#which is less of a problem if both pockets are full

[emswritingsstuff]

Pink Lighter (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: While on a watch with Daryl, you offer to light his cigarette. Small embarrassment ensues. Just a silly drabble!

Warning: Smoking cigarettes (Daryl)

WC: 779

--

The wind sent small chills down your spine, the watchtower not proving to be any kind of shield from the outside air. Taking watch at night wasn’t your most favorite job here, but it flew by depending on who you were with. 

But not tonight though, tonight you were with Daryl. And it could not be any quieter and boring. Nothing against the guy, but you both were different people and had nothing to really chat about. It also didn’t help that he wasn't super talkative in the first place. You could maybe count on one hand how many full conversations you had with him, and you’ve known him since the Quarry. 

He’s never been mean to you; sure, he had his moments where he was a dick but was never direct. His company was appreciated though, you weren’t sure what it was about him, but you felt safe. Like if anything were to happen, he’d get you both out of it no problem. It's what you liked about him. 

In the midst of your thoughts, you were brought back down with deep grumbles next to you. You look over to see Daryl with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, flicking his lighter but no flame erupting. He angrily flipped the zippos lid down and stuffed it back in his pocket. When going to take the cigarette out of his mouth, you’d remembered the pink BIC lighter you had found on a run. You had never really used a lighter before, but it can’t be super difficult right? 

“Here,” you held the lighter down under his cigarette and he quickly turned to you, giving you both less space so you don’t have to stretch as much. Attempting to flick the lighter a few times, nothing happened. Were you doing something wrong? Probably. 

Retracting the lighter back, you flicked it a few more times before looking back up at Daryl. “Sorry, let me just, uh, give this to you,” obviously embarrassed, you had gotten a tiny laugh out of him, which was a massive win to you. He took the lighter out of your hands and made quick work of lighting the cigarette and handing the lighter back. “Tha’ was adorable,” he said after taking a drag and blowing it out. 

Great, now you feel even more embarrassed. Quickly looking away as you stuffed the lighter that had proven to be useless to you at least. “Don’t ever bring this up again, I’m beyond embarrassed.” He laughed again and patted your back, he did the zipped lip motion and proceeded to focus back on his cigarette. 

Time passed and the silence was more comfortable than it was before, you had no clue when the shift was set to end, but part of you wished it wouldn’t end. It was kind of fun being with him tonight.

You had felt a tap on your shoulder, and you looked over to Daryl, with another cigarette in his mouth. You knew what he wanted so you quickly handed him the lighter. A ‘thanks’ was mumbled as he lit it and handed the lighter back. 

As he smoked, he spoke up for the first time in a while “Why do ya even have tha’?” he gestured to the lighter still in your hand. You looked at it and cleared your throat to speak. “Found it a while back, figured it could be useful for at least something. Or to actually have light when people ask for one.” All Daryl could do was chuckle at your reasoning, it was understandable. But it was dorky, in a good way that is.

“Well ya gotta learn to actually light it,” You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah I know, just never had the opportunity.” He tilted his head, showing he understood. Daryl barely knew about your past before the end, but he knew you didn’t seem like the type to smoke or light random fires. 

Flicking sounds of the lighter filled the room after he’d finished speaking. You were determined to figure this out, and after about 20 flicks later. The orange glow of the flame casted over your face. Overjoyed you jumped up and cheered, probably looking crazy to someone looking into the watchtower. All Daryl could do was smile at your behavior. 

“Look at that! I did it! Finally!” You lit the flame again and pointed at it, showing it off like crazy. “Proud of ya,” Daryl said, genuinely, as he rubbed your shoulder. 

Time had come for your shift to be over, as you both walked to your respective cells Daryl pulled out one last cigarette and gestured you over to him. “Gimme a light?” 

You laughed and happily did so for him.

--

Note: Based off an actual experience I had not knowing how to use a BIC lighter in front of my sculpture professor. I think about it all the time. hashtag humbled. Also, sorry if I barely conveyed Daryl's accent, I struggle w that, but this is all for fun lol!

[anarchywoofwoof]

Full Article Text:

The United Kingdom is facing dire food shortages, forcing prices to skyrocket, and experts predict this is only the beginning.

What's happening?

According to a report by The Guardian, extreme weather is wreaking havoc on crops across the region. England experienced more rainfall during the past 18 months than it has over any 18-month period since record-keeping began in 1836.

Because the rain hasn't stopped, many farmers have been unable to get crops such as potatoes, carrots, and wheat into the ground. "Usually, you get rain but there will be pockets of dry weather for two or three weeks at a time to do the planting. That simply hasn't happened," farmer Tom Allen-Stevens told The Guardian.

Farmers have also planted fewer potatoes, opting for less weather-dependent and financially secure crops. At the same time, many of the potatoes that have been planted are rotting in the ground.

"There is a concern that we won't ever have the volumes [of potatoes] we had in the past in the future," British Growers Association CEO Jack Ward told The Guardian. "We are not in a good position and it is 100% not sustainable," Ward added.

Why is it important?

English farmers aren't alone — people are struggling to grow crops worldwide because of extreme weather.

Dry weather in Brazil and heavy rain in Vietnam have farmers concerned about pepper production. Severe drought in Spain and record-breaking rain and snowfall in California have made it difficult for farmers to cultivate olives for olive oil. El Niño and rising temperatures cut Peru's blueberry yield in half last year. Everyone's favorite drinks — coffee, beer, and wine — have all been impacted by extreme weather.

According to an ABC News report, the strain on the agriculture industry will likely continue to cause food prices to soar.

If these were just isolated events, farmers could more easily adapt — bad growing seasons are nothing new. The problem is that rising temperatures are directly linked to the increasing amount of gases such as carbon dioxide and methane in the atmosphere.

Since the start of the Industrial Revolution, humans have burned dirty energy sources such as coal, oil, and gas, which release a significant amount of those gases. Our climate is changing so drastically that the 10 warmest years since 1850 have all occurred in the last decade.

"As climate change worsens, the threat to our food supply chains — both at home and overseas — will grow," Energy and Climate Intelligence Unit analyst Amber Sawyer told The Guardian.

What can we do about it?

"Fortunately, we know many ways we can make the food system more resilient while reducing food emissions. The biggest opportunity in high-income nations is a reduction in meat consumption and exploration of more plants in our diets," said Dr. Paul Behrens, an associate professor of environmental change at Leiden University in the Netherlands.

If we replace a quarter of our meat consumption with vegetables, we could cut around 100 million tons of air pollution yearly. It may seem strange to suggest eating more vegetables with the decline in crop production. However, reducing the land and water used for animal agriculture and diverting those resources to growing more produce would drastically help the declining food supply.

Growing our own food is also a great way to reduce our reliance on store-bought produce, and it can save you hundreds of dollars a year at the grocery store.

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - The Exorcism Part Two

wanted to do a bit more but ough i am TIRED... this took a lot out of me lmao but i hope y'all enjoy! lmk what u think in the tags/replies/asks :)

masterpost

previous

(Please Reblog! Leave a comment in the tags! They make me very happy :)

SUMMARIZED ID: Reigen and Mob are shown the client's living room, it is in disarray. Reigen begins investigating the room, but begins to feel the presence of spirits... They keep a sharp eye out, as something moves about the room quickly.

FULL ID UNDER CUT

START ID:

(This is a body swap, so I'll be referring to the characters as who they actually are but keep in mind that Reigen is in Mob's body and vice versa.)

Mob watches Dimple fly leave, then goes inside Hiroto's house by shutting the door.

Cut to inside, Hiroto is opening a door for Mob and Reigen. Reigen has his hands on his hips. The client says, "This is where it's been happening." The room inside is moderately sized with a triple pane window on the far left wall. There is a fireplace, a couch, a ripped up armchair, two carpets- both rumpled and one torn, a doggy bed, a toy train, some balls, a tipped over coffee table, some askew and fallen paintings, some shelving units, and a chest of drawers on the right hand wall that has upon it multiple knick knacks. A drawer is missing from it and laying on the floor. There is a book with some pages torn out as well. All in all, it's a room that has seen some damage.

Hiroto lifts a nearby painting, showing three long scratches that were seen previously in the comic as a flashback. "See?" He says, looking at Mob. Mob looks at the scratches, somewhat narrowing his eyes. "Hmm..."

Reigen steps in, leaned over with his hand on his chin, looking at the scratches. Hiroto looks down at him, a little surprised. Reigen asks, "Hmm... have you noticed any strange smells?" "Smells?" The client repeats.

"Yes, like something rotting or damp. Spirits can sometimes carry over scents from their bodies, and that helps us determine which kind of ghost it is." Reigen says, gesturing with one hand while pointing upwards with the other. Hiroto shrugs, smile askew. "No, I haven't smelled anything strange..." He turns to Mob. "What do you think?"

Mob stands in the middle of the room, looking up. "Hmmm. I... don't feel anything." His speech bubble is overlapped by Reigen's, "AHAHA!!!" Reigen laughs, moving to Mob's side and resting one hand on Mob's arm, smiling wide and nervous as he explains to Hiroto: "They must be so weak that my Master is having a hard time picking up on them, but I can sense something in this room... ah, I can sense weaker spirits-- you know. I take care of them for my Master."

Mob gives Reigen a deadpan look. "Is that all you do?" Reigen's smile dims and he sweats.

"Al... right. Well, I'll leave you two to it... I've got to run to the store for a bit..." Hiroto crosses his arms. "And those ghosts better be gone when I get back."

Reigen waves a hand dismissively, using his customer service smile. "Don't worry, Mr. Hiroto, we'll have your spirit problem taken care of in no time!"

Hiroto begins to shut the door. He smiles nervously. "Sure thing..." He leaves.

After a moment, Mob looks down at Reigen, who is now crouching and looking at the scratches. He joins him on the floor.

Reigen says, "Hm... This guy could have a mouse problem. Or termites, possibly... hopefully not."

"I don't think mice could tip over chairs, Master."

"True, but the dogs could chase the mice and knockk over the chairs...." Reigen holds up a finger, his eyes are shut as he lectures Mob. "Always rule out the probable, Mob! Then, you can start looking for the less probable." Mob looks unimpressed.

Reigen stands up, hand in his pocket. "You do have a point, Mob. Although I hate to admit it... This could be a real hauntiiii-IIING!" His speech transitions into a yelp as his back straightens and eyes go wide. The background of the panel is dark with white wisps darting across it. Reigen crosses his arms and glares off to the side, his hair floating up due to his psychic abilities. He shudders. "Do you think the client would notice if we turned his A/C up? It's freezing in here!"

"I'm not cold." Mob responds.

Reigen grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, still tense. He's shivering. "Huh? It's freezing! Are you anemic or... something? Sensitive to cold?"

"No, I think the cold is probably the spirits."

Reigen flinches, then looks off to the side, smiling nervously. "Oh! Yes! Yes. The spirits! I recognize it now. Uh... you don't feel anything, do you?"

"Nope."

"Great." He puts his hand to his chin in thought. "What do you see, then? Anything?"

"Master, I don't have powers right now, remember?"

Reigen stares at Mob, his hair floating up due to his powers again. The background is dark and shadow-y, with the colouring of Reigen being all white. He's pale.

The next panel is of a similar style, dark and silent as they both look at eachother.

Mob angles his head down, looking at Reigen through his bangs and sweating slightly. "... Because we've switches bodies, I only have your powers right now... not mine?" The panel colour is lighter, and Reigen's hair calms slightly.

"Right." Reigen says, sighing and turning away from Mob, arms crossed. The panel is nearly white again, like normal. Mob is looking to the side, too, eyes downturned with a sweat drop on his cheek.

A view of a model train set, turned over. The carpet is rumpled and there is a painting sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Reigen speaks, "I definitely feel something in this room... but I don't see it. Keep a sharp eye out, just in case. Even if you're having trouble with my powers, I'm sure you can still pull something off."

Mob and Reigen stand back to back, glancing around the room. Then something 'wooshes', represented by a panel with a dark gray background and white lines flowing across it with the text 'woosh' on it.

Reigen startles, turning to look at the far side of the room. There is nothing of note there. He sees only the window, the couch, and the chair.

END ID.

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Gaps 3

Yandere Platonic Batfam x Mentally Ill/Forgetful Reader

Warning: This is a yandere work, and as such, contains themes of obsession and unhealthy relationships. This particular snippet from Gaps will be an escalation, since this is a series, so trigger warning for kidnapping, non-consensual drugging, obsessive behaviors and manipulation.

There was a half full bottle of psychiatric meds in the glove box of your car. You have absolutely no clue when this got there, buried as it was under your insurance information, registration, and car owners manual, but it was there.

You turn the bottle over in your hands, reading the small label. Prazosin. You were glad to have some extra, in case Bruce hadn’t been able to get your refill this month. He had been good about it, the past couple of months while you waited for your appointment at the DMV, but it was always good to have spares, just in case. And something in your stomach urged you not to rely on the billionaire too much.

