#you know when lore is beamed out into space?

[szappan]

you are not ready for the data gifset with quotes from a ember tragédiája that is in my head

[yan-randomfandom]

HIIIIIIII I love your writing alot!!!! Soo, I wanna request something:3

Maybe a Yandere Stanford Pines x GN reader who only saw him as a close friend? They became friends when they were still in high-school up to this day! (Yes, reader did sort of wait 30 years for Ford and never forgot about him)

Maybe just Stanford obsessing over Reader romantically, and Reader just think him as the greatest best-friend ever!!

I LOVE ONE SIDED PINNING OKAY????

Stanford Pines x GN!Reader

UM UH,,, IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON— and it's something I'm not even proud of 😭😭

context btw; reader doesn't know about weirdmaggedon or fake death or entire lore, they dont tell them anything uhhh idk anymore

You took the bus to Gravity Falls! Stanley reached out to you after decades of not having contact. It was a bit sudden, but there's no way you're going to ignore his call.

Stanley Pines was the first man you saw when the Mystery Shack's door opened. Wrinkly, exhausted widened eyes looked at you in silence. He looked unprepared... kind of crusty musty... and very unhygienic.

"You look disgusting! I'm gonna hug you anyway!" you beamed, pulling him in for a big hug. Unwillingly, a strong whiff of his scent hits your nose. "You stink too! You haven't changed a bit, Stanley."

"Glad to know ya missed me," he laughed, giving you an affectionate noogie.

When Stan finally let you go, you looked up to see Ford. He stood in front of you, speechless as he stared into your eyes.

"...Ford," you grinned, walking towards him. In curiosity, you placed your palms on both his cheeks. He seemed to relax with your touch. "You changed a lot."

Your eyes, while they've wrinkled, are as warm as the day he last saw them. He smiled back, his large hand covering one of yours. Your smile widened when you saw his fingers. "And you aged beautifully."

Poetic as always! A laugh bubbled up your throat as you wrapped your arms around him.

He quickly returned the gesture, burying his face into your neck. He missed this. He missed you.

Your warmth didn't change. Fascinating.

"I missed you, man! How come you're such a silver fox now? Good for you!"

"I still have no idea what a silver fox is," he chuckled, already longing for you the second you pulled away from him.

Ford merely stood there for a few moments before he grimaced. Damn it. He still likes you, doesn't he?

It's been more than thirty years already. He thought he would have moved on, especially after the whole weirdmaggedon thing. Why would Stanley ever get the idea of calling you back here??

All of you now sat at the table with you in between the Pines twins. Mabel wore an apron, sophisticatedly offering you tea. The sweetheart made the recipe herself!

"So, how have you been doing these days?" Ford asked, resting his cheek on his palm. Every passing second with you, he gets reminded more and more of why he used to like you.

You are, after all, the first and only person to not call him any sort of names because of his hands.

"Oh, I mean, I've been financially doing well, and it's been a bit difficult to settle down with a partner... but," you blushed. "I think I finally found the one."

Ford coughed out violently, pounding a fist against his chest. He really shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't! You're bound to have found someone!

Get a grip. Fourty. Years.

...He truly had missed out on this dimension for such a long time.

...

The sky is dark. Dipper told you about the roof spot at the shack, and now you're here, thinking about life.

"Dipper said you'd be here," a voice murmured. You looked up and saw Ford walking up to you. Chuckling, you offered him a non-alcoholic drink.

"How many days will you be staying here again?" Ford asked as he sat next to you, sparing a small space between.

"A week at most," you shrugged, kicking your legs at the edge. Ford simply stared at you.

"I guess it'll be forever before we see you again, huh?" he mumbled.

You turned to him with a smile. "Of course not. You guys are invited to my wedding."

... Wedding.

A small huff left your lips. "We're so old now. I still remember being in high school and grouping up with you and Stan when a trio was needed. Good times."

Ford continued staring at you.

"You guys were my best friends. Probably not now, I mean, been decades since we last talked. That reminds me, what made you call—"

Ford suddenly interrupted you with a hug.

"Woah, Fordsy, you miss me that much?" you laughed, hugging him back.

Don't call him that. His arms around you tightened.

You simply let him hug you.

It was such a long one.

And it only grew tighter by the second.

Like he never wanted to let you go again.

but his aim is getting better 🗣️

i love your idea so much btw, i too am a fan of one-sided pining.... the desperation yk.. I THINK I JUST SUCK AT WRITING FOR THAT WHAT 😟 (says the yandere blog)

[thesleeptokenarchive]

Social Media Update: January 6 2022

The first post for the collective in 2022 to their socials was about their first cover of a magazine, Metal Hammer issue 357, that went on sale this day.

Behold, an expression of Worship from the @MetalHammer publication. Consume - http://bit.ly/buyhammer

[X]

Additional photos from the article, by Andy Ford.

Words by RICH HOBSON. Article can be found here: [Link]

Sleep Token are a Mystery

Anonymous members, no interviews and sold-out shows: Vessel et al have become a modern metal phenomenon. We followed them on tour to try and find out more.

The view from 2022

As Vessel doesn’t talk, we predict the next 12 months on his behalf

What are his New Year’s resolutions?

To ensure a Sleep shrine in every home in the UK, perfect for accepting His offerings. Also for Vessel to kill fewer people using his telekinetic abilities (see: the video for Alkaline) and to use them for something more constructive instead, like whale conservation.

Sleep Token vocalist Vessel stands in front of 1,500 people at Birmingham’s 02 Institute, and the room falls silent. All eyes are fixed on the masked and cloaked singer for a sign – any sign – that might betray some message or hidden meaning behind the band’s mystique.

What’s going to be the biggest thing in metal in 2022?

“We love you!” cries a young woman. Finally, the spell is broken, and the crowd erupt into cheers that Vessel politely acknowledges with a slight nod. Then he moves, and the church-like quietude falls again. Leaning towards the mic, for the briefest of moments it seems Vessel’s five years of almost total silence will end, with Birmingham about to receive gospel from one of metal’s most enigmatic forces. Instead, he clenches his hands together in a sign of gratitude, saying everything by saying absolutely nothing – and everyone loses their minds.

Sleep Token will engage in a holy war with Ghost, ultimately triumphing and ending the line of Papas. Satan will convert to Sleep worship, rendering the whole ‘satanism’ thing redundant. Deicide will become door-todoor missionaries, converting people to the Sleep cause. Black metal musicians will end up switching to country, singing about the good ol’ days when you could burn churches and burn inverted crucifixes into your head.

We’re at the second night of Sleep Token’s eight-date UK tour, and since emerging in 2016, they’ve maintained an iron grip on their anonymity: they obscure their faces, they don’t talk onstage, and they have only ever done one interview – with this very magazine in 2017. The closest comparison is Ghost, but even they had ‘Nameless Ghouls’ who acted as regular spokespeople until Tobias Forge eventually broke cover, a decade into the band. It’s all very impressive – but who the hell are they?

What event or issue will define the world in 2022?

Here’s what we know: in that 2017 interview, Vessel told us that their music is all in service to ‘Sleep’, a mysterious deity whose roots stretch back centuries.

Sleep Token will make history by hosting the first livestream to be beamed directly into your dreams. A bit like with U2 and Apple, the whole thing will cause a massive fuss but ultimately blow over. Mastodon will try to do the same and end up falling through space/ time like a live-action replication of Crack The Skye.

“How we got here is as irrelevant as who we are – what matters is the music and the message,” they said. “We are here to serve Sleep and project His message.” And… that’s about it. Cheers for the insight, pal.

Despite – or perhaps because of – their secrecy, Sleep Token are fast becoming a cult sensation. While the lore is centred around Vessel, Sleep Token describe themselves as a collective, suggesting a collaborative effort between seasoned musicians, all feeding into the art. That may go some way to describe their fluid approach to genre, pulling elements of everything from tech metal and alternative to pop and R&B – part of a new breed of heavy bands who aren’t afraid to embrace multiple genres, as well as nontraditional ways of working.

In 2019, they drip-fed a series of singles that eventually became their debut album, Sundowning, rather than going ahead with a straightforward release. Even though they couldn’t tour during the pandemic, last September’s This Place Will Become Your Tomb charted at No. 39 in the UK, and this current run will conclude at London’s 2,000-capacity Shepherd’s Bush Empire. It’s no small feat.

“Sleep Token are an expression of where metal is in the 2020s,” says Ihsahn, co-founder of black metal legends Emperor and pioneering avant garde solo artist, who’s on the same label as the collective. “From the first time I heard them, I was completely intrigued – the way they mix modern metal elements with very dark moods, but also very clear, modern R&B-style production values.”

Sleep Token are by no means the first anonymous collective in metal, but their symbol-emblazoned masks, dark body paint, and use of everything from Nordic runes to Hindu symbology in their artwork have piqued the curiosity of metal fans and fellow musicians.

“It’s similar to what we had with the black metal scene, with the masks and mystery that helps to raise it all,” Ihsahn explains. “Emperor wouldn’t be where they were without that theatricality, because we needed to do something to distance ourselves from the spotty teenagers we were!

“It creates a clear distance and space between the art and the artist,” he continues. “I’ve always appreciated artists who created that distance – going back, you can watch all these interviews with David Bowie but it never feels like you knew him. The art he created was an offering and you just had to try to understand it.”

Of course, with Vessel it’s even more difficult. Our attempt to get answers in 2017 was like grasping at mist: when we asked why they wished to remain anonymous, Vessel turned the conversation towards what he thought was truly important – the art itself. “Our identities are unimportant,” he said. “Music is marketed on who is or isn’t in a band; it’s pushed, prodded and moulded into something it isn’t. Vessel endeavours to keep the focus on His offerings.”

When asked what the future held, Vessel simply replied: “Nothing. Lasts. Forever.” Does that mean there’s a time limit on the band? What the fuck is going on?

It’s tinfoil hat time. Outside of live performances, Vessel has only appeared in music videos. His first onscreen appearance came as a shadowy, grasping figure in the 2016 video for Thread The Needle, before appearing maskless in the 2017 video for Calcutta – albeit with Slipknot/Before I Forget style editing that only showed his mouth, cheek and eye. He’s become more prominent in recent videos – even telekinetically taking out a room of hazmat-suited goons in the video to Alkaline – but still no obvious, overarching narrative has emerged.

Elsewhere, his mask has made its own separate appearances. In the video for Fields Of Elation it floated free in a body of water, and in Nazareth it appeared standing alone in the video’s final moments, before appearing in blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments in Jaws, where it’s worn by the video’s star.

Which raises the question: is Vessel the man behind the mask, or something the mask brings forth?

Sleep Token’s acolytes have been searching for clues. In a Discord server set up by Coventry-based fan Chris, they pore over the band’s lyrics, album artwork, music videos and merchandise in an attempt to decipher hidden meanings, like a metal take on The Da Vinci Code. “It was actually through Metal Hammer that I got into the band,”

Chris tells us. “Reading the interview with Vessel on the website, I wanted to find out more. I took to Reddit to see if there was a community for the band and at the time there wasn’t, so I decided to create it.”

Now numbering more than 900 members, the group have become adept at deciphering codes left by the band. They discovered that a string of numbers featured on a t-shirt design were coordinates for a ‘whale fall’ – an event where a whale’s carcass falls to the ocean floor and becomes a source of nourishment for an entire ecosystem. When This Place Will Become Your Tomb was released, Benjamin, one of the admins, even took on the semi-joking role of Keeper Of The Lore, maintaining and steering discussions for each new song.

“I loved the hidden identities and world-building the band was presenting,” he explains. “There was a whole experience outside of just the music. The new album features heavy imagery of a decomposing whale and the animals that would feed on it; a representation of life in death –a topic lyrically discussed by Vessel frequently – and eternal recurrence.”

The Discord continues to provide fascinating insights into what the band may – or may not – be exploring through their art. But without any form of ‘official’ statement on their theories, and with a potential fixed end point for Sleep Token, couldn’t the fanatics be setting themselves up for disappointment down the road?

“Nothing lasts forever – until then we Worship,” Chris says matter-of-factly.

Aside from discussions on mythology, the Discord has also become a social club that binds people together. “The Discord community is amazing,” says New York-based fan Veronica, aka BluKittie. “There are people from all over the world and we share the same love and passion for the band. We are always there for each other. Last year my father passed away and the members of the community helped me through that rough time, and still do. I am just happy to have found friends there.”

An hour before Birmingham’s 02 Institute opens, the queue is already snaking down the street as far as the eye can see.

At the band’s request, we’re not allowed backstage lest we see their faces, but we do speak to their support act, solo artist AA Williams. Like Sleep Token, she’s found an audience with metallers even though her music spans alternative, pop, soul and metal –a sound we’ve previously tagged as ‘death gospel’.

“I think we work pretty well together,” she says. “It’s great to see an artist who is able to explore both pop and really heavy music without the need to hold back or overcompensate on either element. The shifts in dynamics really come to life live, and their crowd utterly lap it up – it’s like going to church.”

Are there any difficulties that come from playing with such a secretive act? Has anyone tried to get her to reveal Sleep Token’s identity? “Well, it’s not like we’ve had to sign NDAs or anything,” she says. “At the same time, you do want to make sure you’re not impinging on their privacy, and respecting their choice to present their art in a particular way. If anyone asks who they are, I think I’ll make up a celebrity – it’s Robert De Niro. Next question – ha ha ha!”

Tonight AA commands rapt attention, but there’s no competing with the headliners. All chatter is silenced as the room plunges into darkness. Moments later, Vessel strides onto the stage alone to cheers of approval, his mask the only thing visible against now-muted lighting. He tinkles the ivories for Atlantic and the crowd are soon singing along to every word, even though the album has barely been out two months.

AA WILLIAMS

For 90 minutes, Sleep Token hold attention in a way that defies logic. How can a band that don’t speak be so damned expressive? Compared to the stagecraft of bombastic arena bands such as Iron Maiden or Sabaton, Sleep Token are low key, but Vessel radiates gravitas, his twisting and grasping movements bringing to mind the theatrics of interpretive dance, where each flick of the wrist could be conveying some hidden meaning. The fans are utterly enraptured, moshing and singing along with religious fervour, lending credence to the band’s social media descriptions of their shows as ‘rituals’.

As it was in Birmingham, so it is in Glasgow, Sheffield, Dublin and beyond. By the time the tour arrives at London’s sold-out Shepherd’s Bush Empire, it’s clear that, much like Ghost before them, Sleep Token are fast outpacing their status as a cult phenomenon, smaller academies no longer able to contain their rapidly growing fanbase.

If Birmingham was about reverence, London is outright revelry – an irrepressible crowd engaging in a bacchanalian frenzy that has little to do with the extortionate bar prices and everything to do with the explosive performance unfolding onstage. And then, a couple of lads start Cossack dancing in the middle of a circle pit. Sleep help us…

Not to be outdone, Sleep Token bring out their own dance troupe for Fall For Me. Not that they need any help capturing people’s attention: here, Sleep Token are preaching to the converted, a cult threatening to spill over into the mainstream.

