#where he thinks the time machine is better off destroyed

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[stareiiez]

nsfw alphabet for sinister mark

based on this ask <3

A = Aftercare (what they��re like after sex)

HA. idiot. there's no aftercare, you think you're getting aftercare?? from him?? the most you get is a snide comment and a towel thrown your way to clean yourself up.

B = Body part 

Sinister Mark loves your thighs, and breasts. He's not much of an ass man, but if he see a pair of juicy thighs that have good amounts of fat? his mouth waters, he drools over cellulite and stretchmarks, it brings more flavor to his delicate meal.

C = Cum 

loves to cover you in his cum, creampies are his favorite, cherry cream pies are even fucking better. he doesn't let you get dressed most of the time after so he can watch his cum dry against your skin and leave obvious proof he was with you. weirdly thick and stringy, the kind you see in porn, he cums gallons.

D = Dirty secret 

he whimpers when you praise him and call him 'my lord' or some regal title. has a huge praise kink.

E = Experience

experienced as hell. after all viltrumites fuck to breed and expand their species, so he knows what he's doing from alien autonomy to human bodies. he know's where the clit is babe, don't worry.

F = Favorite position 

doggy. easiest way to shut you the fuck up because you cry too loud when he hooks a thumb in your ass and bullies squishy tight muscle. he hates seeing your face look all stupid and dopey, he wants to watch your pussy cum, that's it.

G = Goofy 

he's here to fuck and to feast, there's no jokes here. mohawk mark took all the goofy ass tendencies out of all the variants.

H = Hair 

depends. wasteland sinister? there's no hygiene, he smells of sweat, blood, oil, rot and other putrid smells. pubic hair is as wiry and long as his hair on his head, he doesn't give a fuck if he makes you gag on it when you suck him off. normal sinister? he's clean, shaved. thinks it's dirty if he doesn't care for himself always.

I = Intimacy

lol.

J = Jack off

jacks off after committing genocide. likes to lay on the bodies and fuck himself because he feels so good he can't help his boner. he's a suck fuck that gets off on murder. jerks off to you, sometimes . . i guess.

K = Kink 

bondage, gagging, choking, crying, blood and weapon kink. LOVES to make sure his bitch is half way on the brink of passing out, that's when he knows he's doing good.

L = Location 

anywhere, he isn't picky. you think of it? he's probably thought of it, and done it to you.

M = Motivation 

power. loves to exhert his power over little things like you. also curiosity, lets see how much you can take till it kills you, kay?

N = No 

affection. telling him you love him? immediate no. he's soft and clambering off you. watersports are disgusting to him, you wanna be gross? do that somewhere else.

O = Oral 

LOVES GIVING because (ie bloody eating out post I made). loves receiving as well. he doesn't know when to stop.

P = Pace 

rough. hard. fast. there's other option.

Q = Quickie

doesn't believe in them. you should be satisfied enough after ten rounds with him. stop being greedy.

R = Risk 

fucking the man is risk enough.

S = Stamina

Viltrumite stamina is crazy. he doesn't give you a chance to breathe. you end up going comatose because your body can't keep up with his own. he still ends up fucking you even while you're passed out.

T = Toys 

He destroyed your toys, sorry. He's better than those machines, but he likes to see you masturbate and loves a good show.

U = Unfair

Incredibly unfair. he will stop in the middle of sex to go deal with whatever is suddenly more threatening or distracting to him. Will completely pick back up with you, if he's bored. The sex isn't the same after.

V = Volume

he's quiet, except for making grunts and growls through clenched teeth. your moans and wet pussy noises are the loudest things during sex.

W = Wild card 

LOVES A GOOD HAIR PULL. Even when his hair gets longer in the wastelands, and you're there to be with him. he loves it when you gather the hair in your palm and yank as hard as you can, it at least makes him groan a bit more louder than usual.

X = X-ray 

thick, uncut pretty pink eight inches. he's got the girth of nearly a soda can, he's a monster that hurts you in every single aspect. he's not veiny, but burns hot red at the tip when he's hard and throbbing. he's shaved and clean, slightly musky at drooping sac. his body is more built, unrealistically chiseled, like it hurts to be this buff in such a lean frame.

Y = Yearning 

very high, after he gets a good blood lust going. thankfully that's nearly every day since he has a plethora of lowlifes to be wiped clean off the earth and co-exisiting planets.

Z = Zzz

after whatever round he's lost track of, he sleeps rather peacefully on his bed. you're reserved to sleep on the floor or the couch if he thinks its fitting for you after how good you've been to him.

[yuuhwa]

Dark Game - Cap 3: Checkmate

Pairing: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader Genre: dark romance Context: After exchanging barbs and pranks, the unexpected (or expected) happened

a/n: I need your opinion. Do you prefer long or short chapters? I didn't know whether to write the meeting in this chapter or another one, so I wanted your opinion. Thanks in advance :))

It felt like the place had lost its charm since the last time Y/n had been there. But now she was back — not because of Seongje, of course not. She just needed a break, to clear her head, sit in front of the same old PC, play the same games. Relax.

Lies. The very first thing her eyes sought out was him.

There he was. Same machine. As always. Only this time, he wasn’t playing — he was watching. Her profile was pulled up on his screen, the mouse cursor hovering right over the game invite. As if he already knew she’d show up. As if he had been waiting.

“You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna challenge me already?” His voice cut through the hum of computers — a perfect echo of the line she had used the day before. He didn’t look away, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t yesterday’s beating enough for you?”

“I let you win a few rounds. I won’t go easy this time.” That arrogant smile widened across his face.

That damn smile. Y/n didn’t understand how something so simple could ignite something so... intense — maybe even warm — inside her.

“You better be ready to lose,” she shot back.

“I never play to lose.” He stood slowly, patting the seat beside him. “Let’s see if your mouth matches your skill.”

She muttered something under her breath as she sat down. They picked a fast-paced shooter — tense, chaotic. The rules were simple: loser does a dare. Nothing too extreme... or so she thought. But something in his eyes — a hunger, restrained and sharp �� said otherwise.

Seongje was different today. More direct. More dangerous. The way he narrated each move, each ambush... it felt like he was playing two games at once. And in the second one, she was already caught.

“Running from me? That’s odd... thought you liked a little pressure,” he said, closing the gap between their chairs without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Pressure doesn’t scare me. Honestly, I think you’re the one sweating,” she snapped back, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The match ended. The big bold “Game Over” flashed before Y/n’s eyes. From the corner of her vision, she saw the smug smile spreading across Seongje’s face. Familiar — but today, it was different. There was something else behind the satisfaction of his win.

He had destroyed her. Completely.

She groaned. “Alright, what’s the dare?”

Without hesitation, he leaned in. Too close. His sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses, desperate to lock onto hers. Their breaths mingled. His voice came out low, hoarse.

“You’re going out with me. Tonight.”

She laughed — dry, sarcastic. “That’s not even a dare. I could do that if I wanted to.”

A strange cocktail of thrill and tension twisted inside her — even though she masked it perfectly.

“But you haven’t. Not yet,” he murmured, eyes locked. “Now you will... because you lost.”

Y/n hesitated. Something about the way he said it — it wasn’t just a date. It felt like a move. A calculated one.

And the worst part? She wanted to see where it would lead.

“Fine. But if you bore me, I vanish.”

“You won’t,” he said, with the certainty of someone who already had the game in his hands.

And for the first time, Y/n wondered if she was still playing... Or if she had already become the prize.

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ HAPPY LITTLE ACCIDENT

visual is for vibes only, reader's appearance is nondescript!

pairing: luca x fem!reader

summary: your husband receives an emergency phone call and rushes to your rescue

warnings: hospital, minor injury

word count: 1.2k

a/n: can’t believe we still haven’t collectively decided a last name for luca but i saw someone say davies on here and used that - as always, enjoy!

Luca was working late… again.

There had been word that a high-profile reviewer had a booking under a pseudonym for tomorrow afternoon and Luca wanted everything to be perfect.

He’d stayed behind, spending the extra hours perfecting his technique. There was no chance he was going to let tomorrow slip through his fingers.

A woman like her, if she rated his restaurant well, could change everything. He’d be golden - headlines and accolades aplenty.

One more try, he nodded, examining his latest scone attempts, then I’ll go home.

But, the clock struck nine and Luca found he was still elbow-deep in buttercream, sleeves rolled up and eyes fixed on the row of desserts in front of him, meticulously adjusting the pansies he’d placed atop them.

His ringtone sounded, cutting through the silence of the empty workplace.

Luca flinched at the sound, sending a spurt of cream over the delicate flower. He groaned in frustration, “Fucking… goddamn it.”

Luca’s stared down at the destroyed scones, jaw tight. He couldn’t help but sigh.

He tossed the piping bag onto the counter with a dull thud.

This better be good, he thought bitterly to himself, wiping his hands on a tea-towel before picking up his phone.

“Hello?” he said, answering the call and wiping down the counter reflexively with one hand.

An unfamiliar voice answered, surprisingly upbeat for this time of night, “Hi, is this Mr. Luca Davies?”

“Yes, yeah, speaking.”. He nodded, reaching for the cleaning spray and running a cloth over the mess he’d left from his scones.

“I’m calling from Rigshospitalet. Your wife, Y/N, has just been brought in by ambulance. You’re listed as the emergency contact in our records.”

Luca froze, hand reaching instinctively for the counter to steady himself, “I’m sorry… I… what? Is she okay? What happened?”

“She was involved in a bicycle accident,” the receptionist continued calmly, “she hasn’t sustained any major injuries, aside from a sprained wrist.”

“She’s conscious and stable, but, her low blood pressure caused her to pass out on the scene, so, she’s here now for observation and any further tests she may need doing.”

The longer he listened, the tighter the knot of dread in his stomach grew.

Luca swallowed hard, pushing away the panic fighting inside of him, “Right, okay. I’m on my way. Where is it that I need to go?”

He yanked off his apron, chucking his jacket on over his uniform and grabbing his keys.

“Rigshospitalet.“ the receptionist repeated, “Head to the emergency room entrance and you’ll be directed from there.”

“Got it. Perfect, thank you so much.” He said hurriedly, locking up the restaurant behind him and hurrying to his car.

Luca was in the car and on his way to the hospital faster than he could blink. His hands gripped at the steering wheel, knuckles white.

His mind was swarmed by all the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, and what still could.

What if it was worse than they said?

What if you had a head injury?

Or, worse, what if they found something worse whilst checking you over?

Some underlying condition he’d never even known about?

The thought made his stomach churn. To think, he’d been fussing over buttercream, when his wife had been in an accident.

Accident.

That word unsettled him. It didn’t mean anything certain. He thought the same of stable. Stable was the kind of word people used to keep you calm, sane.

For all he knew, you were hooked up to God knows how many machines and wheezing for air.

And his guilt plagued him most of all. It gnawed at him incessantly.

If he’d left work when he’d said he would, you wouldn’t have had to bike home. He would’ve been there to drive you home, to keep you safe from things like this.

How could he have been so selfish?

Every red light felt like his own personal punishment, but it wasn’t long before he was pulling up in front of Rigshospilatet.

Luca slammed the car door shut behind him, not even registering the no-parking signs as he marched through the emergency room entrance.

“Hi, sorry, hi,” Luca said to the nurse at the front desk, breathless. “My name’s Luca Davies. My wife, Y/N Davies, was just brought in? She had a bicycle accident?”

The nurse nodded, smiling gently, “Yep, she’s just through here in one of the beds.”

Luca nodded, barely breathing. “Thank you.”

His legs carried him before his brain caught up, trailing after the older woman down the corridor.

He noticed how the beds she was referring to were still in the ‘emergency’ area, not a ward. He was thankful for that, at least things weren’t overnight-serious.

Finally, the nurse reached a bed and stopped, pulling back the curtain.

And there you were.

You were tucked under a thin blanket, looking pretty tired and scraped up. There was a shadow of a bruise underneath your right eye and a bandage tied tightly around your wrist - but at least you were still breathing.

Luca let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Hey,” you smiled shyly, a cup of terrible, hospital, chocolate-pudding cupped in your hands.

“You scared the living daylights out of me,” Luca sighed, rushing over and embracing you in his bear arms. He held you close against his chest, afraid to ever let go.

“I fell off my bike.” You hummed against him.

“Yeah, I know that, darling, they called me.” he gently brushed your hair from your face, careful not to tug.

“I’m okay, though,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. He cupped your face with both hands.

“No, you’re not,” he said, brushing a gentle finger under your bruised eye, “Look at you.”

“I’ve had worse.” you shrugged, smiling. You happily leaned into his gentle touches, though.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have anything like this happening to you.” he murmured lowly, eyes scrutinising over your injuries.

“And, definitely not when I could’ve been there to stop it.” his eyes softened.

“I’m fine, Luca. Really.” you placed a gentle peck on his lips, “Promise.”

“Y/N, you were all alone when it happened. You could’ve…” he cleared his throat, catching himself and sighing.

“Just… let me drive you home from now on, yeah? Always? To make it up to you.” he pleaded.

You rolled your eyes with a smile, your uninjured hand reaching up to gently rub his cheek, “Will that make you feel better, baby?”

“Much better.” Luca exhaled, eyes fluttering shut as he nodded.

“Okay. Car-sharing it is from now on, then.” you smiled, a teasing fondness in your voice.

