#trying to deny the system instead of changing it

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1. Next->

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

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

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[sunderwight]

SV scenario where Shen Jiu is also Shen Yuan's Meimei.

Trans egg SJ never got to examine her gender identity very much in her first life. What with all the enslavement, abuse (given as well as received), misunderstandings, betrayals, dismemberment, and death, there was far too much for her to ever come to terms with a set of concepts she'd never really had the luxury to entertain. By the time Shen Jiu was a peak lord, the Shen Qingqiu persona was locked in, and any dreams of a different life or inclinations to the contrary of her role were ruthlessly quashed by SJ herself.

But when SJ finally dies and her soul is free to reincarnate (taking a few more memories than usual along for the ride), she has mixed feelings about being born as the youngest daughter of a wealthy family.

The mixed feelings don't actually last long, though after a while she starts to wonder why the fates would grant her a reprieve? Maybe remembering her past life is her punishment, because it's certainly the worst part of her new situation. Her parents are indulgent, her older brothers all dote on her and spoil her, and when she tests limits she's only gently rebuked if she gets rebuked at all. Not only is she allowed to wear fine dresses and look pretty, she's expected to (actually the expectation does chafe, a bit). But even when she uses foul language, skips classes, reads controversial books, and commits myriad other tiny rebellions, no real retribution ever comes of it.

Even despite everything, after some years Shen Jiu starts to become... not complacent, but perhaps calmer would be a better description. She has a stable future handed to her on a silver platter. Very few things remind her of her past, either. She can read books about snotty highborn lords getting railed by werewolves as readily as classics of literature or academic papers on science, business, culture, politics, or whatever else takes her fancy. Her family doesn't even put demands on her to marry, despite some of her mother's hints in that direction. For the first time, Shen Jiu has a life where it seems like she can't fail, she can only succeed however much she wants to. It's like having nowhere to go but up, except without the part about hitting rock bottom.

A foolish set of assumptions, in the end. There's always something to lose.

When Shen Yuan suddenly dies, Shen Jiu recognizes the sinister hand of the same entity which oversaw her own reincarnation. One which had visited her dreams quite recently, trying to tempt her back to her first life with offers of being able to change the past. It wasn't even difficult to deny it. Shen Jiu doesn't believe she could change what happened, and she doesn't really want to try. Her one regret is what happened to that person, the one who died so horribly while rushing to her rescue, and even that, she doesn't know how she would change (because she still doesn't know why he bothered in the first place).

But how dare the System God take the silliest and softest of her brothers to try and fix her accursed first life?! Luo Binghe will eat him alive! Cang Qiong will mistake him for a demon or a madman or worse, and throw him into some cell somewhere, if they don't just kill him outright!

Shen Meimei tries to negotiate with the System, but it tells her the window of opportunity for her to go back instead has passed. Smarmy piece of shit. There's nothing she can do without supernatural help, however, except bide her time and wait for another "window of opportunity". It's in the midst of this that she discovers PIDW, and its (terrible) account not only of the broad strokes of her first life and death, but of what came afterwards. That little beast really wrecked the world, huh? And all those women, too. She's never been more grateful to have not figured herself out in her first life. But at least with access to this information, she can try and prepare more. (She's suspicious of who actually wrote this account as well -- is Luo Binghe himself in this world? Better to leave it now, in that case, before he inevitably makes another bid for power and destroys everything in his wake all over again!)

When the System finally gives her an opportunity to go back (as herself, or rather "Bonus Epilogue Side Character -- Shen Qingqiu's Mysterious Little Sister!") she is braced for any number of outcomes. Shen Yuan could be dead. He could be imprisoned. He could have had his limbs all cut off. He could be stuffed into a pickle jar. He could be hiding or on the run somewhere. Hopefully, he'll be hiding behind that person, confused and distraught but still intact thanks to the sect leader's guilt-driven sense of obligation. Most likely if the same number of years have passed since Shen Yuan "left", he's already been destroyed by Luo Binghe and all Shen Jiu will be able to do is avenge him. But she has some ideas of how to kill the beast, so, she will.

Of course, what she finds is nothing she expected, and almost even worse.

Luo Binghe married her brother?!

Death is too good for him! Shen Jiu's going to skin him alive!!!

[ddarker-dreams]

A Fool's Errand.

Yan Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, imbalanced power dynamics, alcohol mention/consumption, not SFW implications. Word count: 2.1k.

“Now that’s a scary look.” 

Ice cubes clink together as you stir your drink, feigning an air of indifference. The warm pinks swirl in a hypnotizing display. Golden flecks catch the room’s sparse lighting, shimmering within the miniature whirlpool. 

You return your focus to the reflection in your pocket mirror. 

The countenance that greets you is both familiar and foreign. Color is infused into your lips, brushed along your cheeks, and blended atop your eyelids. It’d been a while since you had applied makeup, but the muscle memory kicked in eventually. After some touch-ups, you found the results satisfactory. From this vantage point, you can admire your décolleté, complemented by a dainty choker with a butterfly charm. 

You can also see a pair of eyes staring back at you. 

You clasp the mirror shut, wishing the shadowy apparition would disappear.

Instead, it creeps closer, footsteps echoing throughout the empty room. 

You sip your concoction. It’s tart, with a splash of sweetness that soon fades into a bitter aftertaste. A hazy warmth swaddles your mind in a tight embrace. 

Blade materializes beside you like a phantom coming to life. His presence is heavy and impossible to ignore, but you try your best. He’s frowning, almost glaring at you, the skin beneath his eyes wrinkled in displeasure. Your continued apathy does little to soothe the brewing tension. 

This time, it’s him who breaks the silence. 

“How much have you had to drink?”

“This is my third glass,” you admit. His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you’d come faster.” 

“If you anticipated your failure, why bother?” 

“I dunno. Curiosity? Boredom?” Your finger traces the drink’s rim. Suppressing a wicked smile, you add, “Maybe I wanted to find a date.” 

For a fleeting instant, it’s like the room’s oxygen rushed out at once, leaving you to asphyxiate. Your eyes tell a different story — nothing’s changed, at least, not physically — aside from his pupils shrinking to a pinprick’s size. Faintly, what remains of your cognition advises against poking the beast. You’ve already done enough. In the coming days, you’re likely to regret this entire escapade. 

However, your present self finds immense satisfaction in spewing petty jabs. 

“Be mindful of your tongue, girl.” 

Blade’s timbre is dark and gravelly. Shivers envelop your body, which you chase off with another hearty drink. His eyes follow your throat as you gulp the liquid down. They remain fixated there for an unnerving few seconds. Shifting around in your seat, it’s growing harder to deny the magnitude of who you’re dealing with. His suffocating favor doesn’t grant you absolute immunity. 

You try reaching for another sip, only for him to stop you. 

“That’s enough,” he says. His grip around your wrist tightens when you try wrenching it free. “We’re heading back.” 

Heading back. To the life of a fugitive, forever on the run, wreaking chaos wherever he and his band of clairvoyant criminals set foot. It isn’t an alluring prospect. This brief stint has been the longest you’ve gone without constant surveillance. Even if it’s a fleeting illusion, destined to slip through your fingers, you want to hold on just a bit longer. 

The alcohol flowing through your system further emboldens you. “You wanna end our date so fast?” 

This little provocation seemingly accomplishes the impossible — it throws Blade off guard. 

“‘Our?’” He repeats, the upward inflection uncharacteristic of his monotonous voice. 

“I was lookin’ for a date and you happened to come along, so yeah, why not?” You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing. He blinks. “What? Am I not pretty enough?” 

Blade’s lips part and close in rapid succession. He knows what you’re doing, you know that he knows what you’re doing, yet your flirtations still have a visible effect. His body’s gone stiff and his jaw’s set, like he’s concentrating greatly. You hear his leather glove creak as he clenches and unclenches his fists. 

Leaning onto the counter, you look up at him through your eyelashes. “You must not like me after all.” 

“That—” he exhales sharply, his subsequent words coming out in a low, measured drawl, “... You have until you finish your drink.” 

While your mind slowly processes this information, he pulls out a barstool and sits beside you. You can tell he’s still disgruntled, yet you’ve established a temporary truce. For all the brutality he’s capable of, he's willingly domesticated the instant you offer a piece of yourself. A guard dog who requires no leash, for leaving your side is unthinkable. 

This is what’s doomed you and posed as your salvation. 

You break eye contact. 

Outside, you hear the whirr of traffic through the bar’s thin walls. You’d already forgotten the name of the planet you’re visiting. It’s indistinguishable from most IPC-infected civilizations — intrusive advertisements carved in the night sky and menial work for the masses, who will never climb as high as they wish. The Stellaron Hunter’s prolonged presence is an ill omen for the oblivious populace. 

If you asked, Blade would tell you what they’re doing here and what will become of the inhabitants.

These days, you find it’s best not to know. 

“Why didn’t you try dating me, anyway?” You ask. An ice cube begins melting into the drink, losing itself. “I’ve always wondered about that. Who knows? I may have fallen head over heels for you.” 

His answer comes surprisingly fast, slicing through the air like his weapon of choice. “I am not the sort of man you should be with.” 

You whip your head in his direction, utterly dumbfounded. “Huh?” 

“What you deserve… I can never give,” Blade’s eyes betray nothing of his inner thoughts. “It’s best that you never believed otherwise.” 

The universe’s momentum slows to a crawl. You sit up straight, ignoring the wave of dizziness the abrupt motion inflicts, scrutinizing his visage. Dull emotions attempt to burst the pleasant buzz you've cocooned in. Their sharp edges push and push, testing the material’s durability. The lights flicker, unwilling to cast him in permanent light. 

“If you care enough to consider all that, then why—” 

Why rob me of normalcy? 

Why take what made me into the person I am? 

Why deprive me of my life to make what’s left of yours better?

He lets you down what remains of your drink. It burns as it travels down your tightening throat, washing away any playfulness that lingered on your tongue. Your stomach turns in on itself. Still, you lap up every drop, chasing after a numbness that can’t outweigh the grief. The act of pulling the glass away proves overwhelming for your frazzled brain. You sway, temporarily stupefied. 

The cold leather of one hand and textured gauze from another steady your shoulders, keeping your body in place. 

“Careful. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s it matter? Seeing me in pain obviously means nothin’ to you.” 

He pauses, considering a response you’ll never be privy to, as he keeps his lips shut. Instead, he asks, “Can you walk?” 

This questioning of your motor functions has you scoffing. Wordlessly, you hop to the ground, where you stay still, intent on keeping yourself steady. Despite your best efforts, your surroundings spin ever so slightly. The minimalist furniture of this automaton-run establishment blurs together. Heat flushes throughout your body, warming your cheeks like an internal furnace. 

You overestimated your tolerance. It’s been a while since you’ve indulged — you should’ve considered that. 

Your weak performance confirms Blade’s suspicions. He approaches you, raising his hands, likely to keep you secure like he had before. You dodge his unwanted advances out of reflex. This proves to be a mistake, as you lack the coordination to make any sharp movements. Your ankle gives out and your eyes fly wide open, arms flailing about for purchase. 

Blade moves faster than you can process. You’re made to feel weightless as he lifts you up, holding you firm against his chest. 

“Hey, put me down! I don’t— I can walk just fine!” You exclaim, writhing around like a fish out of water. Exerting a mere fraction of his strength is enough to render your struggle useless. Realizing that all you’re doing is tiring yourself out, you go limp, your breathing coming out erratic from the exertion. Humiliation prickles throughout like hot needles waiting to erupt from your flesh.