No one knows what direction Sleep Token will go in next, and it’s not as if they’re about to tell us. But then, that’s how things have always been with the band – each release a mystery that fans can’t wait to unwrap. “When I heard the second album, there was no indication of where they were going, so in my mind it just had so many seeds of development,” Ihsahn says. “There’s more maturity and there’s clearly something they are building towards, though exactly what that is, is impossible to say…”

Perhaps the stock answer from Vessel, five years on, would still be “nothing lasts forever”. Will they push their sound even further? Will they start conducting interviews? Will they ever unmask? Right now, anything is possible – and that’s what makes Sleep Token so exciting.

[driaswrld]

ultraviolence — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 3k

summary : suguru coming home was supposed to make things better. but, it's as if everything is going wrong again.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : pls read this and this first ty!! LORE DUMP 🤭 mostly from sugu n toru's pov dealing with their new life and the twins along with jujutsu society. reader is trying to be the mediator as always and shoko is the best ofc. just the one where everyone has an existential crisis. (part one of two hopefully)

other : I PROMISE YOU'LL GET FLUFF SOON 😭 mentions of alcohol, blood, smoking obvi, idk why i named this ultraviolence lmao (shit hits the fan in the next tsr im js trying to be kind i promise!)

comment to be added to the tsr taglist!

current cassette : pretty when you cry - lana del rey

You come home to a house colder than you left it.

There’s a small comfort in the droplets of water that splatter against the wooden floor when you hang your jacket up, having remembered the way the girls beamed up at you only an hour ago as you walked them to school.

The twins were adamant to hold your hands, Mimiko blushing the whole time and Nanako poking fun at it, promising to hold your hand everyday until they became big girls.

Big girls that would only need you to hold their hand halfway — the same way Suguru only walks you and Satoru halfway to the school before heading back.

But the sliver of a chill that reverberates through your bones doesn’t resemble the comfort of a morning’s soft rain drizzle.

“You can’t just dismiss the issue like this, Satoru!”

“Where’s my own will, huh? Can’t I just do this?”

“This isn’t about you.”

You hear everything for a moment, muffled shouts and grumbles from the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, haven't you?”

Then you hear nothing at all.

The investigation launched on the ninth day in December.

Suguru had all but been home for a week and then some, settling into the shoddy apartment you and Satoru called home between missions and meetings with Yaga and the higher ups.

It took half a day to move his old things out of the dormitory building, most of what really mattered was already sitting in the hall closet untouched, kept the way Suguru would’ve wanted it.

It was after he rifled through the closet in search of a fresh set of clothes did he realize, he had been mourned.

You and Satoru had mourned him like a mother would a child, like a womb stretched to make space, only to bleed.

His clothes smelled more like the both of you than it did him.

The fourth day, Suguru spent the night hunched over the balcony, smoking a silver blue parliament with Shoko while you and Satoru attended a hearing with the higher ups.

A necessary audience, they defined over the cryptic email.

Shoko described it as a means to an end, Satoru was still the strongest and you were his voice. The meeting was all but a farce to keep you two in check — but Suguru read it clearly for what it was.

A threat.

“He’ll be clan head,” Suguru murmured between plumes of smoke. “They won’t let him turn it down any longer, especially with me around.”

At this, Shoko chuckled, sucking in a sharp breath.

“You think he’ll do it this time?” She asked, somewhere between knowing and not knowing.

The higher ups want Satoru under their thumbs — not that you’d so much as let them come close — that much is evident. But it’s become a lose to win situation.

The guarantee that Suguru and the girls would remain untouched and hidden under the condition that he follows their rules, does it their way, doesn’t ask, doesn’t so much as breathe a word or commit an action using his own strength outside their command—

“Satoru as a lap dog?” Suguru laughs a little.

He just can’t picture it.

What he can picture though is the Six Eyes user backed into a corner, with no other choice but to concede. Then again, Satoru’s never been submissive to authority, no matter the setting.

A beat of silence passes over him and Shoko, and she knows what he’s thinking before he says it, yet she doesn’t caution him otherwise nor does she blame the nicotine.

“He could kill them.” Suguru says, “It wouldn’t take him long.”

The seventh day, Suguru stands in the middle of one of the many engawa corridors of Jujutsu High, dressed like a teenage dropout, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheeks until crimson stains his tongue.

You told him last night while cuddled into his side, Satoru’s head on his chest, “Walk away from it the right way, Suguru.”

And admittedly, he was going to laugh a little, kiss your cheek and maybe lull you back to sleep and ease your worries.

I don’t resent you,

for the path you chose.

As long as you swear,

yours and ours will converge.

“Geto, what is this?”

Suguru looks down at the sealed envelope he passed to Yaga seconds ago, the word resignation printed in bold atop the sealed flaps.

If he intends to kill himself, he should at least do it the way you asked him to.

He owes you that much.

Suguru never thought of himself to have been in a position where he could live past twenty ; he thought he was lucky Satoru even let him live to see the first snow, even if it was from the bittersweet solitude of the bed you three shared.

“I’ll graduate first,” Suguru says, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

For the sake of saving face he took a total of ten missions after his sentence was pardoned.

Five to prove he wasn't a liability to the Jujutsu world, two to hover by your side – he hadn't realized post traumatic stress could manifest in the need for more physical attachment – and three to see up close just how much Satoru had on his shoulders now.

To see just how different Satoru had become because of him.

“And then?” Yaga asks it like a cruel joke that only he and Suguru know.

People are talking. People have been talking.

Suguru Geto the defect. Suguru Geto the cancer of the strongest. Suguru Geto the curse. Suguru Geto—

“Maybe I’ll die of old age.”

I pray death finds me

under you two

in our bed.

If not,

kill me yourselves.

There’s meaning in that too.

That same afternoon, brandished with what should be newfound freedom – Suguru Geto. Not the sorcerer, not the curse, not the man – he drinks himself sick until he blacks out on the sofa.

Alcohol is cheap at Shinanoya, it’s been that way since he was sixteen and idle in the summer of ‘06, coaxed by Satoru into printing fake IDs, blacking out on the floor of your dorm room and waking up to throw up, just to blackout again.

Suguru took the train back and passed his stop two times.

Two times he thought of two different outcomes and two different destinations.

First, he’d go back to Jujutsu High and take the resignation back from Yaga before he signed it.

He’d call your cellphone, tell you how he's had a change of heart, whisper into the line : “We should celebrate. Me, you and Satoru.”

But you’d know it was a lie.

He still has twisted dreams of waking up in a gas station bathroom in a pool of blood that isn't his own.

Dreams that don't frighten him at all.

Second, it came to him the moment he considered actually getting off at his stop and going back to the apartment.

He’d let the train take him to Shibuya, stand in the middle of the crossing and scream.

People would look at him weird, others would walk by.

And the first monkey to reach out and offer him help, he’d—

“Suguru?”

He wakes with a startle, eyes bloodshot and half lidded.

“Name—” he opens his mouth, half empty vodka bottle tilted over and soaking the carpet. Satoru comes through the door a moment later, leading the twins to the kitchen to set their half eaten bentos down.

A shiver runs down his spine when he glances at the clock above the mantle. 12:53pm.

“School ended half day,” you say to him. Satoru doesn't so much as glance at Suguru when he steps back in to take the plastic bags of takeout from your hands. “They called but you didn't—”

Suguru's already sitting up, fishing through his pockets for his phone and clicking at the buttons.

Two missed calls from Mimiko and Nanako’s school.

Two missed calls from their homeroom teacher, Ms. Aiko.

Four missed calls from you.

One voicemail from Satoru.

“I'm so— shit,” Suguru sets the bottle of alcohol upright, pressing a palm to the carpet to find it damp.

His skin is hot, he feels like a mess, no doubt he looks like a mess with the way you're already kneeling beside him to screw the bottle shut. “I’m so sorry, I didn't— everything with the letter and then the train got delayed—”

“Suguru.” Satoru speaks for the first time, looks at him for the first time – behind bandaged eyes. “Sober up by tomorrow, yeah?”

Your head flits around to give Satoru a stare, as if to ask if that's all he has to say right now. But Suguru’s fingers enclose around your wrist, it’s okay, I was the one at fault.

“Satoru—”

“Just do this one thing right, please.”

The twins’ school dismissed half day due to heavy snow this early in the month. Suguru, listed as the girls’ primary guardian, gets the calls first.

He doesn't pick up.

Your work line rings next, and it goes to voicemail.

In between exorcising a special grade in Shinjuku, you don't hear it ring.

As the devil would have it made and done, Satoru’s line rings while he's at the school. Loud.

“Gojo-san!” The lady from the admin office knocks on the door twice, and is met with silence. The phone rings again, but this time it's the main line. The office extension.

The one he’s been using since he put in his teaching application.

The phone clatters against the desk in robust vibrations, Limitless almost bending the coily cord to nothingness.

The meeting room of four higher ups and two members of the Gojo clan watch him intently, scrutinizing him, waiting.

Beyond his better judgment, Satoru tells himself it's just you, calling to ask if you should bring back kikufuku or just the udon.

Or it's Suguru, who’s confused and can't find one of his things in the apartment and needs some guidance.

Satoru's not a pious person. But he wishes he’d have prayed the moment the call went to the answer machine.

“Good day, Mr. Gojo! I’m calling regarding the girls. School’s been dismissed half day today on account of the weather but Mr. Geto nor Ms. Name are picking up.”

“I’m hoping this reaches you soon so the girls can have a ride home. Thankyou! Stay warm!”

The eighth day, you wake to the smell of jasmine and hot oil. Four messages from Yaga, one email attached, forwarded to Satoru : Adoption fraud.

“—he hates me.” Suguru mumbles, shirtless and damn near cowering from your gaze, flipping the omelet in the frying pan, two steps away to avoid the oil splatter.

“Don't say that so casually,” you shake your head, shutting the fridge door, setting a carton of milk on the counter. “It's not like you believe that.”

Suguru flips the omelet with one hand on the pan handle, the other flicking the carton open and turning it to his head in a quick gulp.

He doesn't confirm it.

“Suguru—” you smack his arm and take the milk, turning away to rummage through the pantry for the pancake mix.

“I know.”

No, Suguru.

You don't know.

"I try to be patient," Suguru says quietly, shaking his head. "I know we're not sixteen and that this and then are two different things—” He turns the flame down, refusing to look over at you.

“Nobody's asking you to be perfect,” you cut him off, pancake mix forgotten on the counter. “You made a mistake, it happens—”

The higher ups are already breathing down Satoru’s neck about the twins now that they've been found out. It's an uphill battle in the Jujutsu world, your phone won't stop ringing.

Whether it's Yaga proposing damage control to have you and Satoru set apart on missions or another higher up waiting for you to slip up and beg for help, beg to be in their debt.

“I owe you better,” Suguru whispers, more to himself than to you.

He’s never been the type to ask for help or beg for forgiveness or cower at someone's heels. But you saved him — by putting your life on the line and in turn making Satoru cover it up — and he hates himself for it.

I wish

you would've

just let me stay dead.

“Because that's what I deserve? Better?”

Suguru gets the call from Shoko the next day.

December 9, 2007.

A formal investigation is announced into the involvement of [name] [name] in the case of Suguru Geto’s defection and pardon — alleged charge : fabrication of evidence.

Satoru makes his mind up the same day, sends the twins to stay at the dorms with Shoko for the weekend and brings you and Suguru with him to the Gojo estate.

“I can feel your eyes,” you whisper, seated cross legged on the tatami floor, nursing a cup of tea in your cupped palm.

You've never liked the Gojo estate. Not in winter at least, not when it's like this.

Satoru has his back turned to you, fingering the loose cloth of white bandages covering his eyes, almost hesitant. He recalls his mother's words to him from a few hours ago.

You look tired, Satoru. You're never tired.

There’s an unspoken thing residing here between both your energies and it becomes unbearably evident.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, slipping the baby blue haori off his shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bed. “Just the cold getting to me 's all.”

Loose and darkened strands of hair lay on the silk sheets where Suguru sat moments ago. Satoru holds his breath.

My lover’s hair is splitting at the ends, tearing apart at the seams just like me.

I pray you don’t notice.

“Is he okay?”

You set the ceramic cup down on the table, turning your head to glance over at Satoru, who despite himself, wears his emotions like a cardigan knit tight between his brows.

“Why won’t you just ask him, ‘toru?”

He thinks he hates you. He hates not being more like you.

With the way you say these things so easily.

Maybe it’s the deep rooted thrum of Suguru’s cursed energy in his veins, or the bitter taste on his tongue when he wakes in the middle of the night just to see if he’s still here—

Maybe it’s that voice in the back of his head, the instinct pounding on the walls of his heart, telling him this is only for a while, it won’t last.

“You can’t lie to me.” Satoru reasons, bending his knees and folding his body next to yours, wrapping and unwrapping the length of cloth around his fingers over and over again. “But he can.”

Or maybe it’s the way he knows even if Suguru lied to him again, said it was okay, said that he’d stay, said that he’d let you and Satoru be selfish for once and keep him here, keep him tethered to this existence he loathes so much—

“Satoru…”

—he’d believe him.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He sighs, near breathless.

You lift your hands to cup either side of his face, hooking your thumbs under the pale cloth, unraveling and unraveling and unraveling.

How many more layers?

How many more walls?

How many—

“His energy is restless.” Satoru could find other words to describe it, the aura, the shape of Suguru’s soul, his scent, his being, his whole existence. Something only you could understand.

“It’s pouring into me, and I can’t— I pretend I don’t feel it, that I don’t know that he’s…”

Different.

Suguru is different now, he wants to say.

Suguru’s unhappy with me, unhappy with us.

I can’t give him what he needs.

I was too selfish to have asked him to stay. You were too selfish in saving him.

We were too selfish. Do you think he hates me for it? Do you think he wishes he were—

“He loves you.” You tug on the cloth, let it fall and pool in endless strands around his neck. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Satoru’s eyes are dim, bleaky sapphire and cerulean staring back at you.

Don’t look at them, look at me, look inside me, my eyes are lying, that’s not how I feel—

“He loves you too,” he says it like a confession, a secret. Love can’t be enough, can it?

Love never stopped Suguru from leaving the first two times.

Love never stopped Satoru from waking up so many nights with tears running down his neck, from where you cried for Suguru in your dreams.

Love never stopped Satoru from not being strong enough to bend the world and stretch it to fit Suguru inside.

Why should you love him whom hates the world so?

Satoru lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, body slumped over yours and breath shaky.

Loving Suguru came as easy as breathing if not easier.

He’d spend nights curled in his bed at the dorms, clicking through photos he’d taken of you three, back then, when it wasn’t anything yet but still everything to him.

“Yaga-sensei, please pair me with someone else!”

“Hah!? We not good enough for you anymore, name?”

“Satoru, name, don’t yell so early in the morning…”

And even from the first mission, when Suguru’s hair was shorter and you hadn’t quite figured out how to control your technique.

When Satoru had to save you from plummeting to your death after you sliced a curse open just for grabbing Suguru and yanking him by his hair.

Satoru thinks, maybe, he came into this world loving you two.

Because he loves me more than all the world.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers into your neck, full of conviction.