Luca visibly relaxed, whispering a small ‘Thank you’.

“Anytime, handsome.” you hummed, pecking his lips again.

A brief pause fell over the room before Luca spoke up.

“Just so you know, when we get home, I’m not leaving your side.” he warned you with an amused grin.

“Why am I not surprised?” you smiled coyly, sitting back in the bed.

He gently squeezed your thigh and your eyes trailed up to meet his, “I’m serious. Pain meds, loads of tea, bed rest. I’m doing the lot.”

“I don’t deny it.” you smiled in reply, “Thank you, Nurse Luca.”

He placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand, “You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

Additional Warning(s) for This Chapter: Brief Reference to Vomiting

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 4.1k

CHAPTER 5: November 1977 - February 2004

November 9, 1977. 4:30 AM

I saved James for the 5th time on October 9 and my stomach is killing me.

I got home earlier than I thought — I should’ve known Jonny was gonna be a disaster of a date. He told me at the last minute to dress nice and then took me to a wedding. A WEDDING! I thought he was gonna take me to a fancy restaurant, but no. He took me to a wedding, pretending that I was his longtime girlfriend when this was our second date. So I pretended to break up with him and left immediately. 

Of course, I wasn’t going to date Jonny for long, but it still would’ve been nice to be with a man who doesn’t treat you like trash. He was truly a reminder of why I stopped trying to date decades ago, regardless of my curse. Too many shitty people everywhere.

I came home and just crashed onto my couch. I dozed off in the middle of the day, but then I woke up at a party at a giant mansion. Luckily, I was still in my dress from that failed date so I didn’t stick out. Or, maybe it wasn’t luck — maybe you knew well enough to put me in that dress.

When I woke up at that party, I was confused. It always takes me a moment to realize I’m not dreaming — that I’m there for one person.

I moved past all of the snobby people to find James and couldn’t help but notice how many security guards there were. There was a guard almost at every entrance and they all tried to look tough. But based on what I’ve seen from James, these men have no chance against him.

There was a hallway that didn’t have a guard. I’ve learned at this point that those are signs pointing me to James. I kept walking until I heard a loud thud from a private study. When I opened the door, I saw him right by the door, standing over a man — some politician — with a gun in his metal hand.

It’s been about 9 years since I last saw him and I missed him, but he hasn't aged a day and he looks even colder and stiffer than before. The person in charge of him is still trying to carve away the young man from Brooklyn. But when James looked up and raised his gun at me, he stopped.

He’s done this before — look at me and take a moment to realize who I am…but I think it happened faster this time. He was more of a machine than he was back on that plane, and yet James came back in those eyes quicker than before. He kept his gun up, but I managed to walk up to him without him shooting me. I think he looked nervous to see me

I wanted to talk to him, but I felt the pull so I grabbed him. He let me grab him because I think his body knows now I’m not a threat. Considering I’ve saved his ass 4 times by that point, he better know I’m not a threat. I grabbed him and pulled him away and I was stabbed in the chest. I want to say I’m used to being stabbed now, but it still sucks.

What I’m not used to, on the other hand, is getting caught after getting hurt. James shot the guard in the head as he caught me, just like he did on the plane. He helped me lie down and looked at me for a long time. He was wearing his mask like before, but I only needed to look into his eyes to see how confused he was again.

He was supposed to walk away. Let me die alone while he went back to wherever he came from like he did on the plane…but he stayed. He sat next to me, keeping me company as long as he could. I wanted to ask him where he was from — who was in charge of him — but I couldn’t say a word without coughing up blood. I really wanted to ask because if I knew…maybe I could try to free him from his prison.

But then, you’ll never believe what happened next.

James touched my face.

He moved closer and held his hand — not the metal one — against my cheek. His hand was surprisingly soft He blinked at me like he was trying to figure out where he knew me from.

I no longer believe that he doesn’t remember me because we haven't seen each other for years, or that he pretends not to know me… I think he actually doesn’t remember me. He’s always confused when he sees me. 

Are they torturing him so badly that he forgets who I am? Who he is? 

But despite forgetting me, I saw James fighting in those frost blue eyes before I died.

If they’re somehow making James forget who he is, I think I can be the one to get him to come back.

<><><>

February 2, 1978. 5:19 AM

It’s been 3 months and here I am, thinking about how James touched my face like a dumb teenager with a crush. He

Your pen and journal flew across the room before you fell back into bed, throwing the covers over yourself as you let out an irritated yell.

<><><>

August 14, 1981. 5:19 AM

I started to read about James.

I don’t know what made me do it all of a sudden, but when I walked by our archives, I had the urge to find articles about him. I asked Carl if I could look through wartime records from the 40s — he was a little confused by my request but showed me where they were. I never mention James to him.

Considering he was with Captain America for most of the war, it was easy to spot his name. There were so many stories about him and the Howling Commandos taking down HYDRA bases and freeing the prisoners.

I forgot that his middle name is Buchanan. 

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes.

What a name.

There was also a photo of him. He was young and proud, standing tall with his unit with a smile on his face.

I almost forgot what his smile looked like. It’s pretty cute

I read the articles slowly as if it was my first time reading them. It wasn’t — I read the same papers decades ago when they arrived at my doorstep. I kept up with the news to make sure he was alive, still going out and fighting against HYDRA like the hero he was is.

I remember feeling proud of him, even though I didn’t really have the right to. I wasn’t his family or friend, or a name that would show up in his file or stories about him. But I gave him back to the world twice, so I let myself believe a little bit that I had a small hand in the man he became. A hero. A fighter. A soldier who held the line when others couldn’t.

Because of James, I allowed myself to believe — just for a while — that this curse was a blessing.

<><><>

May 30, 1987. 6:48 AM

I saved James for the 6th time on April 30. I woke up on my couch with the left side of my back burning. 

I went to bed after an uneventful day at work and woke up in a city I’ve always wanted to visit. Tokyo. It was really pretty. There were all of these neon lights that eventually did hurt my eyes, but they lit up the streets in a gorgeous way that I could barely see here in Maine.

It took me a bit to find James this time because I woke up in an empty apartment. I thought he was in the building with me, but then I saw that one of the windows was open, meaning he was outside. I found myself in a dark alley and just wandered from one place to another. I did get worried at one point because I thought maybe I missed him and I already failed. But my worries went away when I finally found him standing by a dumpster in another alleyway.

He heard me and immediately pointed his gun at me, but I didn’t care. I just knew he wouldn’t shoot me. Even if he did, I would’ve saved him anyway. He lowered his gun as I walked up to him, but then I felt the pull and noticed the red dot on his chest. I moved in front of him and the bullet hit my back.

James didn’t let me fall again. I was surprised, but he actually ran to catch me. I think he was already moving towards me before the bullet hit. He moved me out of the way, hiding me behind the dumpster before he used his own rifle to kill the sniper. It reminded me of him from the war. 

He moved me against the wall and watched me. He didn’t look as confused as before — not as distant. I asked him who was in charge of him and he didn’t respond, but I could see in his eyes that he was surprised by my question. I don’t know if he could tell me, even if he wanted to. 

I didn’t realize it for a while, but he was pressing on my wound. It wasn’t until he shifted that I realized his hand was on my back. I think he was trying to figure out what to do, but also didn’t understand why he should save me to begin with. 

I pushed his arm away and he let me. I think he finally understands that he can’t stop me from dying.

I called him James and he said he didn’t know who that was. I tried to explain, but he touched my face before I could. He’d touched my cheek before, but…it was different this time. 

You know when you wake up from a dream and you can’t seem to remember what it was about? And as the day goes on, you might remember bits and pieces but still not get the full story.

I think he’s tired of waking up from a dream. It was like he was trying to memorize my face rather than just remember the bits of me. Trying to hold onto whatever I am to him.

He was finally close enough that I managed to touch his face too. I felt his temples — there were scars there again. I couldn’t see them in the dark, but they felt new. I asked him again who was in charge of him and he didn’t tell me. Then we heard a lot of yelling in the streets — numerous men looking for the person who killed their boss. I told James to leave and he didn’t.

When he looked back at me, I didn’t know what to think.

He looked afraid. 

Afraid for what? I don’t know, but I’ve never seen him afraid. I only saw his eyes, but there was definitely fear there. I wanted to comfort him and

He reached for my necklace and opened my locket again. He stared at it for a long time before looking at me. He asked me who I was, and I said that I was someone who was there to save him. He asked why I saved him, and I said he deserved to live. 

He didn’t understand that.

He tugged lightly on my locket like he wanted to take it — to take something that would remind him of me — but I didn’t let him. I told him to leave before he was caught. He tucked my locket back into my shirt, took one last look at me, and disappeared.

But I think he knows I’ll see him again. I want to see him again.

<><><>

June 6, 1987. 9:15 PM

I’ve had many different careers in my life, and yet I always find comfort in being surrounded by texts.

Right now, I’m using my career to my advantage. I want to figure out why James’s memory is loose — why he can never remember me at first, or himself for that matter. I’m gathering any books and research papers in the library that might lead me somewhere.

I want to fig

I have to 

I will figure this out. I have to get James to come back.

<><><>

The front door slammed open and you rushed into your apartment, eyes welling up with tears and breath coming out erratically. You rushed to your bedroom and ripped the drawer of your bedside table open, your hands trembling as you grabbed your journal and pen. You quickly scribbled down the start of your entry.

January 25, 1990. 6:42 PM

I can’t fucking do this. I

The journal fell to the floor as you stumbled to your bathroom, your stomach no longer happy with your meal from earlier.

<><><>

January 25, 1990. 6:42 PM 11:25 PM

I can’t fucking do this. I

I threw up. Like, a lot. All because of a theory that seems too real.

I’ve been reading novels and stories for many decades, keeping up with history and fantasies from around the world. But I’ve always avoided reading anything gruesome or tragic — I deal with enough bloodshed and loss in my life.

But ever since my last encounter with James, I started to read about anything I could find about memory loss. I found novels, research, and memoirs about what it means to lose your memory. But then I ended up having to read horrifying cases of experiments and medical studies, and it took me a while to get through them because I have a weak stomach for this kind of thing. I know it’s ironic considering I’ve died in the most gruesome way imaginable, but when it happens to other people, it makes me sick.

For years, I wondered why James always seemed to forget me, trying to grasp me like I was just out of reach. I tried to tell myself it was because I only saw him after so many years apart or a form of amnesia, but the way he touched my face told me that there was something more to this than just forgetting — than just being forced to go on missions as a ghost. I slowly started to suspect it was some form of mind control, so I started to read about anything that was about altering the brain.

I knew something was wrong. But when I read about studies where electric shocks were used to wipe a person’s mind, I wanted to scream. 

It's not drugs. It’s not mind control. 

It’s brainwashing.

Those scars on his temples make sense. They’re burn marks. There were always new ones whenever I saw him — evidence that they were ripping him apart to make the perfect soldier, only meant to follow orders and nothing else. They’re forcing him to forget. That’s why he doesn’t remember me. His instincts tell him that I’m a friend, but his mind has to piece me back together.

No wonder he looked so scared when I told him to leave. Leaving means to go back to THEM and get burned and torn apart all over again. I wish he told me who was doing this to him. If I knew, then maybe I could get the authorities involved — put him on someone’s radar and find a way to get him out. I have to find out next time. I have to free him.

But how do you free someone who doesn’t even know they need to be freed? Every time I see him, he looks at me like I’m a distant memory, something slipping through his fingers even though I’m standing right there. And yet, he always reaches for me, just enough to make me see that James is still in there. I need James 

But if I keep showing up as a reminder of who he was, does he feel more pain when they shock him? Does it hurt more when there are more memories to burn away?

I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t want him to die either. I need him to survive long enough for someone to free him. 

I have to save him over and over and over again. I don’t care how many times it takes. 

<><><>

October 7, 1998. 7:26 AM

I saved James for the 7th time on September 7, and I woke up just in time to miss my baby’s 100th birthday.

You have a twisted sense of humor.

I was gonna spend the whole day celebrating her, but that day happened yesterday. I’m so bitter about it but I know that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always been fucked up.

But still, you couldn’t have given me this? I’m sure with how you’ve controlled my life, you have some say in deciding when James needs me. I’m not mad about saving him — I’m mad that you couldn’t have let me comfortably walk around yesterday to celebrate my baby girl. Get some of our favorite eclairs and maybe a teddy bear — one that has a dress and pretty shoes that she would’ve liked.

You let me lose her when she was 6. You know I still grieve over her. Did you not have the decency to let me enjoy my baby’s big day?

I fell asleep after finishing my book and I woke up in the middle of a fight at a warehouse. I was hiding behind a crate, surrounded by weapons and gadgets, listening to a bunch of men yelling in what I could only assume was Russian. 

I looked over the crate and I saw James killing men left and right. He was more robotic than before — every move he made was calculated and efficient. It’s been 11 years since I last saved him, and he's only become more skilled at ending lives. There was so much blood and those men didn’t have a chance. 

Then I felt the pull and looked over to see one of the men hiding too, but he had grabbed a…I think it was a gun? It looked strange like it’s been tinkered with. It reminded me of the weird, strange weapon James fought against back in the war. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure James was attacking an arms dealer of some kind at the warehouse — the weapons they were using were not normal.