You pocket the bottle of pills. Sure, your script had been changed from prazosin to nitrazepam, by Dr. Leslie Thompkins since she was the only person that would treat you without an ID, but you didn’t like how the nitrazepam left you sluggish the next morning. You also didn’t like the thought of just how vulnerable you would be, in such a deep sleep.

Your cell phone rings. You pick up on the first ring, humming.

“(Y/N).” It was Damian. A bit of a surprise, since he didn’t really seek you out, but not an entirely unwelcome one. “You used to have a cat, correct?”

You snort. Of course one of the few times Damian calls you, it was about an animal. You didn’t expect anything less.

“Yeah. I had a Maine Coon kitten for a while before I moved. She was the sweetest little thing too, would always climb onto my shoulders whenever I got home from work.”

“What happened to her?”

“When I moved, I had to give her to my roommate. I visit her whenever I go to Bludhaven.” You explain, beginning your nightly routine. You brush the knots out of your hair, root around for your pajamas, drop two tablets in your hand.

“I see. I’m sorry you had to leave her behind.”

You smile, glancing at the time. The two tablets go down easy, and you double and triple check your locks. In Gotham, it didn’t hurt to be vigilant.

“It’s not a problem. I do have work tomorrow, so I’m gonna turn in, okay?”

“Of course. Get some rest, (Y/N).” He says it like it’s practically a demand, and you laugh when the line goes dead.

You drift off to sleep, eventually, your limbs heavy and numb.

——————

Your woken up by the sound of your bedroom door creaking open. Your heart stops, before thundering in your chest, slamming fast against your ribs.

Your mind races, and you force yourself to breath slow and deep, feigning sleep. The average thief wouldn’t bother to kill a sleeping person, but who knew what would happen if they thought there were witnesses. Carefully, you shift, making sure the movement looked to be the shifting of a sleeping body.

There’s a sound of crackling above you, and you don’t know what that means before the intruder speaks.

“You sure you got the dosage right? They’re moving around a lot for someone who’s sedated.” A modulated voice, indistinguishable thanks to the static. Your stomach drops, and it takes everything you have not to stiffen in terror. No average thief would have a fucking voice modulator. And what did they mean, the dosage? What the fuck did they mean?

Your fingers close around the handle of the small folding knife you kept under your pillow.

“It’s not full sedation. They’ll sleep deeply enough that we can move freely, but too high of a dosage would cause issues.” A low, gravelly voice and you feel your breath hitch. Both voices go quiet.

You hear a soft rattle as a pill bottle is picked up. Your heart hammers in your throat. You can’t remember which bottle of meds was by your bedside.

“Didn’t you get them put on nitrazepam?”

“Yes.”

“Old man, this isn’t nitrazepam. It’s an old script of prazosin.”

Silence. Deafening silence. Your eyes snap open.

You don’t even give yourself time to process the fact that there were two of Gotham’s vigilantes in your room. You don’t give yourself time to panic, or feel betrayed, because if you do, you won’t stop. You’ll be frozen and defenseless and unable to do anything.

You lunge up, throwing the blankets off yourself, and you try to twist away when the goddamn Red Hood lunges to catch you, only for his arm to wrap around your waist, yanking you back. The small fold out knife clatters to the ground, and a hand wraps around your wrist.

“Why don’t we all just cool off, yeah? No more stabbing attempts.” He sounds almost amused, but there’s an edge of danger in his voice that makes you shudder. He releases you, and you stagger away from him.

Batman hovers in the corner of the room, and even though he is the furthest from you, he feels so much closer.

“You got my script changed. Why?” Your voice is trembling, and you grimace. You don’t like the way you sound far too vulnerable.

“The old man is paranoid as hell, that’s why.” Hood grumbles, crossing his arms. He leans back, giving you space, and even though you know you aren’t any safer, you appreciate it.

“Hood. Now is not the time.” Batman growls, and Hood snorts.

“When would be the time old man? We would have avoided all of this if we had just gone with my plan.” Hood points out. You have no idea what he means.

“They weren’t ready.” Batman snaps, and you don’t know what that means. “This isn’t the place for this discussion, Hood.”

He turns to you, and for a moment, hesitates. The moment passes, and he lifts his hands, tugging back his cowl.

You stare. Staring back at you with intense blue eyes is Bruce Wayne.

So many things click in your mind. The inexplicable cancelling of your appointments. The paranoia. The way you had been struggling to work past the constant fear you were being watched. The way your things went missing when you needed them.

“(Y/N), I know you’re confused right now. Just let me explain.” Bruce says gently, and you shake your head, backing up.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now. You.. how long have you been breaking into my apartment? How long have you been using my meds to do it? And why?!”

“(Y/N), you barely manage to function on a day to day basis. I was just insuring your safety.”

“My safety?! Arguably I would be even more vulnerable SEDATED in an apartment in Gotham? Why do you think I check my locks so often? Why I have lists, of every possible thing I could need? I KNOW how to take care of myself, but clearly I made some sort of mistake when met all of you!” You shriek, and there are hot, ugly tears streaming down your face.

You didn’t need this, you didn’t need him, and you certainly did not need him pulling the strings on your life.

“Alright, you clearly can’t handle this old man.” Hood turns to you, arms crossed. “Listen, I get it. Batman’s a controlling, manipulative bastard. But we aren’t having this discussion here.”

You yell when his hand closes around your arm, and raise your hand to slap him away. He tugs you forward, twisting your arm behind your back and holding it there, and you yell.

A sharp pain in your neck, and your vision blurs.

You feel your knees buckle, feel yourself start to sag.

Gloved hands hold you up, and your head spins. Armored arms scoop you up, and you push at the thick Kevlar.

The last thing you see before unconsciousness takes you is white lenses staring down.

[xrenjunniesx]

comfortable

lee haechan, friends to lovers

word count : 1000

the car ride to a camping trip ended up becoming more confusing when they realised that they didn’t have enough seats. so someone would have to sit on someone else’s lap.

the car was full, but they didn’t have a choice. she had to sit on someone’s lap. no other car was going to be able to take her to the camping site.

it didn’t really matter, did it? we’re all good friends anyway. that’s what she kept telling herself.

without much thought she walked around to the other side of the car where the bags weren’t being piled onto their laps. opening the car door, she came face to face with jisung who was about to put his bag on his lap. he looked at her, slightly shocked before he asked, “why me?”

she rolled her eyes and got into the car, looking into the back where haechan was playing a game on his phone and renjun was already half asleep by the looks of it.

she looked back at haechan, figuring that he would be more fun. the only problem was nearly everyone in the car knew of her crush on him. though she could handle it as long as they don’t make any comments.

thankfully for her, they only grinned at her when they saw her begin to go to the back of the car.

she climbed over the seat, much to jaemin and jisung’s dislike, considering she did almost kick them in the head.

“I regret saying I’d go with you guys. I should’ve gone in the other car.” she said, once she got her legs down.

“yeah well the other car left before you even woke up. you had no choice.” Jaemin said, turning around to pass her back her phone that fell out of her pocket. she rolled her eyes and snatched it back, to which he just stuck his tongue at her and they both turned away from each other.

she turned her attention to haechan, who was just looking at her with a smirk, already knowing she was going to sit with him.

“sit down.” he said, playfully patting his lap. she sighed, but sat down on his lap never the less. she looked at renjun and noticed he really was already fast asleep.

haechan wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady, while he played a random game on his phone in his other hand.

she leaned her back against him, figuring she would need to get comfortable considering it was quite a drive.

once the car started and they begun to head to their destination, haechan leaned his chin on her shoulder, still playing his game in one hand.

her mind begun to wonder about twenty minutes into the trip. she realised that her and haechan had never really ever been affectionate with each other, let alone did they ever really touch each other at all. she glanced back to find him just sitting there, his phone no longer in his hands, but rather sitting under his leg.

she became aware of how both of his arms had wrapped around her waist, loosely hugging her. she smiled to herself and leaned against his body. they readjusted their position and she found her face awfully close to his neck.

it was comfortable to be hugged by him, to be sat in his lap and even though this wasn’t how she expected the car ride to go, she wasn’t opposed to it.

she lifted her hands up, resting one of them stretched across on his collar bone and shoulder. haechan who was looking out the window, then looked down at her.

“comfortable?”

he asked quietly, smiling as she looked up to meet his eyes.

“very.” she says, snuggling herself into his neck more. she breathed in his perfume, pulling back to meet his eyes. “you smell nice.”

he only chuckles quietly, looking back out the window once she leans back down. she became hyper aware of his thumb that was gently caressing her waist.

the car came to a stop and everyone was moving to get out of the car, except haechan who hadn’t even attempted to move.

she sat up straight and looked out the window, still half asleep. she didn’t even realise she was asleep.

“we stopped at a gas station because jisung was complaining how he wanted food.”

“oh.. don’t you want food?” she said, looking back at him. his hands were still on her, one on her waist while the other rested near her knee.

“no, I’m fine. do you want something?”

“… no I ate before.”

“then you can go back to sleep if you want.”

he said, taking his hand off her leg to pat his chest, where she was laying mere seconds.

“I didn’t even mean to fall asleep.”

“you must like me a lot to fall asleep on me.”

she rolled her eyes, and went to lay on him again, hoping he missed how her cheeks had heated up.

he hadn’t missed it. he only grinned and leaned his head back into the headrest, sighing loudly.

“they told me you like me, don’t worry, I like you too.”

she sat up straight, putting distance between the two of them. she stared at him with wide eyes, only to see his face gradually growing an red as well.

“seriously?”

“do I have to prove it?” he laughed, his hand coming back to waist, resting there. when she didn’t reply, he gently pulled her closer, gentle enough that she could move away with little effort, but she didn’t. she leaned closer to him until her hands came to rest on his shoulders, her face mere centimetres from his.

“could I kiss you?”

she bet him to it, being the one to press her lips against his before he could. he smiled happily and kissed her back instantly.

“we leave for five minutes and they’re already kissing.” chenle complains from outside the car. they stop kissing and look to the window where the others had begun walking back, complaining how they didn’t want to see them kiss.

haechan pecks her lips again before sitting them both up straight.

[ms-nesbit]

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter I of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary: 

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3

“Can you turn the goddamn air up?”

Gothamites were becoming increasingly brusque as the summer heat slowly suffocated them. Typically, one can notice the season in Gotham based on the layers of clothing (or lack thereof) that each resident sported on the Gotham streets; however, tube tops and 1970s-style track shorts were no match for the heat index rising above 115 degrees, an unusually sweltering day for the sinful city.

“It looks like Gotham is finally getting a taste of what the afterlife is gonna look like.” One resident snickered with a twisted smirk as he laid change down on the newspaper stand to pay for the Gotham Gazette. “Lotta fire in those parts, don’t’cha think?”

“I don’t know - never believed in the stuff.” replied y/n, who sat on the other end of the newspaper stand. She counted the dirtied coins and wrinkled up dollar bills before placing them in the register, sitting on the stool with a sigh. She glanced at the clock on the upper corner of the interior of the stand as the upper hand mocked her boredom.

Y/n worked at the newspaper stand part-time since graduating from NYU - she fled New York City, hopeful about Gotham despite her friends’ pleas for her to stay after the break-up.

“Y/n, seriously? Fucking Gotham?” Amulya spat the city’s name, her boxed wine almost out with it. “What the hell?”

Sarah shook her head, the wiry blonde strands going with it. “Is it because of the superheroes?”

“No.” Y/n replied, her voice less convincing than her face’s poor attempt at hiding guilt. “I just think that I want to see more than NYC.”

“Then go to San Francisco, for crying out loud!” Amulya stood on her feet this time, glass full of wine sloshing with every movement. “Or at least Bludhaven. I’m with Sarah on this one: I think you’ve finally lost it, hun.”

Y/n sighed as she stared at her flats. “I’ll come visit, I just… can’t stand being here after everything.”

Since moving to Gotham, y/n caught up on the news: Batman was a household name, due in part by the Gotham News and Gazette. His name was both a prayer and a curse, spoken by all sorts of residents as they pointed to him. After a couple of weeks, it clicked for y/n: Gotham’s incessant violent crime ceases to stop due to Batman’s no-kill rule.

One day, while job hunting (for the third week in a row), y/n picked up a thrown out Gazette paper, with a piece titled Are You There, Batman? It’s Me, Gotham by Keke Throwma. She read it, then clipped the newspaper article into a scrapbook upon her arrival to her shared apartment. The following day, she applied for a position at the newspaper stand, writing articles in her downtime on shifts (which was often - the digital age nearly extinguished the paper business entirely).

“Do you think it’s ever going to change?” Y/n heard from a passerby who stopped at the stand to read the cover page of the paper.

The man standing beside the passerby shrugged, but grinned optimistically. “You know, all it takes is implementing a rehabilitation program, which Gotham should fund!” His voice was as deep as his shoulders broad, and only then did y/n notice the badge clipped on the man’s belt. “Could I just get this one?” He made eye contact with y/n, his blue eyes soft and welcoming.