“Are you finished?” 

You’re close enough to feel the low vibration of his voice. It rattles your bones, burrowing deep within the marrow. You express your resignation by averting your gaze. With that, he walks out, holding you in a bridal carry. Cool air nips at your exposed skin as he kicks the door open. It lets out into a back alley, where he must’ve skulked in from. 

He stops here and gingerly places you down, muttering, “Lean against the wall.” 

You do as instructed, though given your impaired state, you would’ve fumbled around for support without his prompting. He sheds his outer black jacket and drapes it along your bare shoulders. The fabric engulfs you, smelling faintly metallic. After ensuring you’re properly covered, he scoops you back up, maneuvering your body around like it’s weightless. 

He follows the labyrinth-like expanse of alleyways, leaving the sounds and sights of the densely populated area behind. Not a word is uttered or a glance shared. You wet your lips, your mind racing for ways to break the tense silence. Blade’s always been a man of a few words, but this bout is different than what you’re used to. Heavier, somehow. Your actions have gone beyond petty defiance. Typically, you can gauge what nonsense you can and can’t get away with. 

With this latest excursion, however—

—You’ve stumbled into uncharted territory. 

“What now?” You ask, your voice unusually meek. 

“You’ll be leaving this star system before long. We’re headed towards the pickup site.” 

Your ears perk up at his word choice. “You aren’t coming?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’ve yet to fulfill my portion of the script on this planet.” 

“... Oh.” 

You can feel the look he sends your way. 

“Does this displease you?” 

“Ah, well,” you take a deep breath, finding the act of verbalizing your thoughts in this state difficult, “I didn’t think you… liked being apart.” 

“My preferences are irrelevant. Kafka will ensure you’re cared for until I’m suited to be around you again.” 

You furrow your eyebrows together, parsing through this information bit by bit. It’s like your mental faculties have been slathered with tar, slowing the gears in the mire. You’re only ever stuck with Kafka when Blade’s regenerating from significant injuries or dangerously mara-struck. You reflect on the evening’s events. The ease at which you snuck out, how it felt like the universe itself aligned along the way… 

Ah. 

You’re the ideal variable to tamper with when increasing (or decreasing) his mara. 

It’s a gross feeling — this sensation of being used like a pawn to affect the performance of the board’s stronger pieces. Perhaps the inevitably of it all is why he isn’t upset with you, or he might be trying to delay the onslaught of mara. Whatever the case, you’ve inadvertently done your part for this script. Stirring the sediments of his shortcomings and shoving your dislike of him to the forefront. 

Is this all you are? A side character in the epic Destiny’s Slave has penned? 

You grit your teeth. 

Using what little strength’s left in your muscles, you sit up, slinking your arms around his neck for support. Blade pauses, clearly more interested in your machinations than dropping you off like a package. He turns to face you. Though you’re nearly nose to nose, the night obscures his features, save for his eyes. The two blood-red moons have an otherworldly glow to them. Their gravitational pull is dangerous, yet you approach them as a willing sacrifice regardless. 

A gentle graze of your lips against his is enough for him to stop breathing. You can do what his mountains of deceased enemies gave their lives trying to accomplish. He must know you’re up to something; his grip is nearly bruising from the restraint he’s exercising. You test his fraying resolve by allowing your lips to connect. It’s purposefully brief, ending before it truly began. Upon pulling away, he chases after you, but you deny him.

Blade sounds pained when murmuring your name. 

Whether it’s a plea or a warning, you can’t tell. 

“What?” You ask. “You’re the one trying to get rid of me.” 

“...” 

Blade leers down at you. You meet his stare, unyielding, drunk on the idea of inconveniencing the Stellaron Hunters to any extent.

"... Stay still," he eventually orders, backing you against the alley's wall. "Time is short."

You wait until he's nipping at your neck to smile.

[justmeexistinghere]

W H E R E S H A D O W S M E E T

pt.1 Trigger ˏ*⁀➷Masterlist

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5 - pt.6 - pt.7 - pt.8

Summary:

You planned to leave your past behind and focus on keeping a low profile at Eunjang High. But when a violent encounter after school forces you out of the shadows, old instincts flare up and new connections begin to form. Sometimes, the fight you try to avoid is the one that changes everything.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･*✧･ﾟ:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> Geum Seongje x fem!reader (about to be) -> Warnings: violence / physical fights, bullying, blood / injury, swearing / strong language, mentions of past trauma, smoking (hopefully I didn't forget anything) -> Wordcount: 2.503 -> 📝English isn’t my first language & this is my first story — thank you for your patience ♡

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧:*⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Just like the past few days, the usually blue sky is hidden behind a wall of grey clouds. Even the sun surrenders, casting a heavy, oppressive mood over the city. Summoning any motivation for the lessons ahead feels impossible – not that you ever had much to begin with. 

Listlessly, you stare out the window, your gaze empty and unfocused. Occasionally, your eyes flick over to the clock above the door, moving so slowly it feels personal. You rest your head on your arms, knowing the teacher wouldn't say a word, since all of them have learned to keep their heads down, just like most of the students. You close your eyes, letting the hum of the classroom fade into the background as your thoughts drift away.

The bell finally snaps you out of it. Time for a break. Not that it matters... 

You are still new here, still alone – and, honestly, you prefer it that way. Choosing between bullies and their victims isn’t a choice you are interested in. Sure, a few students don’t fit into either category, but why take the risk? You know how quickly the wrong decision can blow up in your face.  

You hate this place. But it was your own fault. The thought had settled in your mind a long time ago. No sense denying it.

This place, Eunjang High, is infamous for brutal fights, relentless bullying, and a toxic atmosphere. Sounds fun, right? If one enjoys survival games, it would definitely get a five-star rating. 

You feel like an intruder in a system you had no desire to belong to. And honestly? You certainly don’t want to change anything about it, even if you are sure that you could. Maybe once, the old you would’ve thought about changing things. But not now. You have bigger promises to keep. Promises that tasted bitter the second you made them. Graduation isn’t far off. And you're counting the days – not to celebrate, but to leave this hellhole behind without a second glance.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

After what felt like an eternity, school's over. Another level of this horror game is done.  You don’t know why, but instead of taking your usual route – the one where you're least likely to run into anyone – you take the shortcut through the notorious tunnel where fights happen almost every day. For a second, the familiar smell of blood and sweat, probably from the most recent fight, finds its way to your nose. You tense for a second, listening.   Nothing...   Just your echoing steps. “Lucky me,” you whisper to yourself after realizing that you could have walked straight into someone's fist or something. You start playing some of your favourite songs over your earphones, which give you a decent soundtrack to your after-school walk, offering a small escape from your sickening surroundings.

You are almost home until you remember that your dad asked you to get some groceries on your way back. You enter the 7-Eleven, which is nearby, and gather everything you need. While browsing through the shelves, you see someone slurping their ramen, and its smell makes your belly long for it with a quiet noise, you hope only you caught. You stop your music – shit, reality hits again – and wait quietly until the cashier breaks the silence with the annoyed-sounding words, “That's all?” You nod. “That's 13,000₩ please,” he says while you are already looking for your card. You feel how he eyes you impatiently as he cannot wait to return to the game he was playing on his phone right before you interrupted him. The people in this area really do not care about their jobs, but honestly, you kinda understand them.

A loud crash at the window facade makes your hand jolt, almost dropping your card. Fuck, what was that? Your heart skips. And you feel your muscles tensing up, ready to defend yourself, as if your body never forgot how it's done. You turn around with a swift move and quickly capture the ongoing situation.  

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Outside the store, a group of teenagers – looking like wannabe gangsters from the Unit – have ganged up on some other students, one of whom was slammed into the window and was the source of the crashing sound. His dark hair is still being gripped by a taller guy who laughs shamelessly, looking not only at his "friends" but also at a dark alley, where a lanky figure with a lit cigarette is barely noticeable.  

It is time to act fast – fuck – no trouble, you remind yourself over and over again, while leaving the store and trying to get past the troublemakers. “Hey, you!” shouts one of the guys, but you ignore it, trying to look unbothered by the scene. “Is this bitch really ignoring me?” he says while taking fast steps in your direction until he is close enough to grab your wrist. His grip is strong, and the sudden pain makes your eyes water. You try to shake him off, which only leads to him gripping even harder – you didn’t think that would be possible, but damn, it was. “Let go,” you say, trying to be as direct and emotionless as possible. “Why would you tell me what to do?” he responds, laughing, and turns to his gang, which still hasn't let the other guys they harassed before leave. Only then do you realize how bad the condition of the boy is that was hit against the window. He is bleeding from his head heavily, and you aren't sure if he is still conscious. You hear his heavy breathing, and it feels like déjà vu. Your heart starts to ache and a small shiny tear rolls down your cheek. The guy on your wrist notices that your eyes were glued on the badly injured and bursts out: “Feel pity for this motherfucker? Do you know this loser?” You look at the attacker with a disgusted face, not being able to hide your thoughts for a second. No trouble, you promised. But some promises are easier to break than others. Fuck it.

You then look him right in the eyes, putting on a small grin, and let out a short snort of laughter, trying to irritate him. “Pity? Yeah, maybe. I mean, who wouldn't be pitiful looking, after having a fight with someone, one cannot stand a chance with, huh? But you are the one I pity even more, you know?” you answer him cockily. His eyes pop open, since he hadn’t expected that as your answer. "You pity me?" his eyes get darker, and his voice lower. The other gang members start laughing, but you know exactly how to shut them up. “You too!” You raise your voice, making sure they hear you clearly, which succeeds. All eyes are on you now. God, you have a love-hate relationship with this exact feeling. But you must end what you have started.

“The ones that pick weaker and defenseless victims to bully are the most pitiful,” you continue. You feel relief at your wrist, realizing the guy transfers his weight to his rear leg, along with the arm that was on you just now. You catch that familiar glint in his eyes, you had seen countless times in the midst of a brawl. With a swift motion you avoid the rising hand that was now aiming at your cheek. He stumbles to the front, not expecting to miss. "Shibal," he screams directly at you, feeling the anger he has more intensely. It isn’t the first time you have to dodge a slap, knowing there is no going back anymore. Like in old times, you study the situation – every movement, every little detail about your surroundings. You need to know what your opponent is about to do. How you can use the things around you to obtain an advantage. You feel your old self banging at the wall you set up inside yourself a while ago, and you cannot help but let it break through.   Even if you fought a lot in your past, you are a bit rusty due to your lack of exercise. But hey, no risk no fun, right?

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

It's six of them. Too many. But starting with the one that seems to be their leader might scare them a bit, since they clearly underestimate you. That will buy some time to leave with the boys on the floor. You look at their exhausted and scared, pale faces once again, catching their collective shivering, which is almost imperceptible and speaks volumes of their terror. Long story short... You seize the moment of surprise, your foot lashing out in a swift, precise kick aimed at the balls of the bully who held you seconds ago. A strangled gasp escapes him as he sinks to his knees, not expecting your next move, already approaching. Before he can react, your fist shoots out, connecting with a sickening thud against his left eye. The others, just as you'd anticipated, are frozen, their shock palpable as they witness their leader's swift defeat. "Run!" you bark at the boys, who are as surprised as the bullies, but listen to your sharp and commanding voice. Except for one... The badly injured boy, stubbornly unconscious, has a crimson stain blooming on the pavement beneath his head.

You find yourself between the decision of helping him and risking a bloody fight or leaving without him. "No trouble your ass," you mutter under your breath, your muscles coiling in preparation for the inevitable fight. In the meantime, the leader groans, pushing himself up with agonizing slowness, clutching his injured groin. "Take that bitch down!" he roars, his voice thick with pain and fury.