He’s never not the strongest, except maybe when he’s here, in these moments. “I’ll protect the both of you.”

Let me do this one thing,

just this once.

Let me be the one

who holds us together.

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

tsr taglist :

@wishmemel @draecys @pearlvalley @cookielovesbook-akie @astral-hydromancy @celestair @/midnightbluehorizons @plaggi @blue-blossomss

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 4

Action sequence time baby let's gooooooo

Thank you guys so much for all the support so far. This one took a little longer to cook because fight scenes take ages to choreograph lol.

If you missed the previous part, you can catch up here :)

A lot for explicit violence in this one, including blood and gore, so be prepared for that. Also, I spent ages researching Dark Eldar weaponry, but it's all so wacky and weird that I just kinda did my own thing? I know I know, it's kinda lazy, but I've already twisted the lore so much for this story already, what's the harm in a little more?

Aside from that, apologies for spelling and grammar errors, I hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading!

Ellicent yelps in surprise as Gadriel grabs her. When she glimpses the Dark Eldar skiff, though, it quickly becomes a snarl "Severus!" she hisses. "Severus, you fucking rat! You-"

The screeching song of metal clanging against metal drowns out the rest of her furious cries.

Shredder rounds. Fist sized shells packed with razor-sharp monofilaments and the prefered weapons for this particular war band. Their function is in the name: to shred. Everything. From flesh and bone to steel and concrete. And, if the grimace on Gadriel's face is anything to go by, even space marine ceramite.

Just beyond his right shoulder, Ellicent spots the skiff again. It's hovering, now. Flanks split open like misplaced mouths, spewing scores of Dark Eldar raiders. Their armour is black and sleek; all crossing belts and studded leather. Except the studs aren't studs at all, but are rather chunks of skull and spinal bones. And the leather... Throne. Some of their chest pieces still have hair. Still have faces. Ellicent feels her stomach tie itself into knots.

The xenos still on the skiff cease their rain of fire as their melee force joins the fray. The latter hits the rooftop running. Gnarled spears and serrated blades flash in their taloned hands. Their long, elven faces are twisted into wicked grins. Some of them shriek in bloodlust and ecstasy.

Ellicent sets her jaw. "Turn left, Gadriel!"

Without hesitation, he does as she says. Twisting his hips, keeping a hold on Ellicent as he does. A trio of Dark Eldar are in front of her now. Screeching in delight with their weapons raised. Ellicent lifts her gauss canon towards them. With a cry of her own, she squeezes the trigger with her entire hand. The necron weapon cracks like a sonic boom. A lance of green energy- blinding, sparking, pulsing- explodes from its barrel at the speed of light. It hits the centre-most raider in the chest. For a moment his squeals turn agonising. Then, he says nothing at all. The beam devours him whole, blowing his body apart before stripping the pieces of their very atoms. It leaves no remains. Not even a pile of ash.

Alarmed, his comrades scatter, but Ellicent is on them like a hawk. Two more times, she fires. And two more times, a xenos is obliterated. She releases the trigger. Her gauss canon whines at her as if in disappointment.

Above her head, she hears Gadriel laughing.

His voice sounds different, now. Mechanical. Modulated. Ellicent glances up to find his face is now covered by a red Astartes' helm. The sight startles her a little. "Holy Terra," he says. "I'm glad you didn't hit me with that thing."

At first, the comment makes Ellicent wince. Then, she hears the smile in his voice.

He's joking. Seems like such a trivial thing, especially now. But even so, Ellicent can't help the warmth she feels inside at the realisation.

All around them, the Dark Eldar raiders circle them like sharks, no less blood-thirsty, but definately wary now. Their skiff continues to orbit overhead and its shredder fire has started up again. But it's not aimed at them anymore. It's aiming behind them. From that same direction, Ellicent hears the periodic bellow of a bolter.

The other Ultramarine. It has to be. What had Gadriel called him again?

Titus.

Gadriel releases the arm he'd had pinned across her middle, returning Ellicent to her feet. She hears a sword unsheath, an energy field activate. In her peripherals, she glimpses his power sword in one of his hands.

He stands at her back. His armour and undersuit are rough against her skin.

They're also wet...

"Are you bleeding?" she asks.

"I was. But no longer."

Despite herself, Ellicent's chest tightens. "Are you alright?"

Gadriel's response is a growl. "Dont worry about me. Focus on looking after yourself."

Ellicent stifles a growl of her own. You don't need to tell me; that's all I've been doing for the last fifty years.

Limber as they are, the Dark Eldar are still impossibly quick. They don't sprint so much as glide across the floor, and when they duck and dodge, their bodies are literal blurs.

Ellicent fires her gauss cannon again. She tags one on the arm. In a flurry of screams and green light, the limb evaporates, all the way up to the creature's shoulder. The raider collapses to the ground, writhing and wailing. The sight makes Ellicent grin. The Dark Eldar are infamous for deriving pleasure from pain; not just other's but their own, too. Looks like atomisation, though is too excruciating a pain even for the likes of them.

Holding down the trigger this time, Ellicent swings the weapon from left to right, carving into the incoming raiders with a continuous spray of lethal anti-matter. Three more fall victim to its fire, but one- a long-legged male in nothing but a skin loin cloth- manages to slip through. He's getting close. Too close. If Ellicent were to fire on him now, she'd risk catch herself in the blast. Taking her hand off the trigger, Ellicent grips both of the canon's handles tight. As the naked raider cocks his arm back to slash at her, she drops low. Putting every ounce of body weight and cybernetic strength behind the swing as she can, Ellicent slams the barrel of her gauss canon into the alien's groin. The xenos goes down like a corpse, howling in pain and fury. Before he can rise, Ellicent raises her necronian leg high and slams her foot into his head. Bone and blood spray as her metal heel plunges through his skull. When she lifts her foot again, her heel and sole are both splattered with pulverised brain matter.

A roar at her back catches her attention. She spins just in time to see Gadriel cleave one of his attackers in half with his power sword. Another, he punches in the chest with his free hand. The alien's body explodes as if it'd just been hit with a tank round.

Ellicent watches him with shock on her face. She's seen and fought enough space marines in her time to have overcome the transhuman dread that the sight of them afflicts in mortals. But seeing these things in Gadriel- her Gadriel- it brings that sickly feeling surging right back.

It unsettles her. Throws her off-balance and out-of-focus. It lasts only a second. But in that same second, for reasons unknown, the Dark Eldar skiff steers its sights away from Titus and back to her. And Ellicent realises it too late.

Releasing her gauss canon, she drops to one knee and throws up her robotic arm. She angles it across her head and chest, trying to shield her most vital parts. It's pointless, she knows. Even if she manages to spare her heart or brain, the shredders will just cut the rest of her to ribbons. But it's all Ellicent can think to do. She has to try. She can't just-

An enormous ceramite hand grabs her around the waist and yanks her out of the way.

"Head down!" Gadriel yells. Dropping his sword, he hugs her to his chest with both arms and crouches on one knee. His ceramite screams as the shredders make impact. Ellicent pictures their bladed edges biting through the plate and sawing into the undersuit beneath. Sparks fill through the air. The stench of burning metal is almost sickening. Ellicent squeezes her eyes shut. She shimmies her arms free from where they're pinned against Gadriel's midriff and covers her ears.

Her breath hitches. Her hands; they feel wet and sticky.

Is that...

Reopening her eyes, Ellicent looks at her palms. All over her arms, from her finger tips up to her biceps, she's streaked with human blood. Same as down her front, where she's pressed into Gadriel's torso.

Ellicent's throat tightens.

Gadriel.

She can't see his face from behind his helmet. Its slanted red eyes make it look like he's glaring with rage. But his grip isn't as strong as it had been before, and with every third or fourth shredder that hits, she hears him winces.

The knot in Ellicent's throat winds tighter. "We can't stay here!" she cries. "We've got to move!"

"And go where?" he grunts. The thinness of his voice only confirms what she'd already feared.

"Get me a shot at the skiff. I can take it down."

"You expose yourself like that and you'll be dead in a second."

"I've got to try!"

"Don't you dare."

"If I don't, they'll tear you-"

"I said no, Ellie!" Gadriel shouts.

It's then the shredder suddenly stops again. Still holding onto Ellicent, Gadriel looks over his shoulder.

"What?" she asks.

"Oh Throne," he mutters.

As the curse leaves his mouth, his body lurches forwards and his voice devolves into a pained groan.

"Gadriel?" Ellicent grasps his sides of his helmet with both hands. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Gadriel falls to one knee. Releasing one of his arms from around her to catch himself. Ellicent takes the chance to wrestle free from his grasp. Quickly, she scans him up and down. What she finds makes her stomach drop.

It's an impaler. A two-pronged, ship-mounted harpoon weapon, one the Dark Eldar typically reserve for taking out vehicles or skewering heavy armour. And they've just shot Gadriel with one. Speared him in the back and straight through his right side. Blood pours from both wounds in a torrent. Already, it's made a pool on the floor.

"Oh no..."

Ellicent runs back to him. Grabs his helmet again as if she were cupping his cheeks. "No, no, no, no!"

"Ellie..." His voice cracks like broken glass. It brings tears to Ellicent's eyes. "Listen to me. You... you have to..."

"Shut your mouth," Ellicent growls. Before he can argue with her, she steps away from him. Aiming her gauss canon at the sky, hunting for the skiff. She finds it, but never gets the chance to fire. The raiders are waiting for her. The second she's out of Gadriel's protective shadow, they're on her. Kicking out her legs. Ripping her weapon from her hands. Slamming her face into the floor, then a club into the back of her head. The last thing she sees is Gadriel. Kneeled over, covered in blood, a monstrous alien spear sticking out of his ribs. A scream tears through her throat. The sound is the truest embodiment of fury and grief.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel dreams of steel and blood. The stench of hot iron. The taste of copper. A haze of blinding light and shredded nerve endings.

He doesn't know where he is, how much time has passed. He doesn't even know if he's still alive.

And what about Titus? What happened to him? And Ellie-

Oh Throne. Ellie...

The haze suddenly dissolves. All at once, his senses return. They do so with startling clarity. The smell of hot iron is replaced by that of dampness and decay. His ears ring with the high-pitched hum of an alien engine. He suddenly remembers he has eyes and gingerly, opens them one by one.

A single, white lamp illuminated the entire space around him. Black metal surrounds him, save for the walls on his left and directly in front of him, which instead are made from thick heavy bars. The air is humid and warm, like the inside of a beast's stomach. The stench is nauseating. Gadriel reaches for his helmet to turn on its filters. Instead of ceramite, however, his fingers brush his bare cheek.

My armour...

He looks at his hands. His gauntlets are gone, too, along with every other piece of ceramite plate he'd been wearing. All that remains is his black undersuit.

They've captured me. The thought sends dread spiking through Gadriel's veins. Very few of the brothers he's met have fought the Dark Eldar, and fewer still have been captured and survived to tell the tale. But those few he does know told him about it. What they said had stayed with him right up to this very day.

I have to get out of here, he thinks. Planting his palms on the floor and pushing himself to his feet. I have to find Ellie and Titus, and get us all-

A spear of agony pierces Gadriel's right side and pained roar rips from his throat. He falls back against the wall, breathing hard and fast. Thick bands of sweat are pouring off his brow.

Tentatively, he touches his side. His finger come back slick with fresh blood.

Gadriel bares his teeth. That's right, he thinks bitterly. I'd almost forgotten.

The fresh blood, however, is deeply concerning. The moment the harpoon had been removed, his larraman cells should have sealed the wound closed tight. Wiping his hands on his thigh, Gadriel presses them to his stomach, chest and left side. Once against, his palms return bloody.

It's not just the spear wound; the cuts and gashes from the shredders haven't sealed either.

Gadriel's vision starts darkening again. His head now pounds in time with his injuries. It could just be his panicked mind playing tricks, but it feels an awful lot like he's about to loose consciousness again.

Shit. Not good. This is not good.

"Gadriel? Is that you?"

His vision suddenly clears. Gadriel looks up, peers through the bar wall separating his cell from the one next door . In the corner closest to the back edge, a shadow moves. Unfurling into the silhouette of a woman, crouching in front of the bars and gripping them with one hand.

"Yes it is," Ellie says quietly. In the low light, her eyes twinkle like a cat's. "It's really you."

With a grimace, Gadriel pushes off from the wall. His hearts are soaring, but in his current state, he can manage is sitting a little straighter. "Ellie! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Just have a sore head. They hit me pretty hard."

"I saw," Gadriel says. He swallows as a surge of acidic bile fills his mouth at the memory. "But you are otherwise unharmed?"

Ellie hesitates for a moment. Her silence is almost confused. "Yes," she eventually replies. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Gadriel sighs in tangible relief. "Thank the Emperor for that."

"What about you?" Ellie asks.

Gadriel grits his teeth in a rueful smile. "I think the bastards might’ve tagged me," he says.

Ellie isn't amused by his poor attempt at humour. "How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he admits.

"Can you move?"

"Probably. The bleeding hasn't stopped, though. Even though it should've."

"It's poison," says Ellie. "Kills larraman cells. They coat their projectiles with it. Meant to make space marines bleed to death."

Gadriel looks at his hands. The pounding in his head grows tenfold. "Well. Isn't that just great..."

"Yup." He hears shuffling as Ellie changes position. Sitting on thefloor now, she rests her left side on the bars separating her cell from his, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Gadriel asks her.

"Oh yeah," Ellie says. "Only the most cursed, ugly pain-ridden ship in this entire system." The dryness in her voice borders on resignation. "Welcome to the Dark Star."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If the ending feels a bit abrupt that's because it is lol. I was writing this part, and it just kinda kept going and I realised it was gonna be way WAY too long. So I split it into two :)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading everyone. Part 5 is coming soon <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[spearxwind]

oh my god Ringworld's misogyny is *so bad*. I don't even know where to start

I read ringworld when I was like, 13 or so and I didnt really PROCESS the misogyny until like years later but when I did then OH BOY...

Some of my faves that I still remember: - One of the main characters is from an alien race of huge anthro cats where only the males are sapient and females are completely feral and inferior - the woman they find on the derelict ship who is INSAAAANELY good at sex and the book outright tells you "well of COURSE she´'s so good at sex she was on a spaceship full of MEN and she had to SURVIVE so she had to be real good at that" ???????????? - one of the mc's being just stpid as fuckkkkk and it being a legitimate, honest to god, cosmically relevant plot point. and of COURSEEE at the end of the book she stays with the very stupid, but built like a brick shithouse barbarian, instead of The Intellectual Protagonist, because she's just that stupid.

Honorable mention:

When the derelict space lady is banging the protagonist (i dont remember why but she does it multiple times and i feel like it was bc that way she got smth out of him??) and then then one of the other weird alien freaks from the party shoots her with the Orgasm Mind Beam which IMMEDIATELY makes her super docile and into the protagonist because women are that simple (??????)

It's REALLY upsetting because a lot of the worldbuilding is genuinely so awesome!! like... fist-of-god was my favorite thing ever. its just so brilliant and iirc it was rly well written (for my 14 year old mind). the puppeteers planets being set up in a kemplerer rosette and moveable like colossal spaceships!! and the fact that some humans can be cosmically significant based on their luck is also a cool concept, but it was pulled off so misogynistically....