“Yeah, no problem.” y/n opened her palm for the cash as she watched the man remove the wallet from his front pocket.

“What do you think about all this?” The woman asked y/n, pointing to the newspapers.

Y/n blinked for a moment, her mind blank despite preparing for this question for months. “The rehab center wouldn’t account for people like Joker, who believe that rules are meant for breaking.” she counted the coins after the man gave her the money, and pushed a button to open the register.

“See? Thank you!” the woman threw her hands up, her buttoned-up top rising from her slacks. “Grayson, you’re the only person who thinks Batman is in his right mind.” 

“Not right mind,” Dick corrected, “just on the right path. Big difference.” He folded the newspaper and placed it in his armpit, thanking y/n.

“You’re Detective Grayson, right?” y/n leaned forward in her stool in curiosity. “And Commissioner Gordon!” she grinned, awestruck by the pair standing before her.

“Yeah, we are.” Barbara replied. “Y’know, people aren’t always this excited to see us.”

“Unless they have a loaded barrel and a death wish.” Dick added, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Sorry, I just see you two on TV, I hear about you in the papers, and I think you’re doing a great job of interfering with the vigilantes.”

Dick blinked quickly, pursing his lips as he looked to Gordon for her reaction. She beamed, “Yeah, I know a lot of people are upset about that, but from working closely with my father until his death, I saw the often fatal flaws of enabling vigilantism, let alone encouraging it in Batman’s case.”

Y/n nodded, following along. “Yeah, we studied vigilantism in a couple of my criminal seminars in school. Although Batman has respectful intentions for the legal system in Gotham, he isn’t contributing to the reform of the system, essentially being a catalyst for the cycle of retribution and re-offense for these criminals.”

“Exactly!” Barbara laughed. “Where did you study criminal justice?”

“Criminology.” y/n corrected. “At NYU. I moved here a few months ago hoping to get a job as a journalist, but apparently they’re all booked up.”

“Figuratively or literally?” Dick asked, quirking a brow. Y/n and Barbara laughed in response. “I’m not surprised that you weren’t brought on at the Gazette, if that’s what you applied for, but we could always use you at the PD, if you’re interested in some additional training.”

“Recruiting me? For the police? No offense, Detective, but I’d rather stay here in the sweltering heat.” y/n waved her hand.

“Don’t like the grunt work?” Barbara asked, intrigued.

“No, I love that stuff,” y/n sighed, “I just don’t… like the cops, y’know? Feels dirty." She looked around at the floor beside her, covered in old gum, trash, and remnants of rodents. “Dirtier than this place, I’m afraid.” Y/n realized what she said and quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken.” Dick replied. “Seems like you should meet my brother. He is, for lack of a better word, ashamed of what I do for a living.”

Barbara nodded in agreement. “I’ve been over at their place for holidays a couple of times, and Jason hates him for it. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

“I don’t know why he doesn’t hate you! I don’t get why it’s just me!” Dick’s voice is irritated, half-laughing at his own words.

“I know, I know.” Barbara rubs his back soothingly. “We’ll get going soon, but we didn’t catch your name. What was it?”

“Oh, it’s y/n.” Y/n replied.

“If you want,” Dick’s chest rose as he took a sharp breath, “you can stop by at the station, and I can take you to the criminologist. I dunno if she needs an apprentice, but I do know that she needs help with a couple of cases.”

“Or you can just stop by Wayne Manor next week for the gala and introduce yourself to the PD.” Barbara interrupted. “It would be bold, but that way you can meet them, and possibly Dick’s brother, whom you might just like.”

Dick side-eyed Barbara, swallowing a smirk. “He might not even show up. He doesn’t like parties, and he doesn’t like cops. It’s like his worst nightmare.”

“I can stop by. Is it black tie?” y/n rested her hands on her knees as she watched the pair shake their heads almost in unison. “Okay, I’ll do that, then. I don’t like parties as much, but fuck it, I could use a better job than this.”

“Okay, we’ll see you then.” Dick smiled, holding up his coffee cup.

“See you then, y/n.” Barbara playfully grinned before leaving.

[five-rivers]

Sleeping Mask

AO3

For @modordracena @artichokebean @ventisettestars

.

The thing about created objects is that they have intentions.  A book is meant to be read.  A bed is meant to be slept in.  A knife is made to cut.  A door is meant to open.  

This, of course, extends even to objects not created by mankind.  A bird's nest.  A fox's den.  These things have meaning, purpose.  

This extends also to ghosts.  Perhaps, with regard to ghosts, it is even accentuated.  Imbued with the unlife of ectoplasm, an object with intention might also find itself with a measure of will.  

Danny knew this both experimentally and instinctively.  It wasn't only dead meat and vegetable matter that rose in the Fenton household, and Danny wasn't half ghost for nothing.  

The mask would have been suspicious even if it didn't remind Danny strongly of one of his enemies.  This mask wasn't exactly the same as Nocturne's, the features were rounder, softer, more delicate and generic, but there was enough similarity there for Danny to be on guard.  The color, the shape, the texture, the dark arcs that lead from the brow to the tip of the nose, the horns that cupped the sides and served as a place to tie on the long, wide, black ribbons…  All of them called back to Nocturne.  

Things like this were made for a reason.  Somehow, Danny doubted that reason was to decorate a pawnshop window.  

He made sure the lid on the thermos was tightly pressed down before going in.  The last thing he needed was for the ghost he had chased here to cause problems on top of everything else.

The pawnshop smelled musty and old.  A thick layer of dust lay on most surfaces, interrupted here and there by finger marks, handprints, and oddly shaped patches that were either clear or at least had a little less dust.  The only fully living creature in the store was the bored-looking college-age man manning the desk.  

There weren’t even any flies, as far as Danny could tell.

Creepy.  

Danny approached the desk.  “Hi,” he said.  

“No, we don’t have public restrooms,” said the man in a practiced tone.  “We’re not discriminating, they don’t meet the city’s requirement for them to be public because they aren’t wheelchair accessible.  File your complaints with the city.”

“Uh,” said Danny, who hadn’t even heard of that ordinance.  “No.  I was wondering where the mask in the window came from?”

“Hm?  I dunno.  Storage?  We hold onto stuff for a while before we sell it.”

Danny kept his comments about how unhelpful that was to himself.  “How much is it?”

“Mm,” said the man.  “Fifty.”

Danny rummaged in his pockets.  “I’ve got thirty and a candy bar.”  He placed the offerings on the counter.  “It’s full size,” he added, temptingly.

“I can see that.  I’m not supposed to barter.”

“If it makes you feel better,” said Danny.  “It’s probably haunted.”

“Wow.  That’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard that.  About anything.  Ever.”

“No, really,” said Danny.  “My parents are Jack and Maddie Fenton.  Here, you see this?”  He flashed the thermos readout at the man, hoping that he’d never seen one before.  “It says that there’s something haunted here.”

The man looked less skeptical.  

“I can show you my school ID if you’d like,” offered Danny.  “But I could call them if you don’t believe me.”

“Ugh.  Fine, whatever.  I’m not paid enough to deal with any of that.”  The man snatched the money and candy off the counter.  "Knock yourself out."

Danny nodded and tried not to feel too bad about the disappearance of his allowance.  He had a nefarious plot to stop.  Or something.  He took the mask from the window display and turned back to the counter.  

"Do you need to scan it or–?"

"Does it look like it has a barcode?  Just get out."

Danny didn't need to be told twice.  Which left him standing in the middle of the street with a cursed (?) mask. 

What the heck was he going to do with this now?  He frowned at the sculpted face, which was looking less and less like Nocturne the longer he looked at it.  It was too… young, he decided.  Sleeping an innocent kind of sleep.  

He could always hide it somewhere at home, but he had a feeling that would come back to bite him.  He could… give it back to Nocturne, maybe.  There was a certain kind of fairy-tale logic there that appealed to him.  On the other hand, Nocturne was a massive jerk with a habit of magically roofie-ing people, so Danny was, understandably, leery of going anywhere near him.  

He tilted the mask from side to side.  He’d thought that the whole closed eyes look was an illusion, like how mascot eyes were actually see-through, but he was beginning to think they weren’t.  Which meant that this mask had to be decorative… or maybe a death mask.  An unsettlingly large number of cultures had those.  Flying through a community in the Zone where those death masks had literally become the ghosts’ faces was always creepy.  

If it wasn’t meant to be worn, why have the ties?  

He flipped it over and looked at the back.  The darkness inside twinkled with stars.  Then it pulsed and lunged towards Danny’s face.  

.

Being an Ancient was wonderful, in many respects.  Power, riches, luxury, admiration.  Worship, even, and a smooth road both ahead and behind.  Oh, there were wrinkles here and there.  Dictators to overthrow, tests to be given, havoc to wreak.  But wasn’t it better that way?  Wasn’t life sweeter with a little salt?

Not that Nocturne would know about life.  

There was, however, one particular difficulty Nocturne could do without.  One problem that all of the Ancients had to deal with separately.  A weakness.  Anything and anyone so powerful had to have one.  For the Ancients, these were objects, tools, that contained enough of themselves and their power that, in the wrong hands, could be used to either siphon away their power or even control them.  

For Clockwork, it was the Key that wound his internal clock, currently and unfortunately in the hands of the Observants.  For Sojourn, it was the Map, kept safe by the ever-steadfast denizens of the Far Frozen.  For Vortex, it was the Barometer, which he had been bound to against his will.  For Undergrowth, it was the elemental Seed from which he had sprouted.  For Pandora, it was the Box around which so much of her legend had been formed, guarded jealously in her Labyrinth.  Nephthys was the only one of the Ancients who seemed to be an exception, but Nocturne suspected that she merely hid hers better.  

Nocturne’s weakness was the Mask.  A portion of his identity was bound up in it, and if worn by someone who knew his name, it would allow the wearer to take on his identity.  Among other, even less desirable effects.  

He didn’t worry about it terribly much.  He’d hidden it away in the human world, far from where anyone knew about him.  And even if someone did find it, the Mask was twistier, slipperier than the Key.  It had its own fully-formed will, and that will was not one that would easily consent to being used.  A wearer would have his own problems with the Mask, sure enough.  

At least, that had been Nocturne’s attitude about the situation until this very second of this very minute of this very day.  

He had been disastrously wrong about the ‘no one will find it’ portion of his assumption.  He had, further, been incorrect in his unspoken assumption that the Mask would not be changed by its long absence from his presence.  

But the unpleasantness of both those realizations paled in comparison to that of finding himself sharing a body with not one but two other consciousnesses, both familiar to him.  

The Mask giggled and, metaphorically speaking, leaned back, taking its hands off the reins now that the damage was done.  Meanwhile the boy, Phantom, whimpered and whined and futilely tried to pull the Mask off.  

Nocturne’s body, or what passed for his body under the circumstances, dripped and slid from the reverse side of the mask, its starstruck and well-sculpted glory reduced to that of thick, viscous, glittery goo, and constrained to remain on the boy’s skin, bound to the physical body of the Mask as much as boy was.  

Nocturne snarled at the Mask, reminding it of its true master.  In reply, the Mask tied its black ribbon in an elaborate bow on the back of Phantom’s head.  Unnecessary, considering its powers, but an obvious message.  It wasn’t going anywhere unless Nocturne made it.  

Very well, then.  He would.  

Somehow.  

Of course, the first order of business was to deal with Phantom.  

Limited or not, Nocturne still had his powers, and he threw some Phantom’s way.  The child hadn’t even noticed that he was no longer alone in his own head, but his panic certainly increased when he started to fall asleep.  Thankfully, that only lasted a minute before Nocturne had him smothered in mostly-pleasant dreams.  

Although, how long that would last was anyone’s guess.  Phantom had proven capable of both lucid dreaming and blindly finding a way past Nocturne’s powers.  

The Mask, meanwhile, radiated obvious disappointment.  Nocturne would have told it to get over itself, but he didn’t currently have a mouth and Phantom’s was well blocked by the combined forces of the Mask and Nocturne’s current form.  The same went for the rest of Phantom’s facial features.  Nocturne was glad, then, that he did not need eyes to see.  

He picked Phantom up off the pavement - only stumbling a little bit when confronted with the unnatural solidity of the body - and looked around, mentally sneering at the overly mundane and shabby street.  Of all the things he found incomprehensible about Phantom, the fact that he chose to defend such a drab and uninteresting place was certainly the most perplexing.  

Now, to business.  To remove the Mask, Nocturne would need access to his tools.  His tools were in the Ghost Zone, in his lair.  Therefore, his first act must be to access the Ghost Zone.  

Walking through a human city like this…  Nocturne raised one of Phantom’s arms and observed the way the inky, starry blackness of his body clung to the pale limb and wrapped around it.  No.  Nocturne did not believe this was a state that would go unremarked on, even if he could somehow disguise the Mask.  