I ran in front of the man as he shot at James and holy shit — whatever he used was painful. It got me in my thigh, which was surprising because I’m so used to getting hit in the chest or stomach. Leg wounds aren’t lethal, but that just meant that this weapon was deadly enough to take me out like that.

The man who shot me was so confused and distracted by my presence that he got shot in the head. I looked at James and he was different. He was still terrifying but when he saw me on the floor, he turned into an animal. He went through the other men so brutally, slicing their skin so fast that their blood would hit the floor before their bodies did.

He was angry. He was normally collected, but he was horrifying then. I was actually scared that he would kill me next in his rage, but I couldn’t get away. My thigh was burning so much that I couldn’t move the rest of my body. I just closed my eyes, hoping to die quicker to stop the pain.

But then I was no longer on the floor. I opened my eyes to see his cold ones. He was carrying me in his arms — he never did that before. He held onto me tight and ran out of the warehouse. I didn’t know where we were going, but he carried me like I wasn’t a burden. 

We eventually ended up in an abandoned building, empty except for some medical kits and cases with bullets. I think that was where supplies were dropped off for him. He laid me against the wall and grabbed the kits.

I never expected that he would try to help me. I could barely keep my eyes open until he started to put pressure on my leg and I screamed. Fuck, I screamed so loud because it really hurt. I don’t know how much blood I lost, but that didn’t stop James from trying to fix me.

But I didn’t want him to. There’s no point — I always die in the end. I told him to stop because it was better to end my pain than to pretend he could help me. I’ve saved him so many times, but there he was trying to return the favor. But it wouldn’t work.

I was crying from the pain. I told him to stop again and he wouldn’t listen to me. James ignored me and kept on trying to tend my wound, but I was already cold and felt death approaching. I just wanted it to stop. I tried to grab his arms and I begged him to stop.

Then he yelled.

He fucking yelled “no” at me.

He was so desperate

I have known this man for so many decades, and yet we’ve only ever spoken to each other a few times. It was only ever a few quiet words, and most of the time it was only me talking.

He’s never yelled at me before.

We just stared at each other. I was surprised but him? James was appalled by what he did, like he didn’t know he was capable of…that. In his eyes, I saw a terrified young man, bruised by war yet so loved by others. He wanted to save me. God, he really did want to save me.

I wanted to see him. So I reached up and he let me pull his mask down. He wore despair and pain in a strange way like he couldn’t figure out how he could feel this way after so many years of being a killing machine. 

He was so lost, so I held his face, touching the scars around his temples again. I asked him whose orders he was following and I saw his lips tremble, like he wanted to tell me but something in his body stopped him. I kept on asking him and he kept on opening his mouth, but no words ever left. He couldn’t tell me.

He was still holding onto my wound when I told him to let me go. He listened that time.

But instead of letting me sit against the wall, he picked me up and put me in his lap.

It was like we were back in the war when I was dying in the mountains and James held me close. That was fifty years ago and we’ve both been broken again and again since then, but the comfort I felt was the same. James said sorry to me back then, and I knew he was saying sorry again despite not speaking.

I finally got to tell him his full name. James Buchanan Barnes.

He looked at me like I said a random string of words. But I said his name again and he said he doesn’t know who that is. I said that it was his name. Hopefully, that’ll help his memory. Maybe he’ll remember who he is and escape wherever he’s from. Maybe he already has. James wanted to ask more and I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t. I lost too much blood to keep talking and stay awake.

But when I looked at him one last time, I realized something else. He was scared. He didn’t want me to die because he needed my presence. Because maybe…maybe I’m the only thing still human left inside him.

I died in his arms, but I felt his hand on my cheek before I did. He whispered Rose again and I felt my heart beat faster despite dying

I can only hope that he’ll find another way to be human without me.

<><><>

January 16, 2004. 10:38 PM

January 17, 2004. 9:13 PM

February 18, 2004. 10:10 AM

I have never been more scared in my life until January 18.

I saved James for the 8th time, but I almost failed.

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl

Thanks for reading :)

[0vergrowngraveyard]

Saw your post about someone dying during the war ha ha hahaha ,,,,, tail .

post in question

no cause like what if

It had been a month since the war ended. A month since Infinite was defeated, since Eggman’s forces were destroyed, and since the process to rebuild the world began.

There were celebrations around the globe. Every citizen of Mobius cheered, voices crying out in pure joy as the empire that nearly gained full control of their planet crumbled out of the sky, pieces of the Death Egg crashing down into the ocean.

In between the parties, however, there were also those in mourning. Many had lost loved ones during the war. Whether they were murdered by the cruel hands of Eggman’s robot army or dying of illnesses and wounds they didn’t have enough supplies to treat, the list of casualties was long. Too long.

And Tails shouldn’t have been on that list.

Tails had been killed on the final day of the war. It was as if the empire had to give them one final punch in the gut. One last victory before it fell apart. And what better victory for Eggman was there? He’d finally gotten rid of the stubborn little fox kit who outsmarted him at nearly every turn.

The fox kit who was only nine years old.

It was hard for Amy and Knuckles— and all of their friends, really— to celebrate without him. They tried to find little ways to include Tails so he would at least be there in spirit. They toasted to him, told stories, and made a small grave for him outside of the Resistance building with plans of making a proper memorial when they got back on their feet.

But even with all that, it was such a noticeable absence that clawed at their hearts. His squeaky little giggle was missing from the choir of other laughs. Computer and machine related tasks were much more challenging without the genius fox kit there to guide them. His seemingly endless optimism and empathic nature weren’t there when things got stressful.

For someone so small, he had such a massive presence in all of their lives. And now that was just gone.

The only one who didn’t seem all that bothered by it was Sonic.

When they broke the news to him, he barely even reacted. He just stared at them with a blank expression, mind seemingly far away. All he said was, “Yeah, okay” and then he left. There was no anger, no sadness. There was only indifference.

It took Amy and Knuckles all of their willpower to not explode, to not scream at him for how he just seemed to shrug off his baby brother’s death so easily. They thought that since he’d just gotten rescued after six months of captivity and being subjected to who knows what, maybe his brain just couldn’t handle it at that moment. Maybe it was too much, maybe he just needed some space to process it.

But that didn't seem to be the case either as they found him only a few hours later just being himself. Joking around and helping where he could like nothing had happened. Like the most important person in his world wasn’t gone forever.

And frankly, it pissed the two of them off.

Where was the protective big brother? The guy who’d move mountains for that kid and flipped out whenever he got hurt. Where was Tails’s best friend? Why didn’t he care? Was Infinite to blame? Had he and Eggman somehow managed to wipe all of the love Sonic had for that little fox kit? They were cruel, but was that even possible?

They thought it wasn’t for the longest time, but maybe they were wrong.

It took a month after the war ended for them to confront him about it. It weighed on them too much to the point it was almost unbearable to be in the same room as the hedgehog.

It started, as most of Sonic’s confrontations over the years did, with a punch to the face.

“What the hell!?” The hedgehog cried out when Knuckles struck him, paw going to his cheek as he held the spot that would definitely bruise, “What’s your problem?!”

“I should be asking you that.” Knuckles responded, shaking out his fist. “I didn’t think you of all people would act as dishonorable as this.”

Sonic blinked at them, “Wha- dishonorable?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, hedgehog!” The echidna shouted, “Did the fox’s life mean so little to you that his death is simply pushed aside as though it were nothing?!”

All Sonic did was stare wordlessly.

“Knuckles, please.” Amy said, stepping in front of him so she could say her piece, “But, he’s right. I just- I don’t understand. Why are you…how can you be so carefree about this? He was your little brother, Sonic! Your best friend! You used to lose your mind whenever Eggman hurt him, but now he’s gone and it just doesn’t matter?”

Her fists clenched, “You gave a halfhearted toast, you didn’t share any stories about him, and you don’t even visit his grave! And I should know, I'm there…all the time.”

Amy’s eyes blurred with tears and she choked on the lump in her throat, “I’m still asking for his advice, still talking to him and complaining about inconsequential things. I sit with him for hours because I miss him. I miss him so much. But you…you just somehow act like nothings wrong. Why, Sonic? Why would you do that to him?”

Knuckles put a firm hand on her shoulder and she sent an appreciative smile. The echidna nodded before looking up at the hedgehog in front of them as Amy scrubbed her eyes, “Tails was part of our tribe. He was family to all of us, but especially to you. And yet you run around and act as though his passing is meaningless.” His frown deepened, “The Sonic I know would’ve made sure the doctor met the same fate as soon as he heard the news.”

Sonic continued to stare blankly at them, which only made Knuckles angrier.

“Do you have anything to say? Or are you just gonna stand there and stare?” No response. The echidna scoffed, “Fine. Come on, Amy. This was a waste of time.”

He gently steered her away from Sonic, Amy looking back at him before facing forward and wiping her tears away with several sniffles.

A snort made them stop in their tracks.

Knuckles’s muzzle curled into a snarl as he spun around and Amy just looked over her shoulder in disbelief.

Sonic was laughing, head thrown back and tears pricking his eyes. The fire in Knuckle’s eyes grew as he went to stomp over to him, but Amy stopped him and shook her head. His laughter didn’t sound joyful or mean spirited. It sounded empty.

Eventually, Sonic’s hands went to his hips and he just shook his head, “Wow, haven’t heard that one before! You almost got me there!”

Amy’s brow furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

“I will admit, you’re getting pretty good at this. But I guess practice does make perfect, amiright?” The hedgehog continued.

“Practice makes…” Knuckles mumbled before growling, “Answer Amy’s question! What are you talking about, hedgehog?”

“Oh please, like you don’t know.”

“We don’t, Sonic! Do you think we’re joking? Why on Mobius would we joke about something like this?”

He looked at the two of them with a half lidded stare, clearly annoyed at something. “What? You need me to spell it out? You’re not just gonna take me back?”

“Take you back where?” Amy asked.

Knuckles growled. “Would you just spit it out already!” he yelled, patience growing thin.

“I know this isn’t real.”

The silence that followed was heavy as Amy's shoulders sagged when she realized what he meant and Knuckles grimaced.

Oh.

They just stared at the hedgehog as he continued rambling on about the conclusion he’d drawn and was so sure about, “I will say, this has been going on for some time. I mean, a month! That may be a record breaker. Gotta hand it to ya, Infinite, you really went all out this time!”

“Oh, Sonic…” Amy clutched the hem of her dress, sadness in her voice, “Infinite…Infinites gone.”

Sonic just scoffed, “Yeah, sure. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Y’know, creativity really isn’t your strong suit, man. You can’t just put me in the same scenarios over and over again and expect me to not catch on sooner or later.”

He continued, “Look, the jigs up. Can you just stop it already?” His voice tapered off into something more somber.

Knuckles turned his gaze away while Amy took a step towards Sonic, stopping when he took a step back. His sharp blue quills were raised and he had an uneasy look in his eyes. It was as if he expected her to hurt him.

It made her heart hurt, “Sonic, I…this is real. The war is over. Infinite is gone.”

Sonic tsked, “Sure.”

“It is!”

“No it’s not!” Sonic snapped, “Because that would mean…” He trailed off, panic flashing in his eyes before he blinked hard and anger replaced it, “Would get this over with already. Make her attack me or something! Just do it! I wanna go back to my cell already.”

“Your cell?” Amy breathed out, “What did they do to you?”

“Like you don’t know.” Sonic growled, “Just cut the crap and get this over with!”

She couldn’t help it. Amy barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on as tightly as she could. He fought against her, trying to pry her off and get away from her. Just like he always did. But this time there was more fight in him. She could feel his panicked breaths, the desperation to get away in his movements, but she held on.

She held on until something clicked.

“You’re warm.” Sonic mumbled, barely audible. His squirming came to a stop.

“I am.” Amy replied, just as quietly, “We all are. We’re real, I promise. The war is over. We won. You’re safe.”

Knuckles huffed out a sigh and walked over to the two hedgehogs, hesitating for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around both of them. Doing what he could to be there for his friends, his tribe.

He could’ve sworn he felt the ghost of someone so much smaller than him wrap his arms around them as well.

It’s okay, you did your best

”I know you don’t believe us, and you probably won’t for a long time especially since…” Amy didn’t have the heart to say it out loud. She felt his breathing pick up again, his heart beating frantically. Tears pricked her eyes.

Suddenly, Sonic pushed away from them, a panicked expression on his face. “N-no. No, this isn’t real! You’re fucking with me! Your stupid ruby got an upgrade or something! I don’t fucking know what you did but this isn’t real! Tails isn’t—!”

He choked as reality seemed to crash down around him. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he failed to get a full breath of air, “Tails isn’t…”

“I’m so sorry, Sonic.” Amy simply said. It was all she could say.

What could only be described as pure despair washed over his features. Sonic took several wobbly steps backwards before turning to run away. Far away. As far as he could go. He needed to get out of this cramped hallway, away from these things. They weren’t real, they weren’t his friends. They were nothing but cruel illusions made to torment him. Made to make him suffer. That’s all this was.

He tripped over his own feet, face planting on the hard ground. An almost animalistic sound tore out of his throat as he heard the memory of a squeaky little giggle making fun of his big bro’s clumsiness. Sonic scrambled to get up, but he couldn’t. He slipped over and over again until he just gave up and curled up right there on the floor.