Round 1!

A thick-necked guy with closely cropped hair charges forward, swinging a clumsy punch that telegraphs his intentions a mile away. Instead of meeting his brute force, you sidestep, narrowly avoiding his fist, and your hand instinctively grabs the heavy terracotta flowerpot sitting precariously on the ledge of a house's window next to the 7-Eleven. As he stumbles past his missed strike, you swing the pot, not to smash it, but to fling a handful of loose soil and grit directly into his face. He roars in surprise and claps his hands to his eyes, momentarily blinded.

Another one of his cronies, leaner and faster, sees his chance and lunges. But your attention is already elsewhere. You quickly reach for the plastic name tag pinned to your school uniform. With a sharp tug, you rip it free. As he comes at you, you grip the rigid plastic tightly between your fingers, using the pointed corner – ironically bearing your own name – to deliver a quick, stinging jab to the side of his neck, targeting a pressure point, leaving a message. He gasps, momentarily stunned by the unexpected sharp pain and the sheer audacity of the attack, giving you the opening to maneuver.  

Shortly after, some passersby step in, saying the police is nearby, which leads to the attackers finally leaving.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The cloying scent of blood and sweat, the unwelcome aroma of the day, assaults your nostrils once again. You kneel beside the injured boy, the sticky warmth of his blood radiating faintly. His eyelids flutter open, revealing unfocused, pain-filled eyes. "Hey, you alright?" you ask gently, your voice shows a stark contrast to the earlier command, as you fumble for your phone to call an ambulance. The boy seems to have lost his voice due to the pain and shock he just experienced. You can feel the adrenaline slowly fading, and even if you are not as weak as you pretended for a long time, your knees are just like jelly in that moment.

What you just did surprises you. You just have to think about Him. He would be proud, but also disappointed. He, the one who taught you to fight. He, the reason you never wanted to fight again.

But if you were brutally honest, you liked it. You liked the feeling of being in a fight, blood boiling, and always thinking about a divine move that made them lose against you, even if no one would ever bet on you. You find yourself being proud of something you wanted to ban from your life and even promised it to your dad and Him.

"Not bad," you suddenly hear from the direction of the dark alley, where you noticed the smoking figure before. A tall, slim guy, wearing an orange windbreaker and glasses, comes in your direction. You have to admit he looks quite handsome, walking casually with one hand in his pocket while the other has a cigarette between two fingers. You look at him a bit confused, but curious about what exactly he wants. "What do you mean?" "Your fighting. Not bad for a girl." The way you hate these words – for a girl – why is it always this statement? Unfazed, you turn around to finally go home. Gladly, the groceries are still all in the bag and mostly fine, after you threw them away before the fight. While walking, you perceive another pair of footsteps right behind you, before you can hear the person that follows you saying: "No really, I didn’t expect someone like you to be that tough. You turned them into cowards, which gives me a reason to beat them even more later. Thanks, sweetheart." Now you are even more confused about this guy than before. "You saw all that?" You keep your cool until you realize what it means... "So you were there the whole time and just watched? You know them? Are you behind the attack against the other students?" You stop walking and look at him furiously. He just smiles with that damn smile and look in his eyes. A look without any regret, rather just amusement. "Maybe, but sweetheart, it seems like you can handle yourself. No need to step in," he says, super relaxed. "You fucking–" you start but stop in anger, just continuing walking towards home. The guy laughs and just looks at you from behind.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

In bed, you cannot stop thinking about what happened. The usual morning at school ended in a sidequest, which seems to be just the beginning of something that may change your life for the time being. In your head, you replay the whole fight you went through and study all the movements you remember. How could you improve your attacks for your next fight... A next fight... three words you never thought would be formed like that in your head again... but they did and you do not regret... not at all... just that you didn’t hit that damn gummy smile of the windbreaker guy...

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

to be continued...

ˏ*⁀➷pt.2

Thank you so much for reading so far! I wanted to create atmosphere and some depth, why its quite a long start without the pairing actually know each other 😅 It's my first work ever so i hope you like it (please leave some feeback hehe). Would you like part 2?

picture was generated with Ai

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5 - pt.6 - pt.7 - pt.8

[mushratting]

i feel like nobody gets the toriel/sans scene at the end of chapter four. im crazy.

in my opinion the point of that scene was never to try to imply that toriels a bad mom. full stop i dont think that assigning morality to that scene at All is productive. kris isnt a bad kid either for being upset. but also it isnt a scene thats just supposed to be for laughs. it is in fact a secret third thing.

its more about the whole setup with chapter 4 and kris and susie both kinda tweaking about toriel being in the church and it turns out she canceled choir practice because it was raining. and one can argue that toriel should have called kris to let them know her change of plans, but she thought kris would just be out with susie and would just come home when theyre supposed to. im pretty sure its the weekend! and one could also argue that kris should have tried to contact her and confirm she was in the church at all. but atthe end of the day, realistic depiction of miscommunication (or lack of communication at all.)

i think that toriel getting wine drunk with a stranger is kind of an L dont get me wrong. but also im gonna be so real. speaking with my certifications as a child of divorce, sometimes you come home and your moms invited some stranger either into your home or into your life. being a single parent is fucking wack, and it puts strain in a bunch of ways on the relationship between parent and child. its uncomfortable being a kid in that situation, but at the same time thats sometimes just how it goes. not saying its good! but it isnt "morally evil" or anything like that.i guess the feeling is something along the lines of 'i dont think i have the right to deny my mom a chance at happiness with someone just because im uncomfortable'. and i think in this scene it really hits that chord, at least for me. #childofdivorcerune

BUT. my thoughts do not end here. i think that the framing of that scene also says a lot. as the player, its honestly kind of a breath of fresh air to see that toriels safe, sans again, and also a bunch of awesome animation. we as the player also have a preconceived notion of sans already so he really isnt a stranger to a lot of people playing the game. like at least thats sans from the tumblr sexyman twitter poll. or at least undertale. dont get me wrong the scene is definately still uncomfortable, but it has this goofy ass situation to it that for the player diffuses a lot of tension.

basically i also think that the framing of that scene intentionally sets you up to minimize kris's feelings by setting the tone as something more comedic instead of upsetting. which i think ties into the way the narration and setup of deltarune tries to constantly pretend that kris is an empty vessel when theyre really not.

ok thus concludes my thoughts i literally couldnt sleep until i got this out of my system

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 5

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

Part 4

***

While “Jason” (i.e. Alfred with an empty jet that Jason will meet up with later in order to “arrive” in Amity) hops a private jet, Red Hood is busy searching the Fenton home from top to bottom.

The local police move slowly, and by the time they arrive Jack and Maddie Fenton are both tied up and disarmed in their living room under heavy guard.

They hadn’t been restrained immediately, Batman talking him into giving them a chance to implicate themselves first.

Hood let him take the lead, but he didn’t even get a chance to ask a question, being cut off at the first indication he might want to talk about their “work.” Less than 60 seconds in, and the pair had outright confessed to violating the meta protection acts - and in tedious detail.

The questioning didn’t suffer any from them being tied up.

Far from the mulish silence or crocodile-tear laden denial of most criminals, they instead doubled down, insisting that nothing they had done was illegal, then jumping to the assumption that they were “possessed” - and boy had it been a nasty surprise when the whole house came alive trying to attack them with a quick verbal command.

Well, trying to attack Hood. And only him, for some reason.

One laser also freed the Fentons, who turned out to have even more weapons built into their suits. 

Somehow. 

Despite them being skintight.

That had been a pain, but Red Robin was able to hack the system using one of the couples’ own devices while Hood dodged - and kept the stray fire away from the others - leaving everyone else to recapture the pair. A blessedly simple task once they found out the lasers would splash harmlessly off of their armor (save for a gross film of green goop left wherever they grazed).

They take turns knocking each unconscious to change them in order to properly disarm them - Batman and Nightwing taking Jack first, followed by Orphan and Spoiler dealing with Maddie. 

The only non-weapon laden clothing they own turns out to be pajamas. 

This is around when the police show up, looking hesitant.

They, too, cite the “Anti-Ecto Acts.”

Oracle had debriefed them on the supposed Acts and “Ghost Investigation Ward” on their short drive over. Both were utterly bogus - the Acts had never even been proposed, let alone been approved as law, and the so-called “GIW” had no ties to the government.

The Fentons had been furious and denied the information intensely when told, but the cops mostly just looked relieved.

Apparently there’d been a lot of property damage by the GIW and Fentons both that had supposedly been dismissed under the Acts as “necessary in the pursuit of ecto-scum.”

For the Fentons, half of this damage was in the form of broken fire hydrants, cracked sidewalks, and totaled cars - they’d never been good drivers, before, the cops disclosed, but they’d become even more negligent since the ghosts began appearing, to the point they had to have a news segment warning when they would be on the road.

The lack of fatalities thus far had been nothing short of a miracle, they claimed.

“Of course there haven’t been any fatalities!” Mrs Fenton defends. “Our work is to protect people from those things, not make more! Officers, listen to reason-” Hood snorts disdainfully -”The Red Hood is clearly a ghost! All our systems targeted him the moment they came online - and they only target ecto-entities. He’s clearly taken these heroes under his sway - why else would they be working with a murderer!? You have to do something before he starts up his killing here in Amity!”

The officers look at him a bit hesitantly, but Batman is unmoved and gives the cover story Hood had outlined back in the alley.

Any concerns the locals have are quickly assuaged.

But for the whole explanation, Jason is trying not to shake even as he falls apart in place.

Their little website called them ghost-hunters, making it pretty clear what “ecto-entities” meant. 

Their system supposedly only targets ecto-entities.

The system had only targeted him.

The system only targets ghosts.

Jason had died.

A lot of his family members had died, too, granted. 

But Jason was the only one who seemed to come back wrong - anger sticking in his throat and never quite fading, an inclination towards violence even when he wasn’t angry well beyond what he’d ever felt before, and a sea of other emotions (that he would never acknowledge aloud) and triggers for those emotions that he always struggled to make heads or tails of.

He doesn’t have the meta gene. He knows that. He knew that.

He just assumed that the test missed it, because he knows he doesn’t know magic - the All Blades being the only exception - and he couldn’t think of another explanation at the time.

But he came back wrong.

And as he stands there, he wonders if he came back at all, mind on Solomon Grundy.

Wonders if he isn’t just some ghost, wandering around possessing his own corpse.

He jolts, as the thought strikes him: what about Danny?

If he’s a ghost and chirping is a ghost thing then what about his KID!?

Absently, he notes that Bruce has started interrogating the cops on what they meant by “ghost attacks.” 

He ignores the discussion, hustling for the door in the kitchen down to the lab.

He slams and locks the door behind him - in Red Robin’s face - as he descends, making a b-line for the computer he’d seen when the Fentons had dragged them all down there to start bragging about their crimes.

The only thing Oracle could get out of the whole building was things that were openly available online; direct connections were impossible.

Opening up the screen, he gets to cracking.

Going for the surface level files first, it turns out he doesn’t even need so much as a password to find what he wants.

One of the video game sub-files has an unrelated file in it: ghost notes.

There are plenty of other notes, of course, but he’d only been skimming to start, looking for anything hidden.

The Fenton parents were too open to bother, of course, with plenty of more obvious files strewn haphazardly across the home screen, but it’s always better to check. That there is a hidden file means it was likely made by either Danny or Jazz.