How annoying.  Of course, he could simply become invisible for the duration of his travel.  It wasn’t as if it was hard.  He followed his thoughts with actions, and quieted Phantom again as he stirred.  

Now.  Where did Phantom lair?  Nocturne had visited it before; traveling through the portal made it difficult to avoid Phantom’s home, such as it was.  But he didn’t know where it was from here.  

The Mask continued to snicker.  

Nocturne would simply have to canvass the city until he came across something he recognized.  

He took off, flying slowly.  He didn’t want to miss anything, and he was unclear regarding what speeds Phantom could comfortably survive.  As much as he disliked the current state of affairs, he didn’t want to be stuck puppeting a corpse.  That would be disgusting and terribly gauche.  

But the use of his powers seemed to agitate Phantom, who strained against the dream Nocturne had so generously constructed for him.  The drain on his limited form tired him quickly, and he landed on the roof of a nearby skyscraper.  He still could not see Phantom’s home.  Had the child been visiting another city?  Had the building been changed somehow?  

His thoughts were interrupted by a blue-white portal forming only a few feet away.  

Ah.  Excellent.  The Mask’s escapades must have troubled time itself.  He turned to greet his old frenemy and fellow Ancient, Clockwork.  

But the being that came through the portal wore an expression Nocturne had never seen on Clockwork’s face in all his years of knowing the other ghost.  Rage, pure, simple, righteous, and barely contained.  

“Release him,” ordered Clockwork, raising his staff threateningly.  

In that moment, Nocturne recalled two very important things.  One, Phantom, despite most ghosts agreeing that he was an insufferable, incorrigible brat, was a favorite of Clockwork, Ancient Master of Time.  Two, Nocturne had taken great pains to conceal the nature of his principle weakness from his fellow Ancients, especially Clockwork, who was already compromised by the loss of his.  

As such, Clockwork and Nocturne were seeing two very different situations.  

And Nocturne could not possibly explain what was really going on to Clockwork via mime.  He leapt off the building.

A blue-white portal opened underneath him, and, for a while, he knew no more.  

.

Danny woke to the sensation of someone running their fingers through his hair.  It wasn’t a feeling he usually liked, but for some reason it felt very good today, and he leaned into it.  It was a strange contrast to how awful the rest of his body felt, especially his mouth, which tasted like something had died in it.

“Ah, Daniel,” said Clockwork, “you’re awake.”

That… was not normal.  He tried to open his eyes and sit up, but found himself unable to do either thing.  His eyes were pressed closed and his arms were pinned down.  He whined, deep in his throat, unable to do much else.  

“Shh,” said Clockwork, “shh.”  To Danny’s vague embarrassment, the reassurance did help.  “Daniel, you’re safe.  I’m taking care of you.  Do you remember what happened?”

Danny shook his head minutely, not wanting to dislodge Clockwork’s hands.

“You’ve been possessed,” explained Clockwork.  “I am attempting to remove the problem.  The medium of possession was a mask.  Do you remember the mask?”

This time, Danny nodded.  

“Good,” said Clockwork.  His hands shifted position, and now he rubbed the skin behind Danny’s ears.    “That’s good.  I know this must be stressful for you.  At the moment, I have you restrained because the beings possessing you have been trying to escape.”

Danny shuddered.  Beings?  Trying to escape?  He didn’t want to think about what these beings might want with him and his body.  Thank goodness Clockwork had found him.  

“But it’s alright,” continued Clockwork.  “I believe the measures I have taken will prevent them from exercising control over you, for the time being.  Unfortunately, the mask…”  He trailed off, running his finger around the rim of what had to be the mask.  Danny twitched at the odd sensation.  

“We may need to let them retake control to fully banish them, however,” warned Clockwork.  “But, for now, I thought a rest would be more beneficial.  Would you agree?”

Danny nodded again.  For all that he had been asleep, a break sounded like a good idea.  Especially if moving forward meant letting someone else control his body.

“Very good,” said Clockwork, hands returning to the top of Danny’s head.  

Somehow, it felt even better this time, and his core purred, low, shaky, and not quite catlike.  It was a recent development, his core doing that, and this was the first time it didn’t startle him.  

Overhead, Clockwork chuckled.  “Just relax, Daniel,” he said.  

Daniel did.  

.

Clockwork, Nocturne realized, didn’t just have some loose affection for Phantom.  He adored him.  Perhaps even loved him.  Certainly, he was possessive over him, using Phantom’s indisposition as a bonding opportunity, encouraging and engendering a helpless trust.  

Nocturne could respect that, if grudgingly.

Slowly, Phantom sank back into sleep.  Of course he did.  Immobile, eyes closed, relaxed… It would be more surprising if he didn’t.  

Nocturne’s control was abruptly switched with Phantom’s.  

“If you harm him,” said Clockwork, pleasantly.  “I will destroy you.”

Nocturne had no good way to respond, so he didn’t.  

“I will give you a writing utensil.  You will use it to tell me exactly how to remove Daniel from your influences.  Nod if you understand.”

Nocturne, not seeing what else to do, nodded.  

“Good.”  Clockwork freed one of Phantom’s limbs and put a pencil into it.  “Write.”

Let me return to my lair and I shall remove Phantom myself.

“Unacceptable.”  

Rarely had Nocturne seen Clockwork so blunt.  However.

I see no reason to cooperate with you, then.  Eventually, you must release me, for the sake of the boy if nothing else.  

A nasty, thin smile raised the corners of Clockwork’s mouth.  “Is that so?  Will you still feel that way when I tell you that I can imprison both of you within Daniel’s psyche indefinitely?  Perhaps I would not be able to remove you, but you would have no control.  Daniel would not be pleased with that scenario, but he would adapt.  I myself would not be opposed to Daniel residing in my lair on a semi-permanent basis.  So.  Think carefully.”

If Nocturne had a face at the moment, he would have scowled.  

Very well, he wrote, this is what you will need to do.

.

Danny woke up slowly, his eyes fluttering open but not really registering what they were seeing for several minutes.  Then he realized he was seeing and sat up.  Tried to sit up.  He was being held quite firmly in Clockwork’s arms.  

Clockwork smiled down at him.  “How are you feeling?” Clockwork asked.  

“Better,” croaked Danny.  “You saved me.  I thought you couldn’t do that.”

“Not usually,” said Clockwork.  “But when another Ancient has interfered, I have slightly more wherewithal to act.”  He lifted Danny’s chin with his fingers and tilted his head from side to side.  “I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That particular variety of control occasionally leaves traces,” said Clockwork.  “Think of it as being somewhat similar to exposure to radiation.  Even when the source of it is gone, the effects linger.”

“What did it change?” asked Danny.  

Clockwork smiled and released Danny’s chin.  “Nothing you need to worry about terribly much.  You may have a bit of glitter in your skin from now on.”

Danny made a face.  “Being possessed by… Nocturne?”

“It was Nocturne, yes.”

“It gave me the glitter plague?”  Danny started rubbing at his face.  

“Hardly a plague,” said Clockwork.  His smile fell away.  “You will let me know if you feel any internal changes, won’t you?”

“Is that something I have to worry about?” asked Danny.

“Hm,” said Clockwork, putting the tips of his fingers on Danny’s chest, right over his core.  It started to purr.  Loudly.  “Perhaps.”

“That doesn’t count.  Does it?”

“Not particularly,” said Clockwork, wrapping his arms around Danny and forcing him to lie back down.  

“I should probably go home… It was getting towards the end of the day.”

“I’ll make sure you get home on time, whenever you want to go.”

Danny sighed.  “Okay,” he said, snuggling closer.  

“You’ll have sweet dreams from now on.”

“Huh?”

“Consider it rent from your erstwhile roommates.”  

[halfbakedideas]

idiot pancake: narrowly avoided

The Doctor nearly gets run over while crossing the road.

--x--x--x--

inspired by this post by @whatsfourteenupto.

crossing the road while being distracted by a phone like that is such me behaviour i died.

fourteen felt really off so this one took ages to finish. the other ones should be quicker.

--x--x--x--

The first mistake was The Doctor getting a phone. Okay, correction: a smartphone; because he did already have a phone, a flip phone. But now they had a smartphone too after a confusingly complicated series of events involving him, Rose, a bowl of pasta, and a TARDIS trip to 18th-century Italy that totally didn’t happen. It was a mistake because it made for moments like this one.

The Doctor had accompanied Shaun on his taxi routes today and the two of them had stopped for lunch. They had just finished and were heading back, having to cross the road to get back to Shaun’s taxi.

“Hey!” he reached out and snagged The Doctor’s arm, dragging them back to the curb, narrowly out of the way of another taxi that went screaming past them. “Watch out!”

His phone nearly went tumbling to the ground with how abruptly they were yanked backwards but he grabbed it just before it could.

“Oh. Thanks, Shaun,” they thanked, looking up and down the road.

“No problem. But don’t just cross whenever you want like that, otherwise I’ll have to scrape a skinny alien pancake off of the road to bring back to Donna and I really don’t want to have to face her wrath,” he told him.

They both laughed at that — Donna’s wrath was not something you wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“What are you even doing on that?” Shaun asked as The Doctor pocketed his phone. “And please don’t say negotiations with soup aliens or buying something from space Amazon,”

A delivery truck trundled past.

“Nah, Kerblam got shut down years ago. And Soupimals have already had their negotiations for this century, which are done on flip phones, not iPhones — how do you know about those?”

Shaun frowned, choosing not to comment on whatever ‘Kerblam’ was. “I don’t? Wait — are you being serious, soup alien negotiations are a real thing?”

The traffic finally let up enough for the two of them to cross the road. They got back in the taxi.

“Yes, they are. I mediated one once — I didn’t miss having short hair more than when I was picking out dried soup,”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Shaun pointedly didn’t think about something. This one being the very obviously implied soup food fight with aliens that, unless he was wrong, were made of soup…

“What were you doing on your phone earlier?” he asked again, instead.

“Oh, I was texting myself — older self? Bigeneration? The one who’s just dealt with a spaceship full of babies,”

Of all of the things Shaun expected, their actual answer was really tame. But also: what.

“So, he’s got a phone too?”

“Fairly sure it’s the same one as this,” They pulled out their phone and held it up.

“…That shouldn’t be possible,”

The Doctor shrugged. “If the sonic can make phones connect across time and space, then it can make it so that the same one can communicate with itself in the past,”

He had a point, there.

“Next time,” Shaun started as he pulled the taxi out from the parking spot. “Don’t text and cross the road, if you get pancaked, Donna will slap me,”

“She’d do a lot worse than slap you,” The two of them chuckled at the very clear, and very likely, mental image.

[elenwen-and-ondolemar]

I will be upfront, I've come upon this deeply disturbing text while going through the belongings of a Justiciar drunk in an alley in Markarth, for safe keeping of course, and felt the need to question you both on this.

What appears to be an Altmeri commentary on Talos:

"To kill Man is to reach Heaven, from where we came before the Doom Drum's iniquity. When we accomplish this, we can escape the mockery and long shame of the Material Prison.

"To achieve this goal, we must:

"1) Erase the Upstart Talos from the mythic. His presence fortifies the Wheel of the Convention, and binds our souls to this plane.

"2) Remove Man not just from the world, but from the Pattern of Possibility, so that the very idea of them can be forgotten and thereby never again repeated.

"3) With Talos and the Sons of Talos removed, the Dragon will become ours to unbind. The world of mortals will be over. The Dragon will uncoil his hold on the stagnancy of linear time and move as Free Serpent again, moving through the Aether without measure or burden, spilling time along the innumerable roads we once travelled. And with that we will regain the mantle of the imperishable spirit." This is a frankly terrifying text to find on anyone, so I would suggest you illuminate the Dominions stance on this. I would also suggest you teach your Justiciars to drink less and protect their pockets better. As a general rule of course.

Elenwen: . . . That is a good general rule. I applaud your concern for the Justiciar's security. You did the right thing in asking for our response instead of indulging in baseless speculation. And this document is indeed baseless. The Altmer have never recognized Talos as a god. Commander Ondolemar, this falls within your jurisdiction. Can you provide our visitor the pertinent details of the Justiciar's work in Markarth?

Ondolemar: (He is visibly fuming.) I am aware of this particular incident, yes. I wish you had been half as solicitous about the deceased Justiciar's health. What sort of barbarian leaves a dead-drunk man outside in a Skyrim winter? If you had assisted the poor mer to an inn or temple, his parents would still have a son.

Elenwen: I am sure our guest feels awful enough about his lapse of foresight. Let's move on to the document in question.

Ondolemar: It's a Justiciar's duty to confiscate pernicious libels about the Thalmor. This one has been circulating since the late Third Era, a ridiculous forgery which attributes a range of bizarre and heretical opinions to our scholars. This document cannot have been written by an Altmer, even an apostate or renegade. Such a renegade would know how to make their heresy sound more authentic.

