#which is one of the reasons i experiment so much

[verushkak70]

I understand what you're trying to do but in my experience it doesn't work

I've debunked literally hundreds of insane, factually & scientifically wrong crap a friend has been sending me off social media since the FIRST orange asshole campaign

It has not made a difference & I recently realized why (aside from, y'know, tens of thousands of Chinese & Russian social media bots gaming algorithms to inject false narratives into the mainstream to influence elections & democracy in multiple countries...)

It's because facts do not matter to him anymore

This is a belief system very much like religion - it might as well be religion

It is impervious to facts & science

Yet this is someone who I once considered highly intelligent & I still cannot understand how he's fallen for all of this except that, deep down, he must have either a hollow core, or a core of hate, that wants everyone else in the world to be as secretly miserable as he is (which I only know because I've known him for decades - since high school - casual observers would never say "this guy is miserable & self-loathing")

Objectively, on paper, he is intelligent or at least was intelligent & high scoring enough to get into Ivy League universities when we were graduating high school (he did not go to any tho; neither of us could afford such universities; we went to the state university that would take literally anyone, at the time, & from which you had to work at getting kicked out)

This was formerly a pro-choice, pro-porn, pro-drug guy who has drunk the Kool-aid - he's still pro-porn & pro-drug but suddenly in the past 2 years, as "throw it back to the states" became the propaganda on X (his favorite social media, ugh), he started saying it should be thrown back to the states

This from a guy who used to say - in his 20s, 30s, 40s - that abortion should be available on demand at drive thrus (which was hyperbole ofc; obvs you can't get one at an actual drive thru; it was the concept of fast & easy access he was championing)

As these right wing evangelical positions have trended on X, they have come up in his speech the past couple of years (really the past decade, but it accelerated like the speed of light once he moved from FB to the post-Musk Twitter/X)

Because I've known him for so long, I've been able to say, "Huh, you never used to say/believe that over the last 40 years... Why the change, & why now?"

& even that does not get him to realize his opinions are being deliberately shaped by propaganda

He will deny it or say "well I always kind of thought that way" & when I say "dude, you've never been shy of sharing your opinions, whether people wanted to hear them or not, especially if not! so why haven't you mentioned this change of opinion until after X became your main source of 'news'?"

That gets evasions & subject changes because the idea that he didn't come up with these ideas on his own is unacceptable

He will share literally fake news from X & when I ask, "OK, I get that you don't trust mainstream media, with good reason; or the government, with good reason; or the medical/scientific establishment, not without good reason; but you'll just believe anything some clown you don't know on the Internet - who could be anywhere in the world despite his "US Navy Vet" trucker hat - says, without question?"

& his response is always subject changes & attacks on mainstream media/government/politicians/parties but never an answer to the actual question because there is no rational explanation & he knows it

& if I call him on the subject changes, he just ratchets up the subject changes & attack rhetoric as if I'm one of those easily offended wilting liberal flowers he can steamroll, which I'm not & never have been, so it's interesting (if sad) that he thinks what works on other people will work on me

Or maybe he just doubles down because there IS no rational explanation, idk

This is seriously depressing me because this guy was my BFF for like the first 30 of our 40 year friendship - my older sisters would call him "our adopted little brother" - & I don't recognize him anymore

The only reason I continue to talk to him, really, is my oldest sister, who passed away a year ago in February, & was a big activist & organizer/coordinator of various (large) protests here, said "don't give up on him, don't fight or argue - just keep listening & questioning" because "he's a good egg"

& honestly he is, underneath all the sourball curmudgeon thorny exterior - the man has never not been there when I needed him & lots & lots of times when I didn't, just for fun

But this is becoming exhausting & I'm stressed out from not literally screaming "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!? WHERE IS MY FRIEND, YOU CRAZY POD PERSON WHO TOOK HIS PLACE??"

I'm sorry - I'm just venting, I guess

But please tell me how someone can maintain the cognitive dissonance of a high index of suspicion for the mainstream media, the government, & medicine/science, but not some Joe Blow clown on the Internet - as if somehow that guy (who's probably actually a Chinese or Russian bot) is telling the gospel truth & has a hidden mainline to the secrets of the universe

Because I can't understand it

I can understand it in people who've not had the privilege of university education (my friend has)

or international travel (my friend has, multiple times, with me & others)

or who never left the neighborhood or town where they grew up (my friend did as soon as he could)

I cannot understand it in my formerly skeptical & always shrewd friend

I honestly do not get it 😞

So many people do not understand the relationship between climate change and cold weather.

[hannieehaee]

Lunaaa, how have you been? Hope you’re well

How do you think svt would act when they’re interested but can’t tell if reader is into them too?

crushing on reader but unsure if it's mutual

content: implied mutual crush, some nervousness and embarrassment, fluff, etc.

wc: 848

a/n: this was such a cute concept thank u for requesting!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

for some reason i feel like he'd be so awkward and sheepish around you. he'd wanna flirt or make his interest known, but he wouldn't know how far he could go before embarrassing himself. it'd be one of the few instances in which he'd be in out of his depth.

jeonghan -

he's chilling. he knows most people he meets either find him attractive or are attracted to him, so he would probably convince himself (rightfully so) that you'd like him back. and even if you didn't like him back, he'd be confident he could get you there with his humor, looks, personality, etc.

joshua -

he'll be incredibly chill about it. i find it hard to believe that he'd ever feel insecure about a crush, even if he wasn't sure if it was mutual or not. seems the type to want to either confess or be very obvious about it in order to gauge your interest. from his experience, the feelings would probably be mutual.

jun -

would be a little on the shier side. the only way he'd really interact with you would be through forced proximity such as mutual friends or a shared job. he'd latch onto this to try and gauge your feelings and become closer to you, wanting to at least form a friendship and then maybe try and let it grow into more. his crush would grow bigger the closer you got.

soonyoung -

he's shy but at the same time he's so painfully obvious. would not outwardly confess but he'd be sosososososo obvious that it'd be impossible for anyone to not know about his crush. he'd be the only one unaware of how obvious he was. in his mind, he'd be playing the long game, attempting to get to know you so it'd be easier to make you fall for him back.

wonwoo -

i cant imagine a world where wonwoo's crush isnt 100% reciprocated and he's not completely aware of that fact. butttt at the same time i think he might be a little unaware of his surroundings at times, so there's a chance his own crush on you would blind him from your mutual crush on him. he would not flirt, but would rather just be a little extra nice to you, shyly trying to get closer than he would with any other friends.

jihoon -

having a crush on its own would make him into such a blushy, fumbly mess. he'd stammer his way through every sentence with you, blushing and avoiding eye contact at all costs. would never even consider the crush being mutual, so he'd destine himself to shy interactions with you until you make the first move.

seokmin -

for once in his life, he'd be so shy and sheepish, having to reel in his super friendly and bubbly personality due to fear that if he got too close he'd be too obvious about his crush. would still be super sweet to you, but any outsider would be able to tell he treats you differently from everybody else.

mingyu -

even if he wasn't sure whether it was mutual or not, he'd still flirt with you as much as he could, but would still try and be sorta lowkey about it. would make his crush everyone's business (except for you), not letting his uncertainty deter him from continuing to stay as close to you as possible.

minghao -

i think he's probably very good at reading people, so he'd be able to easily gauge whether you liked him back or not. he'd want to be friends first, both to get to know you better and to make sure you were interested too. would not be too obvious about it and maybeeeee even a little bit shy, earning some teasing from your mutual friends.

seungkwan -

he'd be soooooooo shy god. so shy and awkward about it all, not knowing how to go about finding out if the feelings were mutual. he'd probably be more likely to ask a mutual friend to talk him up to you so he could check to see if it was safe for him to ask you out without humiliating himself. he'd probably be very annoying about it to his friends lmao always talking about you and being overall lovesick.

vernon -

as chill as he'd want to be about it, he'd still be kind of overly self-aware while around you. his eyes would always find you whenever he said a joke, trying to check for any signs that you favored him in a crush type of way. he'd try to hang with you alone, but would usually chicken out, not wanting to be too obvious without knowing whether or not you were also interested.

chan -

i dont think he could ever hide a crush, specially not with all his friends making it super obvious. he'd ask his friends for help to see if you liked him back, which would prove to be a mistake bc it'd just make it all the more obvious. would not be embarrassed by his feelings but by being too obvious and lame about it lmao.

[thewertsearch]

GT: Well ive thought about it. GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad. GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found. TT: Well yeah, Jake. TT: That's sort of the point. TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.

Ok, I think I get what's going on here.

Jake's Dreambot is probably the last remaining source of uranium on the entire island, and the AR is turning its retrieval into a game of hide-and-seek.

I'm not sure why Jake hadn't already retrieved this particular chunk of uranium, especially since he has no use for the robot himself. Maybe he was keeping it operational for sentimental reasons?

TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure. […] GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome. GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win.

Jake's picturing a LIVING GRANDSON SMACKDOWN - and, frankly, so am I. That robot's being piloted by an absurdly advanced AI, and I'm pretty sure Jake doesn't have any combat experience.

Winning, in this case, is shorthand for 'waiting for the AR to take pity on you'.

TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake?

Now, to be fair, that one would only work if Jake had agreed to this challenge beforehand. After all, you can't pussy out of something you never pussied into.

GT: It seems it seems it seems!!! GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off! […] TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being? GT: Oh malarkey. GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.

Jake, it's been sixty seconds since you complained about him pretending not to have feelings.

TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them. TT: It sucks. GT: Oh. GT: Um. GT: Im sorry then if thats the case.

Well, that's something, at least - but I don't think Jake really understands why the AR is offended, so I'm worried it's just going to happen again in their next argument.

How long has the Responder existed for, anyway? Jake seems familiar with his schtick, so he's probably not brand-new - but at the same time, Jake's surprised apology makes it sound like the AR has only recently started to express feelings.

Maybe the AR has existed for years, but hasn't been sentient for years. Like, it really did just start as a primitive response script, but Bro kept uploading more of his personality onto it, until it slowly began to think and feel. Fascinating idea, I have to say.

GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often. GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me… GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct… uh… THING from my buddy.

Hey, it's not like the AR can stop imitating Bro. Even if he wanted to have his own identity, he's currently bound to the response script of someone else's Pesterchum account. When he talks, he's forced to do it through Bro's handle.

All evidence points to the Responder being a thinking, feeling being with his own inner world - which makes it a little ethically dubious to force him to be Bro's secretary. The guy shouldn't be treated as a bargain-bin Bro, the same way that Davesprite wasn't a backup Dave. We all saw how that ended, and it sure wasn't pretty.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 110: Is Donovan Desmond a Mind Reader and Most Importantly, Is Twilight Doomed?

Nah.

Twilight isn't doomed, this isn't the end. Calm down, there's no need to panic about that.

Think about it for a second, if Donovan Desmond could read minds, the SSS would have arrested Twilight the minute he said bye to Desmond on that first meeting.

A few months ago, when we saw a young Donovan Desmond appear, I did a poll/analysis about whether or not he could read minds.

Even after the most recent chapter, my opinion is still the same: No, he can't.

Some people think that maybe he can get a glimpse into people's past. Although that would be a super awesome power (and it would be one hell of a plot), I don't think it's the case, because that wouldn't really tell him much and I don't think it would have affected him to the point of forcing him to distance himself from everyone.

I do have a theory about him. I've mentioned it before but here it is again:

I think he can tell when someone is lying.

Yup. That's it. A human lie detector. It made sense a few months ago, it makes even more sense now.

It fits his personality, his fixation with liars as a child, it also fits the theme of the whole story (everyone is a liar in sxf, everyone has something to hide) and most importantly, it fits his behavior.

We know that Donovan Desmond did not initiate war with Westalis. Chapman was Prime Minister when the war started and Desmond followed after him. There's a big chance war ended while Desmond was in power. If I'm not mistaken, the war has been over for about 10 years. I have the feeling that Desmond may have launched Project Apple as a means to protect peace.

And how would someone who is obsessed with lies do that? Of course, by wanting to know how others really think at all times.

My guess is that he volunteered himself to participate in the experiments, that would also explain the scars he has on each side of his head (which he didn't have as a child). It's unlikely he was a war veteran, because politicians and people in office never go into a battlefield, so he didn't get those scars in battle.

I think he really tried to obtain mindreading abilities and he failed, but not completely.

Imagine how it would be to have that awareness of people lying ALL THE TIME. How awful it must have been for him to get this power and realize than even his family, the people he felt closest to were lying to him. I think that's the reason why he isolated from everyone. It also fits what Melinda describe in the last chapter:

Let's look at that Desmond family dinner from that perspective. He cannot read minds but he can tell his wife is lying (because she's scared of him and doesn't want to be there!). It also makes sense that Demetrius keeps his mind blank because he suspects his father knows what he's thinking, so he's train himself to not think in front of others.

His behavior shows a person who has completely lost faith in humanity. He pushed everyone away because he didn't want any more lies, and to protect himself but, by doing this, he also ended up hurting his wife to such an extent that she doesn't recognize him anymore.

Since another theme of sxf is getting closer to and relying on people while forming bonds despite their masks and lies, I can totally see this could be Donovan's story, also parallel to Twilight's by the way: You can distance yourself from others to protect yourself but it'll be a lonely life.

Yes, Donovan is safe, guarded from everyone's lies, but he's also missing out on his family's love and also on the possibility of changing the world for the best.

Twilight is going in exactly the opposite direction of him. He's becoming alive, tearing those walls down, learning to rely on others, and loving his family.

Another Important Thing to Consider...

Everyone is so worried about Donovan Desmond possible mindreading powers that no one has mentioned one very important thing: Twilight's purpose for Operation Strix!

THIS is what WISE and Twilight really want to do: to find information that would allow them to remove people who seek war from power.