And it’s a treasure trove.

Sub-files for rogues, allies, conditional allies, and “halfas” were what greeted him.

The last being the only term he didn’t recognize, he clicked.

6 files: Clones, Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, and Red Hood.

He clicks his own file.

What greets him is a picture of himself 4 days ago, looking just to the left of the lens in an alley that he distinctly remembers searching for the kid in.

Just below is text.

~~~

??? Name: Red Hood

Species: probably a halfa

Status: Nnnneutral? I think? I know, I know, heads in bags. But Valerie tries to kill me all the time! And we’re allies sometimes! Hood- uh- looked for me? Okay I guess I can’t really judge this yet but please read the first met section before you judge please you guys?

First met: Aug 17, 2005, was in Gotham to bother Batman, stopped to think a bit on some fire escape - decide on the first prank yknow - but then my ghost sense went off. It felt like a halfa so I thought “oh cool, must be Dani” so I chirped, but then Red Hood - who was chasing some guy down an alley at the time - froze and looked around. I dropped visibility and chirped again and yeah, he definitely heard it. Humans can’t so he’s definitely a halfa - no glow so he can’t be a full ghost and it felt nothing like an overshadowing. 

Ended up following Hood around the rest of week - forgot to prank Batman, damn - and playing hide-and-seek with the chirps. It was really funny. But he very obviously doesn’t know he’s a halfa. But the guy is, like, scary levels of smart, so I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own now that the chirp thing made it clear that something is up. Hopefully.

I figure I can go back in winter break - he should have it figured out and let his emotions process enough by then to at least hear me out when I explain the AEA and GIW and everything, then it won’t matter so much if he can, like, track me by voice or something if I talk since we’ll have MAD by then.

Despite his reputation, the people living in his haunt seem to love the guy. I can see why. On top of the whole smart he’s actually really nice to people he’s not shooting in the knees (which only even happened one time in the week I was there? It was actually pretty relaxing - most quiet week I’ve had since the portal opened THANK YOU TUCKER for hacking the portal hatch to be inoperable for a week). 

Where was I? Oh yeah, he’s actually surprisingly nice to people? So like, I think he’ll probably hear me out if I go back and be polite? I hope. Hate to leave the guy in the dark and him end up on the GIWs dissection table for “lots and lots of painful experiments.”

Not that those guys could even catch the Box Ghost. But uh, Hood doesn’t seem to have powers either? Or if he does he doesn’t know about them I don’t think - he only used the chirp the whole time I was their - not even to cheat with moving around.

Seriously. That guy's acrobatics could make Freakshow’s contortionist green - er, red??? - with envy. Actually wait, aren’t contortionists and acrobats different things?

SAM NOTE: help^?

Powers: 

?

~~~

Jason leans back, breathing deeply.

“Not a full ghost,” “not 'overshadowed'” - a term that sounds likke some kind of cousin to possesision - “definitely a halfa,” “humans can’t hear chirps.”

Halfa. 

Half. 

Ghost. 

Half Ghost.

It should sound absurd - you can’t be half alive and half dead.

But Jason has seen the Lazarus pits, has met Solomon Grundy, has met aliens and bullshit magic and can pull magical swords out of his own damn chest.

Half alive. Half dead.

Hopefully not just a fancy way to say possessing his own corpse.

He doesn’t have time to deal with every file - he’ll “confiscate” one of their USBs with a copy of everything for himself before leaving the rest to Batman & co, of course, minus the halfa files (a small part of him wants to shove his condition in Bruce’s face and demand he kill the clown again even though he knows it’s a futile hope, but the rest - the same part that snapped and denied and refused to say he was a meta less that a day ago now - cannot stomach the thought of even more rejection. Of a Bruce that believes he’s a monster. Of a Bruce that mourns him even while he’s right there. Or at least, more than he already does.) - but while the files copy he take the time to look at Danny’s.

The image has two people, Danny Fenton on one side and a version of the kid in a black hazmat suit with white hair, tanned skin, and painfully familiar green eyes. And floating.

~~~

Human Name: Danny Fenton

Ghost Name: Danny Phantom

Species: Halfa (half-human, half ghost)

~~~

It’s the section after that that makes Jason’s breath catch in his throat.

~~~

Death: The Portal Accident

So like, there was no audio (thank GOD I do not want to hear myself screaming) so. Details: When the portal didn’t work when they plugged it in mom and dad left for fudge, Jazz went to try and talk them into a more realistic career choice than ghosts. Sam and Tucker came over and Sam dared me to climb in and check it out - it was broken anyway so no harm. Except it wasn’t broken, just that my parents put the on button inside. Which I caught myself on when I tripped on a wire.

Anyway, electrocution! 

(T - Danny for the love of god be more serious, the cheerful tone is creepy)

(D - Hey! I’m the one who died! Shouldn’t I at least get to write my own epitaph)

(S - …Danny this is not an epitaph. You don’t even HAVE a grave)

(D - wow way to rub it in Sam)

(T - yeah Sam)

(S - ugh! Whatever, just stop with the chatting in official files)

(T - “official”)

(S - Tucker.)

(T - shutting up now)

Electrocution! I got zapped to death, but the ectoplasm from the portal was also opening up on top of me and a lot got bonded to me I guess (S - probably because of the electricity with how you ended up with some of Vortex' powers for a little while) at the same time said electricity was reviving me? - probably getting my heart beating again or something, I was a little busy screaming to pay attention (T - yeah okay we're going to Nasty Burger after this. And playing Doomed) - not that it would’ve mattered without the ghostification preventing me from melting me all the way to death.

Status: Me!

Powers:

Chirps! (ghost echolocation of some kind! humans can't hear em - halfas can, of course, in either form)

Form Change (really Sam? This barely counts)

Human form

Ghost form (no need to breathe)

Flight (last clock speed 210mph) (T - and climbing. Dang dude)

Invisibility (S - don’t forget shareable.) (Shareable. sigh)

Intangibility (Shareable)

Ecto Rays (eyes & hands) (T - and butt) (D - dude! I’m deleting that. Tucker why can't I delete it. TUCKER) (T - bow down in awe of my ksill) (S - ksill) (D - ksill) (T - yeah okay it’s permanent now) (D - aw man!)

Ghost Sense (S - why do we never test your range?) (D - no need? They always make themselves obvious or are being sneaky specifically to annoy me so *shrug*) (S - I still think we should test it)

Power Absorption (that time with Vortex’s weather powers)

Cryokinesis (Wayyyyy to much ice. NOT testing max output on that) (T - yeah frozen city was enough, let’s not cause an ice age. Tech needs some cool but too much is still bad and I just upgraded Patricia)

Ghostly Wail (cone of destruction, very exhausting - always at max output. Not to be used)

GHOST FORM ONLY (but really just never)

Cartoon Body (D - what???) (S - Freakshow literally turned you into a puddle and you just turned back and were fine. I don’t know what else to call that) (D - okay fair. but:)

GHOST FORM ONLY

Physical Enhancement (better strength, speed, stamina, durability, reflexes, balance, etc much better than human) (T - why does this look like dnd knockoff stats haha)

GHOST FORM ONLY (S - obviously mr last place in PE)

Resistances (pretty solid on the overshadowing, avoided being taken in by Ember until targeted, didn’t get turned to stone during the Medusa thing) (S - which was pure luck! Be careful!)

Ecto Electricity (ghost stinger, but I really don’t think this counts Sam. I mean I just. Make my ecto zappy. But it’s still just ecto) (S - so is your ICE and you don’t just call that "just cold ecto") (D - fine, but it feels overly specific) (S - maybe writing it all down will make you stop. Forgetting. POWERS!) (D - come on Sam that was a lucky hit! I was distracted! And it turned out fine!) (S - Fenton…) (D - oop okay doing fire now)

Ecto Fire (made Dash’s shoes melty that one time by make the ecto hot) (T - really needs more testing)

Tech possession (chasing Technus into computers, not very tested)

Ghost form only, i guess?

Overshadowing (control people, copy their voice, invade dreams - the control one erases the person’s memory so they don’t know they were overshadowed just lost time. I hate Walker. SO much) (T - rip Danny’s reputation, you’ll be missed)

Probably ghost form only

Duplication (T - That’s optimistic) (D - I’M WORKING ON IT OKAY!?) (S - pretty sure it just falls under cartoon body until you can actually separate) (D - :( betrayal)

Probably ghost form only

More? (D - ugh I hope not) (T - hey don’t say that, maybe you’ll get a power to make the JL give a crap about Amity) (D - honestly I’m getting pretty close to letting Boxy loose in Gotham) (S - Danny, don’t stoop to their level!) (D - it's only box ghost!) (T - I mean he has a point)

~~~

Jason changes his mind, seeing the commentary, and deletes the entire hidden file from the computer as soon as his copy is made. He can go over everything and bring any important info to Bruce separately, the bat’s can just chew on the parents’ files for now.

Once the original files are thoroughly and irretrievably removed he pockets his shiny new USB, makes a second one with all the official files, and heads back up and out - carelessly brushing past a thoroughly irate Red Robin with a pair of firemen and broken jaws of life. And not a scratch on the door; impressive - just in time to get Oracle’s text that he’s got 2 hours and 16 minutes to be at the location on his HUD so he can “arrive” to Amity.

And a fresh set of civilian clothes will be waiting in the plane, Alfred as reliable as ever.

“Files,” he says, tossing the safe USB to Batman and interrupting his interrogation of the police officer.

He catches it effortlessly of course, but the officer stops paying attention to him to jolt at Hood’s reappearance - even outside of Gotham his reputation is fierce.

“I sent a copy to myself. I’ll review them and give you an overview, but other than that consider this the end of my involvement in this little shitshow,” he says, continuing smoothly to the door. “I’m heading back to Gotham.”

Now, he has a little over two hours before Jason Todd needs to arrive in Amity Park. He only needs to lay hands on a laptop that he can isolate from Babs’ influence and he should be able to review the Halfa files in full before he "lands" - after he figures out just why the kid has a grudge against the JL.

[14dayswithyou]

I'm going to be a little evil :3c /silly

*I have stolen all of their headwear, leaving only FROGGY HAT in his closet.*

"Boy it sure is chilly today. Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay [REDACTED]?"

✦゜ANSWERED: I believe in froggy hat [REDACTED] supremacy 🖤🐸

He knew. Of course he knew. [REDACTED]'s security system alerted him the second you stepped foot into his apartment, and it took the dark-haired hacker almost all of his willpower not to rush home and see you. But alas, he had other matters to attend to and messes to clean up here. Things he couldn't risk putting on hold, lest he pay the consequences for them later.

So, [REDACTED] settles for watching you through his cracked phone screen as you try to sneak your way around his apartment. They didn't really understand why you felt the need to be so secretive; you knew your boyfriend would be out for the day, you had his spare keycard and access to the entire 14th floor, and [REDACTED] had made it explicitly clear early on in the relationship that everything he owned was yours completely. Nothing was off limits to you, and that included every inch of his living space.

...And even himself.

Curiously, they watch with keen interest as you quietly slide the door to his walk-in closet open and take in your surroundings once more — making sure that you really were alone in his dimly-lit bedroom. But barely a moment passes before you stride in with a newfound purpose, unzip your backpack, and begin to stash all of his caps and beanies inside.

Well, alright then. If you decided he no longer needed those items, then so be it. He was never one to deny you anything.

But in retrospect, you were honestly doing [REDACTED] a favour. He genuinely didn't really need those items in his possession anymore — especially considering how he had no real reason to conceal his identity from you after all these years of being together.