Amy and Knuckles sat besides him, doing their best to be there for the hero as this tidal wave crashed into him and kept him under. The pressure pushed down on him, pulling him further and further under the waves.

It wasn’t real. None of this was real.

It couldn’t be.

[silly-tv]

HI! I am writing my first fanfic ever, please tell me if there are any errors, grammatically or smth else, this Threadville’s fanfic will be about Oliver x Reader but for now I'll just put up chapter 1, it's more story, beginnings and hopefully you'll enjoy because I enjoyed a lot writing this.

and tell me what you think and if I should continue!

The reader is gender-neutral in this fanfic!

CHAPTER I

"Welcome to Threadville"

"Yeah, Grandma, I'm gonna find it," Y/N said as they began climbing up into the attic. "Where's that stupid sewing machine? Come on, where are you hiding?"

They glanced around and muttered, "So many boxes... This is insane. What even is in all of these?"

After thirty minutes of searching, they finally spotted the machine on the top shelf. "Better take this back to—"

BANG!

"THE HELL?! What even was that?" they said, turning toward a large shape under a draped fabric. Pulling the cloth down, they blinked. "A... mirror?"

"Hmm, what a pretty mirror. Why is it even up here? Maybe Grandma will let me have it."

As they reached out to dust it off, the mirror suddenly began to glow.

"Wait. WAIT. WAIT, WHAT EVEN IS THIS?! HELLO?! NUH UH—IT’S SUCKING ME IN! GRANDMA—!"

Everything went blank.

Oliver and Veena were enjoying a hot cup of tea near the bee area.

"I'm so happy my crops are turning out better every year. Sometimes it’s a bit hard to manage alone, but they’ve grown beautifully!" Oliver said, a silly smile on his face.

Veena, on the other hand, was already a little cranky.

"Ugh, Rocky hasn’t moved from that spot in ages, and he’s been acting weird lately, especially with those night time crazy episodes. Is it just me, or did you notice it too?"

Oliver nodded, his expression shifting to concern.

"I’ve noticed... but when I ask, he just goes back to fishing. We’ll figure out what’s going on someday, I promise— what is that?"

They both looked up—and saw something, or more precisely, someone, falling out of a hole in the sky. They quickly stepped out of the way.

"Fuck, man, that hurts," Y/N groaned, rubbing their head. As they opened their eyes, two figures stood in front of them.

"...You ruined my table," Veena muttered.

"I'm so sorry—one minute I was in my grandma's attic, a mirror sucked me up, and now I'm here... Where is here?"

"Welcome to Threadville!" Oliver said with a smile. "But we should probably figure out how you ended up here. Let’s head into town—oh, wait. Rocky’s at the exit. We’ll need to get some honey for him as a peace offering."

"Ugh, the bees are already mad we took honey for our tea today," Veena exclaimed.

"I’ll do it," Y/N offered. "It’s the least I can do after destroying your table."

"Thank you kindly... uh, what’s your name?"

"Y/N," they said, putting their hands on their hips.

"I’m Oliver, and this is Veena. And as you probably heard, the guy napping over there is Rocky. He’s a bit tense, but he’s a sweetheart."

Getting the honey was not a task for the weak. The bees swarmed all around the maze, making it tricky to avoid them—but somehow, Y/N managed to grab the honey. The group made their way toward Rocky.

"I’m so sorry to wake you up," Oliver said gently, "but our new friend here needs to get into town. Can you kindly move? We brought you honey."

"Oh, no problem, Oliver. Sorry for blocking the path," Rocky said, taking the jar from his hands. "Here—let me walk you all into town."

When they arrived, Rocky and Veena split off to go talk to Patty, while Oliver wandered into a little garden patch to check on his radishes.

"Hey Oliver, need some help over there?" Y/N asked.

"Oh no, no, I was just checking to see if there’s a worm. He’s been giving me trouble—keeps eating my plants."

"Ugh, maybe you can give the worm a vegetable every time you grow new ones? Like a little offering? So he munches on that instead of everything else?"

"Oh, believe me—I tried that. He wants to cause trouble."

"What a little maniac."

Patty’s house was tucked between a yarn-dyed shop and a building that looked suspiciously like a giant bubble. It smelled like lavender, cinnamon, and old buttons.

Inside, Veena leaned on the wall while Rocky stood awkwardly by the door, holding what was left of his honey jar.

Patty—mid-40s, power stance, brushing her hair—eyed Y/N as they walked in with Oliver.

Oliver slowed his pace. “Hey, you’ve been super calm for someone who just got sucked in a antique mirror.”

Y/N let out a breath and laughed weakly. “Honestly? I think I’m still in shock. Or maybe Threadville’s so weird it’s distracting me.”

Just then, a squirrel in a sweater darted across the window carrying what looked like… a crochet hook?

Oliver said with a sweet smile “Yeah, give it a day. You’ll fit right in.”

“Ah,” Patty said slowly, tapping the brush against her chin. “You’re the one who fell.”

Y/N blinked. “People just… know that?”

“Threadville’s small. You sneeze and the fabric trees echo it by lunch,” she said. “Also, there’s a sky-rip above the forest. Not subtle.”

"Can you help me get back to... my world?"

"Mmm, maybe. Maybe not. I’ve never heard of this kind of mess before, but we’ll give it a shot. In the meantime, I’m rolling out a sleeping bag for you, ‘cause it’s late, I need my beauty sleep, and tomorrow’s gonna be weird enough without me looking like a mess. We’ll talk more in the morning. Nighty night!" Patty said as she headed upstairs.

Everyone went their way as nightfall crept into Threadville, the sky stitched with silver stars and a crescent moon shaped like a bent thimble. Y/N tossed in their sleeping bag, trying to find a comfortable position.

They’d almost started dozing off when—

CRASH.

THUD.

Y/N shot upright. "what the—”

Outside, loud stomps... a flower pot fell off the windowsill. Somewhere in the distance, a sheep screamed.

Veena burst through the door, hair wild, holding a tote-bag. “He’s SNAPPIN’. Rocky’s having a NIGHT-TIME EPISODE. It’s happening again!!”

"WHAT, IS HE GOING TO END US ALL, IS HE GOING TO EAT US!?" Y/N started to scream dramatically.

"No silly, he's just on a rampage from time to time, even tho the last episode he has ended up with a few broken ribs for Oliver, we just need to try and calm him down" Patty said as she walked down the stairs, tying a robe around her waist.

"ok, so how do you plan to calm him down this time?"

Patty shrugged, unfazed, as another loud BANG echoed from the valley. “We throw yarn at him until he finishes his episode.”

“THAT’S the plan!?” Y/N shouted. “Y’all don’t have a bat or like—tranquilizer cupcakes or something?!”

Veena was already stuffing colorful yarn balls into a tote bag like a baseball pitcher preparing for war. “Nope. We improvise. And also—cupcakes are for after.”

Patty pointed dramatically. “To the Craft Plaza!"

Outside, Rocky was stomping around with one eye popped out of its socket. He howled, swinging a garden gnome like a club.

Y/N ducked behind a barrel. “What in the Looney Tunes is this man’s problem?!”

Oliver appeared from behind a bush, hair messy holding his hat to his chest. “Okay, okay, I have a plan. It’s dumb. But it worked once before.”

“Does it involve getting body-slammed?” Y/N asked flatly.

“No,” Oliver said. “Well—a little. But listen, we need to lure Rocky to my barn, Veena and Patty are going to make nets so there and we can trap him, so who's going to get chased by him?"

Everyone was silent... silently looking at Y/N. "No, nuh uh, not in a million years am I going to be chased, MAYBE AND MOST LIKELY, to my death by that."

Everyone went to the barn to secure the net to some trees around the area, while Y/N was chased down by none other than Rocky.

Y/N ran like their life depended on it, because it kind of did.

“THIS IS SO STUPID!” they screamed, dodging the gnome Rocky picked up. “I DON'T EVEN LIVE HERE!”

“RUN FASTER!” Veena shouted from the treetops, holding two balls of yarn like twin grenades. “We’re almost ready!”

“DEFINE ALMOST—AAAAHH!”

Y/N’s lungs were on fire.

“WHY IS HE SO FAST?!” they screamed, ducking as Rocky hurled a mailbox like it weighed nothing. “HE’S BUILT LIKE A TRUCK BUT RUNS LIKE A MOTORCYCLE!”

From behind a tree, Oliver yelled, “Just a little farther! You’re doing amazing!”

“THAT’S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, YOU’RE NOT BEING HUNTED!”

Y/N turned the corner, Oliver waving like a crazy man. “Through the laundry lines! Trust me!”

Y/N dove under a row of floral bedsheets, accidentally getting slapped in the face by someone’s polka-dot bloomers.

"THIS IS THE MOST CARTOONISH EVENT THAT CAN EVER HAPPEN RIGHT NOW AND I AM NOT OK WITH IT"

As Y/N tried to take the bloomers of their face, Rocky caught up to them. Slowing down, breathing hard, staring right in their eyes...

"You better look at me with BOTH eyes is you want to chase me like a lunatic, yeah, yeah GET THAT EYE BACK IN YO SOCKET"

Rocky was dumbfounded, mouth open, picking up his eye, putting it back where it belongs.

BOING.

Veena and Patty dropped the net.

Silence.

Y/N flopped to the grass, gasping. “I. Am suing. All of you. Emotionally.”

“Congrats. You just survived your first Threadville Rampage.” Patty said with a proud smile.

“Next time,” Y/N wheezed, “I’m leading the cupcake party.”

“Next time?” Oliver grinned. “So you’re staying?”

Y/N remained silent, looking up at the stars.

Oliver ran over and knelt beside them. “In any case, you did it. We did it.”

“I want a medal and a juice box.”

He laughed—soft and warm—and reached into his satchel. “Okay, it's no medal, but… I brought this.”

He held out a tiny packet of strawberry candies. The old-lady kind that were wrapped to look like actual strawberries.

Y/N stared at him, chest still rising and falling from the run. “Candy?”

“I panicked and grabbed the first thing I saw in Patty’s kitchen,” Oliver said, offering one with a sheepish smile. “Thought you deserved something sweet.”

Y/N blinked, then took the candy, their fingers brushing his. “Thanks… That was actually kind of sweet.”

Oliver’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, you were kind of heroic.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So the recent reblog made me think, can I get a one shot where Reader is in love with Painter, and gets a chance to fix him since his document says the damage from his overclocking is repairable, but they have to wrestle with the idea of "what if the instability is what I love about painter? What if I fix him and he's so different we aren't really compatible anymore?"

I may have a fascination with "Being in love with someone but then they change for the better and are unrecognizable"

"You mean to tell me...they could have fixed me after all this time?"

"Yeah, but I doubt they would've told you that." You muttered as you tapped away on some computer, while Painter remained hooked up to some wires and cables on the nearby desk.

Running diagnostics on an 80s-styled computer who had the processors of a supercomputer was no simple task, but after checking his document and doing a great deal of research, you've finally gotten to the root of the problem and learned how fixable it was.

All you had to do was replace his hardware and personality drivers, which were fried and severely degredated due to his frequent overclocking attempts.

Ever since his owner was murdered by some stupid "AI prompters" at Urbanshade, he's been trying to basically kill himself--but they only cared because he was too valuable as a digital mining machine, giving him promises to revisit the surface every six days so he could paint as much as he wished.

Yet he had lost that passion, along with whatever "good" personality he may have had before all of this happened.

But by some miracle, you got him out of the blacksite.

During the Expendable protocol, they tasked you with destroying him due to the immense loss of life he caused thanks to Sebastian hooking him up to the NAVI system, enabling him to misguide operatives and gun down whoever he pleased with the turrets.

You had a different plan, though, and had them convinced you destroyed him--when in reality, Sebastian helped you smuggle him out and away from the blacksite in a box.

You had plans to quit Urbanshade after the lockdown, anyways, being one of the few survivors who knew fully well what Painter was capable of.

Not only that, but you were the only person who truly showed him sympathy over his loss.

You've scheduled interviews with him, which were really just excuses for you to talk with and get to know him better, wanting to understand what his owner was like and how badly he missed painting.

Most days, he was too depressed to talk, and even got angry and shut himself off when he believed you were trying to get inside his head.

Then one day, he turned over a new leaf and created another piece of art for you--something he hasn't put effort into for the longest time.

It was a beautiful valley. His ideal place to live, where he could see the clouds and the birds and the sky anytime he wanted to. Without Urbanshade telling him what to do and how long he could watch.

That image was mysteriously uploaded to your phone, but nobody in the company has questioned it, so you have it as your lockscreen.

Since then, he's warmed up to you a lot more. But he was still quite moody, his unstable drivers making it hard to predict his behavior from day to day.

That didn't deter you from wanting to spend more time with him, and as strange as it was...you felt drawn to the AI. You didn't like chatting with your coworkers as much, and even while in containment himself several months prior to the lockdown, Sebastian sarcastically asked if you were "in love" with Painter.

Your silence told him everything.

During the containment breach, you've seen Painter and overheard his voice on the intercoms he hijacked, gunning down people right before your eyes and luring Z-96 around the facility, although for some reason he never noticed you.

You feared he was too far gone in his newfound bloodlust, seeing all Urbanshade personnel as his enemies.

Still, you wanted to get him out of there and began working on a plan as soon as you were rescued.