It's one hell of a strategy and a tough one for sure. And I agree; scandal, especially in such a conservative society like Ostania could do a lot of damage to politicians like Desmond, parties like the National Unity Party, and institutions like the SSS.

It wouldn't surprise me if at some point in the story it actually works. However, I don't think Westalis is as clean as we think. Food for thought.

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

Wanted to chime in as someone who has actively posted long fics on Wattpad (which does chapter votes) as well as now on AO3, would strongly agree with the creators in the tags here saying that's what comments are for.

I only have the one fic really still on Wattpad so I don't mean to use the numbers here as a humble brag, but it helps illustrate the topic I mean (also dates are showing most recent edits, in case there are confusions in my descriptions here).

Screenshots from my work Goddess of Secrecy on Wattpad as an example. Already on the first chapter to the second, there is a massive fall off of readership. Now, reader drop off is normal! And to be expected! But it's a lot easier to process that when you don't have hard proof of exactly where that happened. And so the continued drop off being visible is the data that's less fun to look at.

It also reflects that most readers will still only use the votes system like kudos anyway, which compounds the issue with these numbers to the writer: it'll always reads as a reader drop off from this end. I have no reason to tell why someone stopped reading, particularly just on votes alone. So I'm just going to assume it wasn't good enough to keep following at some particular chapter. It also leads to a lot of second guessing is the votes aren't consistent! If a regular reader only leaves a kudos every ~5 chapters, what was wrong with the other 4 chapters between? Why did the pattern suddenly get more erratic? Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and Imposter Syndrome are already common enough in creators, adding more ways for someone to not interact with the work only adds more chances of making those symptoms worse. This gets highlighted more when we add in the very common occurrence in fic writing and that's hiatus.

These two screenshots are showing two major hiatus breaks I took on this fic, from 2015-2017, and then 2017-2024. While obviously with a hiatus you can't expect all readership to return, having hard numbers on exactly how many people came back is also really frustrating. And discouraging. Because now I'm left wondering why that many people didn't come back. And I can see exactly how much of a drop off it was.

You know what the difference was with finishing this fic in 2024 though? Actively commenting readers. Only three of them. But they were engaging with me actively in my comment sections and on my other social media. And that motivation got me through finishing the work and starting my next long fic. Because I knew someone was reading. They were telling me they were here reading. Kudos/votes don't reflect that, comments do.

This is also reflected in my current experience with posting on AO3 as well (I don't have visible metrics for this in the same way). But my biggest boosts of readership for my long fics are from reader recommendations. Every time someone leaves a public bookmark or recs the work somewhere, I see my biggest increases in kudos and new readers. A new active commenter is one of those boosts too. It shows other readers that someone is actively engaging through the length of the work enough that maybe they should give it a try too. And it means more. Storytelling is meant to be interactive, not passive. This isn't traditional publishing, you can engage directly with these creators. Take advantage of that opportunity!

I understand this sentiment. And there is always some serotonin in numbers go up. But. Anyone can hit a kudos button. It doesn't mean they're reading. In fact, adding more chapter kudos like this creates the opposite problem of encouraging people to post in short works right now and creates the issue in the other direction. One very long work with a writer with either a lot of time or a few good friends could make kudos bloat that's not reflective of actual readership. Comments can be done by bots, but not nearly as easily as votes/kudos can be.

So really, there is already a solution here. It's commenting. Even something simple. Fandom thrives on community engagement. There is no shortcut way around it like more ways to vote without compounding the problem. You want to support fandom creators, you have to be an active fandom participant.

i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️

[clubsoft]

⠀

⠀ ⠀ CHERIMOYA ⠀ ⠀ JEY USO / POC ! F ! READER ⠀⠀ ⠀

SUMMARY ⋆ jey's completely , hopelessly in love , & this is how he got there . WARNINGS ⋆ fluff , fluff , fluff / minimal character desc ; poc reader oriented / size diff if u squint / pet names overload / loverboy jey / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 3 . 0 k NOTES ⋆ my first real long fic , insp'd by jey saying he wants to be in a love drama , romcom :3 enjoy !! <3

The marketplace sits at the corner of the street where the woman with the moving bookstore and the food truck man who makes the world’s most delicious waffles cross paths six days out of the week, save for Sunday, because what better reason than church to take the day off? The lovers, Jey and the soon to be girl of his dreams, learn this the hard way, standing at the corner of the sidewalk blankly in search of the street stalls, him with cash in his hand, her with a book for exchange. It’s when their eyes meet that the search ends, confusion fades, respective reasons for stepping out so trivial between their mingling gazes. Ever the flirt, never one to even stutter before a woman, Jey breaks the mutual silence first, unable to hide the awe in his tone, his words completely unrelated, but he fears if he doesn’t speak to her now, he’ll live in regret.

“No waffles for me today, I guess,” he says with a chuckle, to which her own laughter chimes in response. It silences the city around him, that heavenly sound, freezes him in time. A simper lingers on his lips, a flash of pearly whites remaining visible as she holds up her book, patting the cover with her free hand, her chin dips with a nod, though there’s a sheepishness to her movements, one he finds endearing.

“I’ll get a new book another day, I guess,” she replies, and if he wasn’t listening so closely, her voice would’ve been swallowed by the nearby traffic.

Caught up, and so awfully, embarrassingly enamored for a man of his age and experience, Jey stutters as he lifts his hand to point his thumb at the large building behind them, managing out, “Looks like t-they’re o-open. Maybe they got a b-book or two in there to hold you over ‘til the library lady gets back?”

He steps backwards towards the automatic doors, awaiting an answer that couldn’t have taken longer to arrive, though it’s mere moments between his invitation and her response. He watches her consider, her eyes flitting about below long, fluffy lashes, the curl of her fingers, with those pretty long nails, tightening around the spine of her book, all things that contrast the calm of her countenance. She’s just as nervous as he is, thank god. “Maybe they got somethin’ for you to eat so you don’t starve waitin’ for the waffle truck.” A perfect reply; it makes Jey smile so wide that every wrinkle and crinkle in his gorgeous face is present. He tips his head towards the doors, she crosses the distance to walk beside him, and together, they head in.

It’s him taking the initiative again, holding out his large hand, “I’m Jey, and you?” No hesitation this time, her much smaller hand slips into his palm, and when she utters her name, he swears it fits perfectly with his, like it’s meant to be said alongside his own, and for a man who knows jackshit and less about poetry, he finds it poetic. “Nice to meet you,” is what he settles for, grin widening when she echoes it back to him.

In the marketplace, they seem to sell everything from live aquatic animals swimming in lavish fish tanks to tiny, miniature figurines that Jey pretends to show no interest in, but hovers around for many minutes, until his companion gently asks him about them. She’s quiet in comparison to him, but he’s met enough people in his almost four decades of life to almost be sure that not a single thing goes unnoticed by those large, sparkly eyes of hers. It’s no surprise that his fascination with the colorful character display isn’t lost on her. “So, are these, like, anime? You recognize these?” It’s too late to lie and pretend he doesn’t, so he grins bashfully, shakes his head to nod, to which she responds sweetly, “Tell me about them.”

Those four words shouldn’t set off a flurry of make-believe fireworks behind her, highlighting her angelic features, making them glow even more, but they do just that. On top of that, he isn’t aware before then that all it takes to bring down his guard is a show of genuine attentiveness, but as he begins to point out every little character he’s familiar with, the connections between those from the same series, his opinions of them, and anything else that comes to mind, he realizes it isn’t a show at all. Her gaze follows his fingertips as they point from one character to the next, and she’s nodding to keep from interrupting him, humming when he pauses between words to show she’s listening. Jey feels his cheeks warm, and he trails off, “Yeah, that’s it. That’s about all I know.”

“What? Jey, that’s so cool! I’m not much of a gamer but that explanation made me wanna change that!” She exclaims, clapping her hands together quietly, beaming. Then, she quickly cuts her excitement short, offering a shy smile as she lowers her hands, smoothing them against her top, as though her enthusiasm would turn him away, a fear he’s quick to remedy with his words.

“If you don’t get tired a’me, I can teach you.” Her features soften further, and she nods appreciatively, holding his gaze a heartbeat longer. The less outwardly flirty of the two by a longshot, she’s the one to break eye contact, returning the attention back to the subject at hand, picking up a medium sized figurine of a bear that Jey recognizes as ‘Kuma’ from Tekken, holding it up like it was a trophy.

“This one’s your favorite? He’s so cute!”

A short while of wandering lands them in the opposite corner of the market, a completely different world, rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, a sticky sweet scent in the air. Jey follows a step and a half behind, and tries his utmost hardest not to be a typical man, though his self control slips from his grasp as his eyes trace the shape of her hips, the sliver of flesh between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, swallowing hard while watching one tan finger hook into the belt loop at her side to adjust said waistband. For a moment, he swears he hears twinkling, angels singing, sees doves flying in, but it’s just the noise of her charm bracelet mixed with illusory manifestations of his attraction. One large hand rubs over his face as he sighs, and she turns to him at the perfect time, a smile so beautiful on her glossy, full lips that he’s almost jealous of what brought it on. “Jey, look! Cherimoyas!”

“Cherry-mow-yuz?” He repeats slowly, pronunciation pulling a giggle from the girl before him, his brows furrowed in confusion until his gaze travels the span of her arm to the glittery long nail pointing towards a box of green fruits. He knows they’re fruits only because the sign says so, despite being entirely unfamiliar, he’s excited just because she is.

“Cherimoyas,” she corrects him, and then continues. “These are so good, they taste like dessert, and I can never find ‘em anywhere. I could eat a truck full of these things!”

“Never had ‘em… Should we get some?” The question is rhetorical on his end, because she’s grabbing a bag, nodding enthusiastically, reaching for the box like Jey was already doing. It’s something out of a movie, his hand brushing hers, the second too long that it takes for them to withdraw, the sparks that make his skin buzz where it's made contact with hers. They almost do it again, stop to let the other through, and by the third time, she’s laughing, simply holding open the bag so he can fill it cherimoyas, going until she says stop.

The sun is beginning to set by the time they come to rest on a park bench, having traveled outside the market, talking and talking, and talking some more. Now, Jey’s using his car keys to split open the apple shaped fruit, puncturing a hole big enough in the shell to split it in half with his hands a moment later. Impressed and excited beyond words, the girl to his right oohs and aahs like he’d done a magic trick. It’s adorable, and his cheeks feel hot as he passes her the larger half, which she instantly switches out with his. “Cheers, to the book lady and waffle man, and cherimoyas.”

“And cherry-mow-yuz,” Jey repeats, the two bursting into laughter, struggling to dig in until their giggles fade, but when he sinks his teeth into the fruit, he moans in delight, eyes shutting, head tipping back with a sigh. “Yeah… good as fuck. Tastes like custard,” he says, filling his mouth with another bite.

She answers with a hum, nodding, eyes crinkled with a smile. “I told you we’d keep you from starving.”

“Wait, we didn’t get you a new book,” Jey says, frowning, taking time away from his cherimoya lovemaking to look at her, his big brown eyes set steadily on her. Yet, he’s just a man, and he finds himself staring at her lips, the way they kiss at the edge of the peel before she uses her teeth, dragging the sweet bits into her mouth. He’s a gentleman, so he believes, and scaring her off wouldn’t be so gentlemanly of him. All he can do is allow himself to feel jealous of the fruit, and look away.

“I have a new story to tell, and I made a new friend. That’s way better than a new book.”

If Jey could, he’d magically materialize in front of this past self— the pair of them, actually— and laugh in their faces. Friends, yeah, right! Years have passed since their first meeting, their lives intertwined to the point where it’s impossible to tell where she ends and where Jey begins, not far from their current physical situation, limbs knotted together, his heavy arm holding her down as she tries to lunge at his twin, whose thunderous laugh echoes through their house like a lion’s roar. Jey’s attempts to stay on her good side result in him laughing silently only when she looks away from him, a deep breath drawn into his lungs to keep his voice from shaking before he calls out to his brother, “Jimmy, stop playin’ with her, man!”

“Don’t make me call Naomi!” Her voice co-signs, much more passionate than her lover’s. Jimmy takes no account of the threat, turning up the volume on the TV, the entire reason for the fight in the first place.

He’d visited to spend time with his brother, as he does every week or so, arriving with two boxes of pizza alongside an array of snacks. Nothing wrong with that, all is well. Jey has his own space, with his TV, consoles and other toys, and that’s usually where the twins hang out. This time, Jey insisted on his girl joining, and taking the party to the main living room, where she’s on her third rewatch of some romance series he can never remember the name of despite being completely absorbed in it. After saying hello and giving hugs, Jimmy, ever the joker, took the remote and switched on the game. He does things like this on purpose, he always does, living off the banter it creates between him and his brother’s girlfriend. Everyone else in their family has been around his antics long enough, but she’s a rookie to it, and it takes almost nothing to rile her up. In retaliation, she‘d taken the remote back and switched it back, that’s when the tug of war with the remote started, reaching a point where a throw pillow had earned its name, flung across the space, knocking Jimmy square in the head. That leads them to the present, where Jey is still holding her still, and Jimmy’s nodding along to the game’s commentary like it’s a hymn that touches his soul.

“You think you can just come into my house, turn off my show—”

“It’s my brother’s house, and I don’t see ya name in the credits of the damn show, so—”

“Baby!” Her whine tugs at Jey’s heart, making quick work of his neutral stand and pulling him onto her side. A hum of understanding, a few soft pecks to her jaw and cheek, he sighs, and sits up, gesturing to the remote.

“Jim, gimme the damn remote.”

Jimmy, incredulous, hugs the rectangular device to his chest, imitating her whining, “Noooo.”

Jey doesn’t get a second to process when another pillow is launched into space; it hits Jimmy in his nose, and he groans. Then, without warning, he opens his big mouth and cries out, “I don’t even know why my brother wants to marry your evil ass. With an aim like that, I’d stay as far away from you as I could!” His words are like a gunshot, the shock on the couple’s faces the smoking gun. Realizing he’d fucked up, Jimmy holds up his hands, and then turns the blame onto his twin, who’s laying back with his hands over his face. “I thought you already asked her, dude!”