The greatest heresy displayed in the text is the belief that there is any need to "escape the mockery and long shame of the Material Prison." This might have been a pressing concern in the Dawn Era. But the foundation of Altmer religion is simple. Even that popular Imperial book, Varieties of Faith, gets it right.

"[Auri-El] then ascended to heaven in full observance of his followers so that they might learn the steps needed to escape the mortal plane."

Our Ancestors were trapped in Mundus, but they have ascended to Aetherius, and invite their descendants to follow. We know that our ancestors are in Aetherius since we consult with them in times of need.

This Commentary attempts to solve a problem that does not exist within Altmer religion, while claiming that Auri-El had no idea what he was doing, lied to his descendants about the way to ascension, and needs to be rescued from his own ignorance. You can see how blasphemous this reads to any Altmer. If a true Altmer scholar came to this conclusion, he or she would certainly include arguments for overcoming the resistance of Altmer believers, rather than state it as an accepted truth that underlies the rest of the argument.

Now that we have established how foreign this Commentary is to true Atmer religion, let me point out that it contradicts itself. "With Talos and the Sons of Talos removed, the Dragon will become ours to unbind. The world of mortals will be over."

Wasn't it "the Doom Drum's iniquity" that supposedly doomed us to his material prison? Suddenly, Talos instead is very important, for no reason at all. Removing Talos will apparently change the nature of the world, even though Talos only appeared in the world about seven hundred years ago. What happened to Lorkhan in this Commentary? He has apparently trapped us in mortality but doesn't matter anymore? And who knew that linear time only started when Tiber Septim was born in Atmora or Alcaire or wherever it was? Elenwen: The so-called Altmeri Commentary only makes sense as the product of a member of a Talos cult who wanted their object of worship to be the most important and powerful of the gods. Someone who had a vested interest in duping the credulous into supporting their failing cult. Someone who wanted the humans of Tamriel to see elves as their mortal enemies. In short, there is every reason to believe the Commentary was written and distributed by the premier cult of Talos, the Blades.

Fortunately, the Emperor, the Elder Council and the Hierarchy of the Imperial Cult now recognize the perverse origins of such conspiracy theories. The Empire and the Dominion join together in condemning these calumnies. If you would leave us the copy of the Commentary you retrieved for safekeeping, we can commit it to the fire, as the late Justiciar would have done.

[snowmeow03]

I suddenly realized that as a pegasister, I have never formally drawn ponyplates (hoofplates??) in my way, so suddenly (literally 3am in my time zone) I wanna give it a shot.

I thought about Gaster's cutting, and in theory, since he's not a skeleton anymore, shearing his fur is obviously the best choice. But I feel that it doesn't capture the vibe of him “ripping apart his own body", so in the end, I chose to let him cut his horn. Hmm, maybe the body part full of magic is a must to create baby ponies.

Theoretically speaking, it's more reasonable for both of the brothers to be unicorns, but when I pictured Papyrus, I see him more as a pegasus. Well perhaps there're some pegasus in pony Gaster's family tree. But there's kind of a problem that Pegasus can already fly, how can I show the "special" of Papyrus? So, like, why not make Papyrus only have one wing! Perhaps another one was chopped off by Gaster to prevent him from escaping or something. Sans, I really can't imagine any way to disguise his blind eyes as well as showing his unique eye sockets, I mean, since he's not a skeleton anymore (again). In the end, I chose the latter between fidelity to the character and making sense, although this made them a bit less recognizable (sadly)

I hesitated for a long time about the cutie mark. Gaster’s was more straightforward, I needed to came up with something that is related to science but can also reflect the fate of "doing experiments", so I settled on this thing (funny enough, I still don’t know what it’s called, even though it’s probably common knowledge...?). In fact, I also want to express an abstract concept of "recording", including recording the timeline, "recording" the changes in Dreemurrs' and the underground world, and "recording" Radic's actions? Unfortunately, I really can't find a way to reflect the fate of falling into the core on it! The cutie marks of the brothers is much more difficult because they do not have a very specific hobby/lifestyle (like science for Gaster) to represent themselves, which is complicate - if I have to pick, I think their representative items are scarves and socks (...!) - although Papyrus loves puzzles, using puzzles as cutie mark cannot reflect his most important principles and personality, and Sans is even more difficult to handle. In short, their representatives are very abstract, and I find it so hard to summarize their very selves with a single mark on their flank! At last I tried to consider after combining the characteristic of "brothers", positive and negative. I always feel that Gaster's red scarf represents his kind heart, inherited by Papyrus along with the scarf itself, so it naturally occupies a place in his mark (unlike socks to Sans, lol). Sans' mark is more abstract, those things can actually be seen as dissipating dust or as a part of lost head, representing, uh, some obvious things...I guess? I actually even considered using the shapes of the souls Gaster gave them, representing Gaster himself who plays a huge part in their lives, but well it's a little bit tragic if you think about that, their lives should be less of him (in the sense of experiments), so I didn't do that in the end.

I also considered about the clothes. Well...Different from monsters, ponies normally don't wear clothes, in this situation it'll be weird if Gaster specially made lab clothes for the brothers to wear, so I l just let them go naked. Once again, the recognizability has unfortunately decreased...! (also about Sans' clothes, I don't think ponies actually "need" pockets...right?)

Yeah and about the plates, I literally cannot figure out where the plates should go, Gaster was trying to make sure the brothers suffer as he wanted to cut ties with them (at least that's what I thought), so they can't be anything like horseshoes. Tags on the ears are great, but still a little bit off, and I can't think of any "plates" fits both settings of pony and handplates... So I ended up going with brand marks (actually I set this for Dreemurrs in alterplates as well). As for the placement? I think they shall be the lower half and it'll be too screwed up if they were on the cutie marks, so hind legs it is. I don't think ponies wear pants, so I made the brothers wear leggings.

btw I think the brothers got the cutie marks right after Sans yeeted Gaster into the core (welp)

[caspersickfanfics]

Late Arrival

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, fever

A/N:

Written for @monthofsick day 20: Late Caretaker !

Every conversation, loud or soft, catches itself in Tighnari’s ears. The minute he stepped foot in Sumeru City, each clink and clank from vendors' knick knacks rattled his brain, every hurried footfall clapped against stone walkways, bells rang, timers clicked, alarms buzzed. Tighnari strongly prefers the rustling trees, the birds chirping, the whisper of wind through the grass; the music of Gandharva Ville. In Sumeru City, everything has a voice.

And there is, so, so much yelling.

Thus, Tighnari’s trips to the city are few and far between, and never without purpose. He grits his teeth against the faint but growing throbbing at the base of his skull and checks the time. It’s been less than 2 hours since Kaveh’s message that Cyno had taken a sick day from work, and yet Tighnari’s anxiety has risen exponentially during that time.

As soon as Alhaitham told me, I went to check on him, Kaveh’s letter had read, but the door was locked and he wouldn’t let me in.

This was not surprising. Cyno despises being vulnerable, which makes it all the more infuriating that Tighnari can’t immediately be by his side. 

Thank you, Tighnari had spared a few seconds to scribble out a response and send a carrier to ease Kaveh’s concerns without delaying his own plans. I will be there.

Since then, a knot of tension has taken root in Tighnari’s stomach, growing along with his irritations; frustration at himself for not being able to move faster, and frustration at Cyno for not reaching out to him directly. More than anything, this is worrisome; there was a time when, as new friends, they both hesitated to impose upon one another, but those days are long past. Now, when Cyno fails to reach out, it is due to some unexpected obstacle in doing so. For instance, being too sick to pen a coherent note or to leave his home for it to be sent.

Tighnari tries stomp these thoughts away, to convince himself that it may not be too bad. Perhaps Cyno just needed a rest day; anyone would agree that he deserved one. But that was exactly the problem - Cyno never takes days off willingly. Tighnari knew this better than anyone. Thoughts racing and head full of unpleasant urban noises, his pace steadily picks up until he reaches Cyno’s apartment in record time.

He knocks. “Cyno! It’s me.” When there’s no response, he rifles through his pockets until he finds a key that he’s never used. In the three years he’s had it, Cyno has always come to greet him in before Tighnari had a chance to even touch the door. His chest tightens. Letting himself in, he moves slowly, hoping the place's owner is just asleep.

Then the sour stench of vomit hits him, and Tighnari’s ears twitch as the sound of harsh, uneven breathing replaces the city’s ambience. It takes all of about two seconds to find Cyno on the floor of the bathroom, and and Tighnari’s frustration is gone in an instant. He feels himself melt.

Cyno’s body is flush against the toilet with an arm cushioning his cheek. His lips are pressed into a thin line and his whole frame trembles. The typically stoic face that Tighnari is so familiar with is openly unnerved and vulnerable beneath a mess of sick and sweat.

“Nari,” Cyno chokes out miserably. His voice is raw, ragged, watery. He closes his mouth quickly and presses into it with the back of his hand, shoulders jerking with an aborted heave. A whimper like a kicked puppy tears at Tighnari’s soul.

“Oh, Cyno.” He kneels down and Cyno leans towards him, a clear plea for touch. Tighnari’s hand finds the top of his head, gently directing the sick man’s face upwards to get a better look. His eyes are glazed over and watery, his skin washed out and clammy. Tighnari brushes damp, sticky hair back and gathers it into a messy ponytail, using his own pin to clip white bangs away from the sick man’s face. Cyno’s eyelids flutter. Tighnari speaks softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

With Cyno’s cheek cupped in his hand, Tighnari can feel his feverish skin burning to the touch. And yet, when he puts a towel wet with warm water to Cyno’s skin, he flinches away, shivering. “Sorry,” Tighnari winces. He holds the towel up. "Can I– ?" There's a tired, reluctant nod in response, so he quickly wipes away the mess. This time Cyno accepts it, blinking back at him slowly, as if his eyelids are made of lead.

From then on, Cyno is entirely pliant to Tighnari’s direction. He’s quiet and defaults to motionlessness, still queasy if his reluctance to move from the toilet is anything to go by. But when Tighnari tells him to raise his trembling arms to take off his shirt, he does so without question. He doesn’t protest when Tighnari moves his limbs this way and that to give him a sponge-bath, doesn’t complain about the way the water continues to intensify his chills. Cyno says nothing, only watching attentively, when Tighnari has to leave him briefly to re-wet the washcloth, grab a dry towel, or rummage through Cyno’s closet for something clean for him to wear. It’s as disconcerting as it is helpful. As soon as Cyno is clad in his warmest, most comfortable pajamas, Tighnari pulls back, frowning.

“How are you feeling now?”

Cyno simply groans, looking up pitifully. Tighnari’s heart aches. He squats, taking shaking hands into his own, squeezing gently.

“Words, Cyno. Please? Tell me what you feel.”

“Sick,” he moans. “Cold. Gonna - hurrrk - hurl.”

Tighnari helps Cyno hunch over the toilet and keeps one hand on his back, a firm support. “Okay.”

He feels a full body shiver run through Cyno’s spine before he lurches forward with a gut-deep retch. Though nothing comes up, Cyno is clearly shaken and still nauseous. Desperate, he gasps for air, knuckles white with the force of his grip on the toilet. A broken sound, something that might be called a sob, tears itself from Cyno’s throat before he’s dry heaving once more. Tighnari rubs circles into his shoulder.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, trying to mask his own growing concern. Even when the retching subsides, Cyno coughs until he’s gagging unproductively once again. His neck is straining so hard it looks painful. Tighnari gives it a firm massage and waits for Cyno to relax, catching him by the chest as he slumps forward. “You might be empty.”

Cyno shakes his head, body tensing and curling in on itself as nausea washes through him relentlessly. He’s practically panting.

“Okay. Deep breaths. Take your time.” As a forest watcher who has healed countless unfortunate travelers, Tighnari is so intimately familiar with illness that he is largely unaffected by what many find appalling. The mess, the stench, the fear and anxiety of a patient who has lost control of their own body; unpleasant as they are, Tighnari in his day-to-day lives comfortably alongside them.

With Cyno, it’s different. It reminds him unpleasantly of moments when Collei’s Eleazar would flare up in the past; Tighnari can maintain his external calm with relative ease, but his heart pounds in a way it normally wouldn’t. He waits patiently for Cyno but internally curses whatever caused him this misery as his normally strong body is wracked with hiccups. He tells himself that this is to be expected, the toxin has to work its way out; and yet it is no less jarring to see the General Mahamatra sweat-soaked and trembling, at complete mercy of his stomach. His typically intimidating figure, crumpled on the bathroom floor, seeming so small. It gives Tighnari a deep urge to treat him as if he - Cyno, of all people - were something delicate.

His hair is falling out of its ponytail, so Tighnari gathers it up a second time, struggling with the mess. Cyno has again claimed the toilet seat as a pillow. His eyes are hazy; Tighnari pauses.

“Cyno?” A few seconds pass. Cyno coughs, shudders, but doesn’t respond. “Hey,” Tighnari puts a hand to Cyno’s cheek, then his forehead. It’s warm.

