Whether she’s growing a business, advancing in a career, or championing a social cause, her pursuits make her an equal partner with shared dreams and ambitions.

This level of ambition aligns well with the modern understanding of relationships as partnerships. Rather than creating a power imbalance, it establishes mutual respect and admiration. Both individuals are motivated, successful, and supportive of each other’s paths. This shared ambition, while distinct in each partner, often serves as the bedrock of their relationship.

Intellectual Curiosity and Adaptability

Being captivating is as much about substance as it is about style, and many trophy wives exhibit intellectual curiosity that keeps their relationships fresh and dynamic. A curious mind is an attractive quality — someone who is well-read, cultured, and informed not only engages her partner but also continually expands her horizons. This intellectual depth allows her to contribute to conversations on a wide range of topics, from global affairs to art, culture, and beyond.

Adaptability is another hallmark of her character. Given the nature of high-profile partnerships, she may have to relocate frequently, adapt to different cultures, or pivot career paths. A trophy wife who can embrace change, remain resilient, and maintain her sense of identity is highly attractive in a constantly shifting world.

The Charisma Factor

Charisma is often the invisible thread tying all of these qualities together. True charisma goes beyond charm or surface-level friendliness — it’s an energy that draws others in, creating genuine connections. Charisma helps her navigate social and professional settings with ease, enhancing not only her personal brand but also that of her partner.

Charisma doesn’t require loudness or constant attention. Many of the most captivating trophy wives have a quiet elegance that leaves a lasting impression. This subtle allure is magnetic; it’s a calm confidence that speaks volumes without saying much. By embodying grace and poise, she captivates not just with her looks but with her entire presence.

A New Definition of Partnership

Modern trophy wives have redefined the idea of partnership in a way that reflects the values of equality and mutual growth. Today, they are active contributors, supportive partners, and even mentors. They complement their partner’s strengths, often bringing qualities that round out the relationship.

This shift is part of a broader societal change. Today’s relationships are more balanced and focused on personal development. A trophy wife’s role is no longer confined to appearances; it’s about personal empowerment, shared goals, and a partnership built on genuine connection.

[pavitrtimes]

A Tapestry of Time: Weaving Anniversaries, Birthdays, and Celebrity Wishes Into Celebrations

The tapestry of life is interwoven with threads of milestones. Each strand is a vibrant color: anniversaries are the gold of cherished commitment, birthdays the ruby red of passion for life, and within this beautiful weave, the glimmering strand of celebrity wishes for birthday moments adds a touch of the extraordinary.

Anniversaries: The Gold Threads of Continuity Anniversaries are a testament to the journey of togetherness, a yearly rewind and fast-forward button pressed simultaneously. They invite us to look back with nostalgia at the love that has endured and forward with anticipation to the stories yet written. As each year rolls by, those celebrating find new ways to kindle the romance and fan the flames of lifelong partnership.

Birthdays: The Ruby Celebration of Self Then there are birthdays, that individual thread in the fabric that shines with the hue of personal triumphs and growth. Unlike anniversaries, which honor a joint narrative, a birthday is a solitary dance under the spotlight—it is the universe pausing to say, “On this day, you began your journey.” The ritual of making wishes as candles flicker is a symbolic gesture toward embracing another chapter of existence.

Birthday Wishes: The Chorus of Affection In the chorus of celebrations, birthday wishes form the harmonious melodies that resonate with the heartstrings. These wishes come from near and far, from the lips of kin and the pens of friends. They are the echoes of the past year's joys and the whispered hopes for the future. In this digital age, the scope of these wishes has broadened, enabling a more widespread symphony of celebration.

Celebrity Wishes for Birthday: The Celestial Sparkle Now, imagine weaving into this fabric a twinkling thread straight from the heavens: celebrity wishes for a birthday. This modern phenomenon allows a dose of the extraordinary to ripple through the weave. When a beloved icon reaches across the expanse to deliver a personalized message, they bring with them the sparkle of stardom, turning an ordinary birthday wish into an unforgettable moment of joy.

The Merging of Milestones with Modernity Our world spins ever faster, and as it does, the way we commemorate milestones evolves. Anniversaries embrace new traditions, and birthdays are adorned with contemporary surprises, such as the wonders of celebrity wishes for birthday celebrations. Through innovative platforms, the stars are now just a wish away from making an appearance in someone's personal narrative.

Conclusion: A Richer Fabric The fabric of anniversary and birthday celebrations is richer now than ever before. Every year adds more texture to the tapestry we create with patience and love. So as we gather around the cake, or clink glasses to another year together, we do so with a sense of wonder for the past and excitement for the future. With the delightful possibility of celebrity wishes for birthday stories woven in, the celebrations take on a contemporary luster that shines as brightly as the stars themselves.

In the end, it's not just about marking another year; it's about creating moments that will be stitched into our narratives forever, colored with surprises and sprinkled with stardust, celebrating all that we are and all that we have become together.