“I was workin’ on it!” Jey retorts, sitting up abruptly. Between them, his sweet babygirl is frozen in shock, and he ignores anything else Jimmy could say to defend himself, tenderly cupping her cheek with his palm, lowering himself until he’s eye to eye with her.

“Is he serious?” Is her first question, to which he nods, grimacing.

“I wanted it to be a lot more romantic…” He can see the gears shifting in that little mind of hers, piecing together the full picture with a gasp.

“The date! That’s why you gave me money to get my nails and feet done.” Pressing kisses to her knuckles, Jey smiles.

“Baby, I always give you money to get your stuff done.”

“Except it’s different this time,” spoken like the idea hasn’t quite wrapped around her brain yet. Another nod. She has a knack for making him wait, he realizes, it’s deja vu to the time they first met, Jey lingering in hopes of receiving an answer that’ll set their future on track.

“You always this slow?” Jimmy’s voice interrupts their sugary moment, cutting through it like a knife stabbing into tough plastic, sharp and unsatisfying.

“You still here?” His twin snaps back in an identical tone, no pun intended— the twins are fraternal. “Get outta my fuckin’ house! Baby, gimme one of those pillows.”

“I’m goin’! I’m goin’!” A shuffle of footsteps, and the two are left alone. Jey’s doe brown eyes soften, stuck solid on his girl, who sits before him with her chest puffed out and a hollow gaze.

“Honey?” Large hands squeeze around her smaller ones, thumbs rubbing over her knuckles. “You want some more time?” Jey murmurs, lips against her wrist, kissing it after. “Shit was outta nowhere, I don’t blame—”

“Oh my god, I thought you’d never ask! I was just imagining how we’d do it. I wanna do it in your mom’s backyard, actually, with Roman on the grill and lots and lots of flowers! Lotsa flowers—” As the angel rambles on, eyes having stolen constellations from the sky, the man before her listens with a gaze amorous enough to make poets buzz with joy at the sight of such muse, such inspiration, such true love. Interrupting her is subconscious, lips closing over her soft, glossy ones, his frame shifting off his knees to trap her against the cushions of the couch.

“I can make that happen, mama… We can do whatever you want…” He’s almost whispering, drawing shapes against her nose with the tip of his own, chasing kisses till it’s impossible for her to speak, and she has to smush her hand over his mouth, pushing him back gently.

“But I don’t want the ring yet! I bought a really nice dress and I need to get my nails done, and…”

The day can’t come fast enough. Jey’s mom’s backyard is the venue, one that costs little to no money to decorate. His mom is elated to be the host; she prepares a speech and cries so hard near the end that her words are incoherent. Solo, of all people, ends up on stage to finish it for her. He gets a little choked up himself, and that sends the entire family into laughter. Jey leads all the slow dances, gets drunk, then sits and explains how he learned them. His stories draw a crowd, teasing him so intensely that he fights them off, and buries his face in his wife’s— yes, wife— neck. The dramatics last a mere twenty minutes before the entire family is back on the dance floor, each drink helping fade the night to black.

Morning afters are meaningful, no matter how enamored the lovers are, for they mark the blessing of another day started with one’s soulmate. Jey recalls their very first one in a dreamlike trance, while watching his wife’s chest rise and fall as she sleeps soundly after their eventful honeymoon night. Jey woke up first that time, too. Limbs tangled together, breaths mingled, the scene identical to the one in his bed years ago, their love new at the time, nerve wracking but steady, the butterflies flitting about in the unfamiliar environment having settled by now, though the fluttering never ceases. He hopes it never does.

“Honey?” Beside him, his cherubic wife rasps softly in her morning voice, removing him from his thoughts. Her naked form shifts, curls and molds against his as though she’s trying to become one with him, and as he hums to respond, she nuzzles her nose into his collar and drifts off again. A wide smile dimples his cheeks, arms holding her tightly against him, and he looks up at the roof as though it was the sky, as though the divine herself was looking back at him in that moment, listening to him pray his thanks for the next step of their life, and the start of another day with his beloved.

⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀ © 𝓒LUBSOFT

[dindjarindiaries]

Crosshair making the shot to free Omega was more than just a heroic moment of redemption. It was a display of trust that, more than anyone else, Crosshair absolutely needed to finally make peace with himself.

This analysis is somewhat piggybacking off of this one about The Return, in which I discuss Hunter's true motivations during that episode and how earning trust and loyalty back from Hunter is one of Crosshair's greatest desires, especially as a younger sibling. While he may have started to earn it back then, this scene is the full culmination of it, and it's the moment when Crosshair can finally let go of the past and just be himself with his family again.

As always with any analysis, this is a disclaimer that you may view this moment in an entirely different way due to various biases, one of the most notable being based upon your own favorite characters and your own life experience. All I ask is that you read through carefully before chiming in with any counterarguments!

This analysis hinges heavily upon this line/moment, which indicate two major things for Crosshair: trust from both Omega and Hunter in taking the shot, the latter of whom knows he's down his shooting hand.

It starts, of course, after Hunter's killed CX-2 and he's preparing to go after Hemlock and Omega. Being the protective eldest brother/sergeant he is, he tries to convince Crosshair to stay behind, but Crosshair refuses and insists on helping. It doesn't take much at all to convince Hunter, and in probably one of my favorite underrated moments, he immediately picks up a second blaster for Crosshair - something that alone is a massive sign of trust in his brother and his abilities, even if they're both barely functioning.

Because, again, Hunter knows that Crosshair is down his shooting hand, but he doesn't doubt that his brother will still be able to use the weapon. And it's not just that.

Hunter knows that his brother can still shoot better than him. Not just because Hunter and his senses are no doubt absolutely overloaded right now, but because he has true faith in his brother and his sharpshooting abilities.

(Also... bonus points for this shot of them supporting one another. I hate what led to this, but I live for them literally leaning on each other again after everything they've been through.)

So then, we get this. The position they automatically assume, with Crosshair's blaster positioned on top of Hunter's shoulder. This is already establishing Crosshair as the primary sharpshooter here. Even before Hunter says a word, he's showing Crosshair how much he trusts him to make the shot when the time comes.

After this, we get out first hint of Omega displaying strong trust in both of them.

(She, of course, doesn't know yet about Crosshair's missing hand, but that wouldn't have matter anyway. We all know she still would've displayed the same amount of trust in him that Hunter does here.)

It doesn't matter what Hemlock put them through. It didn't matter to her when he first caught her trying to free them. She has complete, utter faith in her brothers to protect her. As someone who's so big on loyalty and has been trying to earn that full loyalty and trust back from his family, can you imagine how this made Crosshair feel already? Seeing her so confident in their ability to save her, even when she has a blaster pointed at her head?

Hemlock moves himself and Omega closer. This is when one of my favorite subtle moments happens: Hunter literally looks over at Crosshair, as if he already knows exactly what's about to happen.

Again, he already knows that Crosshair's going to take that shot and that he's going to make it. Hunter wouldn't risk Omega. Ever. If he had anything other than full confidence in Crosshair making the shot, then he wouldn't have allowed it.

But Hunter isn't just looking at Crosshair for that reason alone. He can also recognize that Crosshair is unsure, and scared. Hunter might even feel that way, too, but he's ever the eldest brother and sergeant, so he makes it his duty to make a plan and to give Crosshair the reassurance to do what Hunter knows he can do. What he trusts Crosshair to do.

Not only is Hunter telling Crosshair here that he trusts him, but also that Omega trusts him. In fact, he's insisting that she trusts him enough that she already knows exactly what to do to give him the perfect opportunity to take the shot.

Hunter also doesn't frame this as a choice. He tells Crosshair what to do, proving to him just how much confidence he has in Crosshair's ability to pull it off. Instead of a "Come on, you can do it!" it's literally a "You will do this."

And again, it's not like Crosshair missing wouldn't be a big deal. If Crosshair misses here, like he points out, it could risk Omega in several ways, either her being hurt by a stray shot or Hemlock getting the upper hand and killing both of them. But Hunter, protective Hunter, tells Crosshair that it has to be him. That it will be him.

Then, of course, Crosshair takes the shot - and makes it.

(And now, a moment of appreciation for the swiss cheesing...)

(I just noticed Hunter's knife is gone? Give it back??? What's he gonna do without his emotional support knife???????)

Now, the moment when Omega is finally about to reunite with them... but she notices Crosshair's missing hand. She realizes that, even without his shooting hand, the one he's been struggling with ever since their first imprisonment on Tantiss, Crosshair still made the shot. He's still worthy of that trust. And Omega and Hunter have known it, but Crosshair hasn't.

This is when we get another one of my favorite subtle moments (if you've been following me here, you'll know I've talked about this one before). Hunter's gaze guides Omega over to Crosshair and his missing hand, though I think it's a lot more than pointing that out. To me, it's Hunter saying "It was him. It was all him."

And that's when Omega runs forward and gives Crosshair the hug he really, really deserves.

This look in Crosshair's eyes... is everything.

That's the look of a man who's, of course, in utter shock, but it also dawning upon a massive realization. He's really, truly, cared for. And not even just that, but he's trusted, with their lives. You can't tell me that Crosshair didn't know at this point that Hunter's life was tied up with Omega's, too. If Omega had been lost, Hunter would have lost himself, too. By entrusting Crosshair with that shot, Hunter was essentially putting his own fate into Crosshair's hand, too.

And they both trusted him enough to do it. Finally, finally, he had their trust back. This embrace is proof and celebration of that, just as it's also proof of their loyalty to him.

(Hunter having a hand on both their backs I'm gonna be sick! I love them all so much!)

Remember, just a few hours before this, Crosshair was volunteering to Plan 99 because he felt as if he truly deserved that fate. He had clearly forgiven everyone except himself as far as their pasts went.

But here, Hunter and Omega - the two people whose approval Crosshair seeks out the most - both proved that they trust him with their lives. Even when he's far from being at his strongest.

All Crosshair ever wanted from his family was to have their trust and their loyalty again, and this moment is when he finally saw that he had it, and it's what allowed him to finally, at long last, make peace with himself again.

[bckwardsfrwards]

could you do dr phosphorus x reader relationship headcanons on a alien reader

Absolutely! Thanks for the ask :D

These are for a GN reader! Headcanons below the cut sorry for the long wait I have a lot of projects I'm working on at the moment!

At first he'd be a bit weary, You being from an entirely different planet and all. But he'd be quick to warm up to you once he realized you weren't a real threat to him. (Not that much is)

He'd crack stupid jokes with you most of which you don't understand. But his genuine attempts to make you laugh slowly start to work. And when you reference something from your homeworld he's equally puzzled. You both laugh anyways putting the cultural difference aside.

He often seeks you out since you more than tolerate his presence. He was so used to being alone or disregarded that he easily latches onto your genuine attention.

You often find yourselves telling stories from your past, some pleasant but most not. You sympathize with the doctor and all he has lost.

"Courting" with Doctor Phosphorus is a little strange to say the least. You're unused to Earth's unspoken societal rules and rituals. So when he is openly being flirtatious you're a little oblivious to it. You can't see his eyes and you don't understand the meaning of prolonged eye contact, so when you finally figure out his intentions of romancing you you're a little embarrassed at your obliviousness.

Actually dating the doctor is an interesting experience for the both of you. You've never been with an earthling and he's never even seen an alien before you. But you quickly catch on to what he likes.

You learn Phosphorus hasn't known a friendly touch in 15 years and without thinking too much you pull him into an embrace. He's a bit shocked when you pull back and you're completely unharmed. Casual touches quickly become one of your favorite things. Tracing the outline of his bones over his translucent skin.

You can see through him both literally and figuratively. He's not as good at hiding his emotions as he thinks. He seeks you out often just for the comfort of your presence. Whether it's sitting together in companionable silence or just holding hands, feeling the heat radiate from him.

You learn that it's not as hard to read Phosphorus as you originally thought. The way the flames on his head grow a little hotter and burn a little brighter when he's upset. How after a particularly draining mission he'll be more needy for your touch than normal.

He has no shame when it comes to your relationship. Often joking openly with the other commandos about it. Holding your hand in the back of the transport car. Trying his damnedest not to let you out of his sight. He's overly cautious and for good reason, he's terrified of losing you.

You can hold your own in a fight but whenever you find yourself injured he's gentle with you. Attentive and overly cautious making sure that your wounds are tended to. He tells you it's because he was an actual doctor once but you can tell it's just an excuse to worry over you.

As snarky and sarcastic as he is, he is also very genuine and caring. He tries to put your needs before his own whenever he can. Deflecting and claiming he doesn't need to be doted on. But you do anyway, you show him the same gentleness and affection that he so clearly craves and he melts into it.

You show him love he hasn't known in this body and he isn't sure how to handle it. He's torn between giving in and staying reserved. But he lets you in, lets himself be vulnerable and cared for.

That's all for now, maybe I'll do a part 2 and include NSFW headcanons :)

[cloversnstrawberries]

"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [twoshot] [pt 1] ! !

masterlist !

description; You're one of many 'subjects' of a strange underground facility, one that sources their patients from survivor shelters outside of cities affected by outbreaks, specifically ones catered to children who are either orphaned or lost their parents amongst the chaos. One day, the emergency alarm begins blaring; the pre-recorded code said through the announcement system was unfamiliar.