I wish I remembered more but I think the book focused too much oh Weird Scenes and I don't remember a whole lot about the lore other than these things :(

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

beer pong deals

pairing: chad meeks-martin x gn!reader

wc: 1.4K

warnings: drinking, swearing. thats it.

summary: a lucky charm in a game of chance

A/N: used the prompts "if i win I get to kiss you" from @ihateprompts

masterlist / chad meeks-martin

anika dragged you from your dorm to this party. you constantly tried to protest any involvement with the frat party happening on a thursday night when you had a class friday morning, a class with a test. she wouldn’t hear any of it, saying you already know the material and that you needed to take a break. shut your mind down and just have fun, drink just a little so your limbs aren’t so tense.

also she might have mentioned that chad would be there and that he’s been asking about you all day. wouldn’t leave anika alone until she promised to bring you around. and well, you might have agreed that a little study break would be nice. and anika being the fashion major she is, loves when you agree to go out so she can raid your clothes and work her magic.

you, anika, and mindy walked to the designated party house not far from campus. the three of you would switch from having discussions about the pain your professors were ringing the class through to having mindy talk about the latest horror movie she watched as she gave a quick rundown and then rated it. and just as you were three houses away…

“so my brother has the hots for you.” mindy, always with her bluntness.

a sigh knowing where this conversation is heading, “and i’ll outright say it, i like your brother.” the girls gasped. a flicker of confusion over your features, “i thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“well, yeah. but you said it without hesitation. so we see that this is more than simply liking, you’re infatuated.” anika’s cheeks were pushed high with her beaming smile. mindy just held a quirk to the corner of her lip, “gross as it might sound, i hope the two of you kiss. don’t get laid tonight. it’ll just ruin the romantics.”

“oh, so now i know the romantic genre is second to horror. more mindy meeks-martin lore unlocked.” joking with her as you ascended the steps and opened the front door.

the smell of weed, cigarettes, and alcohol filled your nostrils within the ten seconds you stood in the doorway. you fully regret saying yes to a party knowing these things usually just cause anxiety rather than mindless fun. but this was college, you told yourself you would try to step out of your comfort zone when presented with opportunities. anika presented the party, you stepped out of the comfort of your dorm, and now you wished to high tail it back to the small space.

“ah, ah, ah.” anika made sure to grab your forearm, already seeing the gears turning in your head. “no, you are gonna take a shot with us and then go find your boy.” tugging you along to the kitchen.

after downing a shot, well three shots, you filled a solo cup and made your rounds of the packed house trying to find the boy that calls your attention. you gave mumbled “excuse me’s” and “sorry” though no one cared as you shoved your wave into different areas. your shoulders would slump every time you didn’t find him. you told yourself if he wasn’t in the next room, you’ll look for mindy and anika then tell them you're heading home.

after more shoving, you found yourself in what appeared to be a game room or something, there was only beer pong set up with a crowd surrounding it. you journeyed closer and were able to hear the conversation over the loud music and a name catches your attention.

“chad, come on man. thought you were better than this.”

“shut up, derek. you're not doing any better.”

there were ooos that followed then they resumed their game. you leaned against a wall with your feet crossed at the ankles, not wanting to disrupt the game while it was in play. with the light dimmed you allowed yourself the pleasure of just taking in chad. the way his biceps would flex as he prepared a throw, how he did little hops on the balls of his feet from excitement or nerves. His gleaming smile showed his white teeth, or how his eyes widened and his brows rose slightly when he found you huddled away.

he clapped his partner on the back as he made his way through the crowd and came to a stop just in front of you. pushing your feet flat to the floor and standing at full height, you loosened your arms out just a bit as you shared smiles.

“i didn’t know you were coming.” he bit his lips as he tilted his head. “well, a little birdly told me you were asking for me.” trying to play coy as you took a sip of your drink. the spiked punch made you feel warm.

chad gave a deep chuckle, “anika and mindy?” a simple nod to his question. “well, i’m glad they brought you here. i actually have a favor to ask of you.”

he leaned his forearm beside your head, body moving slightly closer to yours. your eyes did a quick sweep of his body and when they landed on his face his smile grew slightly wide, probably cause he caught your wondering gaze.

“what might i get out of this favor?” voice dipping into a playful tone. watching how chad’s eyes dance across your face and made oh-so-obvious glances at your lips.

“well, first the favor is you standing by the beer pong table and being my lucky charm.” you couldn’t help the raise your brows, “lucky charm, eh? didn’t realize i was so special.”

again that charming smile caused your heart to beat a little faster. chad did a pass of the table seeing they were resetting for a new game, his eyes back to you, specifically your lips.

“and if i win… i get a kiss from my lucky charm.” his voice dropped, but he was close to your ear and you were able to hear the price he was giving.

you pretend to mull the thought over, liking the tiny hint of pleading in his eyes. “what if you lose? what do i get then?” personal space long forgotten.

“if i lose, i’ll take you on a date.” “kinda backward, isn’t it? shouldn’t you be proposing a date for winning and a kiss for losing?”

he shrugged, always suave. “either way, it’s a win-win in my books. so, my lucky charm… what do you say?”

his friends were starting to get impatient and were calling for him, or making kissing noises your way then laughing. you ignored them as the two of you got lost in each other’s eyes, fully understanding that no matter the outcome, both of you would be happy with the reward.

“okay.” you held a hand out and chad shook on it, “deals on.” with your hands still held, chad pulled the two of you to the group of rowdy boys.

“alright! me and james versus derek and paul. let’s do this!”

honestly, you got very bored of the game quickly, and who wouldn’t? boys taking turns throwing a dirty pong ball into cups of beer before chugging them clean, it’s nothing entertaining. but you wanted either of your prizes so you stayed close to chad’s side, eyes once again hungry and watchful of the way he moved. loving that he would turn to you before taking a shot and sinking it, starting to believe you actually might be his lucky charm.

last solo cup and it was chad’s turn. his friends chanted his name over and over, james gave some friendly shakes to his shoulders before stepping back. you kept a watchful eye on chad, not caring about the outcome of the game. chad’s head turned and he flashed a cocky smile, your skin felt on fire.

“ready for your prize, y/n?”

and without another word flung the ball and in a sweeping arch splashed it into the warm beer cup. chad’s side yelled in victory while the others sulked before getting more drinks.

chad held out a hand and without hesitation, you dropped yours into his and he pulled you away. he dragged you through the kitchen and out the back where not many people lounged, but didn’t stop until you were leaning against the side of the house. 

“i see you have dirty intentions, mr. meek-martin.” voice a low purr as you curled a fist into the front of his tee.

another of chad’s deep chuckles, “only with you, my lucky charm.”

his large hands held your face as he pulled you closer until your lips met. just a minute of feeling the touch of each other and mentally pumping your fist before chad started to take the lead and move his lips. it was teasingly slow and you quietly whined at the rhythm while chad just smiled into the kiss.

“needy?”

“very.”

-

[somebluemelodies]

happy holidays my friends! my gift to you in these trying lore times is canon divergence <3 angst? what’s that? i only know richas and pepito have gotten ahold of mistletoe—

The kids are planning something.

The kids in question? Richarlyson and Pepito, who have been chittering and giggling almost nonstop since they finished opening their presents, using their notebooks instead of signing so their parents can’t figure out what the fuck could be about to happen.

Cellbit and Roier stop trying to figure it out when they get denied information the third time, so they can only trust whatever the two hatchlings were plotting isn’t going to be explosive, at the very least.

Nothing in fact happens for a long while, and one could assume that maybe they don’t have any plans in mind. Maybe they’re just gossiping.

(God only knows how much Richarlyson loves to.)

And then the party happens. An island-wide thing, per most of the major celebrations. There’s a whole new area, too, decorated similarly to spawn. A snowy little wonderland, with colorful blinking lights strung between tall pines decorated with large ornaments and occasional garland.

(It’s a welcome change from everything that’s been transpiring over the last few weeks.

A chance to recuperate.)

Roier is talking to Étoiles and Bagi when something tugs his pant leg, and he looks down.

Bright eyes and big, round glasses are looking right back up at him. “Pepiux?”

Pepito grabs his hand instead, trying to pull him away. “Ay— ¿Qué pasa, Pepito? What the fuck?”

Pepito only tugs his hand again, more insistent. The hatchling is smiling, though, eyes twinkling with mirth Pepito has failed to conceal, and at the very least, Roier knows something hasn’t gone to shit. “Okay, okay. Vamos, Pepito, vamos.”

He’s led over to under some tree a good distance away, but he doesn’t see anything. The spider-hybrid looks around, shooting Pepito a questioning look, but Pepito only beams with no elaboration, still holding his hand.

Roier keeps looking around. Is he supposed to see something? Nobody seems to be doing anything unexpected.

And then he looks up. “No mames, wey— Pepiux, you sneaky—”

“Guapito?”

He looks back down, and finds his husband being led by a very determined-looking Richarlyson. “O que é isso, Richas?” Cellbit laughs, and warmth blooms in Roier’s heart at the sound.

The hatchling lets go of his hand when he and Roier are standing directly in front of each other, and Pepito finally lets go of the spider-hybrid’s, too.

Cellbit copies Roier and looks up, eyes widening slightly. But then a smile creeps onto his face, and his piercing eyes are shining in a way the lights can’t provide, in a way his husband hasn’t seen in a long while.

How the kids placed the mistletoe up there, they’re not gonna question.

Instead, their focus is on what the hatchlings added to the holiday sprig: pink amaranths.

Cellbit looks down at Richarlyson and Pepito, who have just finished a high-five and are looking extremely pleased with themselves. He quirks an eyebrow. “We’re literally married, you guys.”

Richarlyson whips out his notebook, writing with a comedic ferocity before holding it up. AND? YOUR POINT IS?

Pepito lifts his own notebook, a lot less aggressive as he bounces in place. FELIZ NAVIDAD APAS :-D

The cat-hybrid chuckles to himself, shaking his head. His attention is diverted by hands settling on his waist. Roier’s smile is soft, and he’s looking at Cellbit in a way that makes him weak, mind going pleasantly fuzzy. “Oi…”

“Hola, gatinho,” Roier murmurs.

(Satisfied, Richarlyson and Pepito slink off, giggling at the prospect of the next part of their grand plan.)

Cellbit closes the space between their bodies, one arm wrapping around his husband’s neck while the other cups his face. Roier feels a familiar coil around his leg.

The spider-hybrid spares one last glance up at the customized mistletoe before pressing their foreheads together. “Well? You gonna kiss me or what, pendejo?”

“Pendejo? With that mouth of yours?” the investigator quips.

“It’s more fun, no?”

Cellbit hums, his thumb brushing along Roier’s cheekbone. “Claro.”

And with that, Cellbit tilts his head and the distance is closed, eyes fluttering shut as they melt into the kiss.

Subconsciously, they hold each other tighter, pulling each other impossibly closer. The world fades out around them, until it’s nothing but each other.

(They’re already as close as they can get.)

(Not that the fact will stop them from trying.)

They don’t pull apart until their lungs are burning for oxygen, watching each other closely as their hearts race in their chests.

Their silent stare at each other hardly lasts a few seconds before grins are splitting their faces, foreheads pressing together as their shoulders shake with silent laughter.

But then Roier makes a sound, unable to keep quiet, and that’s all it takes for them to both fall into proper laughter. Cellbit’s head drops to his husband’s shoulder, burying it in an attempt to stifle the growing noise.

(He hears Roier through his laughter, “hijo de puta, Cellbo—”)

They rock in place until they’re finally able to calm back down and catch their breath, and Cellbit lifts his head. He moves his hands back, cupping Roier’s face in both and studying him fondly.

“Told you it was more fun,” the latter chirps, and it takes more self-control than Cellbit cares to admit to not start laughing again.

(Roier’s always been good at that: making him laugh even at the simplest of things.

Maybe it’s less Roier and more a testament to just how whipped Cellbit is. But that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

(Since day one.)

The cat-hybrid rolls his eyes, not a trace of malice to be found. “Whatever, man.”

“Ey, man, what the fuck?” Roier moves a hand from Cellbit’s waist, putting it to his heart. “You know I’m speaking facts. Pure facts.”

“Cállate, guapito.” The cat-hybrid pinches one of his cheeks.

“I have a better idea,” his husband answers.

Cellbit doesn’t even get a chance to ask before Roier’s hand is against the back of his head, threading through his hair, and their lips are pressed together once more. A little less gentle, a little more passionate, but no less perfect as it speaks the words they don’t need to.

(Te amo. Te amo. Te amo.)

(And across the way, a flustered scientist and an equally-flustered war veteran find themselves under a red-rosed mistletoe.)

(A very Merry Christmas, indeed.)

[a-space-wizard1330]

(This is a page dedicated to the Guardian, Apollo-13, and his Ghost, Asclepius, who belong to @kellofqueers)

[If you wish to add me on Destiny, my username is: A Space Wizard#1330]

Greetings, I have seen a few of my fellow Guardians make a "blog" here.

I have no idea what a blog is, but I saw that the Hunter Vanguard, along with some of my fellow Guardians, have one and decided to attempt interacting here.

You can ask me or Asclepius anything you want, and we will attempt to answer.

(🌕:Apollo-13, 🌑:Asclepius)

Apollo-13 (with and without helmet)

Asclepius

✨silly little lore things✨

these are completely optional reads, but provide context for certain conversations

Apollo-13's life before being a Guardian

Apollo-13 was a welder for Clovis Bray, although he had the capability and knowledge to be in larger roles, they kept him there because he was involved in too many workplace "accidents".

Nearly every single reset was because Clovis Bray needed to cover up the inhumane durability tests they performed at the expense of Apollo-13 and many other exos like him;the only resets that weren't performed because of his involvement with durability tests, resets 7 and 4, were due to him discovering the files that documented the results of the experiments along with other things.

Now you might be asking something along the lines of: "Hey waitaminute, didn't Clovis Bray have access to technology that allowed them to pretty much instantly make buildings?" and yes, they did! The reason why Apollo-13 and his "co-workers" were doing their jobs at all was because Clovis Bray kept them completely unaware of the outside world, the knowledge of this is what I meant when I said other things, and had them live on-site. The most exposure that they got to the outside world was music, but that was simply because everyone was issued a device similar to a Sony Walkman to listen to while they worked. The reason that they were provided with said device was because experiments showed that listening to music boosted productivity when working a hands-on job. However, all the music the "workers" had access to was all pre-Golden Age.

The reason why Apollo-13 was a subject in this experiment in the first place was because, when he was a human, he worked at the very top of Clovis Bray's Biology department. However, he inhaled dangerous spores from an experimental plant that they were developing. He opted to have his mind implanted into an Exo, on the condition that he be named Apollo. The reason why he decided to name himself Apollo is due to his extreme fascination with Greek mythology and he wanted to make further developments in medicine, like the god Apollo did, when he became an Exo.

Unfortunately, he was placed carelessly into the experiments for pain aptitude and extreme labor hours.