A healer must be patient. He watches Cyno’s eyes drift, struggling to focus. Eventually they fall upon his face, and Tighnari musters up a smile. “You with me?”

Cyno looks like he has no energy to respond, but he nods, cheek smushing rather adorably against porcelain. He blinks, and tears appear at the corners of his eyes. “I’m so tired,” he croaks.

“Yeah,” Tighnari breathes, relieved, worried, and sympathetic at once. He forgoes the ponytail, instead letting his fingers card through loose hair, gently easing out the knots. “Have you been sick all day?”

Cyno closes his eyes and nods minutely. The ache in Tighnari’s chest grows.

“You need to have some water.” A visible shudder runs through Cyno’s body, probably not liking the thought of consuming anything, but he only nods again. As he straightens up, Tighnari gives him an encouraging smile. “Just a bit.”

With a sigh, Cyno brings the glass Tighnari offers to his lips. He winces, the water likely stinging his abused throat. Once he’s had a few sips, he puts the glass on the floor and covers his mouth. Shortly after, a breathy burp escapes him. Tighnari gets the picture and helps situate him over the toilet yet again. Cyno looks at him, some desperate plea in his eyes. Tighnari pretends not to feel his smile waver.

“It’s alright,” he says. “Relax and let it happen.”

There’s no time for a ponytail. Cyno barely leans forward, belches, long and loud, and the water comes right back up. Tighnari does his best to keep any hair out of the way with one hand, the other bracing Cyno’s forehead so he doesn’t plummet forward. A few quick breaths, and then an almost silent hiccup brings up a stream of bile.

“That’s it,” Tighnari says. Cyno coughs, spits, and the tension drains out of him. “Are you done?”

Hesitantly, Cyno shrugs. “For now, I think.”

It’s good enough for Tighnari. He leans the sick man back against the wall, leaving him briefly to gather some supplies. When he returns, Cyno is half asleep already.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Tighnari squeezes his arm. “Open your mouth, I’ll brush your teeth.”

Once Cyno’s mouth and face are cleaned up, Tighnari sits beside him and chews on his lip. He’s worried about dehydration, but Cyno’s stomach likely isn’t steady enough for fluids yet, and rest is important, too. He glances over, and startles when he sees the sick man looking back at him.

“Please," Cyno quietly begs, "let me sleep.” It's the first thing he's asked for today. Suddenly Tighnari would sooner launch himself unarmed at a feral sumpter beast than do anything to disrupt this man’s rest. He relents.

“We’ll try water again in a few hours."

Cyno still looks so unwell. His skin maintains an ashy pallor and the space under his eyes is dark and puffy. As he checks him over, Tighnari can’t tell if his fever has lessened or if he’s simply fallen victim to wishful thinking. He’s surprised when Cyno’s shaky hands find his own face, smoothing the area between his eyebrows before moving to massage his ears. The headache Tighnari had forgotten about begins to ease and with it, his muscles.

“Nari, hold me.” The plea is watery, innocent, and full of love.

A smile ghosts Tighnari’s face, ever endeared by the vulnerability the General Mahamatra allows him to see. It may be in both of their best interests to remain still, just for a few minutes, so he settles on the cold floor and leans against the wall.

“Come here,” he says, and as soon as he’s given permission, Cyno sinks bonelessly against him, queasy tremors still wracking his frame. Tighnari simply holds him, carding fingers through his hair in the way that always helps him sleep, and gathers his strength for both of their sakes. By the time Cyno drifts off, Tighnari is more relaxed than he's been since he set foot in the city. He stands, cradling the sick man in his arms, and feels a pang of regret alongside a wash of fondness.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he whispers, pressing a firm kiss to the top of Cyno’s head. “Everything will be okay now.”

–––

Chapter 2

–––

If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to let me know by replying directly to this post, by sending me an ask, or by sharing your thoughts with me privately and anonymously through this survey! Thank you so much for reading!!

[fallout-fucker]

Hancock Headcanons (Including Goodneighbour Headcanons) Part One

Surprisingly a really good cook/baker. Will make 5 Star quality full-course meals when high as fuck. Or at least, as good as you can get in the Wasteland if you don't think mutated Brahmin tastes too different from cow. Man's is making steaks.

He also mass bakes when very stressed. There's been times Fahrenheit has walked into the office and seen the kitchenette, the coffee table, any and all of the free surfaces, really, full of trays of baked goodies. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, special brownies, you name it. When this happens, Daisy has to organise a massive order to traders to make up for all the ingredients he buys. He always gives her extra caps for the inconvenience of Goodneighbour having less eggs and flour, etc, for sale than usual. He makes sure to never take all the stock, though, food's hard enough to come by, especially produce. His town needs it more than he and his baking sessions do.

He always gives away the goods when he's finally calmed down and the stress has eased.

He takes care in making sure the normal goodies are separate from the 'more fun' ones.

The normal goods go to the townsfolk and drifters. He goes to the kids first, though. If it's during the colder months, he'll also take the time to make hot chocolates or warm milk (Depending on what's available) for them.

Actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Makes sure the kids have all got blankets, coats, hats, scalves, gloves, socks and shoes, and beds somewhere warm.

He regularly checks this. Has a little checklist for all the items kiddies need. He isn't letting any kids die in his streets. As far as he's concerned, those are his kids. He knows Goodneighbour isn't exactly the most PG place, but the majority of children in Goodneighbour (Like most people in Goodneighbour) don't have parents or anybody.

He'll leave a few trays on the bar of The Third Rail for pickings. Lowkey likes to decorate it with cake stands and stuff. Makes him feel weirdly calm. He gets to just take his time with it. It's a breather from the rest of his 'Mayoral Duties'.

If he's feeling generous, he'll give away the fun goodies too to anyone that wants 'em (Within reason). But Chems and produce can be pricey so he'll sometimes give those to Daisy to sell so he's not wasting a good amount of his personal stash, especially if he made a lot of goods.

He considered giving them to Charlie at first because The Third Rail is nothing if not the place for a great time, but many people who wander into Goodneighbour are vulnerable. From experience (Both personal and second-hand), Hancock knows alcohol + easily accessible edibles/hard chems + vulnerable and desperate doesn't equal anything good. So, he decided against it.

He refuses to give them to AJ because the guy is sketchy, and he's heard about the whole 'Chems For Kids' thing. Hancock's been working discreetly on solving that issue. If he wasn't keen on drunk adults having access to edibles, you can believe he'd have a real problem with anyone tryna sneak it to kids, let alone that kinda dirty money making its way back to him, and that's if AJ didn't sneak some into his own pockets. Which he likely would.

So, that brought him to Daisy. Besides, it also makes up for the ingredients and he lets her pocket a good percentage of the profit as chems isn't usually her deal.

Once more, actually does his job as the fucking Mayor.

Like with the children, he makes sure drifters and such also have warm clothes for the Winter.

Also ensures everyone has clothes suited for Summer heat, too.

Essentially, twice a year (Autumn and Spring) he'll go around Goodneighbour with a survey to see who needs what, at least a few weeks in advance of when the seasonal weather for Autumn/Winter and Spring/Summer usually rolls in. Then, he organises a mass order to all of the trading caravans for suitable clothes, shoes, etc. Then he'll organise a day with timeslots and stuff where groups of people can go up to his office and get what they need.

Imagine a watchman at the entrance of the Statehouse, with a name list and time slots, and a queue outside of the door. In Hancock's office, it's full of cardboard boxes and tables. Him, Far, Daisy, and a few watchmen all giving out the items and checking them off.

Hancock has plans and blueprints to expand Goodneighbour so some of the apartment buildings just outside of the walls can be included in the town. Has a few trading deals on hold and watchmen guards he could use as contractors in mind for the job of converting the Pre-War buildings into livable homes when he is able to.

Unfortunately, with the Warehouse rats and Supermutants settling down just outside the gates, he had to postpone the plans to focus on other issues. All his contractors had to stay as Neighbourhood Watch guards and security just in case the mutants attack. The mutants are on his to-do list, but first is the Warehouse job and making sure people can stay warm in the attic instead of the homes he was hoping to have done before Autumn and Winter.

He predicted temporarily losing more workers in the Winter due to sickness, but didn't necessarily expect some to be rats, unfortunately. So, his options are limited when Sole meets him. Hence sending a stranger to Pickman Gallery and other things.

It's also why he doesn't mind traveling with Sole. Until Spring, his hands are mostly tied when it comes to progress.

Staying in town when he knows he can't do all of the things he needs to makes him antsy. He doesn't like sitting around and doing nothing when he knows his people are relying on him, so it helps to get away from it for a while.

[honeybeefae]

The invitations came flowing in for everyone in the Inner Circle. After the war with Hybern and the entire mess that was Briallyn, everyone was wanting to return back to normal and what better way to celebrate that than with a good old fashioned solstice party?

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain, were surveying the new dresses they had designed for it while Mor and Amren were going over different jewelry options. Rhysand and Azriel, the latter which was reluctant to even go, were also in the midst of getting ready when a sharp knock on the door caught their attention.

“Why was he invited again?” Azriel grumbled, crossing his arms as Rhysand matched his sour look.

“Nesta needed someone to accompany her tonight.” Was the only response the High Lord gave before opening the door, revealing a smug looking Eris.

He was dressed impeccably, the dark red of his suit complimenting his skin nicely along along with some of the golden embroidery on the sleeves and pocket. Although that color didn’t quite match the theme, Rhys couldn’t deny that somehow it still worked.

“Wipe that smirk off your face. This is just a formality.” A soft yet firm voice scolded, Eris’s eyes lighting up when Nesta walked into the room. Her sisters followed behind, none of them very happy with the arrangement, but they knew he could care less.

“Of course, of course.” Eris replied smoothly, straightening his stance. “Though I must admit, formality or not, you look stunning.”

“Watch it, Red,” Cassian growled, appearing in the door frame with a deep scowl. “High Lord or not, I have no problem teaching you-“

“Shhhh,” Nesta shushed her mate, turning to look at him while wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t waste your breath with threats. You know who I’m coming home to tonight.”

Cassian glared at Eris for a few more seconds before looking down at Nesta, his eyes softening as he gave her a deep kiss. He made it a point to turn them to the side so the red head could get the full picture, staking his claim just in case.

All Eris and the rest of the Inner Circle could do was roll their eyes. Cassian released her and bent down to her ear, whispering something that had her ears turning pink before wishing her a good night. Rhysand and Feyre were the first to walk out and winnow away as the rest slowly trickled out behind them.

The only three left were Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, as the air in the cabin grew thick with tension and a primal need to assert dominance between the two men. She couldn’t help but to snort as they sized each other up, Cassian obviously more physically built.

Eris only gave him a slight tilt of his head and a cocky grin, snaking his arm around Nesta’s waist.

“I’ll suppose I’ll be dropping her off later…unless she changed her mind about her company tonight.” He taunted, not even flinching when Cassian stepped into his personal face with a warning sneer. “Such a brute.”

“I like brutes.” Nesta quipped, sending Cass a wink. “Now both of you relax before you tear me in half.”

A quick image of her being tore in half in a much different way flashed across her mind after she said the words, her breath stopping for just a moment before she regained control.

“You know the rules.” Cassian stated, talking more to Eris than Nesta, but they both nodded. “Have her home before midnight or banned be damned, I will come find her.”

“I think that temper is what got you in this predicament in the first place.” Eris chuckled, holding his hands up innocently when Nesta gave him a look. “But I give you my word I will return her.”

“Good.” He nodded, giving his mate one last look and whispering. “I love you.”

“I love you too, brute.” She smirked, taking Eris’s arm as they both winnowed away to the Summer Court.

He stood there in silence, his mind running over worst case scenarios, before huffing and going over to the desk. Cassian started furiously writing a letter to Tarquin, begging him to lift the ban as unwanted images of them dancing together haunted his brain.

(In honor of the summer solstice ((where I’m from at least!)), enjoy this little blurb! This was SO much fun and honestly???? A threesome between Nesta, Cassian, and Eris, sounds SO good and that’s how I wanted to end it but idk😁 I hope you guys liked it and happy summer solstice!)

[notyour-valentine]

A better man ~ young!Tommy Shelby & Reader (Angst & Fluff)

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

Notes: This was requested and written for @cillmequick back when she was @alex-in-the-wilderness and she requested by DM.

Summary: In anger, a young Tommy repeats the rhetoric he has heard at home too many times and immediately regrets it - or: the day Tommy decided to break the cycle.

Warning: Sexism, insults, Implication of domestic abuse(18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 1604 words

“What about Harry?”, she asked, swinging her legs back and forth. 

At her feet, an array of tiny wood chips had begun to form from Tommy hacking away at a piece of wood with his pocket knife. 

“No.”, he said, bringing the blade down once more.

“Why not?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Why is he an idiot?”

“Cause he is. Everyone knows that.”