[xasha777]

In the neon-soaked streets of Neo-Gaia, where cybernetic enhancements were as common as the air people breathed, Thomas Hungerford stood out—not for his flashy tech or his synthetic augmentations, but for his utter lack of them. He was an oddity, an antique of flesh and bone in a world of chrome and silicon.

On a day like any other, while the digital billboards overhead streamed the latest adverts for neural stimulants, Thomas walked the crowded sidewalks. His eyes, unenhanced by retinal implants, fell upon a striking figure—a young woman with skin painted in a luminescent palette, hair like tendrils of turquoise silk, and eyes that glowed with a violet hue. Her pointed ears twitched to the rhythm of the city, and the horns that spiraled from her head were adorned with bands of shimmering metal. Around her neck, a heavy chain glinted, bearing the sigil of the Cypher Clan—a group of rogue biohackers.

The woman seemed oblivious to the hustle around her, her gaze distant. Thomas could not help but wonder what story lay behind those vivid eyes.

Thomas approached, his voice steady. "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone who can help me with a special project. I've heard the Cypher Clan has the best biohackers in the city."

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Speak," she said simply.

Thomas leaned in. "I'm Thomas Hungerford. I want to keep my humanity intact, but I need enhancements to survive here. Can you help me?"

The woman studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Follow me."

They moved through the bustling streets to an unassuming door, barely noticeable between the neon signs. The woman pressed her palm to a hidden scanner, and the door slid open with a whisper.

Inside, the air was alive with the hum of machines and the scent of synthetic lubricants. Rows of biohackers, their fingers dancing over holographic interfaces, barely looked up as they passed.

"You want to remain human, yet you ask for enhancements. You want to walk in two worlds. Why should we help you?" the woman asked, her voice echoing in the quiet of the lab.

Thomas looked around, feeling the weight of history on his shoulders. "Because if we lose what makes us human, all this," he gestured to the tech around them, "means nothing."

The woman nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You have a point, Thomas Hungerford. We will help you, but not just with enhancements. We will help you find a balance."

So began the unlikely partnership between Thomas and the Cypher Clan, a collaboration that would weave the threads of humanity through the tapestry of a world transformed by technology. They worked tirelessly, finding ways for Thomas to retain his human essence while surviving—and thriving—in the cybernetic jungles of Neo-Gaia.

Their success was a beacon to others, a promise that even in a world where flesh melded with steel, the heart of humanity could still beat strong. And though the woman with the turquoise hair and violet eyes remained an enigma, she became, in many ways, the soul of their mission—a symbol that humanity could evolve without losing itself.

This was the story of Thomas Hungerford, the man who walked between worlds, and the biohacker who showed him the way—not through the lens of a cybernetic eye, but with the vision of the human spirit.

[textileslut]

i can't stop thinking about sheets.

when i moved last year from oakland, i sold off so many beautiful vintage and antique blankets collected compulsively over my 8 years in california. some of them i slept in, some of them i purchased because i simply couldn't bear the thought of someone else sleeping in them, or worse––cutting them up. i sold the jacquard woven baby blanket, the handmade flannel-backed cowboy quilt, a few quilts from my own studio... it was painful, but it was cathartic (not to mention i made a few much-needed bucks on the ordeal).

what i kept were only the most precious. there's the 1980s mass-produced green and pink sears quilt that i keep on my bed, the antique kimono-cloth indigo crib quilt that hangs on my wall, the tattered 1900s beauty i swore i'd repair which lives deep in a plastic bag in my closet. it's a sparse but meaningful handful of cloths.

i couldn't bear to bring any of the sheets. first of all, the bed i shared with my ex was a king-sized monstrosity which we found on craigslist in an attempt to make more room for ourselves between two dogs, which only served to give the dogs more room to stretch out between us, confining us to small patches of mattress miles away from one another, dooming us to a relationship devoid of fucking.

since i couldn't see myself ever wanting such a large bed or sharing another partnership separated by a canyonlike stretch ever again, the sheets weren't practical, however precious they'd been to be at one time or another.

the thing about sheets, for me, is that the thrill of a good set never wears off. somehow in my searching for an affordable (read: CHEAP) 100% linen sheet set, i found one that would fit the enormous bed for $35 from a brand that sells them new for upwards of $600. i snapped them up fast, and though they were a color i never intended to sleep in, each sleep felt like a gift.

there was the set i bought new (very unlike me!) at nordstrom rack––the thread count was low, but high enough to keep me from rolling around trying to find a spot that felt less abrasive on my skin. they were pink and blue, and purchased out of necessity while trout was being house trained. within minutes of struggling to snap them onto the behemoth, there was a fresh piss stain. i loved them for that, the trout sheets.