During the Collapse, Apollo-13 was on the job site welding metal support beams together while listening to his favorite song, Huey Lewis and The News' song "Hip To Be Square", when the whole facility began to shake from the invasion of the Witness and the Black Fleet. Unfortunately, Apollo-13 couldn't escape from the facility because the earthquake caused his blowtorch to weld his fingers to the beams he was welding together. Due to this, he was crushed because the facility fell apart and he couldn't escape.

Asclepius' journey to find Apollo-13

A nameless Ghost awoke, freshly born from the Traveler's Light, adjusting his vision to the world around him and he heard a voice, that of Apollo-13's, that said only two words: "My son..."

The Ghost knew that the message was from the Traveler, but that the voice was that of his Guardian. As is usual for most Ghosts, he didn't know where to find his Guardian but he knew he had to try...

A few years into his journey, the Ghost was scanning through documents in a Clovis Bray facility when he noticed a name that stood out...

"Apollo-13..?" the Ghost asked himself quietly. Fortunately, there was an audio log attached to the file. It consisted of Apollo-13 singing his favorite song while welding.

The shell of the small floating machine flared out in excitement as he combed through his memories and listened to the message from the Traveler. "My son..." emanated from him, the Ghost quickly played the audio log attached to the file once again and almost screamed in joy when he realized the voices were the same, just different in tone. He quickly looked through the file for the location of the facility that the audio log was from, and immediately began making his way to it in the hopes that the body of his Guardian was still there.

It took the Ghost another two years to reach the collapsed facility, but he eventually did find it. He floated through the rubble looking for anything that would lead him to his Guardian, not expecting to find him laying there under a pile of rubble.

The Ghost quickly floated over to the Exo and resurrected it, a small moan emanating from his mouth as a burst of Light flowed through it and cleared any rubble covering it...

The first words Apollo-13 said as he rose from the dead were: "My son..."

The Ghost quickly read the name tag on his Guardian's burnt jumpsuit, and named himself Asclepius. He had prior knowledge of Greek mythology from reading some burned out books in a few libraries while searching for his Guardian.

How Apollo-13 knows about his life before being a Guardian

After being resurrected, Asclepius explained to Apollo-13 all the basics of Light, how to weild it, what the Traveler is, and that they needed to go to the a place called Last City. Apollo-13 nodded along, not understanding a single thing that this strange machine was saying to him but also understanding that he spoke only the truth.

After the lengthy explanation of why he was risen from the dead, Apollo-13 asked Asclepius where they were and if they could find out what his previous life was like.

Fortunately for the newly raised Exo, Asclepius had the ability to interface with just about any technology that exists. The Ghost lead him to the dilapidated office/observation room of the facility and began scanning through the computers that were scattered throughout the room. He found one that contained the entire life history of Apollo-13, even his life before becoming an Exo, and forced the centuries old computer to rise from the grave like his Guardian had. Apollo-13 began to read through his file, a strange sense of familiarity everpresent in his bones...

After spending about a week relearning himself, and even some things he wasn't aware of in his previous life, he sat on the ground and wept. He wept for the stranger who's body he was in. He wept for the brilliant mind who was forced to perform tasks that could be done in seconds by technology. He wept for the man who's body he was in, and regretted everything that ever happened to him. He cried for a week, becoming so distraught by the corruption and disgusting nature of the corporation who made the body he lives in. If it weren't for the presence of Asclepius, the New Light would've snuffed himself out like a candle lit in a rainstorm.

The journey to the Last City

After the Mourning, the name that Apollo-13 and Asclepius gave to that horrible week, the two of them set off towards the Last City. They crossed through swamps and deserts, lands that before the Collapse would've looked beautiful but now resemble a trampled ant hill on a rainy day. They reached the Panama Ravine, joining a small caravan that was headed to the same place they were. Apollo-13 refused food and drink from the people who he walked with, and never slept either. He was like a saint to these people, a gift sent from the Traveler to lead them to their home. They were only ambushed by Eliksni twice, the first was an etherbath for the poor Eliksni who dared lay a finger on those who traveled with Apollo-13 and Asclepius. The second ambush was much larger in size, as the Eliksni had brought a walker with them to attempt to destroy the New Light. This was the worst and last decision those poor Eliksni would ever make. Although Apollo-13 was a New Light, he trained while he traveled, before he joined the caravan of course, and knew how to rend the lines between realites apart and make them his weapons. He tried to tell the Eliksni to surrender, but they refused to listen. The last thing many of the foolish Eliksni saw was a flash of purple darting from one fallen comrade to another, before it eventually reached them.

After the carnage, Apollo-13 collapsed. He slept for a whole day, small sparks of Void energy occasionally leaping off his body. Once he awoke, he apologized to the caravan for having such an outburst. His apology was met with laughter, but not of a mocking nature. They held a small bonfire that night, celebrating the Guardian who had saved them from certain death.

The next morning, the caravan awoke to Apollo-13 covered in armor scavenged from the Eliksni he had destroyed along with the swords of the captain that led the ambush.

"I have made a gift for you, please take it."

He stepped aside and revealed a new transport cart, made from the Walker that tried to eliminate them.

"None shall touch you while you have this around, I left a single survivor on purpose. He will tell of the Guardian who disintegrated his allies and forged a ship from their machine. If any of them see you, then they will see this and leave you be."

The caravan cheered, but some noticed something was wrong with their savior's expression...

"Please understand that what I am about to say is not because I think little of all of you, I will be ever grateful for the help each of you provided me, but..." He steadied himself, looking at the small crowd in front of him "I am leaving to travel on my own. This is for the safety of each of you. My Light is volatile, I know not how to control it, and I would never forgive myself if any of you were harmed because of that." He begins crying gently, tears rolling off his chassis and onto the sandy ground of the Ravine "That is why I have built this machine for you, so that you may stay safe without me."

The caravan joined Apollo-13 in weeping, but each of them understood why he was leaving. Each of the members gave him gifts, be it small portions of food or canteens of water. Those gifts meant everything to him, but none were as important as the gift he received from a young girl.

She had given Apollo-13 her favorite doll, and asked him to keep it safe for her. He promised to keep the priceless doll safe, and was met with a hug from the girl.

After he hung the doll from his belt, he set off towards the distant horizon facing the Traveler as he went...

The rest of his journey was rather uneventful, all things considered. He was never ambushed due to the presence of a Captain's blades upon his back, and he never reached the last of his supplies due to rationing...

Why Asclepius' shell is special

Fast-forward to the time of the Witch Queen expansion, and Apollo-13 and Asclepius are the best of friends. They were sent to the Throne World to deal with Savathūn and her Lucent Hive, but were often sidetracked by exploring the crashed Pyramid Ship.

However, this would prove to be a near-fatal mistake for both of them...

On one fateful expedition into the Pyramid Ship to clear out a large Scorn nest that was forming, the two of them weren't paying attention and Asclepius was suddenly struck with a slash of Resonance energy that split his shell in two and damaged some internal components.

All the sudden, a Tormentor emerged from the shadows to deal the killing blow on the Guardian who kept trespassing on a sacred ship of the Black Fleet.

Unfortunately for this Tormentor, Apollo-13 was pissed and all his anger was directed at the creature of Darkness...

Apollo-13 knew that he had to do something, and so he reached deep within himself and unleashed a Chaos Reach so potent and powerful that it turned the walls surrounding the Tormentor to nothing but ash, sparking with residual Arc light.

This, fortunately, was enough to kill the Tormentor and leave some of his body intact, minus the smoking hole in his chest of course.

"Apollo..." cried Asclepius, weak and dying from the damage.

"Asclepius, please don't die..." Apollo began to weep, holding his Ghost within his cupped hands

His mind began racing with ideas on how to fix Asclepius' shell when suddenly he heard the wall of the Pyramid Ship begin to repair itself automatically...

"Asclepius, I'm sorry but this is the only way..."

Apollo-13 quickly ran towards the wall, clutching Asclepius in his hands, as he felt his Light fading. He began frantically grabbing at pieces of the wall and used a blade made of Solar Light to carve them into pieces.

"Oh Traveler, please forgive me!"

Apollo-13 held Asclepius in one hand and the carved wall bits in the other and ran towards a small well of Resonance energy.

He began frantically trying to channel the energy, fortunately he already had experience channeling Darkness from his ventures on Europa with Elsie Bray and Variks.

He encased Asclepius' core in blinding Light and then a layer of Resonance, placing the carved wall bits on either side of him so the energy would have somewhere to flow to.

"Apollo... I think you did it..."

Asclepius slowly floated out of Apollo-13's hands, trying to focus his vision but failing

"My eye is broken, I can't see!" Asclepius began frantically panicking, trying to look at his Guardian but failing to

"Calm down Asclepius, I have an idea."

Apollo rose to his feet and walked towards the Tormentor he had killed, and ripped his eye out. He gathered more bits of the wall and carved once more, now making a lens for Asclepius to see with.

Apollo-13 carefully placed the part with the lens on it on top of Asclepius and stepped back cautiously...

🌕 "Well, how is it..?"

🌑 "I... I can see again! Apollo, you're the best Guardian ever."

🌕 "You do realize that I just broke several Vanguard laws about utilizing Darkness, correct?"

The two of them stared at eachother blankly, before bursting out laughing. Asclepius returned to Apollo-13's side, and they left the Pyramid Ship and vowed never to return. Unless Ikora told them to.

More lore to be added later...

If you've gotten to this point, I just wanna say thank you. I really appreciate you being so invested in my Guardian and Ghost's story that you read what is essentially just really complicated fanfic.

Stay tuned, I will add lore here when I feel like it!

Extra bits

Asclepius' shell before the Pyramid incident

Asclepius' current shell, made from Resonance and the Pyramid Ship

Transmogs for Apollo-13's main outfit

the same shaders are used across all outfits

[cocoscurios]

Me: I'm so busy, I need to finish a few projects.

Also me: So we should definitely start a new project then?

Anyway, chapter-by-chapter commentary for The Hour, the Spot, the Look, the Words, starting now!

Chapter One: A Place to Call Home Fun fact: I originally planned for The Hour to be a series of drabbles (I was writing Important Nothings at the time and wanted to do a Darcy/Elizabeth project in the same style). I very quickly changed direction when I realized I had a ton of material ready to go in the form of a million D/E scraps accumulated over years of writing about these two idiots. Also, I had no idea what to use for a chapter title here, but I was working in a library at that point, and A Place to Call Home was an enormously popular series with our patrons (I put those DVDs away so. many. times.). Voila, chapter title.

The newlywed Darcys had, at last, arrived at Pemberley, and Fitzwilliam had dismissed the servants.

“I will show Mrs. Darcy around the place,” he had said.

Elizabeth glowed with happiness at the words Mrs. Darcy, and Mrs. Reynolds had positively beamed at the pair of them. Mrs. Reynolds is lowkey the hero of Pride and Prejudice, and, let's be real, she ships Elizabeth/Darcy harder than any of us.

Fitzwilliam offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

She took it with a smile and allowed him to lead her up the stairs, giggling as his pace increased and he took the top few steps at a run.

He turned around to look at her, his face shining with a boyish delight that she had never seen before.

“What would you like to see first?” he asked.

“Oh, I do believe I should inspect everything,” said Elizabeth archly. “The mistress of Pemberley ought to, you know.”

He smiled at this phrase. “I quite agree.” Some Courtney Lore that I have alluded to: my best friend and I came up with elaborate backstories and headcanons and scenarios for pretty much everything in Austen, and especially P&P, and this scene has lived in my mind, in one form or another, since I was about sixteen. We basically plotted out The Newlywed Tour as a way to thoroughly map Pemberley. I could draw up the blueprints if I had to. 

And so he did show her around the place, all of the rooms that she had seen before, and many, many more that she had not.

“I am a bit frightened, Fitzwilliam, of getting lost in your house.” 

“Our house,” he corrected. “And you will learn your way around soon enough.”

“That is very true,” she said. “And after all, I do not intend to be apart from you long enough to have the chance to lose my way, so I shall always have a guide.”

The tour was very enjoyable, but still more was the pleasure of feeling her hand in his, and of hearing his obvious gratification in speaking of Pemberley, his eager anticipation of showing her all of his favorite spots in the house and on the grounds, and his wish for her to see them all to their best advantage. She let the sound of his voice wash over her as he told her of names, and dates, and events, content to listen and to admire him equally as well as the estate.

He led her to yet another door, pausing slightly before opening it. They stepped into an elegant, airy sort of room with a spectacular view. 

“This was my mother’s favorite room,” he said softly. I'll explore it eventually, but my headcanon is that Darcy's relationship with his mother was much more complicated than with his father. It wasn't bad! He loved her very much! But the dynamic was complex! 

“It is beautiful,” Elizabeth breathed, leaning into his arm and taking in the sight. The windows were large, offering a delightful prospect of the grounds glistening with snow, and it would be an even more magnificent sight in the full bloom of spring. It seemed a serene, restful space; she could easily see why Lady Anne had loved this room. I struggle with writing descriptions of places. I vividly recall trying to write about this damn room, when all I wanted was to put IT'S BREATHTAKING, THIS IS A BIG GESTURE, LET'S MOVE ON. I'm just saying, this mediocre paragraph took ages and caused me physical pain. 

“I would like for you to have it.” He had watched her intently and seen all the delight that had passed over her face.

She looked up at him, startled. 

“Oh, no, if it was your mother’s favorite, it should stay as it is." She thought of his father’s favorite room, kept so perfectly that the miniature of Wickham still remained. One of those details about Darcy that I find endlessly fascinating. I want to know how often he goes into that room; if he avoids it entirely or averts his eyes from That Man when he's in there or if he just grits his teeth and bears it.   "I could not possibly--”

“Georgiana and I have already discussed it,” he said, looking at her earnestly. “This has not been our mother’s sitting room for a very long time. If you like it, it is yours.” Headcanon about Darcy is that he includes Georgiana in a lot of this sort of decision-making. 

“I do like it,” said Elizabeth, touched.

“It is settled then.” 

He squeezed her hand gently, looking pleased. She took one last look at the room before they shut the door once more. The view really was breathtaking, and it was hers. The house was hers. This wonderful, honorable, good man was hers. What had she done to deserve such happiness?

Lost in these thoughts, she scarcely noticed that Fitzwilliam had paused again, looking wistful.

“Georgiana and I used to race down this passage,” he said, smiling slightly at the reminiscence. 

Elizabeth looked at him with amazement.

“When?” she asked. She was unable to picture it.

“It would have been when I was about sixteen or so,” he said, “just after my mother died. Georgiana was four. My father--” he hesitated. “That was a difficult period for all of us. I spent most of my time with Georgiana. It seemed to bring her some happiness, and we spent hours up here.” He gave a crooked little smile. “We made a great deal of noise and destroyed our stockings." Darcy is the best big brother ever, guys. I'm not sure what else to tell you.

And Elizabeth could picture it now: her husband, so much younger than she had ever known him, comforting his little sister by running up and down this passage, laying aside his own grief to help relieve hers. There were so many little things like this that she did not know about him; a seemingly endless stream of evidence to prove how kind he had been for so long, how rightfully beloved he had been to the people in his life, how badly she herself had misjudged him. The Mrs. Reynolds chapter in canon is SO IMPORTANT. Darcy is good and kind and generous to his people. He is not a complete jerk, totally reformed by Elizabeth. He is a situational jerk, rightfully shamed by Elizabeth to extend his natural goodness outside of his comfort zone. ;)

...Sorry, that's a pet peeve.