He could never forget about that pivoted moment in time when you opened up to your beloved hacker about his rather... intense need to watch over you 24/7. And after you had scolded him multiple times for stalking you from darkened corners and alleyways outside your apartment complex, [REDACTED] had all but tried to change his ways. To better themselves for you.

After all, you deserved nothing less.

Glancing back at his phone once more, [REDACTED] takes in every little movement you make as you continue to tuck away his belongings; down to the turn of your head and the flex in your muscles. Not a single twitch or glance goes unnoticed under his watchful gaze — and had the dark-haired man not been so enraptured by your ministrations — he surely would've noticed that it was just about time for him to start packing his tools up and head home.

Home, in time for the date you had planned for the evening.

But the way you purposefully moved around his closet had [REDACTED] in a trance. You were extremely methodical about the things you were swiping from his shelves; neatly packing away all of the headgear, earmuffs, and scarves on display (and even the ones hidden within the depths of his drawers!). Yet... One single item remained in the aftermath of your wake.

Atop one of the lone shelves in the corner, it sits, isolated from the rest of its kind. Worn out yet well loved; it was no more than a novelty item your boyfriend had originally won for you from a crane game. But even after their constant insistence that you should keep it, you rebutted it all by saying it'd look better on him instead — all while pushing the cute, froggy hat back into his hands with a teasing smile.

("If you keep bleaching your hair like that," his real name falls from your lips like sweet nectar, "All of your hair will fall out. When that happens, you can use this to keep your bald head warm!"

"...When that happens? Hmph. You're gettin' cheeky." With a smile of his own, your boyfriend reaches out to gently pinch your cheek. "I haven't touched m'hair in ages.")

So after watching you be so meticulous with the items you were "robbing", the hacker couldn't help but wonder what your main motive was. Why leave that silly, little frog hat alone unless... Did you want him to wear it? You knew [REDACTED] would never say no to you — let alone to a frivolous request — but admittedly, they did find it rather endearing to watch you put in all that effort just for him.

Just like how he used to be... Back before you opened the curtains of his life and brought sunshine into his heart.

Gone are the days of "Ren", when [REDACTED] had to snoop around your apartment just to get any sort of inclination of what your type and interests might be. No longer did [REDACTED] have to "borrow" some of your old clothing to keep himself company on lonely nights; to put them over his pillow and pretend like it was you he was holding close to his chest. He no longer had to steal your presents and tokens out of spite and jealousy — only to return them days later once they noticed how upset it made you.

Too caught up in reminiscing about the past, [REDACTED] had almost missed your swift getaway from his bedroom. Living up to your nickname, you glide down the staircase and across his foyer as if you sprouted angel wings on your back and stroll into the elevator, before closing the door and pulling out your phone.

And just like clockwork, [REDACTED]'s camera feed gets replaced by the bright red and green call buttons that shake and taunt him at the bottom of the screen — alongside the personalised caller photo of you smiling towards the sunset ocean with [REDACTED]'s jacket atop your shoulders. The dark-haired man leaves no room for pause before he's swiping his finger across the screen and eagerly anticipating the sound of your voice.

You greet him in that casual, nonchalant tone of yours, and [REDACTED] had to resist the urge to start recording the call — to save the addictive timbre of your voice for when he needs to hear it the most.

"Man... It sure is chilly today, don't you think?"

There's the familiar sound of tacky elevator music playing in the background, and part of [REDACTED] thinks you're purposefully calling him right now to let him in on your (not so) secret escapades... To let them know where you are.

Or perhaps you were already aware that he knows, if the way you were glancing up at the elevator camera was anything to go by.

Regardless, you don't give away any other telling signs as your beloved hacker watches you through the camera. Your bag is still carefully slung over a shoulder, while one of his old, black university caps received the pleasure of being fiddled with in your hand. Your voice returns once more, and it causes a grin to form on his lips.

"Don't forget to wear a scarf and a hat when you come pick me up, okay?"

There's a newfound teasing lilt in your tone, which has [REDACTED] latching on to your every word with bated breath and scrambling for a reply.

"'Course. Wouldn't miss our date for the world. 'N make sure y'stay warm too, angel." Without missing a beat, he easily takes his place in your little game. "Wouldn't wanna misplace your jacket 'n get cold now, would we?"

Your pixelated smile on the screen gives everything away.

You hear the unmistakable sound of [REDACTED]'s sports motorbike before you see it; watching the corner of your street as he appears from the darkness like a phantom.

And like the gentleman that he is, [REDACTED] doesn't make you stray far from the safety of the streetlamp either. The moment your boyfriend pulls up in front of you, one of his large hands reaches around your waist to draw you near (almost as if he'd gone years without being in your presence), while the other makes quick work of the latch of his helmet. In one swift motion, he pulls it off and rests it against the tank—

Only to reveal that cute, pastel green frog hat sitting atop his head.

He can't help but smile when you do; clearly pleased that he went through with your silly request. At that, you let out a low hum of appreciation as you lean against your boyfriend's chest, and [REDACTED] returns the favour by bending down and pressing a chaste kiss against the crown of your head as well.

"...Think y'could give this unworthy prince another kiss, love?" Your beloved boyfriend leans in closer until your lips are millimetres away from touching, "Otherwise I might stay cursed t'live in this froggy form forever."

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 2

previous part

tw: talk of past trauma/abuse, implied past s/a (not with ghost), alcohol, mentions of suicide

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

You were trying. You really, really were. For the first few days of this sudden deal you had made with a hitman you had just met yet somehow felt compelled to prove wrong, you were doing good.

You cleaned the entirety of your apartment, tossing out the old liquor bottles that littered your cabinets. You stocked your refrigerator that had been near empty for months apart from the old takeout boxes that had been slowly decaying away. You even went to work with a damn smile.

You were doing everything you could to prove to Ghost that maybe you didn’t want to die after all, that it was a fluke in your system convincing you it was what you desired.

You hated being a weakling. You hated that Ghost was right. You wanted to prove to him you could make it to two weeks and that you didn’t need him to kill you after all. You wanted him to be proud, though you didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he knew you, nor you him.

He was a stranger, but he was the first one to ever give you an ounce of care and attentiveness, even if it ended up being a facade on his part.

It took all but four days for your resolve to crumble, and you found yourself back at square one, entering your shitty apartment with bags of alcohol that you impulsively bought on the way home from work.

Like you said. You tried.

Stepping inside with a grim expression adorning your face, you shucked your shoes off of your feet, dropping your purse to the ground without an ounce of care for it.

Everything felt heavy as you slid further into the apartment. Your mind was running a marathon that went all sorts of different directions. It felt like the weight of the world laid on your entire body, and you wasted no time in heading straight towards your bedroom.

With the bags of alcohol still in your hand, you stepped into your bedroom, feeling a slight breeze that was never normally there. It sent a chill down your spine and caused goosebumps to rise on your skin beneath your sweater.

Eyes preyed on the state of you, and when you finally gathered the courage to look at the sliding door to your bedroom balcony, a familiar masked man stood there, lazily leaning his arms against the railing, nursing a cigarette.

The sight reminded you of the night the two of you stood out there, where he coerced you into making the damn deal in the first place, one you were too stubborn to deny at the time.

It was the first time you had somebody in your apartment since the last man in your life, and you swore you’d never allow it to happen again. Yet here he was for the second time, standing there like he lived in the apartment with you.

You felt like a complete idiot when he took in the alcohol bottles and the sunken eye bags on your face. Four days into the deal, and your facade already broke.

“That doesn’t look like figurin’ it out,” Ghost said in a dry tone, yet it didn’t hold judgment like you expected. If anything, he sounded a bit disappointed, maybe even pitiful.

You stood like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, bags dangling loosely by your sides, eyes boring into his. Guilt gnawed at you for purchasing the alcohol and already failing at your end of the deal.

The smoke that slipped from his lips did nothing to fog over his piercing stare, and you could feel yourself becoming weak under it.

That’s what you were. Weak. A weak, stupid girl.

You don’t know how long you stood there in a daze, but it must’ve been quite some time because he turned his whole body towards you, leaning his back against the railings. Now you were definitely trapped under his stare with him fully facing you despite the slight distance between you in the doorway and him on the balcony.

“Still got about ten days left of our deal. You goin’ to back out so soon?”

Your hands balled the plastic handles of the bags tighter, and a feeling of shame came over you.

What were you doing? Did you really fail yourself after four days? Did you really buy more liquor to ease the pain?

“Don’t know why you’re so concerned about the deal anyway. You’re missing out on money by not killing me like I want,” you retorted with a frown, dropping the bags on the bed carelessly. The bottles clinked loudly, rattling in your ears like a cruel reminder of how pathetic you were.

He snorted, taking a puff of his cigarette that was slowly burning between the press of two fingers. It curled around him like an embrace, filling the night air with spouts of gray and nicotine.

“‘M not that concerned about the money, sweetheart. More concerned ‘bout the stupid girl who’s tryin’ to commit suicide through a hitman.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. It made you look defensive, which is absolutely how you felt. The day hadn’t treated you well, and now Ghost was here to taunt you about the silly deal you made in the spur of the moment.

You didn’t understand why he was concerned. The two of you met once — twice, technically, but all in the same day. Nobody ever worried for you, nor did you have anybody in your life to worry about you.

Why on earth did a man meant to kill you care about you?

It felt like a trick. Maybe it was all apart of his plan, maybe he was one of those sick, cold-blooded killers that posed themselves as hitmen. That must’ve been why he wore a mask, and why he pretended to care.

Your mind was eating you from the inside and out, spiking your anxiety and causing it to feel like little knives digging into you more and more. It sliced at your insides, tearing your chest and stomach with nerves and shame that made you want to pop open one of the bottles and drown yourself in a buzz of alcohol. At least liquor wouldn’t interrogate you.

“You goin’ to stop lookin’ at me like a dead fish?”

When you came back to your senses, he had a small smirk on his lips where the mask was lifted for you to see. It wasn’t a genuine smirk, and it was far from a smile — it was sarcastic and teasing, like he knew he was making you feel stupid and deranged, and was enjoying it.

“Can you just murder me and get on with it? Deal’s off,” you snapped, and he huffed out a laugh, flicking his cigarette to the ground of your balcony and lightly crushing it beneath his boot.

“‘M not a murderer,” he argued, and you gave him a bitter laugh.

“You’re a hitman.”

“Exactly,” he agreed with a shrug of his shoulder. “A hitman. Not a murderer. The real murderers are the ones who hire me to kill people. I just do the dirty work, sweetheart.”

Ghost had a twisted way of defending his work, but you supposed he had a point. After all, you were the one practically begging him to end your life.

“You— whatever,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh. You sat on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands and attempting to rub away the obvious exhaustion in your eyes.

There was no point in arguing with him in the first place. He was clearly playing you like a fiddle, and for why, you weren’t sure, nor did you have the energy to care.

Your entire body felt heavy with emotions from what transpired in your day, and Ghost was making no signs of leaving you alone to drink your sorrows away and hopefully succumb to alcohol poisoning — an easy way out.

“So,” Ghost began, breaking the tense silence. He took a step inside of your room, shutting the sliding door behind him and allowing the night chill to remain locked outside. “How ‘bout you tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head, and we make it to day five of our deal, hm?”

You lifted your head from your hands to see him standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets, mask tugged back down over his face to hide his mouth, head tilted down at you in a way that made you realize just how much of a behemoth of a man he was.

“‘M waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” you defended with a scowl.

“Mm. Try me.”