After joining someone's expedition disguised as a prisoner, you stayed behind in the heavy containment unit where Painter's main body resided.

At first, he was annoyed and angry...until he recognized your face.

You managed to pull off the great heist when somebody finally got the crystal, taking advantage of the distractions to bring him to a remote location above the surface where Urbanshade couldn't track you.

Now you just had to fix what they've broken.

It didn't take long for Painter to figure out that you liked him, even after all the terror he's caused and he decided to accept your attempts at help.

While he couldn't exactly feel love like you could, he wanted to stay with you no matter what--and if that's what his version of saying "I love you back" was, then you were okay with that.

Now that he knew they could have reversed the damage this entire time, but simply chose not to...he believed this would be a good final "fuck you" to all of Urbanshade.

"If it's not too much to ask...I'd like a new body once all of this is said and done. With turret attachments to the arms, maybe?" Painter innocently asked. "Part of me misses commanding them and watching those poor saps scatter like rats. Hehehe.."

"Painter, you're not a war machine anymore." You turned away from your computer for a moment, frowning slightly. "I know all of that killing might've felt good. It might've felt justified, but..I thought you wanted to be passionate about art again."

".....then maybe turrets filled with paint will suffice." He grumbled, suddenly not looking all-that enthused. "I just HATE feeling so..confined. I've been relying on you too much." Then a sad face appeared on his screen. "I wanna protect you, in case those Urbanshade jerks do find us."

"We're perfectly safe here, I promise. Let's just figure out your hardware and personality stuff first. But I'll keep the robot body in mind."

Painter stayed quiet as you turned back to your task, his webcam zooming in and enhancing the screen you were on.

It was a bidding website, where he could see you looking for compatible hardware components. He had doubts you've find the same kind of technology his owner did when he was built, but...you had your ways.

You were once a huge tech wizard at Urbanshade, after all.

Once you found everything you needed, you could have easily ordered it right there and then, paying extra for the fast shipping....

Yet he saw your mouse lingering on the "order" button, and he frowned. He couldn't see your expression, so he didn't know what was going on or why you were hesitating. "What's wrong? Just order the parts."

"....Painter, something just occurred to me, and...I think we need to talk about it before moving forward with-"

"Nope. No, no, no. I don't wanna hear it right now. Can we save it until after you click that little button?" His voice grew more annoyed, and when you refused to do what he asked, he scowled. "Seriously? After everything we've done to get out of there, you're gonna pull this bull-?!"

"There's a high chance that if I replace your hardware and personality drivers, you won't be the same." You blurted out.

".....well, obviously." Painter scoffed, still not seeing the issue. "Isn't that what you wanted to do? To get rid of my homicidal tendencies? To make me forget the pain?? To revert me back to what I was meant to be?!"

"......."

It took him a few moments to analyze your saddened expression and understand why you seemed so concerned, but then he finally realized...

"Ohhh, I guess um....I haven't considered that.."

"You know what I'm talking about?"

"..you've only ever known me after Urbanshade snatched me up. That's when you first started feeling things for me." He spoke after a long pause. "You have no idea what I was like before. So you think we'll no longer be compatible if you go through with it. Is that right?"

"I know it sounds stupid and selfish. I can't revert Sebastian's mutations or undo all the suffering Eyefestation went through. But I know I can repair you. I have everything I need to do so." You sighed, wrestling with this huge moral dilemma as you glanced back at the screen. "I just....didn't think about this before. I don't know how much of you will really change, or if you'll even remember who I am."

"Jeez..that would kinda suck." He looked disappointed now, feeling guilty for snapping at you earlier. "I don't wanna forget the compassion you've shown me. And...I gotta remember at least some of Urbanshade, and what they took from me. You can't tweak my memory drives so that I can remember only certain things?"

"I wish it was that easy, but..it's not. I have to replace those components I mentioned, and I don't know how it'll affect your memory. This is pretty much an "all or nothing" procedure."

"Hm, well...I think it's worth trying. I'm trusting you with this, [y/n]. And you know I don't trust easily." He huffed, and you looked back at him, nodding your head. "Who knows? I might only forget about all those bloody murder sprees. Hehehe.."

"Maybe, but I'm sure I'll figure out something." You eventually decided, knowing that you had to repair him regardless. So you ordered the parts. "But you know...maybe we should get you some turret attachments. I snagged a blueprint of one."

"Aww, you love me enough to revisit the idea?"

"I love you enough to give you a means of self-defense, Painter."

"Urghh..alright. I promise they'll be reserved specifically for "self-defense"." He rolled his eyes, but then he smiled, glad that you were keeping your promise about fixing him.

Although considering it could completely alter his personality and even wipe his memories, he hopes that wouldn't become a serious problem.

[egoistsarchive]

Michael Kaiser Profile from Egoist Bible Vol.2 (2024)

Nationality: German.

Weapon: “Kaiser Impact”

Birthdate: December 25th.

Age: 19 years old (At the start of the Neo Egoist League)

Zodiac sign: Capricorn.

Birthplace: Berlin, Germany.

Family structure: Father, himself.

Height: 186 cm.

Foot size: 28 cm.

Eyesight: 0.9 in both eyes

Blood type: A.

Team: Bastard Munchen.

Dominant foot: Right.

Grip Strength: 80 kg.

Favorite soccer player: None.

Age started playing soccer: 15 years old.

Motto: "Become the symbol of the impossible"

Nickname: Blue Rose Emperor.

Strengths: Looking down on all other “humans”.

Weaknesses: I have a crazy bedhead. I wake up grumpy.

Favorite food: Bread crust rusks. When I was a kid, I used to make them with discarded bread from the sandwich shop in my neighborhood. The sugar and garlic flavor are so damn good.*

Disliked food: Milk. It brings back bad memories. And I simply hate the smell. Disgusting. Fucking nasty.

Best rice accompaniment: I don’t eat rice that often. Do tell me what’s good.

Hobbies: Reading. Psychology and Philosophy. I’m interested in the principles of human behavior.

Favorite season: Winter. Because loneliness suits me.

Favorite music: "Desperado" by Eagles.

Favorite movie: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Character color: Metallic Blue.

Favorite animal: Stray dogs.

Best subjects: I didn’t take classes seriously.

Weak subjects: I didn’t go to school so I don’t know.

Fetish: Face of Despair fetish. I want to taste the depth of that person.

What makes you happy: Being regarded as an enemy. Just thinking about destroying them gives me thrills.

What makes you sad: Presents. I don’t know how to react to them. Don’t fucking need them. Just get the fuck out.

Ideal type: Someone beautiful, intelligent, and affectionate. 

Last year’s valentine day chocolates: 800. I heard they were delivered to the team's clubhouse.

Sleep time: 8 hours (7 hours+1 hour nap)

Where do you wash first in the bath?: Left chest.

Favorite smartphone app: Health app. Every morning I check my pulse, and I feel alive looking at the numbers.

Mushroom or Bamboo Shoots?: What are you talking about? Chocolate? Mushroom is fine then.**

What made you cry recently: When I squeezed my neck, tears came out. I looked at my face in the mirror and laughed.***

At what age did you stop receiving presents from Santa?: Never received any. Santa doesn’t exist.

What did you ask for a Christmas present from Santa?: Freedom.

What would you do on your last day on earth?: Regret. Thinking of how I could’ve lived my life differently. If tomorrow were my last day, I think I'd regret it.

What would you do if you received 100 million yen?: Whatever. Maybe I’d buy a rose garden.

What do you do on your days off?: Take a long shower, read, think about people I want to kill and about myself, take a shit then go to sleep.

What would you be doing if you hadn’t discovered soccer?: Committing crime. Starving to death

Who is your favorite historical figure?: Nietzsche. Freud. Napoleon. I’d like to talk to these three.

If you could only bring one thing to a deserted island, what would it be?: My soccer ball. Where would you go if you had a time machine, to the past or the future?: The future. There’s no salvation in the past, so the future is better. I want to see if there is salvation in the future.

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

Notes:*…サンドイッチ屋で捨てるアレをもらって作ってた。 (...sandoitchi-ya de suteru Are o moratte tsukutteta) -> ”...made them using the stuff (bread) that was thrown away from the sandwich shop…”

**Kaiser is German so he wouldn’t know the legendary beef between Team Mushroom or Team Bamboo.

***Kaiser said 自分の首を絞めた時 (Jibun no kubi o shimeta toki) or “When I strangled my own neck”. The verb 首を絞める (kubi o shimeru) is “to wring the neck”, “to strangle.” 

Ness basically said the same thing in chapter.243 -> 自分で自分の首を絞���て･･･!?!?! (Jibun de jibun no kubi o shimete..!?) – and the official translated it as “He’s squeezing his own neck!?”, so we also went with ‘Squeeze’!

[jomiddlemarch]

The Gefilte Fish Line

“Wait, you actually like gefilte fish? I didn’t think anyone liked gefilte fish,” you said, enjoying the expression on Robby’s face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, which he was doing partly because you were speaking as if every word were italicized and partly because you knew what gefilte fish was.

“It’s not anthrax,” he said. He was leaning back in the blue plastic chair like it was your Bubbe Ruchel’s Barcalounger, more relaxed than he’d be at a bar. It felt like the ER staff lounge was his natural habitat and you wondered if his apartment was as basic as you imagined. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he had a second-hand Persian rug in his living room and a collection of well-used cookbooks, a guitar leaning against the wall. Throw pillows on the couch. A big fern going feral in its hanging flowerpot.

Maybe you wanted to be wrong. Maybe you just wanted to know, to be someone he invited over for a drink.

“It’s gelatinous except where it’s I don’t know, sort of bony? Like, the bones are gone, but the memory of bones is still in the mushed-up wet fish,” you said.

“Are you implying gefilte fish is haunted?” Robby said.

“That’s a very creative and expansive interpretation of what I just said,” you replied. “It’s grey, Robby. That’s not a good color for a food.”

“It’s not that bad. My Zeyde Irving liked lung—”

“Gefilte fish is fish baloney,” you interrupted, because you weren’t about to get derailed by offal. Though really, lung?

“It reminds me of my grandparents and their house. Of being a kid and feeling like things made sense,” he said. His eyes focused on some point far beyond your left shoulder, the past he remembered, a time when he was called Michael instead of Robby. Instead of quipping gefilte fish is your love language?, you asked a real question.

“Did they do a big Shabbat dinner?”

“I don’t know about big, but yeah, most Friday nights, Bubbe Esti made a roast chicken, lit the candles, said the prayer,” Robby replied.

“You miss it,” you said.

He shrugged, the gesture entirely familiar to you, of course and who wouldn’t mixed with a little fuck, how’d I get so old. If you were at a bar, perched on a barstool next to him, you’d let yourself lean into him a little then. If you were at his apartment, you’d take a sip of the better-than-decent red he’d poured you and hold his gaze with your lips on the rim of the glass.

“It was a long time ago. Like another life,” he said.

“So, gefilte fish is your through-line? Robby, you’re killing me. I mean, it couldn’t be kugel? Mandelbrot?”

“You left out rugelach and babka,” he laughed. “I don’t like sweet things that much.”

“I’ve seen you destroy a Snickers in under seven seconds,” you countered. You’d seen a lot of impressive maneuvers in the ER, but Robby dispatching an entire Snickers was in the top five, top three when you factored in the lack of grossness. He was a neat eater and there were never any crumbs in his beard.

“The vending machines in my intern year had mostly weird, off-brand crap. I made it through that year on Snickers, coffee, and graham crackers from the nursing station. It’s not like they give me a lot of warm fuzzy feelings,” he said.

“I don’t think the rest of the ER staff would appreciate me bringing in gefilte fish for you as a pick-me-up. It’s not exactly work-place friendly,” you said.

Robby nodded and you thought, what the hell and how you were off consults next week, so if it went to shit in the next few minutes, you’d have no reason to see him for another four months, which was plenty of time for any lingering embarrassment to drift away, like the smoke from the blown wick of the Shabbos candles.

“There’s a new kosher deli across town, near my apartment. They have gefilte fish and knishes and brisket. If you wanted to come over on Friday night, we could try to do your Bubbe Esti proud,” you said.

“I won’t be able to eat all the gefilte fish myself,” he said, which was not a no. It was emphatically not a no and it was a clear invocation of a dinner with gefilte fish as a side dish and you would never have believed you could be so turned on thinking about gefilte fish in any way, shape or form. Robby was good with a scalpel—he could take care of serving it and you could admire the way his hands moved, the exquisite economy of each gesture.

“I have a cat named Gilligan who’ll eat any kind of fish,” you replied. 

“After the Island?”

“No, Carol Gilligan. Ethics of care. Psychiatry over here, remember?” you said.

“I remember. Sounds like you can teach me some bioethics and I can teach you to like gefilte fish,” he said. “Or I can make a really good impression on your cat. Win-win.”