You took it as a chance to run, to escape this hell-- it was the best opportunity you could ever ask for. Too bad it doesn't go you your way.

additional notes; hello! this definitely was just supposed to be a oneshot, but i lost hold on my self restraint and just want to really start off my resident evil writing with a bang . i really love this idea, and i'm a sucker for religious imagery and references, so :) but also, there's a scary lack of platonic!yan albert wesker... i plan to amend that in the coming weeks as i dive headfirst into this special interest on here. it's not going away. help.

also! reader is intended to be a younger teen, around ~14/15 in here, but can be interpreted as younger or older!

warnings; Child experimentation, body horror, betrayal, mentions of the apocalypse, canon-typical bloods, guts, gore, and violence, death of a child/mentioned deaths of children (not reader), child abuse, guns, general terror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), not very yandere in this part, but oh boy will shit hit the fan in the second part, heavy religious symbolism and references (which will only get more obvious in the next part), slightly soft Albert Wesker, and there might be more that I missed! if so, please be sure to let me know!!

w/c; 7.7k (oh lord)

I was so close, you mournfully thought-- your cheek pressed to the cold tile, a guard's boot dug into the back of your skull as he put more and more pressure onto your cranium.

You were so close to make it out of here- out of here alive. You'd seen countless other... subjects, is all they saw you as; come and go from this strange, underground facility.

It always ended the same, whether or not they tried to escape.

You were a fool to think you were any different.

You'd made it the longest, survived the most tests. You were weak, muscles atrophied and dizzy from how small the portions of the meals they gave you were-- even if they could hardly be called that.

Scraps. They were just scraps, just enough to keep you alive; but just small enough to discourage this kind of stunt.

They keep you weak, keep you under their thumb until the time came to crush you down beneath it. You'd witnessed this many times-- you're not sure how many, no longer seeing a reason to keep track of the numbers.

Last you'd counted, it'd been at 38. 38 dead, either shot because they tried to escape, or...

Jamie had been a good friend to you, throughout this hell of an experience. In hushed whispers, they'd tell you stories of their life; they lived so differently from yourself, having hailed from sunny California.

You exchanged stories about the crazy weather phenomena you'd experienced, the snow storms that hit Arklay county mid-October a few years back, was traded for a story about how the highest temperature they'd suffered through was a whopping 131 degrees in the dead of summer.

But now, there was no Jamie.

There was only the thing left in their place, an awful amalgamation of... oh god, you can't even pick it apart. So many things-- eyes of a goat, five legs; two sprouting from their back like a dinosaurs spine, and one burst out of their shoulder.

Their face was near-unrecognizable, their voice no better off. You could hardly understand the words they were saying-- and they were words, you knew that much-- as they curled their hand, as crushed and mangled and deformed as it was, around your ankle.

You stood there, frozen with terror-- unknowing of what-- no, who, this was; until you caught sight of a chunk of long hair, once dyed a vibrant red atop light blonde hair-- all that was left was a faded red, their roots having grown in a good 2 or 3 inches, coming from what you assumed to the top of the thing's skull.

"Jamie?" You'd muttered, voice small and broken. You no longer tried to fight the hold on your leg, simply stared down in abject horror. You didn't notice the alarm begin to ring, nor the flashing red of the emergency lights-- the call of a code over the intercom, summoning all available personal to deal with a "Code 96".

It-- They, nodded; or it seemed like it, a jerk of what must've been their head. What came from the thing-- no, Jamie's mouth next, made your heart go from nearly beating out of your chest to terribly, deathly still, as you realize what they'd been trying to say the entire time.

"Kill... me..." they'd rasped, all semblance of their fiery but intelligent personality gone, replaced with a simple need to be put out of their misery.

You had no means to do so, but as you heard boots rushing down the echoing hallways-- making their way to the adolescent patient's barracks where they kept you all, you knew that they did.

You sunk to your knees, and you held your friend until the guards came in, one tasked with evacuating the other subjects; not wanting any to accidentally get hurt, because then that'd just be a waste of resources-- pulled you from your friend, who let out a horrifying sort of shriek.

Your hand outstretched, as they fumbled to reach out; unable to grab yours in time, you were pulled form the room just as rounds and rounds of gunshots sounded behind you. The door had barely been shut before it started, dents made in the dense metal scared you deeply-- but the bullets never did make it through the material.

Or because the experiments got to them first. The things they inject you all with, the tests and strange sets of tasks that hardly coincide with each other-- the things that somehow make nearly everyone turn into some sort of monster,

Some kept their mind, like Jamie had, and some didn’t.

You’d had an awful feeling that your time would come soon, when all the weird injections and ‘medicines’ and ‘treatments’ finally got to you.

In some ways, you’d accepted that. The fact that you’d probably never make it out, that you’d just be another lost subject. A waste of resources.

Not a living, breathing child that they stole away from a survivor’s shelter after an outbreak hit your city and you fled— and were able to do so, because you were all alone.

You had hopes and dreams— ones that would be splattered across the frigid tile floor any second now, along with your blood and brain matter.

Sometimes the guards were kind, they gave one shot right at the crown of your head— killing you instantly.

Sometimes they wanted to have a little ‘fun’ as they called it. Nobody but the guards found it fun, how they’d toy with the kids as they killed them— the scientists and ‘doctors’ found it wasteful of their time, a disgrace that they spent more time than necessary on terminating a subject.

The other kids, yourself included, found it horrifying. In the dark of night, when you all knew the cameras weren’t as heavily watched as before— the guards weren’t standing where they were supposed to in the patient barracks, you’d spread stories about how the staff were really the monsters.

You’d say that one has a second face hidden beneath her giant, fluffy blonde hair. The others kids said that one of the guards, a particularly cruel one which none of you knew the name of, secretly had a third eye— that’s why he never took off the guard gear, which most every other one did at some point, for one reason or another.

And as you lay here, feeling your nose shift as the pressure of the boot on your head increased, your face pressing harder and harder into the tile— you come to the dreadful realization that they’re going to have their ‘fun’ with you.

You hope they get in trouble with their superiors— really, you do. Because with the red emergency lights going, causing a terrible headache to form right behind your eyes— and the alarm blared, a pre-recorded voice calling over the intercom;

They shouldn’t be here, taking their sweet time with a patient that’d broken off from the rest. Honestly, you thought you could get away with it, in the chaos of them evacuating all patients; or, all patients worth saving.

Noticeably, the barracks that held the younger kids, all below 6, were not evacuated. If anything, they weren’t making any move to free the poor things— the door still locked, probably.

“You know,” The guard began to say, and you recognized that voice. Oh, oh God did you recognize it.

You thought he was nicest of the bunch— he always did his best to help you. In quiet, dark corners where the cameras wouldn’t reach, he’d give you a hug to hide the way he handed you some extra food.

Sometimes you’d smuggle it back to the barracks, to distribute among the most malnourished of you all. Sometimes he’d have you eat it right then and there, to make sure you got extra nutrients.

“So you can grow big and strong,” He’d say. That implied that’d you’d make it further than a year in this hellhole.

He’d even told you his name-- his first one, not his last one; the one he was supposed to only be known as, something he really wasn’t meant to do— he called you by your name as well, your real one, not the serial code you were assigned when you got here.

“Na-than—“ You stumbled out, letting out a cry of pain as he cruelly, oh-so-cruelly, put all of his weight on the foot currently crushing your skull.

He took it off within a few seconds, not wanting you to die so quickly. It’d be a mercy, considering what the other guards tend to do with the subjects they have their sick ‘fun’ with.

“Oh shut the hell up, you fucking brat.” He sounded so cruel. This— this couldn’t be Nathan, could it? No… they’re tricking you. He had to have been replaced, this was nothing like him—!

In a split second, you felt all encompassing relief; as he lifted his foot from the back of your head— but that relief was short-lived, as he crouched down beside you and wound his fingers through your hair,

He yanked your head up, and you made a valiant, but ultimately useless, attempt to stifle the yelp from the action.

When you did let that sound out— though, much smaller than it would’ve been had you not tried, he jostled your head around.

“I really thought you’d be the one to make it. The scientists worked really hard on your virus strain, you know that?” He said that as if it was your fault— your fault for what? You couldn’t really place your finger on.

Maybe… he’s blaming you because you’d given the scientists hope that they’d succeeded? If you had succeeded, would they have stopped the operations—

Or doubled the effort? You’re leaning more towards the latter.

“s’not my fault…” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut. You swear that they had to have replaced all the lights with brighter, more agitating ones. It hurt to be anywhere when the lights were fully on— the blaring emergency light, bright red and spinning constantly— added another layer of it.

“Open your fucking eyes when i’m talking to you!” He yelled— oh, you’d never heard Nathan yell like that. This has to be an imposter; it had to be that the higher-ups found out how kind he was being and terminated him, one way or another.

This couldn’t be him.

Against your own wishes, but along with your better judgement— you peeled open your eyes, lips wobbling as you were forced to come face to face with both the lights, and—

The imposter had taken off his helmet, letting you have a full view of his face.

It was Nathan. No doubt about it.

“I’d say I actually liked you,” He snarled, leaning closer— your back creaking and bending as he pulled your upper half up, but your lower one stayed relatively flat on the floor. “But that’d be a lie.” There was a cruel smirk playing on the corner of his lips, nothing like the kind ones he’d always give you,

You wrenched out a sob, at which he jostled you a little more to get you to “Shut up!”

By that point, you were in absolutely no position not to follow his wishes, your life quite literally placed in the palm of his hands.

He leaned closer again, and you couldn’t help but let the tears rush down your face at the sting of hurt from his words— which only worsened as he continued on.

“The bonuses that my higher-ups gave me to act all buddy-buddy with you were pretty nice, though. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Oh.

That… makes sense— why you two were never caught. Why he could get away with it, with stealing the food, with showing you his face, telling you his name, hugging you, comforting you—

It was all a ploy,

And for what? Maybe they thought that if the subjects had something to fight for, that they’d be more determined to make it out as a success?

That wasn’t true and you knew it— Jamie had things to fight for, but they still ended up with their mutated body looking more like swiss cheese by the end of it all.

Nathan-- no, the guard, as you refuse to associate this... monster with the man who had been so kind to you, even if, realistically, you knew they were one in the same.

That it was all just an act.

That doesn't mean you have to admit it to yourself, even if you accepted the fact in some capacity.

But... regardless, the guard, clicked his tongue, looking down upon you in a way that made you want to curl up and sob. "They thought you'd make it, you know? You were reacting so well to all the tests. The virus took hold..." You couldn't stop the confused little noise, clawing its way from the back of your throat.

Surprisingly, the guard didn't reprimand or hurt you for it. His smirk only grew to a sick, sick grin. Presumably because of the obvious show of confusion on your part,

"Oh? Did you not know? They were testing a new strain, I mean-- I'm surprised it took to you of all people!" The laugh that followed was mocking and devoid of any light. Any joy that wasn't founded in the sadistic nature of this guard. "It was modified from a strain made by a couple of traitors-- It was meant for the strongest. They just gave it to you to see where that threshold for 'strong' was!"

...Ah.

A virus? That's what this all was? You didn't know what they were putting into you all, none of the other patients had a clue about what was happening besides what was obvious. You really didn't know anything about it--

But that's it? They were putting viruses into all of you? That'd definitely explain why some ended up the way they did; some mindless, some wanting nothing but violence. The ones who didn't what such things always looked as if they did, like Jamie had.

You don't feel sick though, not how Jamie had been describing how they felt as they approached their death day, completely oblivious to what was happening-- a little more lethargic than usual, yes-- but not sick. You don't feel like your bones are about to snap, about to shift and move and rearrange themselves to turn you into a monster. You're sure you would've... felt it,

Before you could make another sound-- before the guard could continue his spiel, a new round of heavy gunfire broke out nearby-- a few turns down the long corridor, you think.

Then, screams-- so many, and.. and bones cracking, flesh ripping; it didn't sound like anyone was getting shot.

It sounded like their heads were being twisted and ripped from their neck. You witnessed that once, with a particularly violent, now-terminated, subject. That's how you recognized the awful sound as the flesh of the neck tried to follow the way their head was being turned, only to be ripped-- sinew snapping as their bodies were pushed pass the limits of human capabilties.

The alarms-- no one knew what it was about, the code they were putting through the intercoms wasn't one you recognized. It wasn't one any of you recognized-- the guards seemed... panicked, for once. Not for you all, not at all; but because they had to evacuate everyone before they could save themselves.

Something told you that this wasn't a regular sort of rampage, put on by a grotesque mimicry of one of your fellow captives.

One second, the guards fingers were twisted in your hair-- yanking you, making your neck strain painfully as he forced you to look him in the face,

And the next, your hair was released and your head lolled forward; smacking your forehead right against the tile, not enough time to brace yourself at all. You heard the guard yell out a string of curses, before he stumbled-- and you mean stumbled, up; all scary calm and malice gone.

Replaced by a primal fear and terror that you know all too well. It was a little funny, seeing the primary force behind that sort of emotion experiencing it firsthand for once.

You don't see a point in picking yourself up at first, expecting you end to be swift-- for whatever was causing the apparent massacre to come charging at you, uncaring as it twisted your neck violently; just as you're sure it'd done to all the guards a few turns ahead.

But it... a few moments pass by, and nothing of the sort happens. You don't hear anything coming for you-- no horrifying creature shambling toward you on all fours, or a mass of disgusting, pulsing and gory flesh sliding across the tile to attack you.

All you hear are calm, methodical steps coming your way. A scientist, maybe-- all the guards seemed to be in a state of panic, if that one had left you in such a rush; if they leave you alone, if they don't continue their 'fun', or pull you along to continue at another time,

Then you know something is terribly, awfully wrong.

You listened carefully to the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes against the tile floor, coming closer and closer. The scientists weren't as outwardly-cruel as the guards, didn't rough you and the others kid up like they did...

But that's not to say that they cared for you, for any of you. If what the guard said was true, that you had gotten the furthest with their experiments-- then maybe the scientist would pick you up and drag you back.

Or kill you, and study your corpse to see what made your body welcome whatever virus they'd forced onto you.

At that, you made an effort to rise from your spot on the ground. Your elbows gave out the first few times you tried, adrenaline still running through your system-- but you were shaken up, and it was always harder to get up from the floor than it was from a chair or bed.