She shrugged as she looked him up and down. He was tall, not too bad looking and almost seventeen, which meant he was practically a man. 

“I don’t know that.”

“Now you do.”, he snarled under his breath without looking at her, his long dark hair falling into his face. 

“You’re supposed to help me!”, she snapped angrily. 

That was the deal. She covered for him when he had stolen that medicine for Ada and in return he had given her a favour - any favour.

And what better day to call it in than fair day?

After all, she was already fifteen and still unkissed. If it went on, she’d be an old hag before long and she couldn’t have that. Everyone knew that the older women got the less likely they were to find a fella'. That they'd turn into spinsters and that would mean she could never leave home. She’d be stuck there forever.

Her skin crawled at the thought.

“And helping you is letting you kiss an idiot? Never kiss a fool - everyone knows that. You’ll end up with all sorts of problems.”

He drove the knife in deep, loosening a rather thick chip. 

She huffed and leaned back.

“Your sister says all men are fools.”

“Then never kiss a man.”, he hissed, as if it was the most natural reaction in the world. 

“So much for helping.”, she mumbled, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

Tommy snorted like a horse about to kick off. 

“Alright, so not Harry. Not Georgie. Not John Clark, not the other John. Not Jack, not Billy Cooper. Not Freddie.”

For each of those he had a reason why kissing them would be a bad idea. 

“What about him?”, she asked, pointing at yet another of his brother’s friends, a blond, not as tall as Harry, called Bertie. “He’d do.”

“Nah,”, Tommy said. “He has warts. Arthur said he caught them from snogging some tavern wench down in greet.”

Her head snapped around, her mouth dropped open. 

When he felt her gaze, he looked up.

“What?”, he demanded to know.

“You said that about Billy.”, she said through clenched teeth, as a suspicion spread inside the bit of her stomach. 

“They both did!”, Tommy said. “He said!”

She kicked him in the shin, making him drop both knife and wood. 

“Are you mad, woman?”, he snarled under his breath, rubbing the sore spot.

“You are a wretched liar, Thomas Shelby!”, she accused, jumping up and pointing at him. “Just now you told me that Jack was the one with warts and Billy was the one with rotten teeth!”

Tommy turned pale, then bright red as his jaw muscles clenched. 

“You were supposed to help me!”, she accused, his betrayal making her itch all over. 

He was the only person she could share her plans with, the only one she could admit her fears of becoming stuck, the only one she could trust to help her find someone decent. Or at least decent enough.

“That was the deal!”

“Yeah well what if I don’t want to?”, he snapped, anger burning in his summer sky blue eyes as he build himself up to his full height. 

“You promised me! You promised me a favour- any favour!”

How could he go back on his promise? His promise to her?

It made her eyes burn with tears. 

“That was before I knew you wanted me to find you a boy to kiss! Are you mad?”

I’m mad at you. 

His knife and half finished wooden carving laid long forgotten, as his hands coiled into fists at his side. 

“That’s not what proper girls should be doing anyways. Going around fairs wanting to kiss random boys. It’s disgusting!”

Her lip began to tremble but she bit down before he could see. 

“You can’t talk to me like that!”

“I’ll talk to whomever just the way I want to!”, he snapped back. “Even thinking like that should earn you a beating to set you straight!”

She shoved him.

She shoved him hard. 

It caught him off guard too and sent him crashing to the floor. 

Standing over him she felt her chest rise and fall. 

“You know what I just realised?”, she spat, “I don’t need your help - I’ll find someone on my own. In fact I don’t think I’d even want your help. Ever!”

She spun on her heels and ran as fast as her legs could take her, through the crowd, passed singers, dancers, drinkers, past them all, nearly knocking Arthur’s beer out of his hand, but by the time he called out “Oi, careful!”, she was out of his reach already. 

She ran until she grew breathless, without any sense of direction, of purpose, trying to outrun that burning inside her. 

It was like a flame licking at her stomach, at her throat, under her skin, trying but failing to break through and since she kept it all inside, it threatened to make her combust. 

She’d show Tommy, she vowed to herself. She’d show him. She would go out there and kiss every single boy just to show him. She'd find someone, anyone, and he'd get her out. She'd get out thanks to him., not Tommy, since he clearly didn't want to help her.

His words rang in her ears until she wanted to tear them off.

Instead she clutched the fabric of her dress with trembling hands.

When she felt h a hand on her shoulder she spun, ready for anything but not him.

“Go away!”, she spat.

“I’m sorry!”

“I said go away!”

She tore at her wrist with all her might but he didn’t let go. On the contrary. 

“I’m sorry!”, he said again.

“I don’t care!”

By now she was tearing at her wrist with both hands, which only made him grab the other too for good measure. 

“Listen, -”, Tommy began but she didn’t even let him finish

“No!”, she snapped. “Leave me alone, Tom!”

“I’m sorry. Just listen, please!”

She shook her head, forcing her eyes shut as she tried and failed again to get herself free of his grip. 

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see you. I want you to go!”

Tommy sighed, the way only Tommy could sigh. It was strange to hear such an old sound coming from someone so young. 

He planted his feet on the ground and glanced up at her with a mixture of patience and slight annoyance.She had seen that look. He wore it when either a horse acted up and it only made her angrier. 

But her tugging had lead her nowhere. And her screaming hadn’t helped either. 

“Why would you even be here?”, she demanded to know, getting right up in his face, knowing he never liked that. But this time he didn’t turn away. 

“Why, huh? Why would you come after someone you don’t like? Why would you even touch someone you think is disgusting? Or have you come to give me my beating, Tom? Is that it? You gonna set me straight? Huh?”

Set her straight like a father would.

He flinched at her words, but didn’t release her. Instead he just stared at her, no matter what she said.  

“You done?”

“Done with you!”, she hissed, seriously considering kicking him again. He deserved it. And this time she could aim for his knees.

He had mistaken her period of consideration as a sign she was calming down. 

“I’m sorry.”, he said again.

“I don’t care.”, she snarled. “I don’t care about what you say. Or what you do. Not anymore. I don't ever want to see you again!”

She had thought seeing the hurt in his eyes would make her feel better, but it didn’t. It only made her feel bad. 

“You don’t mean that.”, Tommy whispered, before dropping his gaze, but not his grip on her hands. 

“I know what I said wasn’t right.”, he admitted. “I said ‘cause I was angry with you, not ‘cause I meant it.”

“You still said it!”

“And I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.”, she mumbled. She knew better to believe things like that. So should he. 

“You have to!”, Tommy insisted, almost in shock. 

He was making her angry again, but he kept talking before she could argue.

“Because it’s me. I’m telling you. And I never lie to you.”

She shot him a dark glare, and he quickly took a step back.

“Not about things that are important.”

A part of her, a large part, wanted to keep her anger. It protected her, kept her on guard and away from hurt or at least made it less likely. The trouble was that she wanted to believe him. Badly. 

Because it was Tommy. And if she couldn't believe him anymore, she'd have no one left.

When she neither said nor did anything, Tommy released one hand (not the other) and reached out to cup her cheek. 

“I’m sorry.”, he said again. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. I’d never mean something like that. You know I wouldn’t.”

She forced her eyes shut and clenched her hands into fists, all the while knowing he would notice even if she wanted to keep the storm inside her. 

“I’m sorry.”, he said again, and again and again, his hand finding the back of her head and bringing her in until her face was in the crook of his neck. 

He held her until she felt her inner storm ebb off, leaving just the exhaustion and deversation after, until she held him back. And he didn’t let go for a long while after, whispering apologies and promises all over again. 

And with anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed them. 

End.

Thank you so much for requesting Alex, @cillmequick and participating in my celebration - I hope you liked what I wrote, even if it was a lot darker than the line might suggest.

Thank you everyone for reading and as always, I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @cillmequick

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul

[eriquin]

The Trolley Problem, part 45

El uses her powers to make contact with the Upside Down. They have a narrow escape, and then another one, and then a tense conversation.

(master post)

Wayne had brought a bucket of fried chicken and biscuits to the cabin. Steve could smell it as he walked up. He let himself inside and saw El sitting on the floor, devouring a drumstick. Her chin was covered in grease and there were bones on the floor in front of her showing that she’d already eaten at least two other pieces. 

Wayne had his shotgun across his lap, pointed away from El. He nodded at Steve and turned back to watching through the window. “Heard you drive up,” Wayne said. “Help yourself to some chicken.”

“Thank you,” Steve said. He sat down on the floor next to El and fished a thigh out of the bucket. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

Between the three of them, they polished off the bucket. Steve wrapped the biscuits in a napkin so that El could tuck them into her pocket for later. She was still a mess, but the kitchen sink worked and he made her wash her face before they left. He said something about how Carol would have his head for letting her get messy in the first place.

“How many kids know about what’s going on?” Wayne asked. “Other than you and Ellie here. And Eddie, of course.” 

Steve had to stop to count. “There’s four boys around El’s age. I’m trying to keep them out of it, but the demogorgon came after Will, so I couldn’t keep him from knowing. And of course he told the rest of them. Tommy and Carol showed up right after, so they know. Jonathan is Will’s brother, and he took pictures of the demogorgon for us. Oh, I need to hide those.” He found his backpack and pulled the pictures out. 

Wayne and El both wanted to take a look, so Steve let them hold onto them while he searched for a good hiding place. He found a box labeled ‘Grandpa’ which was full of photo albums, and decided that would work. Wayne had gone a little pale when he saw the demogorgon in the picture, but he nodded and straightened up as he handed the pictures back over. El didn’t seem fazed by it at all.

“Is Carol the girl in the pictures?” he asked. 

“No, that’s Robin. It chased her through the woods before we... Well, you saw the pictures.” 

“But she’s all right?” Steve nodded. “Did you kill it?” 

He frowned. “No, we didn’t. It got away.” He let out a tired sigh. “They’re pretty hard to kill.” He slipped the pictures back into their envelope and put it between two photo albums in the box, then put the box back on top of the stack.

Once that was done, he continued his explanation. “Some other stuff today, too. Nancy got suspicious about stuff, and she saw the photos. Her friend, Barb, was out in the woods with Robin. She got hurt and went to the hospital, so we didn’t have a chance to tell her what was going on. When Nancy tried to go talk to her about it, she was gone. We don’t know where. We think the lab might’ve done something to her and her family.” 

El hung her head and hugged her arms around her chest. “Bad men,” she said softly.

“Hey, now,” Wayne said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right. We’re not gonna let ‘em find you, darlin’.” 

“Yeah, we don’t know what happened,” Steve said. “Nancy’s going to find out, though. She’s real tough, Nancy. You’ll like her.” 

With the photo hidden and the food cleaned up, they decided to head back to the trailer park. El rode with Wayne, and Steve waited a little bit before following, worried that someone would see them coming out of the road to the cabin. It would be better if the place stayed a secret. 

There were two different ways to get to Forest Hills, and Steve figured that Wayne would go south instead of north. It was longer, and went all the way around the town, but it didn’t pass through any neighborhoods so there was less of a chance for someone to see El in his truck. Steve went north instead. He came out of the woods and turned onto the street that cut through town. Coming up the other way were a pair of white vans with blue writing on the side. He only realized that they were from the lab after they went past, but once he did, his heart started to race. 

He had to pull over and catch his breath. Part of him wanted to turn around and make sure they weren’t going after Wayne, or going to Hopper’s cabin. But they were already long past, and he didn’t see which way they went. It would look suspicious if he followed them around, and if he dawdled much longer, he would be late getting to Forest Hills. He pulled back out into the street and kept driving. 

It was well past dark when he got to the park, but he knew the way. He hadn’t been back since the last time he’d been to visit Eddie, which wasn’t that long ago, but felt like a lifetime. Eddie’s van was there. Wayne must have gotten it from where they’d left it, near Dustin’s house. Wayne’s truck was parked next to it, and there were lights on in the trailer. He parked behind the truck and started walking around it. 

One of the streetlights further down the road distracted him when it flickered. He flinched and stared, but it didn’t flicker again. The electricity to the park might have been kind of flaky, and that could explain it, but with all the Upside Down stuff going on right now, it had him on edge. He looked back at the trailer. The living room lights blinked, too. Already geared up to worry, he ran to the door. 

Inside, Wayne and El were sitting in front of a little radio. El had a blindfold on and her nose was bleeding. The living room lights were blinking, but not with the frantic flashing of an imminent monster attack. Instead, they were doing so gently, in time to the voice on the radio. 

“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie’s voice asked. “Can you hear me?” 

“Yeah, kid,” Wayne said. His voice cracked a little. “I’m right here. Where are you?” 

Steve felt a little dizzy and realized that he was holding his breath. “Eddie?” he gasped. “You’re alive.” 

The radio crackled with static. “I’m in the trailer,” he said. “But it’s all wrong. All of Hawkins is wrong. I don’t know how to get back.”

“We know, kid,” Wayne said, loud and clear. “We’re gonna figure out how to get you home.”