“Fucking Christ,” you hissed. The emotions that had been brewing inside of you were threatening to spill out like a damn geyser, and it was becoming near impossible to hold them back.

You sat for a moment while he patiently (or impatiently, you didn’t care either way) waited for you to collect yourself. Truly, despite how annoying he was being tonight, what was the harm in telling him? After all, he was offering, and he didn’t know you. Plus, hopefully by the end of this stupid deal, he’d kill you and learn to forget about what you were about to say.

“I saw somebody at work,” you grumbled quietly, turning your eyes away from him as if ashamed. “Somebody I didn’t want to see. Brought back bad memories and now here I am, spiraling to the point of no return, all because I let that fucking idiot get to me.”

Ghost hummed in acknowledgment, one of his gloved hands coming out of his pocket to rub at the fabric covering his chin.

“Hm. An ex, then?” he asked, and you nodded your head.

“Guess so, yeah. He… he was a bad person, y’know? Really fucked me up, in the relationship and after. Can’t seem to get away from the fucker.”

“Makes sense.” Ghost shrugged a shoulder, letting his hand fall back in his pocket. “You really goin’ to let some arse have control like that? Thought we had a deal, sweetheart. Four days in and you’re already droppin’ like a fly ‘cause of one brute.”

You scowled to yourself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and shame settle in your bones. God, how weak were you?

“He was an abusive asshole who took everything away from me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on. Tell me more.”

So you did. You don’t know why, but his words were the green light for you to spill out every bit of misery you’d been holding in for so long, you couldn’t even recall when it began.

He listened, putting in his own input at times, or giving you the occasional nod to show he was listening.

You told him everything — the abuse, the mistreatment, the torture. How you lived a life full of black and blue, skin so tattered it was permanently damaged from the pain your ex would cause you. How he wouldn’t ever let you say no, and would manipulate you into giving in, no matter where, no matter when.

You had permanent scars on both your mind and heart from how much of yourself had been torn down. Even now, you can remember the screams that caused your throat to become raw and you begged, pleaded for him to stop. You wanted all of it to end, and you remembered how much you wished your ex would just kill you so you wouldn’t have to suffer a life like that anymore.

Old habits die hard, you suppose. Things don’t change, even with time.

It was pitiful how long you had put up with such abuse, but you did, and there was no rotating the clock so you could go back and redo your entire life again. If you could, you wouldn’t be here, trauma dumping on your own hitman.

You weren’t sure how long you spent pouring your heart and soul to Ghost, but by the time you were finished, your face was red, your breath was heavy, but your shoulders were more relaxed than before, as if the weight had been carefully lifted and placed elsewhere.

Ghost stood silent for a long pause in time. He stared at you, eyes taking in every movement of your chest, every twitch of your fingers. You didn’t stare back, for your glare was locked on to the ground as you took that time to recollect yourself and not appear like the broken, battered girl you knew you were.

“Well,” Ghost finally spoke, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were on his phone. You don’t remember him ever pulling it out, too focused on your own self destruction. “Would you look at that. Made it to day five.”

He turned the phone to face you, screen lit up to display his lockscreen. It was the default wallpaper, no sign of life or personality evident. When you took a closer look, you saw the time, and realized he was right.

It was 12:01. Just past midnight.

“Let’s make it to day six, yeah?”

Ghost shoved his phone in his pocket, giving you a nod in farewell before he took steps forward towards your bedroom door.

You sat there in stunned silence, eyes blinking dumbly. When you realized he was leaving, you whipped your head in his direction.

“What—“

“I'll be back soon, sweetheart.”

He didn’t let you finish your question, giving you a small wave of his hand. You noticed his eyes crinkled where they were exposed from under the mask, and you realized he was smiling at you, even if you couldn’t see it.

You couldn’t help but give him a relieved smile back.

[circeyoru]

Hi! I wanna try this Solo Leveling request which could potentially become a story! If you don’t like it, could you at least tell me why deny it?

Anyway, Jinwoo x Fem Alternate-Universe Shadow Monarch Reader Platonic! Jinwoo accidentally stumbles onto an alternate reality where instead of him being favored by the System and gaining shadow-like powers, a young girl around Jinah’s age does so. Although kind, far too polite and shy outside of battle, when in battle, she’s all serious, merciless, and her brain goes overdrive thinking up strategies, weaknesses, etc. She’s still strong physically but far more weaker physically and in terms of experience compared to Jinwoo. In exchange, her greatest strength is more for her intelligence and as a tactician, spotting minor things that could be weaknesses, taking the environment in consideration to her advantage, finding loopholes, and fighting alongside her Shadows for combo attacks, so she could be intellectually smarter than Jinwoo.

If possible, I would find it interesting if like if Igris is Jinwoo’s knight, Fem S/O’s knight could be Baruka, that ice elf Jinwoo failed to resurrect as one of his Shadows. She probably won by outsmarting him and his clan with her own army. Fem S/O could be like Jinwoo, considered an E-Rank when she is at least an A-Rank or close to being S-Rank herself but she prefers nobody find that out and will try making that her secret like using a magic item to hide her stats in case someone tries to analyze her with some skill. Plus this way, she can be sneaky and everyone will underestimate her until it’s too late.

What’s sad is that Fem S/O had been mistreated by others her whole life, by her abusive family who believe she’s pathetic and ugly when she’s at least average pretty, bullied by students at school with the teachers looking the other way, nobody helping her at all thus S/O never receiving any love. She’s even kicked out and forced to live in a tent in a forest (like Tohru from Fruit Basket) when she had first awakened and wanted to save her money from adventuring instead of handing it all to her parents. The only thing going on for her is her trying to find happiness and genuine kindness in the future and saving up money for anything important like a house.

She’s still so sweet and kind that even her own Shadows worry for her and is protective towards their cinnamon roll master. She and Jinwoo might have some mentor/student or sibling-like relationship. If possible, Jinwoo might actually be able to take her back with him and adopt her into the family.

Okie doki. Yup, I got an essay-type request. Shocked the heck out of me when I first saw it in my inbox. Anyways. So I admit this one was hard to plan cause it's basically set up as a long series type of deal but not sure if I'm up for it (and if anyone's interested.)

For now, the prologue or teaser is up for you guys to see if you like the idea and want to see more from this. Just click the title below and you'll be sent there.

Inhumans Among Humans _ Prologue: The Plead and The Awakening

[Sung Jinwoo x Alter AU Shadow Monarch Female!Reader - Platonic | Monarch Change AU]

Well, planning stories are hard but fun. I love a good challenge. Though any ideas, you guys can shoot me an anonymous inbox or comment in the post is fine. Can't promise I'll cater to everything, especially if it's stuff I already have planned.

PS: (if you read this far) I have a few major scene set, like up to part 3 I think, it's all a BIGGG part cause I'm doing it by arc (according to the manhwa and stuff). So if you're interested, don't be shy~

[sillygoofyqueer]

WOOO FUCKED UP XIANXIAN. I humbly ask for how the burial mounds change him (ur au is feeding me and giving me inspiration to draw it is a NEED for more info)

Heheeheheheeee oookay!!! Who am I to deny such a loving worshipper of my shrine? For starters, let's talk about the hair. The iconic, grimy hair. It's covered in really dried blood and dirt from you know, qi deviation supreme plus tearing apart a guy with his bare hands plus getting beat half to death PLUS being thrown into the Burial Mounds. This, is quite an issue, especially with the previous knots n shit always in his hair anyway. At first, Wei Ying is stubborn about keeping it, stubborn about being able to honour his parents while they are dead, but then there's the issue of practicality. Eventually he breaks and saws off the worst parts of his hair with Suibian, meaning that his hair...well, looks like it's been cut with a sword. He can put it up into a ponytail with his mother's ribbon, but there's always different bits slipping free because there's all different lengths.

Now the rest of it! You know how I mentioned that the Burial Mounds sent resentful energy curling through Wei Ying's system as like a mini heal before his golden core could start healing it all up himself? Well, that shows the most in his EYE. REMEMBER??? I said that he has a sort of cloudy eye from a training session with Wen Xu!! SO, his eye has resentful energy just swirling around in there (in the sclera to be specific), and he goes through bouts where he can see out of it really well and he's like holy SHIT this is great, and then sometimes he can't see out of it at ALL. It's either one hundred percent or zero percent. The Burial Mounds is really trying Its best, I promise.

Also also, I mentioned how the resentful energy seemed to 'stain' his fingers and basically leaves his joints impossible to move sometimes without an acupuncture session from Wen Qing to help the resentful energy 'flow'. Well, without these sessions, mixed with much more resentful energy being used each day, this 'stain' is basically not even a stain anymore, dark black and reaching up to mid bicep at least, slowly crawling up to his shoulders. His arms are in constant pain, they hurt to move and use, but Wei Ying can't just not use his arms, so he has to power through them. Some days, when he can find time to meditate a little, it helps, but it's just a temporary fix each time.

The resentful energy is also crawling through his veins to help with any breaks and bursts so there are like patches of his skin that are also a deep black, thin cracks in his skin where it has breached his skin. His legs and hips deal with this the most because they dealt with a lot of the blows and took most of the damage during the fall, so there are splashes of resentful energy and cracks of it where his bone broke skin. He's basically in constant pain and will be until he can get out of the Burial Mounds so his golden core has juice to heal his fucked up body. A different note but he's also just very skinny, very gaunt, just muscle (because he needs to learn how to fight through the never ending pain and Suibian gets restless without the wind on her blade).

The resentful energy constantly within his body is also...having stranger effects. He doesn't notice any of them of course, he doesn't have time to think about why he doesn't need to blink basically at all anymore, why his neck doesn't break with how he moves it, or why his bones just click and shift slightly instead of breaking if they bend inwards instead of outwards. The Burial Mounds doesn't want him to hurt anymore, so It's helping by making him....more flexible? (Changing his body. Twisting it.) His joints can all be just snapped backwards and it doesn't cause that much pain, just a vague soreness or like an itch that can't be stitched. Sometimes, when the resentful energy is at its strongest, he can go almost an hour without breathing before he randomly does one of those big breaths and doesn't notice it's the first one he's done in a while.

I almost forgot about the scars!! So many scars. Oh my god. His fingers are very crooked because they probably fractured both from the beatings and also while ripping a guy's chest open, which I can only assume takes a fair bit of force. It's easy to see where the new scars are with his new tone of skin - tanned corpse!! The new scars are a mixture of beating scars, raised skin where bone has broken flesh and then burn scars. "Why are there-" I'M OBVIOUSLY GOING TO TELL YOU. GOD. It's because the few times that Wei Ying is meditating and his natural qi can sort of 'take the wheel a little', it tries to burn out the resentful energy, but it's literally in Wei Ying's skin and body, so it just ends up burning at his skin n shit. I don't know where else to add this so I'm putting this here but this man is literally in ONE robe. He is in his inner robe with gashes rips and blood stains and mud on it. He is TITS out, the resentful energy pulsing through his brand mark (claw marks from where he tried to rip it out during his qi deviation by the way).

BONUS because I'm going to make this the post of the day (I mistimed everything siiiigh) -> The Burial Mounds definitely has a 'physical' form that he takes for Wei Ying's benefit, and It tries to appear in a form that is known to Wei Ying. However, It only has Wei Ying as a reference....and we know that Wei Ying's Not Doing Great right now. Of course, It is made from the collective resentful energy of thousands of deaths upon these grounds, but it's more a feeling, a concept, rather than all of the spirits remembering absolutely everything about themselves. They do not remember what they once were, they don't remember what humans are, these are creatures fuelled only by hatred, or revenge, or loss, or sadness etc. That is what makes up the Burial Mounds.