[themetalvirus]

how egghog silver and shadow realize something is wrong and how they run away. 2k words.

while eggman is gathering the chaos emeralds for a nefarious plot, silver enters the room where he's keeping them on his own. he thinks about something amy said about them being able to turn thoughts into power. if they're so powerful, maybe he could use them to see the future himself…

he puts his hands on them and thinks and hopes. he's trained and honed his powers for this, so it HAS to work. and it does – a portal opens. after a moment's hesitation, he takes the two chaos emeralds he used through the portal. he's glad he did, because the portal closes behind him.

suddenly he can't breathe. there's too much smoke and ash in the air, and his sensitive lungs are immediately very unhappy. as he's coughing and hacking, he notices just how barren everything is. how orange and dark. there are no people here, but there seems to be a lot of metal and machines. he wants to know what happened so he can better prevent this from happening, and in turn prevent his birth parents from suffering, prevent the pain of what happened to him from happening to anyone else by any means necessary. he seeks out a library or really anywhere with books. books are more reliable than people anyway. he's in luck and finds an old library with much of its delicate inventory undamaged by the fires, and he gets to work picking out everything that seems relevant in his pk before opening them in a circle around him twilight sparkle style and gets to skimming.

there's a lot of things about daddy. they are not flattering. there are a lot of mentions of him and his brothers. how they were such powerful tools that they were the key to eggman being able to destroy the world. he couldn't have done it without his sons.

silver doesn't take this well. he believes the book is propaganda or lies, but the more he reads, the more affirmations there are that this could be true. he's in denial, but he makes sure to put the books somewhere they won't burn before he heads outside and tries to find material proof that it's lies.

he flies around in a desperate bid to see anything but metal buildings and scrap, but he can't. everything left behind is familiar to him in style and structure. he comes across a large drilling machine that spans the area of a small city and the oil oozing out of it is burning brighter than anything else he's seen, fueling the flames of everything else around it. it has eggman's logo still clearly emblazoned all over it.

his heart drops, he panics, he covers his mouth and hyperventilates and tries to come to grips with this but he can't. the kicker is that he knows eggman has time traveled before and told his sons it was too dangerous and terrible to join him. eggman had to have known this and he didn't care. he knew and he didn't care. silver caused his own abandonment, helped kill his own parents he'll never meet or remember, and his daddy wanted it that way. he can't take it anymore and goes back to... his time? but it isn't his time, is it. his time is on fire and the world is dead. his time is nowhere.

he tries to tell his brothers about what he saw, but shadow is too walled off to talk to and sonic believes what he saw was misleading or a lie. shadow says that silver said himself that the chaos emeralds turns thoughts into power. it could all be in his head.

help isn't here and he can't let dad know what happened. he leaves the next morning after a sleepless night for a "mission", but he's just looking for amy. she's the only person who could possibly believe him and HELP him. his family wouldn't do anything.

this whole time he's in emotional anguish, crying so hard he's thrown up a few times already, and when amy sees him she thinks he's faking it like he always does. until he starts gagging and begging. he would never lay himself this low for a lie. concerned, she takes him to tails, who is having a much harder time believing that this is real and not a trick to find out where his workshop is or take advantage of him. he's a bully and a tyrant and he wouldn't feel safe having silver in his house. amy forces him to accept anyway. amy awkwardly offers silver new clothes, and he accepts. they're ill-fitting and not his style but he's already got his fur matted with tears and rank with Things so he gives up his dignity. tails is unhappy, silver is panicking and throwing up all night while amy tries and fails to comfort him, and eggman becomes deeply suspicious of silver not coming back. especially when he can't track his precious son boy's location. hmm.

he pulls shadow and sonic into his main Scheming Room and say anything silver told them was a lie and a trick. amy was brainwashing him. they need to report any sightings to him immediately and bring him back at all costs. meanwhile silver has told amy about eggman's scheme and that eggman already has a few emeralds. his first order of business to save his future is to steal them back. tails has a conversation with him first. if you want to actually save your future, you'll be completely out of any time. an anomaly. your parents would most likely never exist.

silver thinks this over for a surprisingly short pause in the conversation, looking at his hands. he says yes, i'll accept it. i don't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else. ever.

jumping forward a little bit, the first time silver sees his family again they're surprised to see him out of uniform and actually helping amy. he pleads with them, saying they've got it all wrong, they're destroying the future and the world, but they all say that can't possibly be right. the future must be destroyed because we haven't tried hard enough, haven't gotten rid of amy, or because YOU abandoned us. silver openly cries, and eggman rolls his eyes and says he isn't going to fall for it. silver chokes on his own spit and sputters about how he was abandoned and they don't care, they don't care that everyone was dead and the sky was blotted out with thick smoke, they didn't care that his lungs are permanently damaged just from being in that world as an infant, they don't care.

shadow and sonic are confused and worried and try to step over to comfort him however they can, but eggman says boys. here. now. they can't disobey. they get into the eggmobile and leave him on his own. and that's what he thinks is his final goodbye to his family, home, and previous life. shadow complicates things.

-

shadow is unsettled by silver's distress. privately, he believes that silver wouldn't lie to them and wouldn't leave them over a lie. sonic repeatedly tries to soothe shadow's apparent worry, but it isn't working. despite everything, shadow hopes that things will just go back to normal, silver will realize how foolish he's being, and he'll come back home and everything will be okay.

while eggman is working on getting the chaos emeralds back from amy and friends (hes ultimately unsuccessful this time), he seems very busy and distracted. more than usual. shadow is particularly sensitive to eggman's moods, so it's apparent to him. on a day where he's keeping watch while eggman works on some sensitive files and plotting work, eggman gets up and leaves the room to check something. shadow is left alone with a computer with every single permission possible, including the files on him and his brothers. he wonders what eggman could have lied to him about. he pushes through fear and sits down in a chair much too large for him and opens up the files labeled with his name. there's a lot of files from someone named gerald. design notes labeled to be about 65 years old now. there's police filings, reports, personal journals, scientific studies, newspapers, obituaries... there's a strange fixation on a little girl named maria that died somewhere called "the ark".

she was only 4.

he's never met this girl, so he feels no more than a vague sadness. this whole thing is so... odd. but all these design notes are about him, specifically theories about how he would grow up, and the practical designs seem to all be based around a fetus, and there's some stuff about aliens, and... eggman did not make him. eggman stole him.

right as he realizes the gravity of this, eggman clears his throat in the doorway.

so? what do you think about what you've learned? shadow is frozen as eggman steps closer. does this change anything?

eggman watches closely. shadow is sweating and he swallows and he says no, nothing changed at all. eggman says good, good. you passed my little test. do you think so low of me that i would leave my computer unattended without reason? you silly little thing.

and that's that. shadow doesn't change anything about his routine, but he's deeply troubled by several fundamental truths he knew about himself were wrong. he was lied to for so long and eggman didn't care... that pings another worry of his. silver was right. he knows a lot more than he did a few months ago, but he assumes things will be normal. though he's not able to do his job as well, and seeing silver again makes him scared and want to go with him and say he was right all along, and seeing rouge makes him tempted to leave with her, and he has to shake it all off because he really doesn't want to get in trouble.

it's monthly checkup time, and eggman is being very thorough. a bit more thorough than usual, but it's okay, it makes sense, it's been a while since the last full physical. this is normal. eggman starts sterilizing him, helping him clean himself thoroughly down to the skin, and this is normal and it's fine. eggman puts on a full sterile hazmat suit in blinding white and this is normal, he's put in a hospital gown and plastic booties and that's normal, and eggman is leading him by the shoulders to the back room he's only been in for surgical upgrades and that's normal.

eggman opens the door, still firmly holding his shoulders. the long-term stasis chamber with comfortable cushions is open and waiting like a casket. the screens around it are alight with information, some of which he's seen before. notes on memory extraction.

eggman left the notes up on purpose. this is shadow's final test of loyalty, staring into the abyss. shadow does not pass it. he teleports away, using all his strength to teleport over and over again to somewhere far away, not fussed about where it is in particular as long as it's AWAY.

he ends up in the woods somewhere, dazed and confused and looking for some kind of help, any help at all. tails reports to amy that there's been odd energies somewhere in the deep woods and she should investigate.

she sees shadow in a hospital gown, ekg/telemetry electrodes stuck all over him, fur ruffled and smelling like chemicals. his eyes are somewhere else, and he begs her for help and shelter because he needs to GET. AWAY.

she takes him to tails, tails is unhappy, silver is shocked but can't have a proper reunion with shadow because he seems to be in shock and he isn't talking much. silver is still once again in tears. tails takes shadow to the guest room where silver was staying and he falls asleep on the floor not long after, a spare blanket draped over him. he always did steal sleep whenever he could. when he wakes up, he's disoriented and doesn't believe this is real. he wanders around until he runs into tails, and tails says he's not dreaming. welcome to team amy. the world pops into clear focus for the first time in over a day and he collapses as he finally absorbs what happened to him and how badly this could end. dad was going to kill him. he can never go back.

[shiani25]

Story request: screamer shenanigans that make Megatron go 'in the end he's still my treacherous idiot'

(coming from a fellow megastar lover ehehehe)

If it's vague I'm up for a follow up👀✌️

The halls of the Nemesis echoed with the familiar sounds of bickering, metal clanking, and a shrill, unmistakable voice.

“You dare question my brilliance?!” Starscream’s voice carried through the corridors, grating and theatrical as always. “I am second-in-command, the air commander, the most cunning—”

A loud explosion interrupted his self-aggrandizing monologue, followed by the sound of scraping metal and something heavy tumbling down.

Megatron groaned, his crimson optics narrowing as he slowly rose from his throne. He knew the source of this disaster all too well.

When he arrived at the scene, he found Starscream tangled in some cables, his wings awkwardly bent. Smoke billowed from a hole in the wall nearby, where the explosion had left a perfectly Starscream-shaped imprint.

“What... did you do this time?” Megatron growled, crossing his arms.

Starscream’s optics flickered as he looked up, his dignity even more damaged than his body. “It was... Thundercracker’s fault!”

Thundercracker, standing a few meters away with his arms crossed, scowled. “I wasn’t even here. I just got back from patrol.”

Starscream’s optics darted back and forth, his processor working overtime to come up with a believable lie. “Uh... Then it was Skywarp! He... he... teleported and startled me!”

Skywarp appeared out of nowhere. “I didn’t do anything! This time...” he added, rubbing the back of his head. “I was busy putting glue on Soundwave’s cassettes.”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nasal plating. “You’re all idiots...”

Starscream finally extricated himself from the pile of debris, brushing dust off his armor. He stood tall, attempting to regain his usual air of superiority despite his crooked wing. Seeing he had no one else to blame for this commotion he finally explained. “I was merely testing a new weapon I designed. It would have guaranteed our victory over the Autobots!”

Megatron looked past him at the smoldering crater. “A weapon.”

“Yes!” Starscream puffed out his chest. “A powerful rocket launcher with advanced targeting systems. It would have destroyed Optimus Prime in one blow!”

“...So where is this rocket launcher now?”

Starscream’s face fell. He glanced over his shoulder at the blackened hole in the wall, then at the far end of the hangar, where the twisted remains of his ‘masterpiece’ lay half-melted.

“There were... a few minor malfunctions...” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“A few?” Megatron repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Your ‘weapon’ made a hole in my warship!”

“But, mighty Megatron!” Starscream’s tone shifted to pleading. “Think of the potential! Once I iron out the... um... minor bugs, it will be unstoppable!”

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Like the time you built that weather machine that ended up freezing yourself in a block of ice?”

Starscream flinched. “I... I was testing the limits of its power.”

“Or the time you tried to create an army of clones and they revolted because they couldn’t stand your voice?”

Starscream’s wings drooped. “They were... defective.”

“Or how about the time you reprogrammed the Space Bridge and accidentally teleported yourself to the bottom of the ocean?”

“That was... a navigation error, and a very educational trip.” Starscream muttered, optics fixed on the floor.

Megatron heaved a long, suffering sigh. How many times had this played out? Starscream, with his insatiable ambition and harebrained schemes, always striving to prove himself but constantly tripping over his own arrogance. It was like a never-ending loop of chaos and destruction.

Yet, despite everything, Megatron couldn’t deny that Starscream’s antics often yielded unexpected results. Sometimes, the seeker’s wild experiments led to breakthroughs—usually after several disastrous failures, but still. And in battle, there was no better air commander. When he was focused and not distracted by delusions of grandeur, Starscream was undeniably brilliant.

Megatron’s shoulders slumped as he watched Starscream attempt to straighten his damaged wing, wincing at the pain. The seeker’s pride was far more bruised than his body.

“Get yourself repaired, Starscream,” Megatron said, his tone surprisingly soft. “And stop blowing holes in my ship!”

Starscream’s optics brightened. “Of course, mighty Megatron! I shall refine my designs and—”

And then explosion rocked the ship. The emergency lights flickered red, and klaxons blared.

Starscream glanced around. “Oh. That might be unrelated.”

“Soundwave!” Megatron barked.

“Affirmative. Starscream’s laboratory has been compromised. External plating breached.”

“Starscream!”

“Okay, fine! I may have been running an experiment on sentient nanites. They were supposed to clean the ship! How was I supposed to know they’d develop a sense of rebellion?”

Megatron’s servo hit his faceplate with a resounding clang. “of course they would rebel, they are your treacherous creations after all. You have one cycle to fix this.”

Starscream saluted with more enthusiasm than sense. “You can count on me!” He dashed off, shouting, “Nanites! Cease your uprising! I am your creator!”

Megatron sank back onto his throne, the ship still rumbling.

“Starscream is an idiot,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “But at least he’s my idiot.”

In the distance, a loud crash echoed through the halls, followed by Starscream’s indignant squawk. Megatron closed his optics. Maybe if he sat very still, the chaos would just pass by.