i did take a sheet from the lilac colored percale set. the lilac, my favorite color and flower, was luminous and warm. these were the sheets in which frankie and i would split forever, and i bought them only a few weeks before it happened, almost knowing that they would be the sheets of an empty king sized bed––sheets for a newfound freedom soft enough to comfort me in the difficult moments of an inevitable heartbreak. i slept in them exclusively after the breakup, counting down months and weeks and days to my departure from the house we shared. when i left, i took the top sheet, knotting it in the corners to use as a makeshift fitted sheet on my brand new queen sized mattress.

now i'm moving into a new (all to myself) apartment and i can't stop thinking about sheets. it seems that everyone has caught onto linen at this point, though the prices reflect a certain milennial-luxury lifestyle i'm totally unwilling to abide, as ever i guess. a brand called piglet-in-bed boasts yarn-dyed sheets in colors saturated enough to make you swoon for the low low price of $457 before tax and shipping. they do, however, offer a massive 10% off for joining their email list––to enter the site without sharing your information, you must allege "no, i do not want 10% off".

similar brands feel equally scammy. "100% organic linen" and "fair trade" labels are plastered all over minimalist sans-serif websites with no country-of-origin sources to match. these are not the sheets you are looking for!

i'm still feeling called to lilac. it's the color i saw the first time i ever kissed my current person, the one who sleeps on top of the lilac new-life sheet with me, all the way back in 2010. it's the color of my favorite flower, favorite feeling. maybe i'll find the perfect set, but i know that in moments when my body needs comfort, safety, a place to lay down, i can't stop thinking about sheets and how they truly never get old for me.

[affirmindia]

Benefits of using Water Soluble Material in everyday products?

Water soluble materials are revolutionizing product design across industries from packaging to textiles to electronics. Unlike traditional oil-based plastics, these innovative materials completely dissolve in water - unlocking more sustainable, efficient and user-friendly solutions.

Affirm India allows businesses to use this technology across diverse applications, from soluble capsules and recyclable tape to food wrappers. Read on to learn more about the wide-ranging benefits this next-generation material can bring to consumers and brands.

1. Promotes Sustainability

Reducing environmental impact is crucial today. However, standard packaging generates over 170 million tons of plastic pollution annually. Water soluble pouches offer a plastic-free alternative for items from detergents to medicines. These pouches safely contain products in transit before dissolving completely during use. This eliminates single-use plastics from ending up in landfills or oceans. For items like flat-packed furniture using protective water soluble paper, customers simply add water to recycle packaging without waste. Sustainability demands drive strong commercial potential for water-soluble solutions.

2. Enhances User Experience

Beyond sustainability, water soluble labels, tapes and films also provide consumer convenience. Soluble laundry tabs avoid fiddly pouring or spilling of liquids. Edible tasty tapes replace difficult-to-open plastic sealings on snack packs. Water-activated films like SmartSolveTM self-adhere when wetted to wrap awkwardly shaped gifts or food items neatly. No glue or tape is required. Water activation adds fun while removing frustration. Brands like Kurlytape, Aicello, and more are tapping into this demand for convenience while upholding eco-values via solubility - delighting customers.

3. Drives Production Efficiency

Manufacturers find that using water-soluble materials makes their work easier. Water soluble sheets leave no sticky residue, which means printing, coating, and packaging can be done quicker and cleaner, with less risk of contamination and less downtime for machines. Unlike other materials, water-soluble products also protect sensitive electronics from rust during manufacturing. In the world of textiles, dissolve threads leave no marks on clothes once finished. With the ability to customize these materials, water-soluble technology supports fast and dependable production in many industries.

4. Unlocks Innovation Opportunities

The unique properties of SmartSolveTM water-soluble material present new possibilities for embedding advanced functionality. Affirm India harnesses patented technology to engineer solutions matching client requirements, whether mechanical strength, controlled dissolution rates, printability, thermal sensitivity, or beyond. For instance, specialty delayed-dissolve films act as Bio removal before releasing active ingredients. Thermal printing properties eliminate label wastage, driving just-in-time customization. Sealing layers enable the creation of multi-compartment soluble pouches tailored to almost any sector. Early innovators access a world of opportunities.

5. Offers Commercial Advantage

With consumers and regulators pushing sustainability alongside demand for convenience,water soluble solutions futureproof brands against shifting preferences. Early movers reap rewards now by standing out as eco-innovators compared to plastic-reliant laggards. Industry giants like Procter & Gamble, Reckitt Benckiser and Clorox have already adopted water soluble pods through longstanding partnerships with soluble materials specialists like Affirm India. And more sectors are following suit from electronics to toy manufacturers as capabilities advance. Being an early engager with proven water soluble experts allows your company to lead markets globally rather than play catch up.

Conclusion

As a pioneer with years of expertise in water-soluble solutions, Affirm India offers brands specialist partnerships and leading material science capabilities to integrate this next-generation technology across products. Unlock sustainability, efficiency, innovation and commercial success with SmartSolveTM.