You were so tired, frail and weak-- but still better off than most. You were one of the few that actually had a chance, and you couldn't just give that up. Even if there was nothing to fight for really, you still had to get out. You don't know why-- maybe it's just in the human nature to want to continue on despite it all.

To survive anything, no real reason behind it. Simply a primal part of you, left over from centuries past; one that not even the most disciplined could stamp down, you think.

When you did get purchase, able to push yourself up to sit on your folded legs-- biting the inside of your cheek to smother the strange sort of chirp that desperately wished to escape you.

That'd been happening recently-- producing strange noises like that of a bird, especially when in distress. You'd been able to cover them up with a cough, or stifle them either mostly or completely, but the more scared you were; the harder it became to hide them.

You managed, though-- the fear of being noticed by whoever those eerily calm, unbothered steps that was a stark contrast to the bloodbath they were certainly just waltzing right through.

One sitting, you did your best to rise from the position-- unable to get to enough leverage to rise just as you were without collapsing to the ground, you got one leg out from under yourself-- though not without great difficulty.

Just as you were about to heft yourself up into a kneeling position, sure that you'd be able to stand from there-- you heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop; you hadn't noticed how close they were until they went silent.

Slowly, you raised your head. The dread and barely contained panic keeping you from focusing on the throbbing, world-ending headache that kicked up a notch as you looked straight on at the lights--

In front of you, down near the hallway; but not nearly far enough for your own liking, was a man you'd never seen before. Dressed in all black, he looked more like an FBI or undercover agent you'd see in a movie than anything.

Was he here to save you? You dazedly thought, but as you looked into the mans face-- his eyes hidden by simple black sunglasses, something told you that you had to run.

This man wasn't like the others-- his presence felt suffocating, like his existence alone could choke the life out from you.

Despite the headache, the aches and pain-- and the way that, deep down, you knew that you could never outrun this man... or whatever he was; that even if you were perfectly healthy, in the best shape possible, you never stood a chance, you still tried to run.

You stood abruptly, the pressure in your head becoming almost unbearable as black clouded your vision-- as disoriented and dizzy as you were, you're surprised you didn't fall right to the floor like a discarded ragdoll upon standing.

When your vision finally cleared, you met the mans gaze, and really got a look at him. The light casted behind him made him look like he had a halo-- a halo of red, like a sun delivering sailors an ill omen, bounced off of his perfectly gelled blond hair. His face was sharp, and he looked like he was in better shape than some of the guards here.

Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be wearing tactical gear-- and when you looked a little longer, realized that the strange spots of... something, wasn't a bad dye job of the fabric.

It was blood, mostly centralized to his black leather gloves, coagulated but still beading up-- one big glob fell to the floor, as the man simply stood there. Watching, waiting-- like a cat would to a mouse, staring it down and waiting for it to turn its back.

Cat's were stealth predators, more focused catching their prey off-guard rather than over powering it with sheer brute force. You're sure the man could do that-- and the reality of it all came crashing down.

He must be the one who killed the guards, the one that caused the one tormenting you to run for the hills like his life depended on it,

because it did, and yours did too.

He said nothing, as he stood there. He tilted his head, his face unreadable-- the glasses weren't helping. Slowly, as steadily as you could manage, you took a few steps back.

And then a few more, not daring to turn around until the very last minute. When he took a step forward, you turned and bolted down the hall.

You don't know where the exit is-- or, really the elevator. Or stairs-- anything to get you out from this underground hell. You stumbled as you ran, twisting and turning through the corridors; your lungs burning, head pounding and body aching--

But you never stopped running, and you wouldn't until you were safe, or you simply keeled over right then and there. You wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop this fruitless fight until your very heart gave out--

Or you joined the number of casualties, head twisted off. You'd yet to see any bodies, any blood or gore-- or anyone else. Most of them were in the other side of the building, and you dashed toward the section with the labs and testing rooms.

There, you think you could find a weapon, or at the very least a weapon to brandish. A weapon that would do nothing, and you were well aware it would do nothing.

The man that had stood before you, the one that set off your fight-or-flight instincts like never before, couldn't have been human. He just couldn't have been. If he had been the ones to cause those terrible noises of sinew snapping and viscera splashing on the sterile, once white walls...

Then that was that, he wasn't human. You don't know what exactly he'd be, and you don't want to find out.

For one foolish, silly second-- you assumed you'd shook him off your proverbial tail. He hadn't chased after you, and even if you were malnourished and frail, you still could run fast in necessary. Could push yourself if it meant a chance for freedom, to see the sun again-- even if it'd be the last time.

it'd hurt, you think. The other patients would complain that the barracks lighting was becoming too dim, but to you-- it was always just bit too bright. What might've been bearable the day before, became uncomfortably bright the next. Not blinding like the corridor's lights were, though. And for that, you'd been thankful.

You weren't familiar with this facility-- you were aiming for the labs, but somehow wound up in going in a circle; now facing the other way, close to where you'd started.

Bodies-- all over the ground, mostly guards... a few scientists, their white coats weren't all stained-- some were a stark white against the viscera covering the hallway.

Ahead of you, the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes called your attention, and at the end of the hallway, stood the man.

It was as if he knew you'd wind up back here, like he knew how inexperienced you were in the layout of this place-- like he knew the layout himself. A smirk played at his lips, showcasing rather sharp canines. The kind that could easily tear flesh from bone with no issue.

Maybe... he was an angel of death, you surmised. It fit, it really did-- maybe that's why he made it through the hail of bullets the slain guards around you had sent his way. How he'd been able to kill them so quickly, without so much as a scratch on his person.

The need to run didn't fade, if anything it got worse-- maybe because you knew, wholly and entirely, that you can't run. Not really. If he wanted you dead, then it'd be so. He'd taken down so many trained guards, a measly, terrified child wouldn't be a problem at all.

All you can think of that could stop him, was morals. You don't think he has those-- with the sight surrounding you.

This time, when he stepped forward, you didn't make any move to take a step back. It was useless. this was all so useless. Why you? Why did it have to be you? The shelter hadn't been ideal, but it was better than this.

You sunk to the ground, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down-- trying to look away from the still-going emergency lights, the too-bright fluorescents that hung above were still on. The combination of the two made it feel like someone was tenderizing your brain with a sledgehammer constantly.

The clicks of his shoes aren't as sharp sometimes, when he steps in the puddles of blood-- they get closer, and closer... until he stands before you, only his shoes and part of his legs were visible to you.

You kept your head down, not wishing to look at your end. You want to die under the illusion that you ever had any choice in your life. That you chose your own end, and it was not brought upon you by this... angel of death.

And as you sat there, expecting the pain-- or simply a pinch before your entire world went black; shivering from both fear and the cold of the hallway, bile rising in your throat and your headache refusing to back down even a smidge; you imagine a world were you got to live a little longer.

Because, in your mind, you died the moment you entered this facility; it was a death sentence, and you should've been able to come to terms with that. It was stupid, you felt stupid for thinking you were any different to countless other kids that'd died in these halls-- some going down with a fight, others begging for their end;

"Look at me." A deep, almost... British, but not quite-- voice spoke, clear and concise. The man sounded... oddly human. You'd expected maybe a reverb of sorts, or the voice to crawl into the crevices of your brain and dig their claws in...

He was still scary, his voice sending a flash of terror through your body-- but in a way no different than the scientists were. It was a very human type of fear that his voice incited, the fear of somebody in a position of power above you.

Oh, how badly you wished to stay staring at the ground-- it was the lights, that was the problem. The man scared you, but you knew you should obey him. Maybe he'd give you a chance then.

Oddly enough, he seemed quite... patient, all things considered. he stood there for maybe a minute or so, before repeating himself. In the same tone, the same exact cadence and words.

"Look at me." He said, and something inexplicable-- something that felt rooted in your very soul, tugged at your mind. Telling you that he wouldn't be so kind if you made him ask again.

And you do, trying to keep your eyes open despite the pain that followed. Nausea rolled through you, both from the smell of blood and flesh-- it was sharp, much more noticeable then you think it should be; as if it's being held right in front of your nose-- and from how the headache worsened.

The smirk he had when he'd first spotted you had dropped, his face now a cold mask of... something. He really did look like an angel-- but the sorts found in older religious texts. neither good nor bad, simply carrying out God's will, who in of Themselves, was a contradiction.

The man reached out, and you couldn't help but jerk your head back-- he said nothing of it. In fact, you could've sworn the corners of his lips were giving way to a little smile, not just a smirk-- but it was gone before you could really register it;

But, he continued to reach out, and you stayed stock still, not wanting to test his patience again. You were already on thin ice, probably. For running from him, for making him repeat himself-- maybe he'd give you mercy, though? Because you were so young?

You weren't exactly a child, but you weren't an adult. Maybe... maybe he'd leave you be. He didn't seem to be hurting you, and when he curled his hand around your chin to push your head up just a bit more-- he was... gentle with it. In a way you hadn't experienced in so, so long from any adult.

Even Nathan hadn't been entirely soft with his movements, too used to being rough with it all; not knowing his strength, or the fragility of a subject who'd been here as long as you had.

You're surprised you were still able to run as much as you did.

The man hummed, turning your head just a tad to the left-- then gently guiding it to turn the other way. Like he was a museum curator appraising a priceless artifact.

When he turned your head to face him straight-on, you winced; the headache reaching an all time high, making you feel as if you were going to pass out form the pain at any given moment.

"Does the light bother you?" He asked, and you tried to nod-- but his grip, as gentle as it was, was all too firm. Not enough slack to complete the gesture. "Use your words." He said next, no irritation obvious in his tone.

But still, it set you on edge. How calm he was. People weren't calm like that-- but maybe angels were. That's what he had to be. He couldn't be human... he just couldn't be.

But... why would he ask that? It's not like the man cared for your well-being, right? it doesn't seem so, the question asked with an almost clinical sort of edge. Like the scientists had when they asked if there were any major concerns with your health, if you'd felt any negative side effects.

Not out of care for your person, but care for what you represented; a subject, something to test on to try and further whatever agenda or project they're assigned to.

"...Yes sir." You croaked out, shaking-- tacking on the honorific should help, yeah? The scientists always made you refer to them as such-- Sir or Ma'am, not accepting anything else. Not accepting no personal address either; that's how you get locked up in solitary for a few hours, to 'learn your lesson about disrespect'.

You were better at it than most, only being placed in solitary twice for the reason of 'disrespecting the scientists' with the lack of it.

The chuckle that followed terrified you, making your entire body lock up-- muscles pulled taut, ready to snap. Spine straight, much like a rabbit ready to bolt;

"Good to know you have manners. That'll make things easier." Your anxiety only worsened-- make what easier? What was he going to do, and how hell was your manners going the help that process?

Finally, he released your chin-- and not a moment too soon. You slumped, not from relief, but from the bone-deep exhaustion plaguing you after everything. Head lolling forward to try and avoid the bright light, you don't know how you're still even vaguely upright-- hell, how you're even still awake. You probably burned off more calories than you've collectively taken in since arriving here.

The world was spinning around you, and that notified you that you consciousness was probably something very, very short-lived. You're sure that, if you do pass out before he does whatever he does; you won't wake up again.

He says something, but the world if muffled around you-- blood rushing in your ears, making it sound like everything was underwater. You came to when he snapped his fingers in your face, it was a warning just as much as it was call for your attention.

You looked up-- or made the move to, only for him to place his hand atop your head, and gently direct you to keep your gaze down. "You'll damage your eyesight. Close them, if that helps any."

He framed it like he was offering it, offering advice-- you shut your eyes, seeing it as what it was. You had no choice in it. Whatever use he wanted you for, he didn't want your vision to be damaged for it.

You don't think the lights would damage your sight-- more just give a pounding migraine, but you do as he says regardless; he could very well just crush your skull in his hand, right then and there-- if he took down so many guards as you think he had.

For once, some higher being smiled upon you; and he moved his hand from your head, and while he was still as close as before, it was a massive weight lifted from your shoulders, not to have him making any direct contact anymore.

"I won't repeat myself again," He started off with, and you tried to show that you were listening-- he stayed quiet afterward, and you realized with a jolt, what he wanted. As soon as you realized, you aid-- almost robotically, "I understand, sir."

A few seconds passed, a heavy weight forming in your heart-- was that not what he wanted? You were tempted to open your eyes to try and see if you could get a read on his face, figure out what he was thinking; if he was about to kill you for some perceived slight.

...But would an angel do that? Even one who killed all these people? If you were still alive, then maybe he was ordered not to kill you. Or, more realistically, not specifically ordered to kill you.

Even if he wasn't an angel of death, if he was just some terrifying super-human or something of the like, he has to work under someone; right? He also said he's got a use for you.

You just hope that you picked up on the implications that he needed you alive for that use.

"Good." The man-- Angel?-- replied, as you hear fabric shifting-- the man moving, whether that be shifting on his feet or reaching into a pocket, you have no idea. "What's your serial code?"

"...I don't know it, sir." You shook-- you really didn't. Well, you didn't remember it off the top of your head, so maybe, if you explained yourself, he'd be more kind... "But if I hear it, then I'll know it's mine."

That can't be of much help. You might've just doomed yourself even worse, tacking on something like that- did he think you were wasting his time? Were you why he'd come here in the first place? That can't be it, you were never that important--

"Would you happen to be Subject 082202?" He asked-- and you recognized the number. Was he really after you? That's... that could go either one way or the either. Hope bloomed in your chest, before smothered by absolute despair.

What did he want with you?

You tried to respond, you really did-- but your voice failed you, wobbling and tried not to cry. You nodded, hoping he'd give you some leniency with it.

Surprisingly, he let it go. Didn't even comment on it-- when he spoke next, he sounded so... not happy, but--

Victorious, you think it'd be. Smug would be your next choice, the emotion in his voice was hard to pinpoint. It was barely there, but without anything else to witness or analyze-- you were stuck with trying to dissect his tone.