She wanted to know everything. 

They continued to wander through Pemberley, looking into more rooms than Elizabeth could count, and eventually found themselves at the top of another sweeping staircase.

���My father and I used to slide down this balustrade when I was a boy,” Fitzwilliam said fondly. “It is the best one in the house.” BLATANT HOMAGE TO ELLA ENCHANTED. Not even an homage. BLATANT STEALING FROM ELLA ENCHANTED. Ella/Char was my first real OTP (Felicity Merriman/Ben Davidson predates it, but I didn't have the terminology then. I've been a hopeless romantic since I was about six). I was thrilled to learn recently that Gail Carson Levine had some elements of Elizabeth and Darcy in mind with Ella and Char. Anyway, imagine your OTP, etc.

He smiled at Elizabeth’s expression. 

“I begin to believe, Fitzwilliam, that I shall never stop being surprised by you.” I think that Elizabeth loves this. 

This provoked from him a more mischievous look than she had imagined him capable of forming.

“I cannot always be serious,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I will catch you at the bottom.”

With a laugh, she watched him go, feeling all of the privilege of seeing this side of him, and then followed him down. One of the things I return to, again and again, is Elizabeth getting a side of Darcy that few others see. It's just so warm, guys, I don't know. <3 

[two-person-job]

assigning songs from my latest romance playlist to mine and my friends' selfships :}

@lexisism @milk-violet @floraldresvi

it got a lot longer than I thought. so. have fun! <3

best friend - laufey

kavexis or verali. definitely an alexis selfship. the parts that are more about how you're best friends reminds me of kavexis, but the parts that are lovingly insulting feels more reminiscent of verali

magnolia - laufey

this song is about yoimiya. or it's mizuha and it's kazuha thinking about mirei. a lot of this song feels more like poetry than lyrics?? which leads me to say that kazuha would hear it whenever he sees mirei.

death, thrice drawn - the scary jokes

baivi? verali? I can't really place this one. but. when I think selfships with lots of pining, baivi and verali come to mind!!

jeanine - the scary jokes

kavexis angst where both alexis and kaveh are feeling overwhelmed and end up kinda neglecting each other. with the line "love is just a name for you to call me by", this song talks about how though they are still acting in love, the feelings are starting to fade. it also goes into someone being emotionally absent, and not being vulnerable enough for the other. both people are stuck in a space between "I can't find time to talk to them" and "they can't find time to talk to them", and lots of conflicting "it's my fault/I shouldn't be to blame here" thoughts. one of the last lines is "just like the smote cedars in the yard, I have fallen so hard for you" which shows that yes, they are in love. yes, they adore their s/o. but. it's not a love that is gentle anymore, it's hard to live with and difficult to manage. very "I love you, but at what cost?"

starstruck - the scary jokes

this song has a permanent spot in my shroomsym playlist for a myriad of reasons!!!! firstly. sylvia is being depicted as a figure who shows enough to be admired, but never enough to be known. that's sym for a while!! and the entire song is just someone gushing and wondering about her.

no leverage / no pleasure - the scary jokes

scarayui because of the "I just can't have a normal heart" line and all that's added onto that. with all the scaramouche lore I know very little about, I believe this fits his character? loving, despite it being against his nature? but since yui isn't on tumblr anymore. this is actually really hard wait. this could lead off of the kavexis angst from "jeanine"?? i'll go with that dfjdjdfk

crushed out on soda beach - the scary jokes

shroomiya angst because. the first lines "I tried just burning the whole thing down today / but decisiveness is such a foreign tenant to my psyche" represents someone trying to break up with their partner, but being too indecisive to do so. later on in the song, it goes "you called my bluff / I love you too much / would you please stay with me? / cause after all is said and done / I want you here, stay with me!" this song is representative of wanting the end of the bad parts of a relationship, but not the good parts. it's about wanting the relationship you used to have, wanting to go back to when everything was normal and better than normal because it was beautiful. "I could hardly stand under the weight of my little crush on you" shows how much yearning can take a toll on someone.

bets against the void - the scary jokes

baivi angst this time. "these days your light beam penetrate / the sorrowed skin that i've been living in". baizhu's condition is getting worse, but vi and everyone else's love and care for him motivates him to try to be everything he could be. "but still I wait for piercing pain / i'll feel when your feelings fade / I feel so good today" he knows that all of the good he feels now is temporary. when vi's gone, or busy, or tired, or sick herself, he feels worse. but how is he supposed to push that onto her? when they both feel so good today, isn't that all that can really matter? "the sun is just a copper coin / I flip in bets against the void / imitating choice / 'til I feel good again / i'll keep them in a tin can / then i'll have copper coins to spend" baizhu's trying to find optimism in vi, in qiqi, in everyone who comes to bubu pharmacy, and he is, he really is, but it's getting difficult to find much more meaning in that optimism. he has all of the little memories from people he's known and loved and cared for, but he doesn't have much to do with them. "will you remember me / when our spirits scatter off?" will you remember him, when he can't remember you? when he isn't there? when he can't be everything you deserve? when he loses all he was? "I know I'm an artist / 'cause I just can't stand the thought / that a love as beautiful as ours / could be forgotten" he knows you'll never forget. and that's just why he wants you too. he wants you to be able to move on a live a life as amazing as it always was. but he also knows that you won't be able to do that. so he will make sure you remember your love as beautiful, and make sure to pass it on to everyone you continue to meet.

anata no koibito ni naritai - choo kyuu mei

MIZUHA!!!!! "koi ni ochite iru" THAT DAY I FELL IN LOVE! "kocchi wo mite yo!" LOOK THIS WAY! "choco yori amai! ondo de tokeru!" SWEETER THAN CHOCOLATE, YOUR WARMTH MAKES ME MELT! ik the translation is rough but!!!! KOI NI OCHITE IRU!!!! THAT DAY I FELL IN LOVE!!! KOIBITO NI NARITAI! I WANT TO BE YOUR PARTNER! I want to make a mizuha animatic of you two falling in love.. and being in love.. and that day you fell in love!

also dreszhu. though I know little about it, I like the idea of baizhu seeing dresvi and going "OMG SHES SO BEAUTIFUL" before regaining his composure lol

what will you leave behind (end titles) - max LL and maude plante-husaruk

spiritfarer is everything to me. BUT this song feels like shroomsym and baivi!! for shroomsym, sym is immortal. there is a way to become immortal with him! this song is about loss, about moving on, about grief, and about getting over it and learning how to lovingly remember instead of feeling constant grief. immortality comes with watching the death of all your favorite people, but the last line "but it's ok, we'll be together my friend" would be how sym would be there through it all.

with baivi though!!! baivi is the sort of couple that goes through and sees everything. they grow old together, watch friends come and go, watch relationships blossom and deteriorate, see the landscape around them shift and change, and learn every little thing they can, and more. they guide each other through every difficulty, every problem they may ever have. and they make their own world, out of love and beauty and patches of everyone and everything in their lives. baivi is a couple that grows old together.

hikouki gumo - yumi arai

kavexis. alexis gets to see all of kaveh's dreams up close, everything he wants and everything he does to reach those wants. hikouki gumo is the ending song of "the wind rises", about an aeronautical engineer (I think?) who falls in love with a woman with tuberculosis. though he stays with her as much as possible, she doesn't survive. however, they get to love in the most beautiful ways possible. they love in paper airplanes, they love in carefully-chosen gifts, they love in dropping everything to see each other, they love in spite of everything that encourages them not to. they love no matter what may happen. that's kavexis to me, passion and dreams and unconditional love. kaveh would do anything for alexis, and all she wants is for him to love her. "i've loved you since the wind brought you to me" is my favorite quote from that movie, and I think it suits kavexis :}

itsudemo dare ka ga - shang shang typhoon

sunvi? this is the ending song of "pom poko", and is playing during a lot of friends reuniting. I feel like sunvi is about never truly being apart, only in different places. this song talks about never forgetting the name of the people who loved you. sunvi is about remembering. remembering favorites and dislikes, anniversaries and birthdays, names and relations. everything that matters, and everything that doesn't. because if it's connected to someone you love, is anything really insignificant?

le temps des cerises - cora vaucaire

this is a song that plays in "porco rosso"! the woman that sings it in in love with the main character, though he feels as if he will never be good enough for anything. he has too much guilt about his past mistakes, and doesn't want anything bad to befall someone he cares about, so he stops caring. but she persists, and I think that's very reminiscent of a possible mizuha or pantalovi au. for mizuha, kazuha feels as if he isn't stable enough for relationships. also everything that happened with tomo, he doesn't want that to happen to mirei. but she doesn't care. all she cares for is kazuha, and that's what matters to her. slowly, she teaches kazuha that she loves him with all the risks he may see in being close to someone. as long as they get to be together, she'll be happy, and so will he. pantalovi has something similar, with how pantalone is in the fatui and all. how could that end up in safety for vi? how could he make sure she'd be ok? by not involving himself with her, is his first thought. but similar to mirei, vi is persistent! she will love freely! and he will have to learn to accept that. and he does, because he loves her. pantalone will make sure NOTHING bad ever happens to vi, who appreciates the sentiment, but once again similar to mirei, won't mind what happens as long as she is with him.

socks - out of luck

MY FAVORITE SONG FOR SHROOMIYA!!!! "what's up? how you been? / I wanna be so much more than friends!" lots of realizing you're in love and wanting to confess and not being good at telling someone you love them but trying anyways!! wanting to be with someone forever and never being forgotten and sharing things that only you and them know! yoimiya reminds me of giggling into pillows at a sleepover, and that's what this song also feels like!! failed confessions and flustered glances!!

i do adore - mindy gledhill

baivi. vi is so deeply in love with baizhu that him just asking her about her day makes her a blushing mess!!! they're different in so many ways, but not in a way that sparks argument, in a way of someone who's always cold has someone who's always warm!! they compliment each other in such a personal way, it feels as if they were made for each other!! no matter how many times vi fails at telling baizhu how she feels, or how much he means to her, he understands. he is able to tell by the absolute adoration radiating off of her, that all her words are laced with love.

sakura kiss - chieko kawabe

i put the ohshc intro on here because of who this playlist is about jhsdjh. but also mizuha kavexis and shroomiya are all couples who would shout these lyrics at a sleepover turned karaoke night. KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE!

pretty girl - clairo

high school au baivi, kavexis, and shroomiya. helpless girls + kaveh who'd do anything for their favorite person.

for baivi, vi would see him in the halls, and it'd start off as just a little hallway crush. but she'd find herself constantly looking for him, trying to find out what he likes, what he doesn't, who he's close with, who he isn't. she's writing him little love notes to stick in his locker, and though she's been found doing this by a multitude of people, none have told baizhu!! she thinks. one day, one day, she'll find the courage to tell him how she feels. (and one day, one day, baizhu will find the courage to strike up a conversation with you) this could also work with sunvi + pantalovi but I think it's cuter with baivi <3

for kavexis this song fills my brain with the image of kaveh in fluffy pajamas and looking at his phone, which has a message from alexis that says something like "thank you!!" and he's blushing because SHE saw worth in HIM and thinks that HE was worth not one, but TWO. WHOLE. EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! they might as well have gotten married already!!! kaveh is so hopeless and in love with Alexis, and thinks that she's so out of his league!! but she thinks the same about him. so they're both stuck in the pining stage with a VERY annoyed alhaitham.

for shroomiya. I would do anything for her!! I'll make her snacks!! this is affection in the form of simple acts of love that are filled with adoration, mistakes made to make someone laugh, and endearing habits belonging to someone you love. I could be her pretty girl!!!

kool - meet me @ the altar

honestly? kavexis. both of them think that the other is so cool! that the other should look in the mirror and think about how beautiful they are! both are such daydreamers, and could spend the entire day just thinking about the other. but they'd much prefer being with them, thinking about them is a good temporary substitute. pining and doesn't know the other feels just like them!!

cat serenade - beetlebug

MIZUHA MIZUHA MIZUHA MIZUHA!!!!! "I've never been the kind to fall in love / it's just me and a couple of fleas and that's all I want" HE NEVER WANTED TO STAY IN JUST ONE PLACE BUT IF IT MEANS ANOTHER DAY WITH YOU HED STAY A CENTURY! kazuha slowly realizes again what it's like to find a home not in a place but in a person, and finds himself imagining all the places he'll go with mirei. he'd go fishing with mirei. go to liyue with beidou and mirei. search for flowers for mirei. everything has mirei added on, and honestly? he doesn't mind. he could use a couple more years of his life, if it means those years will be with you.

honey jet coaster - nasuo and route BLUE - yuki nakashima and kawaii dake ja nai - nasuo

shikimori intro and outro. and the shikimori-themed song. that means baivi. highschool au baivi again where everything with vi or baizhu apart of it is beautiful! everything has to be about the other, and if it's not, then they'll find a way to make it!! every single thing baizhu does is endearing. every bite of food vi takes baizhu finds himself smiling at. ik I compare you to shikimori a lot vi but I think it would be reversed? like. yes ur like shikimori. but for the Cool Person/sweetie who's madly in love with the Cool Person dynamic of shikimori and izumi, baizhu would be the shikimori. while baizhu is always making sure that vi is ok, that she doesn't accidentally hurt herself, that she isn't overworking herself, she's making sure that he doesn't have to worry!! vi's doing everything she can to take care of herself so baizhu doesn't have to constantly worry himself over her, but he still does. and whenever vi tries to bring up possibly being a nuisance to him, he shuts it down before she can get the full sentence out. he worries because he loves her. he worries because she matters to him. he couldn't imagine a world without her, and doesn't want to.

every little thing - cybergirlfriend

shroomiya and mizuha. mirei would GUSH about everything kazuha does!! his handwriting, the way his voice gets softer when he talks directly to her, the way he looks at her with a warm smile after grabbing her hand.. anything and everything she can think of!! and I'm never going to have an empty mind when yoimiya's around. it's always full of thoughts of her!!! <33

biri-biri - yoasobi

i can't say yoasobi without also saying mirei. which is why this is another mizuha song. she's waiting!! she's hoping!! she's anticipating what kazuha will say, do, and everything else about him!!! when will she see him again? what will he say next? where is he right now? when will he hold her hand again? she's always wondering!! and he always has the answer, and it's always "whenever and whatever you want".

shake & shake - sumia

this is the intro to a really weird anime that me and someone else are watching together so I put it on the playlist. anyways this is shroomiya. we'd watch the anime together and laugh at how weird and i'd teach her the choreography in the intro <3

chicken noodle - small crush

kavexis? verali? for kavexis, kaveh is the mess. nothing goes right for him, except for alexis. she's the right in his world of wrongs. when he falls in the mud, she picks him back up and cleans him up. when he loses something, she spends hours helping him find it. he's a mess, but you're the best.