It did not.

BONUS!

It was another day aboard the Nemesis, and Megatron was already nursing a processor ache. He could hear Starscream’s shrill voice echoing through the hallways, a sure sign that disaster was imminent.

He stomped down the corridor, servos clanking with impatience. The seeker was up to something again—probably another one of his harebrained schemes to overthrow him. Not that any of them ever worked.

When he reached the main control room, the sight before him was... something. Starscream stood on top of the main console, striking a dramatic pose, his wings flared out as he pointed towards a holographic display of Earth. The other Decepticons stood around, looking various shades of bored or confused.

“Behold!” Starscream announced, his voice dripping with self-importance. “I have devised the ultimate plan to crush the Autobots and seize power once and for all!”

Megatron groaned. Here we go again.

Starscream tapped the console with his foot, and the hologram zoomed in on a human amusement park, complete with a giant roller coaster, cotton candy stands, and costumed mascots waving at guests.

Thundercracker frowned. “Uh, Starscream? What does a human playground have to do with conquering the Autobots?”

“Silence!” Starscream snapped, waving his arm theatrically. “This is no mere playground! This is the perfect location to lay an ambush! We shall disguise ourselves as attractions, lure the Autobots in, and destroy them when they least expect it!”

Skywarp snorted. “Disguise ourselves as attractions? What are you gonna be? A bumper car?”

Starscream shot him a withering glare. “Of course not! I will be... the roller coaster!”

The room fell silent. Every optic turned to stare at Starscream, who stood there, chest puffed out with pride as if he’d just delivered the most brilliant plan in Decepticon history.

Megatron’s optic twitched. “No, I’m going back to recharge. It is too much of Starscream’s brilliant plans for one day. “

[amsgrey]

Deja Vu II

Part I

Okay so, I have been researching more and trying to get things at least somewhat accurate before I wrote part two. In the first part, I wrote TBI, with further research, what I was actually trying to write is an Anoxic brain Injury (still technically a TBI). The whole idea there is when the brain is starved of oxygen critical functions are impacted and there can be a whole bunch of differing symptoms after it. OBVIOUSLY, I am NOT a medical professional, so take everything with a big ol' grain of salt. I am thinking of writing some more parts to this but purely when I have time bc adult life sucks. I kept the ending open but also al actual end, unlike the first part. Hope it is somewhat enjoyable.

WARNINGS: Medical stay, seizures, talk of needles + medical procedures, hospitals, Will and Jay being their usually angsty selves, poor writing and zero editing

"Will?"

Abrams looked between the Halsteads, not sure what his place was. Everyone remembered when Pat Halstead passed, mostly because the Halstead brawl was talked about for weeks. Will Halstead was known for causing headaches for plenty of people around Med, he was the topic of gossip all through the building.

Abrams was saved by the bell - literally. His pager started beeping, excusing him from the brewing storm between the brothers.

"I'll put in for the tests," He tossed over his shoulder, disappearing into the stream of medical workers.

"Will." Jay snapped, glowering at his brother.

Will scrubbed a hand down his face, "Abrams needs to run more tests."

"More tests?" Jay pressed, "What just happened, Will?"

Will shook his head, looking at his younger brother he knew, telling Jay how bad this might be, would destroy him. Jay hated hospitals, hated medical things in general. Will couldn't look him in the eye and plant the same fear he had gnawing at him.

"I don't know, Jay," Will sighed, "I'm not a neurologist."

Jay didn't want to accept his answer, but Will didn't give him much of a chance. He turned back to your hospital room, forcing a smile as he entered.

"What was that about?" You asked, exactly where they left you.

"Just more tests," Will smiled. He stopped at the top of your bed, checking you over with doctor's eyes. You could always tell when he flipped between Big Brother and Doctor because Big Brother Will wore his emotions. Doctor Will was better at keeping his poker face like he was now.

Will's eyes flittered around the monitors before settling back on yours. His eyes softened, the slight furrow in his brow disappearing and a smile pulling on his lips again.

"You feeling alright?"

You nodded, "I'm just tired."

Will nodded, he reached out and brushed the hair off your forehead, "Get some sleep, yeah? We'll be here the whole time."

Jay reached out and squeezed your hand, before pulling up the blanket and tucking you in.

A few hours later, you were sitting up in your hospital bed while a Neurology Tech attached electrodes to your scalp. Jay had left for home, for a shower and clean clothes. He promised he would bring back your blanket and pillow and some other stuff to make you more comfortable, seeming Will said it would be okay.

While he was gone, Will sat at the end of the bed, holding your hand through the Electrode placement. After the Tech finished, you were attached to a monitor with wires upon wires, all differing colours. The tech apologized for the cap that sat over all the leads, promising it wasn’t too bad.

“it’s a new fashion trend,” you joked, smiling at the tech, “Nuero floor chic.”

The tech laughed, continuing her work. When she was done, she walked you through what she had done. Explaining the placement and the leads, and how it all worked.

"This is your personal EEG," She explained, gesturing to the boxy machine on wheels that your wires were attached to, "Try to keep it close."

She explained a few more things, then promised to return in a little while. In her absence, Dr. Abrams stopped through again. He looked over the techs work, mumbling to himself and making medical comments only Will understood.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

You had already taken a nap, so you weren't as tired as you had been.

"Sick of sitting," You said, stretching your legs and accidentally nudging Will in the process. Will playfully batted at your feet, feigning offence.

Abrams pulled at the EEG machine on wheels, testing how the wheels glided, "If you are feeling up for it, you can go for a small walk."

You lit up, "I can?"

"If you take it slow," Abrams ordered, "And Will is by your side."

Will nodded, "Are you feeling up for it?"

"Yes."

Will helped you detangle yourself from the blanket, letting you adjust to being fully upright for the first time that day. Your feet dangled over the bed as you took a moment to compose your spinning head. Will pulled a pair of socks over your bare feet, muttering something about keeping your toes warm. He held your arm as you stood up, supporting your weight as your body adjusted again.

"You alright?"

"Mmm," You responded, focused on staying upright.

"Okay," Will wrapped an arm around your waist, "One step at a time, we'll try to make it to the nurse's station and back."

It was slow going. With every step you took, it felt like the world was twisting, like walking through an earthquake. Will's arms hovered around you, only holding you up when you needed the support. He was so steady in his support, his warm presence keeping you grounded and calm.

Two steps outside of your room, Jay bounded up with your pillow and blanket tucked under his arm.

"They're upright," He commented, "Nice hair, too."

He reached out and pretended to ruffle your hair, careful to avoid touching the wires around your head. You reached out to smack his hand, but missed drastically.

You frowned at Jay, frustration barely contained, "Sshut. uphh."

The words sounded fumbled through your gritted teeth. Abrams had mentioned how you needed to take things slow and Will tried to tell you that it might be frustrating at first, but you weren’t expecting to feel such anger. It was gnawing away at you. A week ago you were dancing around with Makayla, wrangling her for a weekend while Kim and Adam worked. You had run around, danced, sung, every little thing that made Makayla happy. Not you hardly knew how to move your feet, could hardly tell what direction was up.

The anger grew and held firm in your head, making itself known with its red cloud fogging your mind.

Will grabbed your hand, "You okay?"

"Hmm."

Your vision blurred, everything swaying and twisting as you fell forward.

Will was faster than Jay was, for once. He saw the signs a mile away, already braced for when you would fall. He held you to his chest, lowering both of you to the ground and cradling your head as your body started to convulse.

Jay immediately dropped what he was carrying, falling to his knees by your side. Jay looked up at Will trying to ask silently what to do, but the eldest Halstead had gone full doctor mode.

"Need some help over here!" Will shouted, calling for the nurse's assistance.

"I need you to breathe,” Will spoke with such certainty, like he was treating any other patient.

“You’re okay,” Will kept repeating, “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Jay was ushered out of the way by the nurses, who crowded in with monitors and equipment to help Dr Halstead. All Jay could do was watch helplessly.

Jay held his breath as the medical team got you off the ground and transferred you back to the hospital bed. The leads they had removed that morning were reattached, placed on your ashen skin.

Dr Abrams rushed into the room and ordered Will to get out of his way, the forced politeness gone now the situation was emergent. Will stepped back, somewhat dubiously, letting Abrams run his team.

“How did you do that?” Jay asked when will stood by his side, the pair of them watching as Abrams and the team worked.

With a dose of meds, the convulsions stopped, but the team checked over the leads and kept working.

“Do what?” Will asked, turning to look at his brother. Jay had grown pale, the fear and anxiety he felt spelt out across his features. His eyes kept darting from you to the heart monitor screen like it was going to flatline.

“Stay so calm?” Jay whispered, taking a deep breath for the first time in the last few minutes. The nurses placed a mask over your face, securing it behind your head and then leaving the Halsteads and Abrams in the room.

“Jay…” Will tried to find a way to explain it, how he could just shut off his fear in that moment to help you. But he couldn’t find the words.

“She’s stable,” Abrams spoke in the silence that had formed, “From now on, we’ll keep giving them diazepam to keep them relaxed. No more strolls, even if it is supervised.”

Will nodded, taking it in.

Abrams was mostly speaking to Will, Jay was by your side, focused solely on you. He held your hand, careful to avoid the IV that was in the back of it. He watched you breathe, every-time you exhaled, he watched the mask fog up. He listened to the quiet puffs and the melodic beeping. You were okay. He kept trying to force himself to remember that. You were okay.

“Hopefully we can get this under control. In the meantime, we’ll keep monitoring, keep on with the EEG testing for the next few hours. Hopefully we’ll learn more.”

Will nodded, clapping Abrams on the back, “Thanks, Sam.”

The big brother in him wanted to press for answers, but the doctor in him knew that sometimes Doctors didn’t have the answers. If Abrams knew, he would share.

Will did a check over you and the monitors with his eyes, again. Then looked over to Jay, who looked completely deflated. It was no secret that Jay hated hospitals and medical treatment in general, especially needles. Spending time in hospitals usually gave him the creeps and he would always say to Will, “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

But Jay hadn’t complained even once. Not when he was watching the IV get put in your hand, or while you were attached to countless machines. Will knew it was because he felt hopeless. The same look that he wore at their dads bedside he wore now. Will stood and stared for a while, the memory playing in his mind in time with real life. This was different. You weren’t on life support like your father had been, things were different. That didn’t change the memories Will had of his dads last moments plaguing his mind.

“I stayed calm because i had too,” Will finally spoke. Jay looked up, watching his brother cross his arms over his chest and take a deep breath.

“I had to stay calm, for her.”

Jay shook his head, “I just froze, Will. And you-“

“Trained for years to react in medical emergency situations, spent years working the ER,” Will interrupted.

“Jay,” Will reached over the bed and gave jays shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I do this every day. I know how to tune out the emotions and focus on medical stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Will sat on one of the chairs, mirroring Jay across the bed, “Listen. I could never get used to being shot at, could never be shot at and react how you do. Because I’m not trained, I’m not good at that. You aren’t a doctor Jay, stop beating yourself up over something that was a basic human reaction.”

Jay didn't answer, letting silence fall over the room. Neither one of the brothers was up for a conversation, mostly just consumed with their own thoughts as they watched you sleep.

You had stirred a few times in the coming hours but mostly stayed sleeping. Will told Jay that it was a combination of the medication and the stress of recent events catching up with you. In his words, it was nothing to worry about.

"Hey," A soft voice called from the door, Will and Jay stood to greet Hailey as she stepped into the room.

Will and Jay had been off work since you had gotten worse, staying by your side or close by ever since. Both Voight and Goodwin understood, giving them all the time they needed.

"I brought some supplies," Hailey joked, handing food over to the brothers, "And I stopped by home and Wills, got some clothes."

"Thanks, Hailey."

"Yeah, Of course." Hailey stood by Jay, taking his hand for his comfort. "How's she doing?"

Will relayed the events of the day, the incident in the hall and all the things that had happened since. Things were moving fast, more tests and hopeful treatment plans were being talked about.

"It'll be okay," Will finished, mostly trying to convince Jay more than himself. He knew the look on Abram's face, knew that everything was far from okay.

Will told Jay to go back to work after a week, promising him that sitting by your side was a one-man job. Will had spoken to Goodwin, who agreed to let him take his occurred PTO for as long as he needed. So for the three weeks you were in the hospital he stayed by your side. You weren't used to having Will there every single minute of every single day, but you didn't mind it too much. Mostly he helped you go on walks or watched over you like a personal nurse. You knew that he and Jay were worried, but the overprotective brother act was suffocating at times. During the last week of your stay, you managed to convince him to let you have more space - that when he left the room you wouldn't make a break for it like Jay would. He agreed hesitantly, mostly hanging around from lunch until you fell asleep at night. You complained to Jay when he visited every day, but you were thankful he was there.

On the last few days of your time in the hospital, you were more independent, nothing like what you were before the accident, but more than before. You could walk small distances unsupported and some of your fine motor skills came back. The PT had told you it was common after TBI's for patients to lose control of their movements and motor skills, she promised that you would get better as time went on.

Dr Abrams had spoken to Will and Jay about Rehabilitation centres, there were a few in the city that focused on TBI rehabilitation but Will had been dragging his feet. Jay wanted to do what was best for you, even if it meant you might have to stay in a rehab facility. Will had a sour taste in his mouth over it all.