"Good, that's good." You heard him shift again-- the sound his shoes made against the tile suggested that he'd crouched down, and and his heavy leather coat shifted, but in what way you couldn't be sure--

More noises, ones that were meant to be quiet-- you weren't supposed to be able to pick on them, but you could. Maybe it was the fear of it all.

Then, his hand was back on your chin. Reflexively, you flinched; but he didn't reprimand you, if anything, his tone suggested that he... cared,

Maybe not for you-- probably for whatever you could do for him, but it was care regardless, and he told you "Stay still."

You did, and felt something place onto your face-- it felt like metal, warmed by a human's natural heat; it felt like a pair of glasses, the arms tucked above your ears, the metal bridge of it resting against your nose--

"Open your eyes, tell me if it's any better." The man said with a firmness that reminded you of the scientists-- or the guards. A strange mix between the two; maybe more like a cop, if you think about it hard enough. A sense of authority, firm but not demanding.

You do so-- the headache is still there, it'd gotten better when your eyes were closed. You find that, when you open your eyes, the world is a little dimmer; the headache doesn't spike as you'd expected due to it.

As you look up at the man, you realize that he doesn't have sunglasses on now-- giving you full view of his...

Yeah. The confirms it; he is absolutely not human. His eyes looked like a snakes, maybe more like a dragons; red with yellow around his slitted pupils-- instead of scaring you as it absolutely should,

It.. comforted you. Against your will, mind you-- a little bit of tension easing out of your form at the sight of them. You don't know why. It should terrify you, it should make you want to run for the hills, like he had when he first showed up--

With his eyes no longer obscured, and your headache a little dimmer, you think that you'd have a better chance at reading the emotions on his face--

He cleared his throat, bringing you back to the present-- to his question he'd had with his earlier command. You try not to test your luck, now able to give out a short, soft "Yes sir."

His hand released your chin again, and with all the energy left in you-- you tried your best not to have your head fall forward from exhaustion, from the loss of the support of his hand. he huffed, shifting a bit-- he was crouching, but no longer leaning in close, leaving you with a little bit of a personal bubble.

A sort of privilege you haven't been afforded in a long, long while. Nobody crowding in your space-- nobody poking and prodding. Just letting you exist. Simply letting you sit there, without anyone breathing down your neck-- unrestrained, able to leave (if you weren't so banged up-- and honest-to-god terrified of the man, but that's neither here nor there) if desired.

You notice now, that there is a suitcase set down by his side-- looking rather innocent. A simple brown leather one, no obvious tells of what could be inside. It looked like one of the head scientists own bag, one you always saw him carrying around. Not trusting to leave it in one place without him present, you'd guessed.

"You're the subject for the Ammit Strain, aren't you?" He asked-- he seemed to already be sure of himself, and it left you confused as to why he's asking you. Because you don't have a solid answer for him-- and that shouldn't have been expected of you to have one.

"Uhm... I-I'm not sure. I don't... know what that is." You half expect his calm, strangely patient, demeanor to change in the blink of an eye-- for his hand to shoot out and grab your neck, and twist until your world went dark. It was irrational (probably), because he said he needs you for something. Even if you don't know what it is, you're pretty sure he needs you alive for it--

it's still up in the air, though. So you don't rely on that assumption for comfort too much.

Instead of that, instead of any violent outburst or sudden shift in his approach-- he seemed to... smile a little at your response. it was small, barely noticeable unless you'd been staring at him for god knows how long--

and, oh boy, have you been staring at him. analyzing him, trying to make sense of it all. as you do, when you're stuck in a strange and scary situation such as this.

"That's alright." He leaned forward, hang outstretched-- it landed on your shoulder, in a strange... friendly sort of gesture. Like a teacher would do as they praise you for an A+ on an assignment. "I know you are."

Then why did you ask? a bold part of you made you want to say-- one you thought had been stomped down a long time ago. During your second stay in solitary, where they kept you in for 6 hours rather than the measly 45 minutes you'd been in there the first go-around.

You kept quiet, hoping that he'd give a bit of an explanation as to-- anything. But you know he probably won't, not without prompting; even then, he might be more inclined to telling you to shut up or dancing around the question then give a truthful answer-- or one at all, for that matter.

He didn't do anything of the sort, the conversation going dead as he stood-- He grabbed the briefcase from beside him, but didn't make any move to turn around.

As he looked down at you, you realized he probably wanted you to stand as well. Torn between telling him that you aren't sure you could do so, and staying quiet as to try and minimize any possible anger-- you simply sat there, unmoving. Terrified, feeling like you'd found yourself right in a damned-if-i-do, damned-if-i-don't sort of situation.

A few moments later, he seemed to realize what your silence, what your immobility signified. He walked around you, standing behind you-- and gave no warning as he leaned down and put his hands under your armpits-- pulling you that way, before maneuvering you in such a way where he could pick you up into a princess carry from there.

Out of pure reflex, you threw your arms above his shoulders-- scared of tumbling over and out of his hold. By the time you realize what you'd done, you were too scared-stiff you amend it.

He... didn't seem to mind it much, though.

The hand held underneath your knee carried the briefcase, the handle digging into your thin grey sweatpants just a tad-- not too uncomfortable, but not ideal. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though.

As he began to walk, he suddenly asked "What's your name?"

Despite the fear, a slip in your judgement made you let out a little "huh?"

He huffed, his smile growing wider for just a second-- starting to resemble an actual one, before reverting back to the small, almost non-existent smirk he'd had before. "Your name. None of the documents said it, only referred to you as your serial number or the strain."

"Oh." This was so confusing-- he kept walking, letting you two lapse into silence; he wasn't rushing your answer, quite the opposite. He seemed to be letting you... take your time, even if it was such a simple and easy request.

Then, quietly, you said it. Almost as if you were afraid that the scientists or guards would hear, and punish you for it-- it was their way of isolating you from the outside world, telling you to forget who you were before you'd come here.

That you had no other name, nothing else to be called, besides Subject 082202.

The man heard you, though. He hummed in acknowledgement, and in a moment of reckless, almost moronic, bravery-- you ventured to ask,

"What's your name?"

Almost immediately, he answered with "Albert Wesker, but you'd do good not to use it." The name... was familiar, set off even more alarm bells than the man had before you learned of his name.

"...So just keep calling you sir?" What were you doing? Why were you doing this? How stupid were you, to push him like this--

"That's what was implied, isn't it?" He responded, the little edge painting his tone let you know that his patience must've been running thin. You shut up, smothering what you'd wanted to say--I was just making sure.

Something like that would definitely be categorized as disrespect-- to a normal person, and absolutely to the scientists-- which you'd defaulted to treating him as.

As he carried you, exhaustion having taken its toll on you-- your eyes slid shut, head falling forward and resting against his shoulder. Within a few seconds, you were out like a light.

[fantastic-nonsense]

As a Wonder Woman fan, what's your exact opinion of Yara Flor? I see she's been received quite negatively in some parts of the internet (namely South American portions).

This ask is making me once again think about how every single piece of Yara Flor concept art is god-tier and the concept of introducing "an Amazon from the Amazon" was absolutely galaxy-brained and then DC just RUINED it by making her an adult from Idaho and doing absolutely nothing with her supposedly indigenous Brazilian mythological roots.

I'm actually super angry about how Yara was handled. Yara was the first new major Wonderfam character in 20+ years, had a ton of hype and reader buy-in, and had a fantastic initial concept; she was a desperately needed new legacy character and DC just fumbled it in every way possible. Yara could have been a vital addition to the lore, especially since the core Wonderfam is so heavily white and we've needed a new Wonder Girl for ages. But instead of creating that added dimension, we got......that.

I just...there was SO MUCH MOMENTUM AND EXCITEMENT for her, and then she absolutely bombed because no one at DC sat down and planned out who she was or what her story was going to be, then gave her introduction solo to a woman whose lack of research and care is offensively tacky at best and outright racist at worst. Joelle Jones' awful writing for Yara's initial solo combined with the bait-and-switch of introducing her not as an indigenous teenage girl from Brazil (as advertised) but as an adult woman from Idaho completely torpedoed Yara's hype and sustainability as a character.

Jones failed to define who Yara is, what she cares about, and why she matters to the rest of the Wonderfam despite having 12 issues and an event comic to do so. She also didn't do the research and DC refused to put someone on the book who would or had lived experience, and it shows. Yara's backstory was bungled horrendously, her lore is offensive, convoluted, and contradictory to the already established Amazonian lore, and she has no real, lasting connection to either the Themyscirans or the tribe she supposedly hails from. All of which were huge mistakes.

The Esquecidas (the Amazonian splinter tribe Yara is theoretically from) have successfully been integrated into the larger Amazonian mythos (thankfully), but Yara herself is just kinda there because she's effectively a dead character. There's nowhere for her to go since her introduction was fumbled so badly. I'm sure there's a lot of scrapped plans sitting around at DC while someone tries to figure out how to make her into a workable character, but at the moment she's basically unsalvagable as-is and needs a bottom-up revamp.

tl;dr most people, including me, like the concept of Yara. We like the execution a lot less, for a variety of reasons (mostly racism and cultural ignorance issues, but also narrative incoherence and a lot of missed opportunities). She's technically fixable, but she's fundamentally not sustainable as she's been built thus far.

anyway, forever thinking about the sheer wasted potential of not introducing Mainverse!Yara as a young teenager so she could actually reasonably be titled "Wonder Girl," be in Jon and Damian's age group to give her a natural group of friends, and have a natural narrative path forward for her stories

[tumblingxelian]

There's this ridiculous narrative that going on in both RWBY subreddit: fans and critics alike are saying that Yang's memory is flawed (or even that she was lying) when she said that she basically had to raise Ruby herself when Tai shut down after Summer died. Their main argument is "Yang was 5! She couldn't even take care of herself, much less a toddler!"

Several works of fiction have five-year-olds whose parents are neglectful, emotionally defeated, or even abusive taking care of themselves just fine, like Matilda (Matilda Wormwood), Persona 4 (Nanako Dojima), and Kotaro Lives Alone (Kotaro Satou). Why are they willing to give them a pass for doing that, while saying that it's impossible in RWBY?

Yang's conversation with Tai before her sparring match in V4 doesn't work if this was the case.

I'm actually insulted by this argument because the mother of my oldest cousin was a complete and utter bitch who divorced my uncle, and cheated him out of as many supervised visits as she could by working overtime whenever she could. Combined with the fact that she worked an 8 to 8 job, my cousin had to teach herself how to cook, do laundry, change her bedsheets, and get herself ready for school since neither my uncle nor her mother were heavily involved in her life, kind of like Matilda, Nanako, and Kotaro. Gee, it's almost like fiction is at least somewhat based on reality. What a concept!

Sorry if I got a little rambly, but my cousin's experience and my own experience as an older brother cause this argument to REALLY make me angry.

I've had endless debates across Reddit, YouTube, Tumblr and forums alike with people who hold that exact stance and it is never not utterly asinine.

Even if we ignore the factual reality that lots of children, even very young one's often end up parentified and left grappling with adult responsibilities as a small child.

Which I need to stress we should not ignore and the fact these people do shows just how willfully ignorant they are being.

The fact of the matter is it makes no narrative, character or thematic sense for her to be wrong about this!

Like, really, what is the narrative end goal in these people's brains, to have one of the main characters most overtly emphasized sources of trauma. Not only brought up by herself but by the sister she had to raise. Be wrong?

It makes every scene discussing it, every aspect of her character it informs, every bit if dialogue that touched on it utterly meaningless. CRWBY don't have that kind of time to waste on a red herring that serves literally Zero purpose!

But of course these people don't give two fried fucks about things like basic common sense or competent writing.

They want Yang to be delusional or lying because in their mind the fact she 'dared' be traumatized, 'dared' to be something other than a ditsy party girl and 'dared' be even indirectly critical of a man, of her father, is an insult to them.

Thus they want to ignore what's on screen, what the writers say, what the characters say, what reality says about situations exactly like this to erase her trauma and depth, All our a blend of sexist offence and misogynistic defensiveness of a minor male character.

It sucks but then, since wen hasn't RWDE been awful?

On your example:

Extremely well said, very good examples, I would also add Gohan from Dragon Ball surviving in the wilderness for a full year at the age of 3/4/5 depending on translations.

There's so many conversations tat make no coherent sense if Yang was wrong, but as said, these people don't care about good writing.

My sympathies and respect to your cousin and exactly, reality is often stranger than fiction and frankly this fictional scenario isn't even that strange sadly :/

I am right there with you for my own reasons, it sucks!

Literally the only area in which one can reasonably argue that Yang might be somewhat misinformed I thin is in relation to what exactly was going on in Ruby's head at the time.

IE, believing she didn't understand what was going on yet. That doesn't actually undercut any of her own experiences, but could be the case as it seems Ruby's memories of those early days are perhaps clearer tan Yang realizes.

Of course this changes nothing about Yang being parentified from an incredibly young age, because Ruby herself outright said Yang raised her.

[kalkaros]

@maxdibert I love your posts and your contributions to the snape fandom, and maybe I'm out of pocket for saying this but you might be taking this a bit too far. It's not an insult to snape fans or anyone if someone simply doesn't like him, isn't interested in him or dislikes him. It's not an insult to the snape fandom or anyone of people enjoy fiction and fandom in a different way than you.

I personally like my things canon-compliant and am annoyed sometimes when fandoms over concentrate on fanon, like in HP fandom for example, but that doesn't mean that fanon is somehow worse or the people who enjoy fanon more are somehow inferior. Of course the behaviours that can be linked with those preferences can be negative or even despicable, but honestly, that's not exclusive to any specific fandom or a way of interacting with them. Saying that only creates polarization and inflames the relations between the factions further.