Something behind Steve caught his eye. He turned and looked through the open door. The streetlights in the park were flickering more now, and the lights in the closest trailers were doing the same. It wasn’t the friendly blinking of a human in the Upside Down, either. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, it’s coming here. Eddie! It’s the demogorgon!”

There was more static from the radio, and Eddie’s voice sounded far away. “Steve?” he asked. “Is that you?”

Steve scrambled forward, leaving the door open. “Eddie! The lights!” 

A loud squeal came from the radio speaker, and then a pop and it sparked. Wayne reached over and yanked the plug from the wall before it sparked any more. He pulled El back from it, too. Her hands were shaking as she pushed the blindfold off.

Steve kept shouting for Eddie to run. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The lights in the trailer were going crazy. There was a terrible crackling sound, and the wall near the front of the trailer started to buckle. 

He spun around, looking for a weapon. Wayne’s shotgun was nowhere to be seen. “Shit, where are your knives?”

“Are you crazy, son?” Wayne yelled at him. He scooped El off the ground and grabbed Steve with his other hand, dragging him towards the door. Steve stumbled and followed him. The wall started to tear, and the demogorgon let out a horrible screech as they jumped down the stairs and into the yard. 

They ran away from the trailer, with Wayne still carrying El, and only stopped when they got to the picnic table. The lights kept flickering for a moment, then everything went dark. All the lights in the park had gone out. Steve stood back to back with Wayne, sandwiching El between them. “Where is it?” he hissed. 

Just as quickly as it had started, it all stopped. The lights around the park came back on, and there was no monster to be seen. Up the road, though, they could see headlights coming their way. 

“Maybe they’ll keep driving,” Steve said. 

“Hm. Can’t take that chance,” Wayne said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood off El’s face. “Remember what we talked about, darlin’? You go hide in the woods until it’s clear, all right?” 

El nodded, then started running for the woods behind the trailer park. Steve started to protest, but it stuck in his throat when he realized he knew the vehicle pulling in next to his car. It was Hopper’s Jeep, and the man climbed out of it looking annoyed. He didn’t give any indication that he’d seen El. 

“Hey, Wayne,” Hopper said, eyeing Steve suspiciously. “You been out looking for your boy?” 

“I have,” Wayne said. “How’ve you been doing?”

“I’ve had better weeks.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one up. “What’re you doing here, Harrington? Doesn’t seem like your kind of neighborhood.”

Steve felt his face slip into a blank mask. “I was looking for Eddie,” he said. “That’s all.”

“You a friend of his?”

He knew he took too long to respond. “Yeah. We’re friends,” he said. He was pretty sure Hopper would think he was just there looking for drugs, and not involved in whatever happened, but maybe not. He considered that it might be a good time to tell him more about what was going on.

The idea dropped out of his head almost as fast as it came, because coming up the road behind Hopper were a pair of white vans from the lab. They might have been the same he’d seen on the road, but Steve couldn’t tell. He stiffened up and glared at the men in suits that piled out of them. Wayne made himself look busy lighting up a cigarette of his own. It let him cover his mouth as he whispered to Steve. “Terrible disguise, putting suits in work vans.” 

Steve gave him just a tiny nod. He couldn’t help but continue to glare at them. It made sense now that Wayne had warned El to run into the woods. That was good thinking on his part. 

Hopper seemed to recognize the vans as well. “Still tracking down those power grid issues, I take it?” he asked one of the men. 

Steve had no idea who the man was, and he didn’t introduce himself. “We got reports of surges in this park,” he said. He looked around. If there were other people in the park, they were content to watch from inside of their trailers. Wayne, Steve, and Hopper were the only ones here. He singled out Wayne with his next question. “Have you seen any unusual electrical activity around here tonight?”

Wayne took a deep drag from his cigarette. “Sure,” he said. “We’ve been having power surges for ages now. Can’t run the washer and the TV at the same time or you put all the lights out. Gotta say, it’s nice of y’all to show up to look into it.” He gestured down the hill. “Pretty sure the transformers are down that-a-way, if you want to take a look. Now, we have a park handyman, but he ain’t one of them certified electricians. You might want to have your boys make sure it’s all up to code now.” 

The man looked in the direction Wayne pointed. “I see,” he said. He went back to his colleagues and started talking quietly with them.

Hopper came closer to them. He leveled a glare at Steve. “I sent someone by your house today, Harrington,” he said, gruff but quiet enough that the suits from the lab wouldn’t hear him. “Your parents aren’t happy that you didn’t come home after school, and they’ve got a world of questions about the scorch marks in your backyard.”

“I told you what happened there,” Steve said. He kept looking past Hopper’s shoulder at the men by the vans. “It’s just... I’ll go home eventually.”

“Jesus, Harrington. Did those guys run over your dog or something?” Hopper muttered. Steve looked back at him, then at Wayne. “You look like you want to murder them with your mind. What’s up with that?”

Steve grunted and shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just don’t trust ‘em.”

“They’re from Hawkins Lab, you know,” Hopper said. 

“I know.”

“You got a reason not to trust Hawkins Lab?” 

Steve snorted. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “They’re a bunch of lying spooks.”

The men from the lab finished whatever discussion they were having and got back in their vans. One turned around and started back out of the park, while the other kept going down the road, towards where Wayne had pointed. Steve relaxed a little after they left.

Hopper took another drag of his cigarette. “Now, why would you think they’re lying, Harrington?”

Steve glanced back at Wayne. “I mean. They say they’re out here investigating power surges, but they’re not exactly dressed like electricians. Also, who’s out working this late at night? The whole thing stinks.” 

This made Hopper smirk a little at him from behind the cigarette. “That’s a decent observation there, kid,” he said, “but you really shouldn’t be out here this late. We’ve got an epidemic of missing teenagers, you know.”

“I know,” Steve said, not bothering to keep the derision out of his voice. “I’m out here looking for one of them.”

“So you know that Munson’s missing?” 

“Duh,” Steve said. Wayne gave him a sideways glance and then looked back towards the woods. He frowned back and scuffed his shoes in the dirt. “Man, it feels like I snuck around the back of the gym to gossip, with you two standing around smoking. Are you looking for him? He went missing before Heather’s party, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hopper said. “We’re doing the best we can. Spread kind of thin here. Three teenagers have disappeared, plus a couple more hunters never came back from their last trip.” He sighed and looked down the lane, towards where the white vans had gone. “Plus those dickwads driving around, looking for God-knows-what. And that’s not even getting into what happened to Benny.” He looked over at Wayne and jerked his thumb at Steve. “You tell him about that?”

“He already knew,” Wayne said. “Kids talk, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Hopper said. “Kid, is there something you want to tell me about, maybe?”

Steve sighed and looked around. It was too open here, and the lab had been too close. “There’s lots I’d love to tell you about, Hop,” he said. “I can’t, though. You wouldn’t believe me.” 

“Try me.”

He shook his head. “Not here. Though, if you’re still the guy I think you are, you’re halfway to it already.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back towards the woods one last time. “Think the lab’ll follow me home if I leave?”

“Probably,” said Wayne. “You’re acting awful suspicious.”

“Damn it,” Steve said. He turned back to Hopper. “You should check some of your granddad’s old things. Bet you’d find something interesting there.”

Hopper straightened up, surprise evident on his face. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “What do you know, kid?”

“You wouldn’t believe me without proof,” Steve said. “Besides, it’s late. I should head home. My parents are probably going to ground me, you know?” He gave them a little wave as he headed back to his car.

Taglist: @neonfruitbowl

[stereax]

in terms of the zegras trade talk, is there any way (in terms of cap situation etc) that it would be possible for him to join jamie in philly?

and which teams do you think it are likely for him to go to otherwise?

thank you in advance <3

Hi there anon! So so sorry for the delay on this, I hope you're not too mad at me.

Your question is incredibly intriguing, but it's not quite exact. Any team, theoretically, can pick up Zegras, as long as they move the right pieces back or conduct the proper cap gymnastics. That being said, many GMs will not find him worth the price, and, furthermore, not worth the hassle of potentially taking a sledgehammer to the future.

Moving Zegras during the season (as in before the trade deadline) versus in the offseason would play out drastically differently under the cap and mean different decisions from Verbeek and co. Meet me under the cut for more!

So let's talk about the cap. I don't know how much you know about it, anon, but let me give a quick refresher. The NHL has a "hard" salary cap; teams cannot surpass the limit, full stop. (This is contrasted with MLB soft cap, for instance, where you just pay more tax for being over the cap.) There is one notable example, however: LTIR. Standing for Long-Term Injured Reserve (well, not really, but we all call it that), LTIR allows teams to surpass the salary cap, as long as a player on the team is "bona fide" injured and will be out for more than 24 days and 10 games.

Now here's the complicated thing: cap "accrues" every day that you're under it. (Kind of like it gains interest.) So, as the cap is 83.5m, if your team only makes 82.5m, you have that extra 1m accruing. This is key at the trade deadline where that 1m can end up as over double that to play with in extra wiggle room. (At the trade deadline, you can trade for a 2m player and be at 84.5m, but since you accrued the cap earlier in the season it averages out and is okay.) However, when you have players on LTIR, your cap basically stops accruing. This is why you'll see teams keep season-ending injuries as regular IR and not LTIR if they can - it helps the cap accrue. (Two instances of this right now are Kirby Dach and Dougie Hamilton, both out for the season as far as we're concerned, neither on LTIR.) Notably, in the playoffs, you can activate players off LTIR and go over the cap because of some badly written rules that nobody wants to fix (literally). This is often colloquially termed "pulling a Kucherov" after the Tampa Bay Lightning did this in the 2020-21 season, putting Nikita Kucherov on LTIR for the entire year, using his cap hit to acquire players, then reactivating him game 1 of the playoffs and going wildly over the cap limit. And it's pretty dang successful too - the Vegas Golden Knights emulated that success with Mark Stone last season.

So here's where we take a look at Philly.

Philly has around $3m in deadline cap space. Zegras's contract has a $5.75m cap hit (for this year and two more). Now, he could be traded to Philly at 50% retained salary at the deadline, but this would likely require giving up a lot of extra capital in exchange for Anaheim holding that 50% of cap hit on Zegras for the next three years. (Generally, retaining salary on an expiring deal costs a lot less than on a deal with extra years left, for hopefully obvious reasons.) Philly won't do this. This would be stupid from Briere. If they want Zegras, they have a much better plan in their back pocket: Ryan Ellis.

Ryan Ellis is a defenseman with a $6.25m cap hit for the next four years. His career is most likely over; he has a rare back injury that he's probably not going to recover from in a way that will let him play hockey again. At least in theory, he plays for the Flyers. However, he's been sitting on IR all year. If Philly wants to acquire Zegras, they will (almost certainly) slide Ellis to LTIR and use that $6m in cap space to put Zegras in. The one problem with this is it forces Ellis to LTIR for the rest of his career, most likely, and disadvantages the Flyers in the long run.

Option three is just to make space with bad or nonvaluable contracts. Cal Petersen buries $3.85m in the minors. (Buried contracts are weird; essentially, if you send guys on certain kinds of contract - as in expensive - down to the AHL, you're on the hook for some or most of the salary.) Move that contract anywhere and Philly should have room for Zegras at the deadline. Plus it makes it easier for the team to deal with new contacts. Or you move Cam Atkinson, an aging vet making $5.875m, to a team that's not on his modified no-trade clause and free that space for Zegras. Or you move Rasmus Ristolainen, an underperforming defenseman making $5.1m... See what I mean? Any team you like has options to move around cap to pick up Zegras. Not only the teams like Chicago, Buffalo, and Nashville who have the obvious cap space, but also teams trying to retool into younger cores could be keenly interested. (I could go through all the teams in the NHL as potential suitors, but that might be too much information. Unless you want that. In which case, ask and I'll do it.)

That being said, it sounds like Zegras will be moved during the offseason - and that makes sense, as usually contracts with significant term and roster-forming implications aren't traded at the deadline. At that point, with UFA contracts going off the books, it can quite literally be anyone's game to pick up Zegras. However, it'll probably be costly - a young, talented center who will be in your NHL top six, has serious upside, is on a fairly cost-friendly contract for two more years and then retains RFA status? Those don't grow on trees. Expect him to be moved for either a blue chip prospect or a first-round pick. Maybe both, if Verbeek is smart. Genuinely cannot think of a trade of such a player in recent history. (The closest off the top of my head? The Matthew Tkachuk trade - that was two prime players, a first, and a prospect for him. Granted, his circumstances were much different than Zegras's, and Matthew was undeniably worth a lot more.)

Generally, you're not trading away or giving up young core players. Verbeek doing so with Drysdale opens the floodgates. Whether it's because Verbeek wants to sculpt this team the way he wants (neither Drysdale nor Zegras were drafted by him) or he simply sees no future for Zegras on the Ducks, it's incredibly puzzling, not least of all because Anaheim seems mired in this rebuild, and Verbeek may be adding years to it if he plays his hand wrong.