Anyway, so, using Wei Ying (and generic things) as a frame of reference, what does the Burial Mounds look like? For one, It is like, scary tall, looming over Wei Ying - this is so It can take care of him! It has noticed that the younger creatures are often smaller than the older creatures, and Wei Ying is Its child, so It must be bigger than him! It just is...a lot bigger than him. It's also very skinny, because Wei Ying is skinny, and once again, young creatures are often smaller imitations of the older creatures, so It must be skinnier! This leads to an obviously terrifying effect of Its skin clinging to Its 'bones' because It doesn't doesn't know what muscles are and doesn't think It needs them like Wei Ying.

It also notices that Wei Ying has really long hair and is really determined to keep it long, so of course It has to have long hair as well!!! Thick, black hair that hangs around Its face, revealing a singular red eye, and down Its body, dragging at Its feet with every move it makes. Sometimes, when Wei Ying is stressed and his hands aren't too bad, he practices hairstyles on It. Its actual features are indiscernible. They flicker and change, different features of the spirits fuelling It appearing at any moment. It has a singular grey robe on, and It looks like It's just crawled out of a grave with it on. Its impossibly pale skin is littered with scars, shifting to symbolise different spirits' deaths as well.

[kestrel-of-herran]

my severance season three predictions

some of these are going to be so controversial yet so brave

season setting: we'll likely be spending at least 50% of the season, if not more, in lumon's white hallways, because the set is one of the most recognizable aspects of the show and the aesthetic has been praised as unique. we'll likely see more departments and more of lumon's inner workings, particularly in regards to what their endgame plan with severance is. the supporting cast will likely expand again.

season focus: since season one was about childhood (pushing the limits of rebellion while still fearing punishment) and season two about adolescence (outright rebellion no matter the consequences, self-definition through difference), then season three might be about entering adulthood, the kind of college mindset period where the innies start not only to question but define their world, when they gain more agency to participate in the power system (hello spirit of kier in helly), or try to dismantle it and carve out a space for the kind of life they want to have. it's also a period of disillusionment with some aspects of the teenage period, understanding your parents (outies) better, but also of acceptance of the inner child. relationships are now also a matter of effort, but that makes them more "lived in" because they are a constant choice.

markhellyna pregnancy: you knew this one was coming. who gets to control the body and what the consequences of this attempted control are is a big theme in the dystopian genre, and the show in particular has tackled childbirth from season one both practically and metaphorically (devon's pregancy, birthing cabin, children of kier, siring a new world order). foreshadowing for this has also not been subtle ("mark has moved on and has a daughter now"), and insignificant lines are scarce on this show. ben has said that the fade to red for the ending credits of the finale is an indication that we’re going to another place now. with red, you think of heart, and love. things are changing. it’s a different tone. to me that sounds like the show is about to be even more love-driven than it already is, as mark and helly's biggest goal is to retain their autonomy and find a way to live in the way they want to instead of die when lumon is exposed. the concept of two innies having a baby and wanting to keep it introduces so many discussions about agency, consent, and the consequences of blocking a part of yourself from your memories, which are central themes on the show.

mark scout's development: this guy has barely moved a single square since the beginning of the series, and his time to shine is nigh. we left him with the goal of getting gemma back in his life, but the narrative will never let him go back to the start with no consequences to his action of severing, if it's to remain a good one. since dan has said that he’s having these flashes between his innie and outie life, he’s not fully reintegrated, but he’s getting these glimpses, and that makes him different from any other severed person on the show and questioned if this [is] something that will fade once they have stopped doing the procedure, or will he continue to see these flashes from his other life?, my theory is that the marks will continue to experience reality glitching, and mark scout will begin to glitch on the severed floor, and meet helly and become acquainted with mark s' limited world and point of view before he even has a chance to interact with gemma again. ben: he’s missing the fact that he’s created this other part of himself that he doesn’t want to accept. i don’t think outie mark understands that this is part of him, this is who he is. he wants to deny that. mark scout needs to accept mark s as a person and a real part of who he is in order to develop and get closer to reintegrating fully, which i understand as the character endgame of the show. and this comes with meeting helly and experiencing mark s' feelings for her first-hand, so by the time he interacts with gemma his emotions are extremely complicated and he has personal reasons to fight for the innies' right to existence.

hellyna's development: since helly and helena are already "naturally" reintegrating, based on their similar desires and objectives through season two (hatred of entrapment, love for mark), i think this process will continue, with both of them unlocking more memories and communicating with each other positively. britt has been asked many times if helena is going to blow the whistle on lumon, and she always deflects the question, so it's clearly too close to home. when asked about what she hopes to explore for helena in the future, britt responded, for someone to have inside of her a really strong rebellion, how does that affect the company for the greater good? on a personal level, how does the wilder, fiercer, and freer part of this woman — which she has lost touch with — affect her moving forward? what does she have to learn from that? how can she grow and expand? whether or not jame offers helly to take over helena's body (and keeping mark s alive in the process might force her to agree to a deal with him), we'll be seeing both of her continue on the path of remembering who she is.

gemma's development: now here's where i'm going to serve something spicier than the devongemma agenda. gemma can't continue to be a clear-cut victim of lumon if she's to acquire a bigger place in the story's arc, because as things stand, we know too little about her as a person besides her plot-device role of "missing wife used for experiments" (both plot points pushing the story for mark and lumon more than for her) to make her feel real, and she hasn't displayed any negative characteristics that would make her character well-rounded. we know mark can be kind and an asshole, helly can be funny and cruel, but what do we know about gemma's personality? what do we know about how she got to the place in the story we met her in, what her goals in the future outside of her relation to mark are? having a few defined characteristics is alright for a side character (see lorne: loves goats, a little weird, side character done), but if she's going to enter the story with a screentime comparable to milchick's for instance (who is now both a follower of lumon and disrespected by the company), she needs to be well-rounded, e.g. internally controversial, as all people are. she can be a victim of lumon's programme and someone who volunteered to join the cult (*cough* chikhai bardo card) because she wanted to escape the cycle of pain the fertility treatment pushed her in. cults want to attract educated people, people who think of themselves as intelligent and resilient, because these are the kinds of people who further the goals of the cult the most. it would be entirely misogynistic if gemma's arc doesn't progress past "mark's wife with fertility issues who needs to be saved from the evil corporation", if she's not shown to have agency in joining the programme and remains a passive victim the story happens to rather than a character driving the narrative through her actions and choices, and if the consequence of severing and her feelings towards her own innies aren't explored as a major part of her arc.

[deramin2]

I've talked before about how Critical Role is highly political because they as people live in the world, think about it deeply, and respond to it in their work all the time, even if it's sideways in subtext.

And so I think it's vital to understand that there is a fundamental divide between the context the characters in the Mighty Nein vs. Bell's Hells, and Campaign 2 vs. Campaign 3 were created in: the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Pandemic started mid way through Campaign 2, but the broad themes, tone, and narrative approach were already set. They'd defined the kind of threats they wanted to face.

Campaign 3 was created after we'd been living in the Pandemic for years and when it was clear our leaders and society at large had decided to "solve" it by completely ignoring it and denying it's still happening. Public health response in general started to be turned against and then dismantled. All the hope for change in the face of the horrors of 2020 turned to ash. There was no amount of harm the entrenched systems of power could do that would get people to turn against it.

In fact, it got worse. The last few months of Campaign 3 were played out in the shadow of the United States electing a known fascist promising to implement openly oppressive policies to rob everyone but cishet white abled Christian men of their rights and lives. Their city of LA literally burned down in the middle of the finale because these horrible people have prevented even basic climate change responses.

While Hasbro/Wizards of the Coast increased its iron grip on the TTRPG industry and also showed they'd hurt any independent creator for money. As the Pandemic and trade wars made the whole industry more unstable. All the joy and success WotC’s games have brought to Critical Role come with the strings that WotC gets to decide everyone else's fate. Especially if they're seen as a threat to that hegemony. If anything, it's the love and comfort that actually feed that terrible power. While Critical Role established their own TTRPG publishing wing and is increasingly going toe to toe with WotC.

So like, no shit they'd want to explore a whirlwind fight against the gods that came to their world from WotC. And the complexities that good vs. evil is not a useful framework for this fight. Sure you try to stop people you know will be even worse, but that doesn't mean that the existing system is good and that those who have the power to control everything should retain that control.

Politely persuading the Powers That Be to step back and be mortal like everyone else instead of all-powerful overlords is a conflict resolution power fantasy. Not every battle needs to be with swords. Violence can only ever destroy. Words are far more effective at actually rebuilding something worth living in. Even when you can't possibly know what that something is.

Change is necessary, and if it doesn't come soon we're headed for another Calamity. The past checks on that power have not worked, and it's clear that structurally they can't. We have got to do something else. That's terrifying, and maybe it'll fail, but it's unlikely to be worse than the current times we're living through.

[l0singsdogs]

tw mention: religion, teen pregnancy, blood transfution. hospital.

Damian Wayne as a doctor. The idea itself is fascinating—Damian interacting with people he cannot control, people who challenge his patience in ways even Gotham’s criminals never could. Parents who think they know more than doctors. Parents who refuse to trust vaccines because of misinformation spread on social media. Parents who prioritize their religious beliefs over their child’s survival. Damian watching, horrified, as so many parents would rather let their child suffer than accept help from modern medicine. He doesn’t understand how any parent could want that.

But Damian does understand children. He treats them with respect, explaining procedures step by step because they deserve to know what’s happening to them. He knows life is complicated, and it only becomes scarier when no one explains things properly. He refuses to patronize them, especially when their own parents insist on shielding them from reality. Damian believes in telling them the truth, ensuring they understand, because fear is easier to manage when you have all the information.

Of course, other doctors don’t always agree with him. It isn’t technically his job to explain every little thing to his young patients, but Damian doesn’t care. He remembers what it’s like to be treated like a child when all you want is to understand the world around you.

And then there are the parents who barely seem to care at all. The ones who neglect their children, who view them as burdens rather than responsibilities. But as long as those kids are under his care, Damian will fight for them. He will protect them, even if their own parents won’t.

He tries to bridge the gap between medicine and religion when necessary. “How do you expect to help your child if you don’t believe in blood transfusions?” he asks, genuinely trying to understand, but it’s difficult for him. Even her mother—Talia al Ghul—acknowledges the power of modern medicine. How is it that these parents cannot?

And then there’s the American healthcare system. It’s broken. Damian knows this—sees it every day. He treats teenage girls with unwanted pregnancies, girls who have no fault in their circumstances, yet their parents stand idly by, expecting the school to have taught them everything about sexual education. As if it wasn’t their responsibility too. He sees it in his colleagues—doctors and nurses burned out, disillusioned, no longer driven by a passion to help but by the need to survive. The system is collapsing, and even with the Wayne Foundation doing everything possible, it’s not enough. It’s not just Gotham—it’s the entire country.

He hears it from a mother who works three jobs just to afford her child’s medication. He sees it in the way insurance companies control medical decisions, calling mid-surgery to deny procedures because they aren’t covered under a patient’s plan. It’s infuriating.

And then there’s the systemic racism. He sees how Black women are dismissed when they express pain during labor. He sees his own colleagues brushing off serious symptoms with a condescending “It’s just a little pain.” But Damian doesn’t let it slide. He steps in, exerts pressure, sometimes even invokes his father’s name—the owner of the hospital. It burns him to do it, but he refuses to stay silent. He knows what it’s like to be judged by his skin tone, to be treated as lesser. The medical system is broken, classist, racist, and resistant to change, run by doctors who have been there for decades and refuse to retire. Damian has seen it all.