for verali it's swapped. I love you alexis but from what I know of verali you'd be the mess <3 she struggles with falling asleep on time, and he texts her at exactly 10:30pm to go to bed without being prompted to do so. he brushes her hair when she forgets to. he always makes sure that her working space is clean. whenever alexis asks him why, he tells her that he's just doing the bare minimum.

signal dreams - small crush

shroomsym!! "i would rather be living in a dream / if that's the only way I could get close to you" anything for you! everything for you! dedicating your days to someone who doesn't know that you think of them the amount that you do! doing things for someone that they'll never know of! picturing yourself with someone you think will never look your way again!!! he's a dream, and i'm doing fine asleep.

freshman year - small crush

sunvi. vi getting her view on everything skewed. she's having to get used to a new life, a new place, new people and nothing she can do to make the scenario more comfortable. but sunday can do something. so he does, and makes her feel as welcome as he can. he makes sure that she is loved properly, and cared for in the way she needs to be. "but I wish I knew then what I know now" if only she always knew how much sunday would do for her. (he'd do anything)

rumblin tummy - small crush

i swear I didn't plan for it to end like this but. tbh. this fits with everyone.

shroomiya: similar feelings to socks!! i'd never waste a day if it's spent with you! <3 no emotions are useless, no words are meaningless, because they're for her. everything is about her. everything is for her.

baivi: days upon days upon weeks months years and lifetimes spent with each other. spent sighing and dreaming and falling in love too many times to count, and then falling in love again!!! finding new ways to say I love you every day, and new ways to reciprocate.

kavexis: kavexis actually really feels like a couple who has a lot of accidental synchronization!! complimenting outfits, texting each other at the same time, confessions piling over each other because you were both so adamant that the other spoke first.

mizuha: making sure that the other is always cared for. during any absence, any reason for not being together, they are both always secure and excited to see each other again. and they always do, they always, always reunite.

shroomsym: I'm never ever going to be free from him, and honestly, I don't mind. I'd waste all my time finding him, talking to him, and thinking about him while I'm not with him.

sunvi: making space for each other, making time for each other, anything to accommodate to your beloved. because that's what you are to each other. everything you do, is in honor of them. sunvi feels like the type of couple to always be intertwined with each other, when you see sunday, vi is not too far behind. when you see vi, sunday was just making his way over with a bag of food and a kiss for the crown of vi's head.

verali: though he may deny it at times, veritas lives for all of alexis' mannerisms. everything she does fills him with love. everything she says makes him so, so happy. he'd really love it if he were able to just be with her for the rest of his life.

pantalovi: he always makes sure that vi is taken care of, because that is always the top priority. vi is everything to him, and he's everything to her. how could either of them be any less? when all of their spare time is spent on the other, how could there ever be any doubts that their love is less than unconditional and absolute?

[tenns-secret-night]

Sweet Dreams, Sweet Night.

Ramuda x M!Reader x Gentaro

A/N: Inspired by this art because I’m going FERAL. I may rewrite this later with Dice if I ever figure out how to write him bc I also love him.

Genre: Fluff, Mentions of spice but nothing happens, Mild Hurt/Comfort if you squint, Ramuda Lore spoilers if you squint

Characters: Gentaro Yumeno, Ramuda Amemura

Warnings: They sleep in the nude, mentions of explicit topics. All fluff but still.

It wasn’t hard to feel out of place with your lovers sometimes.

They had been together before you, and despite their reassurances that they both wanted you as much as they wanted each other, it still felt like they were walking on eggshells around you.

You decided to give them some space for each other, it would be best right? They clearly loved each other more than they loved you…

Ramuda was the first to notice your distance. You didn’t hug him and Gentaro as long when you visited their apartment that day, you weren’t as talkative, your smile was shallow.

And he would know the best how to spot that.

Gentaro also picked up on your distance, deciding not to pursue the topic, he didn’t want to upset you, but each time you have a light sigh when you thought they couldn’t hear, broke his heart.

You were to the left of Ramuda, watching TV. Gentaro was to his right, his arm wrapped around the fashion designer’s shoulder. You felt miles away.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe you didn’t belong.

You gave another reflexive sigh and began to stand from the couch, before Ramuda hugged your arm tightly.

“Where are you going?” He looked at you softly, a pout on his face, “We aren’t boring you are we?”

You freeze, “No, I just…”

Ramuda looks at you, his eyes piercing through whatever excuse you were making.

“Just that- you guys obviously want to be with each other more than me… I was gonna give you your alone time.” You feel your face grow hot

“Are you serious?” Ramuda’s voice falters from its normal tone to his more natural, darker tone. You feel your mouth go dry, “If we didn’t love you, why would we keep doing this with you?”

You were quiet.

“We don’t feel comfortable around you? Is that it?” Gentaro finally speaks, at some point he had moved to the other side of you, gently taking your hand.

You nod.

“It would be untrue to say we haven’t been holding back around you…” Gentaro continues, “I sincerely apologize for making you feel alienated.”

“We just didn’t want to scare you,” Ramuda holds your arm firmer, coaxing you to sit back down. He turns to Gentaro, “We just love him too much to scare him away, right Gen?”

Gentaro nods, you sit back down and immediately both of them pull you into their arms.

“I won’t be scared,” you say, softly, “I want to see every part of you.”

Gentaro smirks, “My, my, you’re being quite bold dear, we haven’t even all been together for that long and already you’re leading me down a path of temptation.”

Your face goes hot

“That was but a lie” He smiles again, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.

Ramuda rests his head on your chest, looking up at you.

“You should stay the night!” He beams, his usual cheery demeanor back

Which is how you got to where you are now. They had led you into their shared room.

“We usually sleep in the nude, is that alright for you, Lovely?” Gentaro has a mischievous glint in his eye.

You suddenly feel shy but nod, “Um, okay!”

Ramuda bursts into laughter.

“Another lie,” Gentaro hides a chuckle.

You dart your eyes away from them, feeling embarrassed for agreeing so quickly.

“You know,” Ramuda approaches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, “it would be a way to grow closer~”

“I’m not,” you stammer out, “I’m not ready to do anything like that.”

They both chuckle to themselves.

“Dearest,” Gentaro begins, “Of course we don’t want to push you, it’s only sleeping, we won’t do anything you don’t want to.”

Ramuda nods to affirm this.

“We don’t have to get undressed if you don’t want to. Either way, nothing will happen that you don’t want to.” Ramuda presses a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll get undressed. Just to sleep though.” You mumble. Certain of yourself.

You still feel a bit shy, but you trust the both of them.

“I’ll do it.” You affirm again, with more confidence.

Gentaro is the next to approach you, taking your hand again.

“If you are not comfortable, don’t feel forced to do anything.” He smiles

“I want to.” You affirm again

Ramuda giggles and immediately starts to undress himself, throwing himself onto the bed.

Gentaro is next, taking his time with his own clothes before helping you with yours.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable please let us know.” He smiles softly, leading you to the bed.

You go to lay on the side of Ramuda, before he moves, placing you in the middle.

“You. You get all the love from us tonight,” he hugs you, placing his head on your chest, “No escaping to the corner for you mister!”

Both of your lovers gently wrap their arms around you, and you feel your eyelids grow heavy.

—

A/N: this was really bad and self indulgent but that art had me FEELING things

[goattypegirl]

Psionics in bionicle is weird. There were classic psychic style abilities all throughout the story, like telepathy, telekinesis, illusions, etc, but those individual powers were either abilities granted by special masks or artifacts, or something that that specific guy could just Do. But then, late into bionicles story, psionics got confirmed as a capital-E Element, and it's. Pretty weird.

Psionics was actually suggested as an element and then canonized in a Word of Greg thread, which were. Things that happened. Regardless, one of the main characters in one of the serials was a toa of psionics! And with him came like actual worldbuilding and lore about his element! Granted it was one of the post-cancellation, unfinished serials, and that new lore was kinda dubious, but still! That's more than most secondary elements got. (Like plasma, my beloved)

But when psionics was declared an element, all those weird one off abilities were reclassified as subpowers or specific applications of psionics, and that gave it a different feel than other elements. The other elements are all very physical; you're generating and controlling fire or water or lightning or noise or whatever. And yeah, a toa of psionics could make a psychic damage beam or whatever, but they have all those other abilities tacked on too. Psionics is also unique in that while other toa can absorb their element from the environment to recharge their powers, psionics can't.

(My personal headcanon is that toa actually can absorb psionic energy, but they don't do that because it would basically lobotomize whatever they absorbed it from. You could do some interesting things with that. A toa who doesn't have qualms about absorbing power, or one who's figured out how to steal memories specifically and absorbs memories about themselves in an antimemetic way.)

Psionics getting canonized basically on a whim created some weird Implications for the story. Namely, why would the great beings make brain boys and not have them live inside the giant robots brain? Remember, the whole point of the matoran is to act as maintenance for the GSR. What exactly to ce-matoran do?

I think focusing on that maintenance aspect would make for an interesting AU or gen 3. Swap out the 6 classic elements for obscure seconday elements better suited for maintaining the giant space faring robot, and change the setting from a series of islands to the inside of the superstructure that is the GSR. Keeping with this more sci-fi theme, ce-matoran live near giant server farms dotted throughout the structure and keep them running. Specially trained matoran can temporarily link themselves to these servers, and divine the future by interpreting the torrent of data flowing through the GSR. That process and the information they glean is dangerous at best for the untrained mind, so turaga fervently guard access to those servers and the secrets within.

Magnetism, plasma, lightning, and iron would fit nicely into this hypothetical au as well. Problem is, I want a nice even 6 elements here, and I don't know what the last one would be. The other canon secondary elements options are plantlife or sonics, neither of which I'm really sold on. Maybe we could pick ice or water from the classic 6 and flavor it as coolant? Hm.

Oh my god wait I forgot about gravity. Ok there you go new set of 6 elements. Plasma, lightning, iron, magnetism, gravity, and psionics... Actually, I'm kind of enamored with that ice/water coolant idea. Maybe nix magnetism, or fold magnetism into iron?

Honestly this post just started as my headcanon about absorbing psionic energy, but now I'm kinda tempted to write like a setting guide for this...

[starleska]

I am definitely here to find out more about your OC Harper if you wanna share 👀👀👀

oh my god yes yes yes thank you so much Jam i would LOVE to gush about Harper Spiel and their bizarre backstory, thank you so much 🙈💖 Doctor Who OCs are so fun to make!

my dear Harper's story begins right after the events of The Giggle! Harper Spiel is a 26-year-old ludologist, or games specialist: a former world champion in several board games who turned their fascination with games into a lucrative career. previously they worked with the British government investigating high-profile gambling rings and other criminal operations which involved gameplay mechanics! 👀

following The Giggle, UNIT wanted to find out all they could about the Toymaker, and so they hired Harper to create a full report on him...against The Doctor's wishes, and without his knowledge. during their research, Harper discovers that the Toymaker is not an isolated incident: he has cropped up in gaming lore and texts throughout history as a godlike entity no one can win against. most people would steer well clear...but Harper takes this as a challenge 🔥 so, they begin a series of experiments with the Toymaker's Toybox. Harper spends weeks trying to engage the Toymaker without opening the box, attempting to coax him into a game, but comes up short. until they have a mad idea! on their birthday, Harper brings a sand timer to the Toybox, and challenges the Toymaker to emerge before the sand runs out. they have no way of knowing if the game is accepted... until a bang!! then, a flash of light...and the vague image of a grin with far too many teeth, beaming through the fog. when Harper awakes, they are no longer in their own timeline. they are in 1984, in an empty lot where the UNIT building hasn't even been constructed yet! 😱 it takes a few days for the Doctor - specifically the Sixth Doctor - to find Harper, and it's because the TARDIS has become absolutely fixated on London in 1984 and he can't work out why. this leads him to Harper, who the Doctor recognises as a temporal anomaly: a living entity displaced in time who should not be able to exist in this reality, but has been rejected by their own. according to the Doctor, Harper's birthday - originally March 22nd, 1998 - is now March 22nd, 1956...which would make them 65 years old according to their original reality!! if not...that means they're minus 40 💀 the Doctor, horrified by this mess, takes Harper into the TARDIS and tries to bring them back to 2024...but the TARDIS nearly implodes! he then tries every workaround he knows, but something about the game Harper opened up with the Toymaker has caused their own timeline to shun them. like it or not, the only safe place for Harper to exist (at least without increasing timey-wimey shenanigans) is within the TARDIS 😉 so!! Harper gets stuck with the Sixth Doctor, to his chagrin and their delight. Harper is familiar with the Doctor, but only his most recent regenerations, and they take delight in playing off his bombastic, arrogant personality. they're always getting stuck into some part of the TARDIS they shouldn't be, or wandering off and nearly causing a category 5 space-time event. they're a magnet for disaster and time distortion, and it drives the Doctor mad! 🙈 but as funny as their relationship is, there is real grief here. the Doctor soon recognises Harper to be somewhat like him: a scientist whose fascination often overrides their emotions, so the process of understanding that they will never see their friends again (as they have no family to speak of) is tough. it doesn't take long for the Doctor to soften towards Harper...after all, Harper is something which the universe itself is trying to reject. who can relate more to that than the Sixth Doctor, whose regeneration was characterised by fear, anger and feeling like an alien in his own body? aaaand that's Harper Spiel!! unwitting companion to the Sixth Doctor and challenger of the Toymaker 🥰 their adventures would be characterised by them attempting to find some way back to Harper's original timeline safely, with Harper insisting they need to find the Toymaker to make it happen...😭

[vera-keller]

switchblade | masters of the air | taster pt. 2 a/n: did anyone ask for this? no lmao prepare to receive my [redacted] [redacted] anyway (lore accurate mariner quote)

It is at Thorpe Abbotts that Mariner decides coming here is functionally a grounding. Try as she reluctantly might, she simply cannot imagine herself flying a B-17. The controls are all wrong, or at least she thinks they should be. Her hand will automatically reach for the throttle that is supposed to be on her left and instead it will grasp at nothing, empty space. And when she tries to locate and operate the weapons control systems she will be immediately humbled by the reminder that she is no longer responsible for controlling the guns in this aircraft.

No, there are other people in the aircraft for that. Nine other people, in fact. Nine other people to navigate and operate the radio and fire the top turret and ball turret and so on and so forth. Her job is simply to keep the aircraft flying, the most rudimentary definition of what a pilot is.

She supposes Tillotson wasn’t spewing complete bullshit when he said that she had a particular skill set that could – the keyword being could – make her a valuable bomber pilot. And that was that she knows the vulnerabilities inherent within every bomber. If she knows these vulnerabilities, if she knows what enemy aircraft will be aiming for when they inevitably fly into an onslaught of them, then she knows how to circumvent them.

Like that’s going to happen, another voice in her head says. You can’t even do evasive manoeuvres in this toaster.

Frustrated, Mariner slams her fist down on the metal beam that she is sitting on. An officer walking in her direction flinches at the sound.

“Lieutenant Mariner?” he asks.

Mariner looks up at the insignia on his shoulders: a gold oak leaf, horizontal, stem pointing his collar. The insignia of a major. Rank has been pulled, albeit indirectly. She jumps down from the beam and salutes him.

“Sir,” she says. “Sorry for startling you.”