"Come in," Goodwin called from inside her office.

Will pushed open the door, greeting Sharon and Peter.

"What can I help you with, Doctor Halstead?" Sharon asked after Peter had left.

Will explained his plan, reviewing all the details he had sorted out. When he finished, Sharon was nodding in approval.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am," Will was sure nothing could change his mind now.

"Okay then, I will talk to Dr Archer, and see how we can help," Goodwin bid Will the best, letting him continue on his way.

Will met Jay right outside your room, almost running straight into him.

"Will," Jay grabbed his brother's arm, "We need to talk about the rehab facility-"

"Yeah," Will nodded, "I know, i have a plan."

Will ushed Jay back into the room. He gestured to Jay to a chair and took a seat at the end of your bed. You were expecting him to stop by, sitting up properly on the bed expecting some kind of serious conversation from the eldest Halstead.

"What is it, doc?" You joked.

Will smiled, reaching out and holding your hand, "I have spoken to Dr Abrams and Sharon Goodwin and I have decided that we won't be trying to find a rehab facility."

Jay sighed, he had been arguing with Will about this for the better part of the week. "Will-"

"I think you should stay with me," Will told you directly, "I've taken a leave of absence, I think you should be home and recovering."

You looked to Jay, who was just as surprised. Jay hardly got caught off guard by Will, right now he had never been more surprised.

"Are you sure?" Jay broke the silence that settled over the room.

"If that is what you want?"

You could feel the joy blooming in your chest, a wide smile breaking across your face, "Yes. Please, yes."

Will mirrored your grin, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead. At times like this, you were reminded how much Will and Jay became like parents to you after your father's death. Although it was painful for all of you, you didn't have a good relationship with your father. He was never caring or affectionate, he never came to your sports games or awards, that was all Jay and Will. They stepped up and took care of you, they always have and promised they always would. You were so drained from the last few days of tests and the week in the hospital that you felt like you might burst into tears.

Will could sense your fragile state, staying sitting by your side and holding your hand. Jay got to his feet and pulled you into a hug too, then clapped Will on the back. 

“So when am I allowed out?” You pressed, hoping to be home and somewhere familiar. 

“Slow your roll,” Jay laughed, “There's still things that need to be organized.” 

You let out a loud dramatic sigh, “I hate it here,” You whined. 

Will wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him and playfully messing up your hair, “It won't be too much longer, promise.” 

“Pinky promise?” You raised your finger, dramatically pouting. 

Will indulged you, linking his pinky through yours and giving you a serious stare, “Pinky promise.”

taglist: @halstead-severide-fan

[fatuismooches]

TCG with Dottore but depending on how the match is going he'd either be really smug or a sore-loser

It doesn't matter which Segment and how old he is, each version of him gets a little too heated over the card game

Difference is that the younger ones would just grumble that the game was stupid anyway and leave it at that, while the older ones would not so subtly ask for a rematch but with a different game, such as chess (where he doesn't have to rely on how lucky his card draws are) to defend his ego

Omega is the outlier. If he loses he'll play it off as if he did it on purpose to leave the game quicker since he has work to do (he's internally upset)

Initially, Dottore and the segments really didn't care about TCG. In fact, most of them didn't even hear about it until you, very excitedly, introduced the card game to them. (You needed to use your team, consisting of Dottore segments of course, to destroy someone.) They say they don't care about silly games, but in reality, they secretly get a bit too interested for their own good. They believe that the rules are simple enough, skimming over the rules and characteristics of each card. Surely, the Dottores have got this in the bag! After all, each of them has broken Teyvat's laws, contributed new findings to the world, created Gods, threatened Gods, will end up burning a certain tree, and oh so much more - a card game could never leave them stumped!

Only that the longer the game goes on, the more inwardly distressed they get as you keep flaming their cards or they keep drawing useless ones. Your laughter doesn't help their state either. Alpha leaves immediately in a huff while your cackling follows him down the hall. Beta curses under his breath and takes his anger out dismantling a machine. Poor things are grumpy up for a while. Only for them to spend time thoroughly researching the game and developing tactics, inevitably waiting for you to invite them to a match. They are evil. They are smug with their win. Do not fall for their trap. But if you win again, they will descend into grumbling again.

The older segments being better at playing off their feelings, resign to their loss with a conceding sigh. Look on the bright side - you managed to beat the Il Dottore in something. If anything, they're rather proud of your intelligence - truly one of the reasons they love you so. Now why don't you show them your expertise in chess instead! You have something to teach them there too, won't you? (The segments say as he takes joy in how your head hangs in defeat.)

And you could never forget the reaction you got from your dearest Omega - the one who's always a few steps ahead, thinking of all possibilities, outcomes, and choices... being so confident in his skills and deck at first, legs languidly crossed... only to watch his smile twitch and fall, glowing eye blinking in thought as he tried to concoct a strategy to defeat you. Unfortunately, he does not realize you're playing an overpowered, unfair deck against a pure beginner despite how intelligent he is. You are cruel. You leave him speechless for a few moments as he shrugs, calm smile returning to his face as he asks you whether you've enjoyed your time with him. Note that if you try to play with him again, he'll guide the conversation elsewhere quickly.

(Also - they are very insistent on using your TCG character card in their teams. Even if the devs made your card trash they will somehow make you OP. Do not underestimate their minds.)

[toastytrusty]

ok so. class/imperial dynamics between hickey and crozier. they each represent a different side of imperialism and a different way it affects people. very important to note that the major messaging of the show emphasizes how there are no "good ones" or "bad ones" within imperialism; the WHOLE SYSTEM is rotten and destroys everything it touches. the men on the expedition don't just damage and destroy the people and world they meet, the men are damaged and destroyed by the expedition itself. the whole ordeal was wretched and made everything worse for everyone. Which leads to the fundamental difference between hickey and crozier: hickey recognizes this, and crozier doesn't. Kind of. They both have similar lower class backgrounds, and looked to the navy for social mobility. Crozier played by the rules and achieved power and status through it, and he believes in the sanctity of naval bureaucracy and hospitality, if only they go about things the right way. Hickey, however, was so far removed from the prospects of this social mobility that he had to lie and commit identity theft to gain access to it. He has suffered at the hands of the british empire, and never held any illusions about the nature of it; he recognizes the class system as oppressive and the imperial system as violent. He tries to use this to his advantage and to gain power over others, but he still recognizes it and hates it. While crozier is certainly Doing His Best and has Good Intentions and all that, all of his decisions still end up being harmful or disregarding, and all the harm done by anyone else on the expedition (including hickey) is done in his name, because he brought them here and he is their leader. When hickey kidnaps silna and brings her to the ships, crozier is disgusted at the way hickey makes the violent nature of their presence so apparent, and yet he Does Keep silna on the ships afterwards. hickey is punished for insolence and dereliction of duty moreso than the actual harm he caused. Crozier’s issue was with the way he went about his actions, rather than the actions themselves. It still serviced crozier, even if he was, on the surface, put off by it. And hickey did it because he expected crozier to appreciate it. He thought crozier recognized the same things he did. But he didn’t, and that’s where the break between them happens, moreso than during the lashing. Hickey realizes that crozier Doesn’t understand the same things he does, or see things the same way he does. He has assimilated into the naval structure far too much and, in hickey’s view, lost touch. Which is ironic, given that hickey’s whole identity theft was quite indicative of him abandoning his lower class background and any perspective it gave him. There’s a very interesting dichotomy there, of crozier always being honest about his lower class background, and yet achieving status regardless, and becoming fully entrenched in the imperial machine because of it, and hickey never being honest about his lower class background, never achieving status regardless, and still resenting the imperial machine the entire time.

Hickey views crozier as the embodiment of the british empire, and the ups and downs of his respect for him are indicative of the ups and downs of his feelings towards his own potential for betterment through the imperial system. I might be stretching here but to meeee hickey’s mutiny is representative of something like a bourgeois revolution. He views crozier’s command, and the larger system, as oppressive, and he views himself as entirely separate from it in some way, when really he just wants to take crozier’s place and implement a near identical system within his own camp. Hickey’s delusions of personal exceptionalism are quite significant all the way to the end, when he tries to fully sever himself from his britishness and sacrifice crozier to the tuunbaq. He thinks he is different, and that him recognizing the empire’s brutality makes him any less implicated in it. Of course, it doesn’t; he is still british and cannot separate himself from that, so the tuunbaq kills him. However, crozier kills the tuunbaq. He is still concluding the devastation the british cause here. Also crozier’s “you could have just joined up” is really interesting because it shows that even then he still believed in the accessibility and positive potential of the navy. He thinks hickey is foolish for his reservations and ill will, and is almost denying the idea that there would be anything preventing that.

[donethedevilspedicure]

For a long time now, I've been wanting to write something based on Star Treatment by Arctic Monkeys, but with my writer's block being what it is, it probably won't happen. So instead, here's what I told Cart (@/cartoonsinthemorning) about it!

Six fingered!Stan AU feat. Age Gap Stancest and Reverse Portal

In this AU, as the title says, Stan was the one to be born with six fingers on each hand. Everything else about the twins is the same – their personalities are the same, Ford is still a super genius, Stan is still prone to lying and punching things.

Since Ford is very individualistic and believes himself to be special, he still thinks that, but it's only based on his intellect in this case. There's nothing that physically sets him apart from his peers, but he’s still Ford, so he still does not like other children or form friendships with other people than his own twin. He still gets teased for being weird, however, as children are cruel, and Stan's extra fingers, them being twins, and Ford’s mannerisms just makes them more of a “the freak Pines twins” unit rather than the onus being all on Ford being the freak. More on how that affects Ford and their general relationship later.

Stan, however, takes to having six fingers much much differently than his brother in canon. Inspired by how he takes to the role of Mr. Mystery in canon, in this AU, he likes to show off his hands to kids and adults, not minding whether the attention he gets is positive or negative, and he can defend himself if he gets bullied. He even postulates that having larger hands makes him better at punching things. They're a part of him that he's proud of, and he feels cool for having them, rather than being like canon Ford who hides his hands and sees them both as a mark of being some sort of the chosen one as well as destined to be ostracized from society. Stan understands the necessity of leaning into the clown mask that he was born with, in order to fit in, if that makes sense.

So. As they grow older, the strain from being even more of a freak unit as children becomes very heavy on Ford. He longs both for being the most special of them, loathes every instance where Stan is the one to get attention, while also not wanting to share Stan with anyone. I like to imagine that he goes a little mad with being obsessed with Stan and them being twins, to the point where he regularly fantasizes about a way to incorporate Stan into himself and make them one – one as in, make them be just Ford. Ford feels like Stan holds a key component to who he, Ford is, and he hates him for it and wants to run away from his twin, while also suffering from deep obsession with Stan. This of course results in Ford having deep sexual urges for Stan that he tries his hardest to suppress, resulting in them drifting slightly apart as they grow up.

Stan, in the meantime, still thinks Ford hung the stars and the moon, and is not at all pleased that Ford pulls away from him. But without Ford being the sole twin with all the freakiness, Stan has also been less conditioned to cling to his brother like moss by not having to protect Ford all his childhood while being almost invisible himself, so while he still never becomes the popular guy, he does manage to develop a hobby outside of being Ford’s brother. In this case, it's his music teacher that encourages him to learn the piano because of his six fingers, and Stan, as we know, is smart when he wants to be, so he learns very quickly.

This is not to say that they aren't close, and that their dream of sailing the world isn't still there – it is. But when Ford gets offered a scholarship to WCT, Stan is heartbroken but does not destroy the machine. Rather, after Ford succeeds in impressing the representatives, he packs up his things and leaves quietly without saying goodbye.

Ford then goes to college, but seeing as he is going somewhere where everyone else is as smart as him, he gets to experience just living up to expectations. Which is horrible for him. He gets hired to teach after his first degree and hates every second of it, then, at the age of maybe 30-35, he decides to study anomalies because he's been spiralling about not being special and still obsessed with his twin brother and his hands after all those years. Seeing as he isn't anything special, he then saves up his salary to move to Gravity Falls on his own, already half mad. The portal still happens. The postcard still happens.

As for Stan, he has been living off piano gigs, sometimes for a night only, sometimes for a season or two. He misses Ford, and he's still nomadic in nature, but he drifts through life a little more aimlessly, trying to fill the hole inside himself with sex and drinking. When he gets the postcard, he has just been offered to be signed to a record label and promised fame (“a jazz pianist with six fingers! You're bound for Hollywood!”) and yet, he still chooses Ford over that. But he thinks about it, hard, before he does.

So when they fight, it's a fight that's much more vicious on Ford’s behalf compared to Stan, who’s more sad-hurt that Ford still pushes him away, and therefore, Stan doesn’t fight back as hard as he does in canon. And therefore, Stan is the one to be pushed into the portal. Where he eventually ends up at an alien jazz bar (a little more sophisticated than the cantina in Star Wars), where he decides to just stay and mourn the loss of his potential and cursing his fingers (Ford probably spat a lot of bullshit about how Stan didn't deserve to be the special of them, it should have been Ford, and Stan just took it).

Until a more canon Old Ford comes by and decides to woo this six fingered, jaded Stan ✨ Which is where it gets interesting and where I haven't thought further than “dang that would be hot”, haha.