And yet, despite the frustration, he doesn’t give up. Some days, he feels like he’s fighting a losing battle. He can’t convince every parent, can’t change every mind. He watches in disbelief as people trust influencers over trained professionals, believing that a green juice will cure diseases instead of actual medicine. Sometimes, he wonders if being a vigilante was easier—or at least less frustrating.

But there is hope. He sees it in the parents who listen, who follow medical advice, who vaccinate their children because they trust science over internet conspiracies. It reminds him that not all is lost. That people can still believe in medicine and in those who practice it.

Damian Wayne is a credit to his family. He fights for his patients, even when the system fails them. He explains things others wouldn’t bother to explain. He ensures that the children under his care feel safe and heard, even in the most terrifying situations.

And yet, the worst patients of all? His own family. Now, he understands why Leslie Thompkins was always exasperated with them. He can’t believe how reckless his brothers are—ignoring recovery instructions, skipping medications, refusing to rest properly. They don’t go to their check-ups unless forced.

Damian may think he’s seen it all, but when it comes to his family, nothing ever prepares him for the chaos. He’ll still take care of them, of course, even if it means graying prematurely. And if they frustrate him too much? He won’t hesitate to hand them another doctor’s business card—just to make a point. But deep down, he’ll always be there for them. Whether they deserve it or not.

[bicarbonate-blues]

Family- Sebastian x Farmer

Sebastian took a long drag from his cigarette, lungs squeezing in the icy winter air. If it had been summer, his pants would be rolled up to his knees and he'd be dangling his legs into the refreshing lake. You would be beside him, a grin on your face and your own legs swinging back and forth, creating infinite ripples that drifted off from sight. Yet, he was only leaning against a tree, the wood damp through his jacket but he didn't mind enough to move.

It wasn't the thought of a nightly smoke that carried his legs outside every night, even if he couldn't deny that the nicotine sent a pleasant buzz through his system. At first it had been a rebellion, and now it was a habit. He let out a small chuckle and then ground the infernal thing beneath his foot. The second you popped into his head, the taste of tobacco turned sour in his mouth. You already scolded him enough, lips pressed into a pout and brow furrowed. Robin was only half pleased at the realization as she'd been begging him for years to quit.

Sebastian loved his mother, he'd never tell her but she was a tether that never disappeared when he felt like he was drifting. Nasty things often came out of his mouth instead, but he thought his mother might know. It was some miracle that you inspired more changes in him. God knows his step dad didn't exactly make him want to do his very best. Demetrius was....complicated. Sebastian didn't hate the man but he wasn't comfortable the way a son and father should be. They weren't Kent and Sam. They weren't much, if he was being honest.

He loved his mother so he was fine with Demetrius. Didn't mind Maru but didn't know how to connect with her either. Was it wrong that he wasn't sure if he loved them? Years had passed and they were fixtures of his life. He hadn't truly appreciated Maru when she was young, hadn't tried to grow up with her. It was probably a shame too that he didn't think to feel guilty until you had shown up and befriended the both of them.

Sebastian wanted this holiday to be different, wanted to make the effort. He knew it would be a stunted and awkward thing, but looking at the crushed cigarette at his feet he thought that maybe it wasn't so bad to try.

"Don't think too hard, the smoke will come out your ears instead of your mouth,"

You stood just some odd feet back, a playful quirk to your lips. You were late to visit, but you knew he'd be here. The only surprise of the night was that Sebastian didn't have a cigarette between his fingers or lips. A roll of his eyes made you smile wider as the snow crunched beneath your feet.

You rubbed your chilled hands together and Sebastian immediately grabbed for them, stuffing them into his jacket pockets and twining your fingers together. As soon as his wall had come down he had become unbelievably affectionate and it left your head swimming. Tilting your chin up expectantly, you were not disappointed by the brush of his lips against yours.

"Thought you'd be here sooner," Another kiss, pressed to the crown of your head.

"Thought I'd catch more fish if I held out an extra hour on the docks," A casual shrug that was not devoid of sore muscles. "We'll get to sleep in before the feast of the winter star,"

Sebastian's stomach tumbled pleasantly at the invitation to the farm. A few nights a week he'd find himself pressed against your back, the dog at the end of the bed and the cat somewhere near the fireplace. You were nearing a year together and he had to tamper down the desire to marry you already. The farm was just as much home as you were at this point. Until then, he'd cherish time with his mom and, as the nagging in his mind wouldn't let him forget, try more with Demetrius and Maru.

"I thought you were going home?" It took a moment for him to realize what you had said and the smile split his face. Before you, Sam had been the only person who could really get him to smile like that but even then it was different, reserved in its own way.

"Well, I couldn't leave you all alone, could I?"

You knew how he felt about his family, knew that sometimes he struggled to feel like he fit in anymore. Robin had built a life with Demetrius and had a successful and bright daughter. His own doubts crept in and he knew Demetrius didn't quite see him as a son. You even knew how he hoped to change that. You just couldn't let him face it alone.

Removing your hands from his pockets, Sebastian opted to pull you against him, arms wrapped tight around your waist. Your earmuffs tickled against his cheek as you burrowed deeper into his warmth.

"Next year, I'll go with you. This year, there are some things I need to do,"

The ease at which he offered to spend time with your family made you dizzy as you dragged him into a kiss.

"Maybe some day all of us can gather at the farm. A big family gathering,"

It was tentative, whispered against his lips as if you were crossing a line in taking his sentence about a year in the future into one that represented a much longer future together.

A simple "I'd love that" put your fears to rest.

Sebastian would never be without family as long as he had you.

[toulousewayne]

Trinity Head canon

Clark is the tallest at 6’3, Bruce is not far behind at 6’2 and Diana is 6’1.5.

Clark has a southern drawl. He’s been in the city for years, but sometimes it comes out when he’s angry or certain words will bring it out. Diana and Lois find it adorable.

Speaking of which Bruce has a thick Jersey accent but does have some British vocabulary that he uses like lift or tap instead of elevator or faucet.

Diana can speak the most languages, with Bruce behind her. She secretly taught him many forgotten languages, he enjoyed this time they spent. It was mostly when the first met.

When the two come to the manor they each have a favorite tea that Alfred or really Bruce will make. Clark likes Chamomile tea and Diana likes Oolong. Bruce himself prefers green tea.

The amount of last minute saves Clark and Diana have had to do to get Bruce out of harms way is crazy. They have a tally system that Barbara keeps track of. Clark is ahead by five points.

Bruce has planned out his affairs in case he dies. Again. Damian would go into Clark and Lois’ care he figures Jon would help him a lot during this time. When he was younger if something happened to him or Alfred Dick was also supposed to go to Clark. And had Jason lived during his younger years he was originally going to Clark but he changed it to Diana a few weeks before he passed away.

Diana drops by every Sunday to feed and play with the animals. Damian has grown fond of his aunt Diana’s visits.

Aside from Bruce, Alfred and Barbara Clark is the only other person who knows how feral and intense Dick’s run as Robin was.

Diana is usually the one to lead the league or a mission. Bruce has always felt she was better at leading the charge, though she thinks the opposite and just feels she’s doing what’s needed in the moment.

We have established that Bruce is a terrible cook. Diana is far worse as when she first invited the two over to her apartment she was making a casserole she kept hearing about. Clark had to put out the fire and Bruce payed off the fire marshal. Clark can cook four dishes; Beef stew, a traditional country breakfast, apple pie and Chili. He’s trying to expend his recipes but the other two enjoy the options.

The trio get together twice a month for a night on the town. They’ve only had three successful nights out where they didn’t need to save the city.

Once a year Diana and Clark force Bruce to take a week long vacation. The Batkids watch over Gotham, and Kara watches Metropolis.

They usually go to an island off the coast of Greece that Diana discovered. She has to mother Bruce about sunscreen because he burns like paper.

Clark enjoys surfing and snorkeling. Bruce will broad for the first two days then he’ll loosen up.

Diana and Clark each have a favorite thing about the Batcave. Clark loves the giant penny and Diana is always found staring at the T-Rex.

Speaking of which, Diana is banned from driving the Batmobile nether Bruce or Diana will explain why, but Clark is chuckling about the situation.

Clark had filled in for Bruce five times. Three times as Batman and twice as Bruce Wayne using his voice.

Tim and Damian are the only Robins to work with Clark as Batman and they both enjoyed having rogues confused as to why their usual tricks didn’t affect Batman.

Clark sometimes had doubts about being a beacon of Hope when they first formed the League. It was Batman they gave him a word of advice, though Bruce still denies it till this day.

Diana once caught Bruce with her lasso, she questioned him about why he was so interested in it, he never told her why but she thinks it’s because it’s the only thing that has forced the truth out of him.

Clark can drive a stick shift, Diana can’t parallel park.

Diana is actually a good mechanic, she’s worked on a few of the aircraft at the Watchtower.

Each of the Trinity has a favorite duo to team up with. Clark likes to work with Martian Manhunter and Atom, Diana likes to work with Vixen and Black Canary, and Bruce once again won’t attempt it but he likes to work with Green Lantern (Hal) and the Flash (Barry).

Bruce doesn’t have perfect vision as he leads people to believe. He had glass since he was ten, and has had LASIK three times.

Diana will sometimes braid the Batkids hair. She loves Duke and Tim’s hair the most. She sometimes will scold Dick about his longer hair because she knows he’ll never tend to it properly.

[thepeacefulgarden]

Promises you must make to yourself (and keep) when it's time to detach with love

I will stop trying to control anyone but myself.

I will set boundaries with this person, and I will not rescind those boundaries.

I will make those boundaries clear.

I will not give in to temper tantrums, threats, tears, bargaining, guilt trips, or other manipulative tactics. Instead, I will walk away.

I will stop doing things for them that they are capable of doing for themselves, and should be doing for themselves.

I will stop "loaning" them money I know I'm never going to get back.

I will let them be responsible for their own lives, and their own choices, and I will take responsibility for mine.

If it's necessary, I will remove myself and any children and/or pets from the household, and I will get us to safety.

I will prioritize my safety and well-being, and the safety and well-being of any children or pets.

I will not cover and lie for this person anymore.

I will no longer defend or make excuses for their unacceptable behavior.

I will prioritize my needs over their wants.

I will know that I am doing this because I love them and care about them, and I will absolve myself of guilt.

I will cultivate a support system of my own.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their happiness, their life choices, their behavior, their words, and their responsibilities.

I will regulate my emotions when they try to dysregulate me. I will not lose my cool, no matter how much they agitate me.

If I cannot deescalate them, I will walk away.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their feelings. I will let them be mad. Or sad. Or whatever else.

I will not bail them out of legal trouble.

I will not bail them out of any other kind of trouble or crisis.

I will no longer give this person second, third, fourth, fifth, hundredth chances they don't deserve.

I will accept that the situation is what it is, and I will stop trying to minimize or deny how bad it is.

I will accept that I cannot change or control them, and I will stop trying to do so.

I will find a sense of meaning, identity, and purpose outside of my relationship with them, or feeling "needed" or "wanted" by them, or anyone else.

I will let them face the consequences of their behavior, and I will absolve myself of responsibility for those consequences.

I will know and understand that I have done my best, and I cannot help someone who won't help themselves.

I will know that, no matter how much they may protest otherwise, I am not being selfish.