The major smiles politely in answer, a lopsided though somewhat guarded smile that seems to suggest tolerance. He’s young for an officer of his rank. In fact, he cannot possibly be more than a few years older than Mariner, yet he has obviously been entrusted by his superiors with a rank normally held by men who have a greater advantage of age on him. Mariner wonders what that must have taken. What buzzwords are on his resume? Strategic vision? Tactical acumen? Effective communication? Team player? Maybe, like her, he has a father who makes a habit out of overextending his influence. After all, nepotism has been here long before she was born and will continue to remain here long after she is dead. It is the beginning and the end, the first enemy and the last, et cetera.

But this officer doesn't seem to be one of those. He doesn't, for starters, wear his insignia as though it is an accessory that he knows looks better on everyone else.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not that easily startled. But it did take me a while to find you. You were supposed to report directly to me, but I had to ask around until Lemmons helpfully told me he saw someone who might have looked a little like you head straight into the hangar.”

“Just trying to get an up close and personal look at the tin can I’ll be flying, sir.”

The major nods, as though he can understand the sentiment of a pilot wanting to evaluate a new plane to which they have been assigned, though Mariner doubts he’d understand exactly how much she despises the idea of getting into one of these things that reminds her of a bee in that neither, according to all known laws of aviation, should be able to fly. But the major doesn’t seem to be reading into it at all. Instead, he looks up at a nearby B-17, and Mariner instinctively follows his gaze. The same aircraft she has spent the past ten minutes disparaging in every measurable way, shape and form in her head, and imagining herself shooting down in aerial combat, which would have been an amusing pastime were she not going to be piloting one of these planes herself. Yet he’s looking at it as though it’s an old friend.

“That’s no tin can, Mariner. That’s a B-17. She’s not as sleek or nimble as a fighter, but she’s sturdy, reliable and strong, and she can take a beating like no other. I couldn’t ask for a better plane to fly in. You just transferred from the 157th?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve seen your records. You’re a solid Mustang pilot. You might find it harder to get used to the B-17 than I did, but she’ll grow on you. I’m Major Gale Cleven.”

“Olivia Mariner.”

Belatedly Mariner remembers that Cleven absolutely knows who she is already. Even through the embarrassment, however, she can appreciate the fact that if he is aware of the real reason for her reassignment, he’s consciously choosing not to mention it. She looks back up at the B-17 and tries to see it the way she imagines Cleven must, a literal flying fortress, but all she can think is that it is an ugly aircraft that is much too large to the point where its largeness looks like a mistake.

“You said she can take a beating, sir?” she asks, knocking on the aluminium.

“She certainly can. She’s earned her reputation for toughness, that’s for sure.” He reaches out, swipes his hand along the nose of the aircraft, as though wiping away dust that has collected there in a familiar gesture. “She’s designed to withstand heavy enemy fire and still deliver her payload while bringing her crew home safely.”

Mariner nods sceptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies the bomber. “Okay, so she can tank enemy fire. But can she evade it altogether? That’s what’s going to make all the difference when it comes to bringing the crew back.”

Cleven offers a knowing smile at Mariner’s bluntness, as though he has long figured out that she would ask that question sooner or later, and it is clear she has opted for sooner. “She’s no Mustang, Mariner, but she’s no slouch either. If you want to manoeuvre the B-17, you have to go easy on the yoke. Besides, when you’re in a formation flying together, you have the strength of numbers. Each pilot requires both practice and discipline to maintain formation, and when you’re out there in the air, everyone watches each other’s back. That’s how we fly our missions and that’s how we come back in one piece. All of us, together.”

And there it is. The inevitable cattle prod in her side. This conversation is getting a little pointed for Mariner’s liking now, considering the reason she was bumped out of her former squadron was supposedly because of her inability to adhere to a formation. She wonders if Cleven knows this already, whether Tillotson has included some kind of addendum on her report about her apparent Achilles’ heel as a fighter pilot. Excellent, Tillotson, she thinks irately to herself. You can’t get me to stay in a formation, so you put me in an aircraft where I’ll literally die if I don’t. Very well played. Have you been taking lessons from my father? Maybe the two of you should sit down together for a drink sometime and discuss all the many methods you might choose to employ for colossally fucking up my life. Dickheads. But she does not say any of this. Instead she asks, in a perfectly calm and even tone of voice that a perfectly calm and even individual might use, “Who will I be flying with?”

“We’re putting together a crew for you,” Cleven tells her. “Rest assured. You won’t be integrating into the unit alone.”

Then he pauses for a brief moment, glancing up at the B-17. “As a pilot, you’ll learn to appreciate her strengths,” he says. “She’s resilient and a force to be reckoned with. And in the end, it’s not about the plane you fly, but how you fly it. Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant Mariner?”

Mariner considers this. Her gaze drifts from Cleven to the B-17 obfuscating her peripheral vision that is almost certainly going to be the death of her within the next six months, but she actually thinks about Cleven’s words. Superior officers tend to attempt to get through to her in one of two ways: either through the carrot or the stick. Neither works on her: she sees through the carrot immediately – thereby also identifying a superior officer that is more interested in placating his men than leading them – and any and all stick wielders are classified as delusional self-important men throwing tiny-fisted tantrums and asserting themselves through the little power they are afforded by the chain of command, thereby immediately and permanently losing her respect. Tillotson falls in the third category of simply being annoying. Yet Cleven doesn’t seem to fall in any prescribed category. This could simply mean he’s better than others at concealment. But it could also mean he doesn’t see her as something to be managed. 

“You’re right, sir,” she says, pale blue eyes appraising the aircraft with a measuring gleam. “I think I know exactly how I’m going to fly this.”

Cleven actually cracks a smile. “That’s the spirit, but maybe you should take her out for a test flight before you get too sure of yourself. I’ve booked you in for three hours this afternoon. Come by the hangar at 1500. We’ll see if you can get her into the air.”

Mariner nods, a single dip of the chin downward. “Trust me, I can do much more than get her into the air.”

“Good,” Cleven says. “Because that’s what the Krauts are gonna be expecting. Why don’t you go get yourself set up? Irvine will show you your room and get all the admin sorted out. Report to the hangar at 1500 sharp. And Mariner?”

“Sir?”

“Try not to beat up the metal beams too much while you’re in here. The acoustics in the hangar aren’t exactly forgiving in terms of the echo. A lesser man might have pissed himself.”

The corners of Mariner’s lips lift into an almost imperceptible smile. She’s not going to tempt Cleven to thinking she’s actually warming up to him, of course, even though she appreciates that he seems to be allowing her the courtesy of a clean slate, something that should be frustrating her instead because she hasn’t done anything that has warranted the necessity of a clean slate in the first place. Being reassigned to the 100th is miserable enough without a superior officer like Tillotson trying to turn every patrol briefing into a veritable circlejerk. But Cleven isn’t Tillotson, and Mariner’s almost imperceptible smile seems to be enough for him already, because he takes the hint and smiles back – politely but not clinically – and walks away as though this interaction has been the most natural thing in the world for him.

Huh. Perhaps she now has, for the first time in her three-year career, a superior officer she can actually get along with.

Left to her own devices, Mariner looks resentfully up at the B-17s, their cumbersome-looking metallic bodies glinting with rays of sunlight that come in from the open sides of the hangar and reflect off the painted aluminium. They look back down at her, unblinking.

Whoever was responsible for designing the shape of their noses should be shot, Mariner thinks. The entire structure is an area of stress concentration. Any impact applied to it would lead to mass structural failure across the entire aircraft, not to mention that it would instantly kill the bombardier. Why is the bombardier stationed in the nose section anyway? She reaches out a hand, runs it along the nose as Cleven had done earlier, and feels no additional affection for the aircraft as she absently imagined she might have done. 

It’s the pilot. Not the plane. Mariner repeats this to herself like a mantra, as though the act of repetition might somehow will the statement into becoming reality. A part of her finds it to be a frustrating restriction: if she fails to master the controls of a B-17 then it would be entirely on her, a reflection of the limitations in her abilities as a pilot. It would give Cleven ammunition to use against her if he so wishes, and she doesn’t like the idea of giving anyone any kind of ammunition to use against her.

But another part of her challenges this assumption. It’s all in your hands, she thinks. Exactly how you want it. You alone control this aircraft. Just you. You decide whether it rolls or turns, whether it pulls up or dives, how to operate it to best meet situational needs. You decide whether its purpose is to simply tank enemy fire or if you can turn it into what you want it to be.

She might as well train herself to start thinking this way; she doesn’t have much of a choice otherwise. Fortunately for her, she’s already figured out an alarming plethora of ways she could shoot a B-17 down. Now her role is to defend it. More than defend it: her role is to evolve it. Cleven is right. The B-17 would never come close to a P-51. But while aircraft cannot change their structural components, the pilot is at perfect liberty to change their tactics, and it’s convenient that doing so is the mark of a good pilot anyway, which she is. Exactly how non-manoeuvrable is the B-17 anyway? She privately hopes that Cleven is actually right, that the aircraft is unbreakable. Because whatever doesn’t break will bend.

If I can’t find a way, then the others definitely have no chance, she thinks to herself. And then, Jesus Christ, shut the hell up, Mariner. This is no time to get cocksure. You haven’t even gotten in the aircraft yet.

Mariner pauses.

She looks up at the B-17 in front of her. At the hangar full of B-17s in front of her. Unmanned. Fuselage and bomb bay doors in plain sight. Exterior steps attached.

Unless…?

A full crew of ten is not needed to fly the B-17, surely. Any plane can get off the ground with just the pilot alone. Especially a pilot like her who is accustomed to flying single-engine single-seat fighters, where – once you’re up in the air – there’s no one to help you. Besides, how different can the controls be, anyway? They’re all the same in every aircraft. Elevator, ailerons, rudder, throttle, trim tabs. She could make her way around the controls in her sleep. A small, determined smile curves her lips.

She’s taken off and landed successfully more than a hundred times. She’s a lieutenant and an ace pilot. She’s served in both the RAF and the USAAF on a technicality, and operated multiple different fighter aircraft while she’s at it. She’s hardly a fresh-faced flight school graduate; she doesn’t have to wait for Cleven’s supervision for a simple test flight. In fact, Cleven will probably appreciate that she’s showing initiative and actually making an effort to integrate into the 100th. Maybe if he relays a glowing report of her back to Tillotson – fuck that bitch, Mariner thinks, but he’s still her superior officer – he might expedite her reassignment back to a fighter squadron. Where she belongs. Maybe she’ll even get to have her old P-51 back.

With that in mind, she steps up into the B-17 before her, mindful of the bulkheads as she ducks into the cockpit and slides deftly into the pilot seat. The flight controls and instrument panel look similar enough to that of a P-51. Engine gauges, altimeters, attitude indicators, turn coordinators, compasses, throttle quadrant, the usual assemblage. Everything needed to get this tin can, which she must now grow accustomed to as her designated aircraft for the next several months, up into the air. She can figure them out in no time.

So she sets the fuel selector valves. Checks the propeller pitch controls, like she has done countless times before.

And she cranks the engine.

–

“Sir?”

Gale Cleven looks up from the report wedged behind the cylinder of the typewriter on the desk before him at Master Sergeant Ken Lemmons, who stands in the doorway of his office, his breaths coming out in short, shallow gasps, his face overwrought with evident distress. Cleven pauses, his brows furrowing.

“What is it?”

“Lieutenant Mariner? The new pilot?” Lemmons’s face is white with panic.

“Yeah, I just spoke to her in the hangar. What happened?”

A hint of reluctance washes over Lemmons’s features, as though he is still privately hoping very much that he won't have to be the person to relay this information. But he eventually speaks.

“Sir, Lieutenant Mariner crashed a B-17 on the runway.”

And then Gale's day takes a rapid turn for the worse.

[sepublic]

We know Weavel fought Samus on Zebes during Zero Mission, which led to him being rebuilt as a cyborg. But the only Space Pirates we see in that game are Kraid, Ridley, Mother Brain... and the Zebesian Space Pirates, who also have a more powerful palette swap.

So the only takeaway is that Weavel was one of these guys; Hunters was released a little over two years after Zero Mission, so I assume the writers should've known that game's lore as well, maybe even read the manga (or skimmed it, IDK if the translation was available around that time, though TBF maybe some knew Japanese).

...Problem is, Weavel is specifically stated to have fought Samus in Brinstar. And Space Pirates don't actually show up in Brinstar, save for in an earlier version of Zero Mission. In terms of lore, we do have the Zero Mission manga, in which the only appearance of Space Pirates in Brinstar fighting Samus is when she lures them into getting attacked by the native Skrees.

Could you fucking imagine if Weavel was one of these dinguses? His battle with Samus is implied to have been something brutal but instead it's just him getting Skree'd. I guess the Skrees must've eaten most of Weavel's body, whichever Space Pirate he is, before he got rescued. Lmao. If we had to choose between these two, I’d say it’s the one on the left; The one on the right looks like his brain is getting blended, which goes against Weavel’s brain being one of the only parts of him left intact. Meanwhile, Lettie seems to be injured between his neck and shoulder, which is more of a feasible survival.

As a complete joke suggestion there’s also Deorem, the only boss in Brinstar. But not only does the manga have Samus refer to it as part of the Zebesian ecosystem, it’d also be really absurd if its brain and spinal cord was proportionally small enough to fit into Weavel’s cybernetic frame. Are we supposed to reconcile these aspects by saying the Space Pirates recruited and promoted local wildlife??? Then again Draygon and Phantoon exist in Super and have statues alongside Kraid and Ridley. What is Metroid lore.

In the end, it's kind of an obvious contradiction that could've easily been avoided by just NOT name-dropping Brinstar. Hunters developer Richard Vorodi did suggest that if Metroid 1 got another remake, he’d have Weavel actually properly show up, but it seems a bit optimistic to assume he would be hired for that game’s development, given it’s a 2D entry.

For now, let's just say that Weavel is a Zebesian. And we also know he was a general, too! There are two variants of Zebesian in Zero Mission; The common red ones, and the elite gray ones vulnerable only to Samus' beam attacks. Given his ranking, I'm inclined to say Weavel is the latter.

Not only that, but I like to HC he's one of the two elite Zebesians you fight at the very end of the game; Literally the last two enemies you ever fight in Zero Mission. They can screw you up at the end of the escape sequence, hitting surprisingly hard and being in a cramped environment. I’ve died a few times to these specific guys, dreading them in playthroughs!

And with the other pirate leaders -Kraid, Ridley, and Mother Brain- out of commission at the moment, I think it makes sense that Weavel is Samus' final opponent, trying to cut her off as the last obstacle (and a decent one) in the path to a completed Zero Mission. In fact, Weavel was probably the guy in charge of the Mother Ship following Mother Brain's destruction, since we know Ridley has been transferred to the Frigate Orpheon in orbit above. With Mecha Ridley mostly just an unthinking weapon, that would make Weavel the game's final, unstated antagonist.

In true poetic fashion, we still wouldn't be able to identify Weavel specifically, because he once again is part of a Space Pirate pair. But that just makes the choice out of these two elite Zebesians specifically feel all the more right to me.