I also disagree with using the "this person is bad, therefore you shouldn't like them" argument you are using here for characters like Barty and Wormtail. It's the same argument people often use against Snape. It doesn't really matter if Snape or Wormtail or whoever is actually "bad" or not in anyones opinion - people are allowed to like or dislike characters for any reason and even if they are morally dubious or straight up "bad people".

I do get that hypocrisy and bad arguments are annoying. When someone completely mischaracterizes the character and then proceeds to criticize them based on their own mischaracterization - or try defend a character for those reasons, and so forward. And I understand the frustration when people tag negative opinions or possibly controversial takes to the main tag. But in the end, being agressive or demeaning will never change anyones mind, it will just make you more bitter (or at least that happens to me). And I don't think the OP here even did that, they just explained why they like and dislike these characters which is an opinion they are entitled to.

Once again, I appreciate your opinions, Max and agree with the wide majority of them. I appreciate your knowledge and experience that you incorporate into them. I'm not saying no one ever makes shitty arguments against Snape and for Marauders - I know just as well as you how much this happens and how frustrating it gets.

Please, don't take this as an attack towards you, because I don't mean it as such, not in the least. I hope you continue your awesome contributions to our fandom, and take the breaks you need if it gets too grating <3

"how can you like barty and evan but not snape?" "how can you like peter but not snape?" silly rosekiller and wormtail visions came to me in my sleep, and i simply didn't have such visions of snape. will update if i see him as a boykisser in my dreams and it alters the way i see him :)

[fourcornersofcreation]

Percy and Grover are the two biggest gossips in the riordanverse and no one can convince me otherwise.

Percy/Grover knows when the other has just learned something juicy cause of their empathy link (that's been completely forgotten buy literally everyone, something I cry bout everyday).

Now don't get me wrong, Percy and Grover would never share/spread what they know outside of each other, they know how damaging rumours can be.

I just hc that Percy subconsciously seeks out information on other people as a sort of "passive" defense mechanism if that makes sense.

With how little people tell him (if they tell me anything at all) and how often everyone, even those closest to him, deliberately keeps him in the dark, his habit of seeking out "gossip" and "rumors" when he was younger steadily developed into a habit of seeking and hoarding whatever information he could find.

Like he doesn't need to know but he'd like too, and virtually nothing about his behavior towards the others would change aside from the fact he'd be more prepared to interact/deal with the person he's talking to/facing, more prepared to "code switch" in a way.

Which loops in well with the fact that many people (Grover, annabeth, Thalia, Bianca, Zoe etc) confide in Percy/tell him bout their pasts/secrets easily enough, and while Percy listens to and empathizes with them he rarely offers up his own experiences.

One of the only times I can remember where Percy tried to get someone to see/understand his pov with him was in TLT where he asked annabeth something to the effect of "what if it was your dad that was kidnapped?" and annabeth replied with something like "I wouldn't care" which understandably surprised Percy. I think that interaction is part of the reason why Percy never speaks about himself/his past with others, it's obviously not the only thing that contributed but I think it was a decent sized factor in maybe not creating but rather cementing the idea that Percy should keep his cards as close to his chest as possible, and if he ever had to share any of his cards I think he'd like to know how he should share them, like how he should phrase things and what points he should make yk?

The more he knows bout the person he may have to interact with, the easier it would be to "make a plan" so to speak (and by "make a plan" I mean that Percy wouldn't have to worry much bout stepping into uncomfortable territory if that makes sense)

Let's not forget that despite what everyone says and believes (both in universe and in fandom), Percy is not only smart as hell, he's also incredibly observant and he notices a lot of things, he'd find it real easy to build a profile on everything he comes into contact with.

Grover, due to the empathy link, did pick up Percy's habit and adopted it himself but he also just straight up likes to gossip

(This got kinda derailed/rambley and this hc is totally just me projecting onto Percy a lil, I stand by it tho.)

[codenameregnar]

Ok so, I've been in the process of writing a post beta canon fic, and a lot of what you've said strikes me as extremely relevant to the things I've been ruminating on in that process. And so bear with me but I'm gonna go through these points one by one, because while I think they all tie into the same central thesis, they are also compelling as standalone points and the worms demand I expound upon them in detail.

"I simply don’t see a world in which that kind of relationship dynamic/approach [of them abandoning their respective worldviews and convictions] would fit with their characterizations." So one of my favorite scenes in A Stitch In Time is the bit where they are having lunch with Odo, and Julian is essentially pushing Garak to (if he would come to be a leader of Cardassia postwar, which we know is exactly what happens) adopt a more Federation adjacent mindset based in democracy and freedom. And Garak gets upset. Irrationally so. And it's because he's on this precipice of great change and understanding within himself, at conflict with his more Hebitian values and worldview vs what he's been taught and brought up to believe in. He is actually very inclined to take a Federation approach for how his world (both his internal world and Cardassia as a planet and people) should be rebuilt, though still distinctly and independently Cardassian—or rather Hebitian, in it's construction and core principals. And coming to terms with the dismantling of his previous principals, ones that have always been necessary for Garak's survival, if ill-fitting, is a terrifying prospect. And so I love that scene, because that is the closest we get to seeing Garak feeling attacked and genuinely shaken up at Julian's convictions and how much they resonate with him. And so in rebuilding Cardassia as a more democratic society (even without losing some of their core and more alien beliefs) that is a middle ground I think Julian could understand and come to even appreciate, especially given his experiences with the Federation's dark underbelly. And let's not forget the central theme of the beta canon, which is Garak remaking himself and by proxy Cardassia in Julian's image specifically. Him finding in himself what Julian saw in him all along and rebuilding his world with who he truly is—with what Cardassia truly is, at the root. And so while I don't think they would be willing to abandon what they believe in for each other, they very much would be willing to shift their worldview to meet in the middle. And furthermore, I think Garak is the one doing the majority of the shifting in that theoretical. Especially given that it's less of a baseless shifting for Julian's sake alone and more of a growing into himself. Something he could only ever have done with Julian's forgiveness, patience, and unwavering sense of compassion and justice to help reveal himself to him. And I think my entire point here is the underlying reason why so much fic and fannon characterizes Garak as the one willing to bend over backward for Julian. He is more aligned to Julian's way of thought (deep down and under years of trauma and brainwashing) than he's wiling to admit in canon.

"there are never any situations involving these characters in which their fundamental values or institutional loyalties are challenged as a result of their relationship." I agree, and the lack thereof is forever a great disappointment, but as illustrated in all of Robinson's writing on Garak, their relationship causes an internal shift in Garak and causes him to see himself in Julian in ways that are uncomfortable and jarring (the same goes for Julian in the opposite direction, I believe) and causes him to question everything he grew up believing, and through that questioning he finds his true values, as he sees them, as indictive to his personhood, without the coloring of Tain's or The Union's influence. And so while there are never any situations which challenge their values, the relationship as a whole does. And again, I do think that is true for Julian, but eons more so for Garak. He does have to chose between Cardassia and Julian, but in a very abstract way. He has to chose between the old Cardassia (that traumatized him and eroded his personhood) and the core of himself that Julian not only saw so clearly but embodied in it's most flattering composition. There is a bit in Enigma Tales in which he ruminates on the way secrets destroy a person, specifically in reference to Julian. And I think that says, without outright saying it of course—in very Garak fashion, that he saw the best of himself in Julian, and he consciously chose that best moving forward, with Julian as a sort of guide.

"their friendship in the early seasons is usually framed as a respite from their serious responsibilities or moral dilemmas." Which is exactly the space Garak needs in order to work through the things I've outlined above. For the first time since his very early childhood he can be unguarded and find comfort—as opposed to paranoia, however mild—in companionship and learn to grow into himself in ways that don't seem very consequential at first (casually saying he "joined the wrong intelligence agency" in OMB comes to mind. It seems like a funny throw away line but given his character and history it is a HUGE admittance of personhood if you read between the lines) but that stack upon themselves to elucidate to him his own values and the harm done to him that snuffed them out over his lifetime.

"[Julian's] righteous anger at seeing those morals trodden upon is one of his most defining character traits" Which is exactly the type of push, in tandem with the aforementioned mirror that Julian is for Garak, that I think he needs in order to come to these realizations about himself. Garak has always been angry. But he had that righteous anger beat out of him from such an early age, and by the time he could recognize it (the Edosian Orchid assassination saga) he had no choice but to suppress it. To see it so unabashedly on display in Julian is not only invigorating to him, but vindicating too. One of my all time favorite aspects of their relationship and what Julian's friendship does for Garak is that he sees, for the first time, his sentiments ('the greatest weakness') as a weapon to be honed and thus wielded as opposed to a liability, which is what his own have always been for him, precisely because he was never allowed to explore that part of himself and learn how to use them to his advantage as Julian does.

"if we’re imagining them in a long term committed relationship? It wouldn’t be sustainable, and it doesn’t feel in keeping with Bashir’s character that’d he have endless reservoirs of patience and understanding specifically for Garak." But he would be vastly more patient and understanding, simply for the fact that he sees Garak, down to the bones, and he understands (especially after that novel length letter) the depths of Garak's internal conflicts. And (if he would come to Cardassia after reading such a letter) he would see that he is trying. His reservoir of patience wouldn't be endless of course, but it would be extended simply for the fact that he and Garak have lead such similar and parallel lives. The main reason they like each other so much is because they see themselves in each other, even if they're not exactly sure why at first. It's an immediate if inexplicable and intrinsic understanding that they have upon meeting that they are looking at another person who maybe doesn't fully understand them, but has the life experiences that equip them with the capability to.

"one very fundamental thing they have in common is how passionately devoted they are to their respective causes [...] I don’t see any version of Garak in which Cardassia is not his first love" Cardassia is absolutely his first love, and even after this internal shift that takes place in him he would never compromise or sacrifice her for Julian or anyone else. However, because of what Julian has been able to give to him—this painful rebirth of the self—he is the perfect person to understand what is necessary to lead Cardassia into a new and generative age. And so in helping Garak, Julian has been able to serve Cardassia as well, and in the capacity that it needs most desperately postwar. He shows Garak the need for one person to fall out of line in order to reinstill the fundamental core beliefs of the First Hebitians as applied to Cardassia's modern age, thus saving—if forever changing—the Union which his love for is defining. And so, in that framework, they can come together for a common goal: healing Cardassia. Garak wouldn't be equipped to do so without Julian's support and guidance, continually reminding him of who he really is and who he needs to honor moving forward. And so to me that is the most believable basis of them getting together postwar. They are both following their convictions and respective life paths, but in ways that they would never be able to without each other.

"For Bashir, there’s the problem of not only reconciling himself with what Garak has done, but also of choosing to be with someone whose impulses and entire cultural belief system places duty and institutional loyalty above personal feelings. And for Garak, there’s the fact that the most devoted and emotionally intense relationship he’s had in his life thus far has been with Tain, who embodied Cardassia for him" And I think here is where the most potential for conflict lies. Garak, and of course Cardassia by proxy, is still in that process of a painful rebirth. He is learning that having the permission to explore one's personal feelings and even act on them can be more generative to the individual and thus to the state than not. But he still has a lifetime of deeply ingrained understandings that tell him otherwise. And so, as his relationship with Tain mirrored his relationship to himself and his devotion to Cardassia, so does his relationship with Julian, but in a fresh and utterly inverse way. This is all still very new and at times very scary for him, and so I think he would need Julian's continued guidance and support so as not to fall back into old and safe patterns of thought and behavior. So to me, the central conflict between them post beta canon would have more to do with the two of them questioning if Garak really is capable of change, if he even wants to change, and what that change would actually look like. I think that, by the time Julian would go running off to Cardassia, he would have a fundamental understanding that Garak is trying, and in order to have even the inclination to go he would have had to already reconciled who Garak has been with who he is becoming/always had inside of him. The discord arises out of questions as to whether or not that internal shift in Garak is sustainable and if Garak can successfully break a lifetime of conditioning.

I feel like this has gotten a bit rambley on my end, so I hope I've been making sense. And I know this has all been very Garak POV skewed and that's my own brainrot and identity talking, and as with all headcanons and interpretations of media feel free to completely disregard everything above if that doesn't jive with what you see in their dynamic, but tldr: to me Garashir is about Garak learning how to find the things that were stolen/beaten out of him and how to honor his own personhood through the at times uncomfortable but always understanding mirror that is Julian Bashir. And through that lens I think them coming together post beta canon is a lot more understandable and fitting for Garak's character (as it's him doing more of the growing and concession making, imo) than is initially illustrated in canon. This coming together wouldn't be Garak abandoning his ideals for Julian's sake, but rather growing into his own long held if deeply repressed convictions that he is only able to see and embrace because of Julian and his own firm belief structure.

I’m trying to untangle The Problem of Garashir (not the least because, well, I’m writing the pairing) -

and I think honestly one of the biggest… roadblocks? bits of untapped potential in the pairing? is that we never really see their relationship put a strain on their ideological convictions.

Which is to say, “the societal institutions we’re subject to are corrupt, but our love is pure, so we’re going to abandon those institutions for each other” is, whether implicitly or explicitly, a common framing in fanfic featuring them (such as I’ve seen) - and to be fair, it’s a common romance trope in general. But I can’t say it works for me for these characters. And part of that is that imo the show doesn’t sufficiently set that up with its development of the relationship between these two characters, but another part of that is that I simply don’t see a world in which that kind of relationship dynamic/approach would fit with their characterizations.

To address the first point - there are never any situations involving these characters in which their fundamental values or institutional loyalties are challenged as a result of their relationship. At no point does Garak, for example, have to choose between Cardassia and his affection for Bashir. (I’ve seen people read The Wire that way, but I don’t think the reading works - The Wire is a fantastic showcase for Garak’s worldview and value system and the cracks and contradictions therein, but even though Bashir’s unwavering commitment to helping him despite what he’s done is certainly unprecedented and moving to him, his underlying value system hasn’t changed by the end of that episode.) And while Bashir’s faith in Starfleet and the Federation does get rocked quite a bit over the course of the show, it’s never because of his friendship with Garak.

Instead, I’d say that with some exceptions (like The Wire), their friendship in the early seasons is usually framed as a respite from their serious responsibilities or moral dilemmas. This especially true of Garak, who is likely not used to someone simply enjoying his company with no ulterior motives whatsoever, but the narrative maneuvering of the show also does a lot to shield Bashir from the reality of who Garak is. Yes, he gets a taste of that in The Wire, when Garak goes out of his way to impress upon him what the reality of his life as a spy truly was. But that’s still only verbal testimony, and only confined to what Garak has done in the past. Bashir is largely absent from all the shit that Garak pulls during the show!

And I’m not complaining that, say, the events of The Die Is Cast take place between Garak and Odo, because it makes thematic sense for it to be Odo for that arc. (And I love that friendship.) But Garak and Bashir do not get a plot like that, or like In the Pale Moonlight, where Bashir is directly exposed to or complicit in Garak’s immoral behaviour. The closest we get to an actual serious ethical clash between them is in Our Man Bashir, which is a goofy comedy episode. (And it’s worth noting that Bashir calls Garak’s bluff and shoots him in that confrontation! Yeah, he likely missed on purpose, given what we later learn about his magic hand-eye coordination, but he’s still unwilling to compromise on his heroism for Garak’s sake. It’s actually a pretty Cardassian gesture, which is probably part of why Garak loves it so much, but it does say a lot about where their priorities are re: their commitment to their values vs. each other.)

And I think the lack of more serious, plot-relevant ethical conflict between Garak and Bashir is a real loss for the show, because one thing I find really interesting about their relationship is that - in contrast to the examples of Odo and Sisko up there - Bashir is the person in the cast most able to hold Garak accountable. He’s repeatedly established as one of the most firmly moral members of the cast, and his righteous anger at seeing those morals trodden upon is one of his most defining character traits in the later seasons. His unconditional forgiveness of Garak in The Wire is lovely, and it is an important moment in the development of both their relationship and Bashir’s character. But in the long term, once we get into actual serious, consequential war and espionage plots? And if we’re imagining them in a long term committed relationship? It wouldn’t be sustainable, and it doesn’t feel in keeping with Bashir’s character that’d he have endless reservoirs of patience and understanding specifically for Garak. And it’s precisely because Bashir is uniquely able to grant Garak forgiveness that he’d also potentially be uniquely able to chastise him.

(This is why, by the way, my headcanon as to the in-universe reason why they don’t seem as close in the later seasons, paternity deathbed reveals and occasional flirty bantering notwithstanding, is that Bashir was seriously fucking pissed at the stunt Garak pulled in Broken Link, both in terms of the personal betrayal and the destructiveness towards sentient life, and that it created a significant rift between them.)

All of that is to say - my biggest regret with the show’s sidelining of their dynamic isn’t the fact that their relationship never becomes romantic (not a chance of that in the 90s, and also these writers were pretty terrible at writing romance) but that they never get to have an argument. An actual serious, non-flirtatious, two-sided, genuinely-angry-at-each-other-argument. I want to see conflict! (I honestly think that their exchange in What You Leave Behind comes the closest to the kind of conflict I’d like to pick up on in post-canon fic - where they are conciliatory in the moment but still have this really wrenching chasm between them, and unresolved frustration as a result of that chasm.)

So as an extension of these thoughts, I actually really like that we’re not given the basis for a traditional “us against the world” style romance plot. I like that these characters are clearly deeply fond of each other and significant to each others’ development, but have other important connections (Garak especially, since despite being only a recurring character introduced through Bashir, he integrates into the broader cast) and other priorities besides each other.

Furthermore, despite the significant differences in their value systems, one very fundamental thing they have in common is how passionately devoted they are to their respective causes. For Garak, it’s Cardassia. And while his idea of what it means to serve Cardassia, and what Cardassia needs, undergoes a lot of change over the course of the show, I don’t see any version of Garak in which Cardassia is not his first love. For Bashir, it’s altruism and helping people, as well as his intellectual curiosity - aims which are reflected in Starfleet and the Federation for him but ultimately higher ideals.

And I don’t think either Garak or Bashir would admire the other nearly as much if they were willing to let go of everything they hold dear for the sake of romance. They’re both far too committed to being a part of the world. Garak may have some fun with trying to shake Bashir of his optimism, but ultimately Bashir’s goodness, his fierce conviction that no one deserves to suffer, are among the most compelling aspects of his personality. And if Bashir is ever going to actually enter a serious relationship with Garak, he’s got to move beyond flirty intrigue and literary banter and see Garak as someone who’s proactively committed to goals that Bashir can respect. If they’re coming together as a couple, it’s because their aims and beliefs have come into alignment in some way.

And to be fair, a lot of post-canon Cardassia stuff is doing the latter. But I also want more… conflict within that framework, I guess? I don’t want a romantic relationship and the act of getting together to be the endpoint of whatever reconciliation of values they need to work through. And that’s part of what I’m trying to untangle in planning this fic of mine - especially regarding how fraught romantic commitment feels for them. For Bashir, there’s the problem of not only reconciling himself with what Garak has done, but also of choosing to be with someone whose impulses and entire cultural belief system places duty and institutional loyalty above personal feelings. And for Garak, there’s the fact that the most devoted and emotionally intense relationship he’s had in his life thus far has been with Tain, who embodied Cardassia for him - and as a result, I doubt he quite knows what to do with the possibility of a serious relationship with Bashir, who is very emphatically not Cardassia. He’s not used to being divided in his passions!

It’s not that I’m never capable of being moved by post-canon stuff that involves Bashir being charmed by how slippery Garak is, or them generally being quippy and fond of each other (I’m not made of stone here). But I’m never satisfied with just that, because that escapist element never feels like it translates well from the early seasons of the show to post-canon, and because it never engages with what I find the most fascinating about what’s set up with their whole dynamic. (And I especially dislike it when it feels like Bashir’s character is getting shortchanged in terms of his complexity and moral convictions being excised in order for Garak to get everything he wants.)

[meli-luminati]

hi meli!! as you might imagine by the amount of reblogs I just made to your outer wilds art, I've played the game!! I've loved it!! (I am so emotional and empty now though) idk I know you love it so I just wanted to tell you 👉👈

anyway, since I'm here I'll ask you something too xD I've just finished the dlc and I found it very hard, how was your experience with it? I had to look up for some guidance online... Were you as afraid of the strangers as me? haha

Hello hello !

I'm super happy to hear you liked the game!! Congratulations on finishing it! Also yeah, welcome to what i call "the post Outer Wilds depression"- where it's difficult not to feel empty and not harassing all your friends to play it hehehe-

So, regarding the dlc..

My experience with it was relatively similar to the base game. Of course there is FEAR.. but you are talking to someone who was scared of EVERYTHING in the base game LOL- (Like, litteraly. I got jumpscared by a quantum rock in the Ember Twin caves... A rock.) Still, i admit the DLC was scarier by adding the strangers. And at first i wasn't pleased to see horror game mechanics because im a real scaredy cat and i don't play horror stuff for that reason. But my boyfriend gave me a pretty good technique to overcome the fear which is, and i quote: "Try the worst case scenario to see what will happen" wich is to get caught by them. It's a game about dying every 22 minutes so, one more or less eh- And it truly demystified the whole ordeal for me. Nothing is stronger and scarier than our imagination and... you know... Seeing that they actually just turn off your flame to make you go away made me understand; hey- i'm the unwanted guy here. I am litteraly tresspassing! And they are just annoyed by it, rightfully so XD After that i really felt like the one trolling them by my presence. Still scared, but not as much as the very first time! And taking my time to solve the puzzle without the stress of getting caught helped a whole lot !

[angelofthenight01]

The witch's secret

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: fluff  ||     warnings: none

Summary: You're best friends with Pietro and Wanda is avoiding you as much as possible.  Little do you know that the reason is that the witch is falling in love with you.

The stale, recycled air of the Avengers training room hits you like a damp rag as you step inside. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the corner of your shirt, already feeling the familiar ache in your muscles. It’s been a long morning, dodging energy blasts and deflecting vibranium projectiles, all courtesy of your best friend, Pietro. He’s leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he examines his nails like some haughty prince.

"Took you long enough," he crows, pushing himself off the wall and stretching his arms high above his head. "I was starting to think you’d finally given up on keeping up with my god-like speed."

You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Quicksilver. Some of us need sleep." You grab your water bottle, taking a long swig. You’ve known Pietro since… well, since forever. You met at one of those weird, half-way houses run by the government when you were kids. You’d bonded over shared experiences and the inability to understand why everyone was so obsessed with being “normal”. You’d been inseparable ever since. And, naturally, that meant you’d gotten to know his twin sister, Wanda, very well too.

She’s… different. A chaotic storm wrapped up in a quiet demeanor. She’s a puzzle you’d gladly spend a lifetime trying to solve. However, lately, solving her has been like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. She’s been avoiding you, and not in a mild, subtle way. This is avoidance of Olympic proportions. If you’re in the kitchen, she’s suddenly urgently needed in the library. If you’re on the training floor, she’s busy meditating on the roof. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become radioactive.

"So," Pietro says, breaking your thoughts. “What’s the workout for today, oh, mighty planner of our pain?”

You shrug, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen. "I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand, maybe some sparring. What do you think?"

"As long as it involves me winning spectacularly, I'm in." He flashes that trademark grin, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You spend the next hour getting pummeled by Pietro’s ridiculous speed and impressive strength - but you also get some good hits yourself. You know, he may be fast, but you have been learning from the best. As you’re catching your breath, you hear a door open behind you, and your heart skips a beat, just like it always does.

It's not Wanda. It's Kate Bishop. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a look on her face that spells trouble. You like Kate, she’s funny, quick-witted, and a total bad-ass with a bow and arrow. She's also Wanda's best friend, which is why you’re sure she’s about to deliver some cryptic message or distraction.

"Hey, guys," she says, her tone a little too casual. "Wanda needs my help… with… uh… quantum physics equations."

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Since when does Wanda dabble in theoretical physics?"

Kate's face is a picture of forced nonchalance. "Since… now? Yeah, she’s on a real quantum kick. Anyway, gotta go, quantum stuff, you know." With that, she’s gone, leaving you and Pietro alone again.

“Quantum physics,” Pietro says, shaking his head and chuckling. “That girl is so awkward. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s trying really hard to avoid you.”

You almost choke on your water. “Avoid me? Why would she avoid me?” you ask, trying to sound casual, as if you hadn’t noticed.

Pietro shrugs. “Beats me. Maybe you smell.” He wrinkles his nose dramatically, making you laugh.

The next few weeks continue in the same vein. Every time you try to talk to Wanda, she vanishes as if she's a figment of your imagination. You find yourself increasingly frustrated, not just because you have no idea what you did to annoy her, but because you really miss her company.

One afternoon, you’re attempting to meditate in the common room, hoping to find some inner peace when you hear footsteps. You open one eye to see Kate Bishop walking towards you, a determined set to her jaw. You see the mischievous glint in her eye, and brace yourself.

"Okay, look," she says, grabbing the cushion next to you and sinking down. "This whole thing has gone on long enough."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if she’s finally about to let you in on what’s going on.

"Wanda likes you," Kate blurts out, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.

Your eyes widen. "Likes me? Like… as in a friend?" you ask, even if you already know the answer.

Kate groans. "No, as in, she’s completely head-over-heels smitten with you. She’s been losing her mind about it ever since you saved her from that rampaging Ultron drone last year."

Your stomach does a backflip. “Wait, what? But why is she avoiding me?”

Kate sighs. "Because she's Wanda. She’s not good at this whole 'feeling' thing, especially when they're feelings of the lovesick variety. She's terrified you’ll find out, and then laugh at her or reject her, or whatever other dramatic scenario she's conjured up in her head. So, she decided the best course of action is to run away."

You shake your head, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's... incredibly Wanda." Something warm blooms in your chest, partly from the revelation, partly from the fact that, if Kate is to be believed, your feelings for Wanda are reciprocated.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Kate grins, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Now, we set a trap. She has got to face this. And maybe… she could actually go on a date or something? She’s been miserable, poor thing.”

The "trap," as it turns out, involves a suspiciously placed book in the library, a strategically timed fire alarm, and a very confused Pietro. You find yourself facing Wanda by the garden, which, somehow, you’d been guided to under the pretext of a "minor training accident".

She's standing by the rose bushes, her back to you, her shoulders tense.

"Wanda," you say softly, approaching cautiously.

She turns, and her eyes are wide. She’s beautiful. As always. And your heart is about to burst.

"I… I…" she stammers, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You take a deep breath. "I know," you say.

Her brows furrow. "You know?"

"Yeah, Kate told me. About… everything."

Her cheeks flush a vibrant red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I’m so embarrassing. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… you're so… I…" She trails off, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You step closer, reaching out and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wanda," you say, your voice a low hum. "I'm not uncomfortable, I'm… I’m glad. Because… I feel the same way. I’ve been… completely, overwhelmingly, kind of in love with you since forever.”

Her eyes widen further, and a small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. "You… you do?"

You smile, nodding. “I do.”

The silence stretches between you, charged with an energy you both feel. You lean closer, and she does too, and then you’re kissing. Her lips are soft and sweet, and the world disappears around you. It’s perfect, and magical, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

As you pull away for air, you hear a snort behind you. You turn to see Pietro standing nearby, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy," he groans, putting a hand over his eyes. "I’m going to be sick. My best friend and my sister? It's disturbing, revolting, and completely not acceptable. I need to go drink something and forget I ever saw this.” He is clearly overdoing it, and you end up bursting into laughter, which is soon joined by Wanda's giggle.

You look at her, and your heart flips over again. This is it. This awkward, beautiful mess of a romance. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.