#just gotta sew the limbs and make one other part

[dailypokemoncrochet]

I used to be able to crochet a new pokemon a day. What happened.

#text #it didnt used to be this hard finishing one #like right now ive got one basically done #just gotta sew the limbs and make one other part #would take me an hour probably #and yet ive left it as is for the past two? three days? #why do i do that.

[ofhouseadama]

Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

#this is deeply unhinged #ed warren #lorraine warren #emily watches the conjuring #otp: i forgot my pills #this is sam and brittanys fault they encouraged it

[el-im]

Have you got any headcanon on the Garashir baby? What's their name? Who takes care of them while Julian and Garak are working?

AH! I talked abt hypothetical names a little bit here, but don’t have a definitive answer yet (mostly because I’m terrible at making choices but also because I figure... they may have more than one! I’ve just... gotta get around 2 actually illustrating their little gaggle of mischievous little things lol). 

I’d love to think that--in the early days at least--that Garak takes them to the shop with him, that having long scarves and wraps makes it easy to tie the little thing to his front while he’s sewing (and while someone likes to reach their little claws toward threads occasionally, for the most part the practice is spent with the little thing watching a coat or gown come together stitch by careful stitch: entirely transfixed by the slow rhythm of it all). I figure it tends to be slower in the mornings and in early afternoons, with Garak working on placed orders rather than arranging fittings or accepting new commissions. Depending on the duty roster of the week, Julian can usually stop by at the end of his shift and pick them up when the shop starts to get busier. 

That said... I adore the notion of Ziyal being the Preferred babysitter on the station--Julian makes jokes that it’s just like Garak to trust their child into the care of the only other Cardassian on the station, but he knows that Ziyal just adores their little one (and to be frank, he’s much more comforted knowing that their kid is doing finger paintings or playing in the arboretum with Ziyal than hanging off the banisters with Jake and Nog--having treated enough of their broken limbs and scraped knees to have much faith in their obeying Odo’s ‘no running on the promenade’ rule). 

Worf loves the baby, and is reluctant to give them up once they’ve been handed to him. The feeling is mutual, though the child’s attachment to Worf garners a lot of giggles from the ops crew while he’d working at his panel with a toddler wound around one of his legs like a Kos'Karii. He tolerates years of hair pulling and being climbed over for the eventual privilege of teaching the little one about Klingon history and traditions (which they’re enraptured by), with Worf even having bestowed a “baby’s first meqleH” to them on their first birthday, (much to Jadzia’s fond exasperation) and which Julian quickly whisks away and bolts to a high shelf. 

#asks #also i know no one cares about odo/kira but I DO and i'd love to think that they request a place on the babysitting roster occasionally #not wanting to monopolize anyones time or anything and certainly not wanting to be a hassle... #but they two--with Kira having carried Kirayoshi for months and Odo having lost his little goop baby #find a lot of solace in being able to play with a little one for even an evening or an afternoon #they bring the little one to bajor for a day trip and kira shows it the gardens growing in the soil she used to draw blood in #though she keeps that detail to herself #but they find a little hope and life in the little one #and are happy to be able to show it the wonderful parts of bajor that they both know as home #and... i know no one cares abt physiology but as a (half) bio major here i have a Lot of feelings abt the baby being biologically theirs #vs them adopting it vs them 'engineering it' by modifying their stem cells to create specific compatible gametes #ANWAY im obsessed. heres a link to a study abt stem cells. i love u thank u for asking im sorry i cant talk abt things without Nerding Out #https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/153326636.pdf #anyway. thank u for messaging me abt star trek it is the only thing i care abt in the entire world #trek

[lesbian-deadpool]

New Surroundings

Part One Of Two: “Glad You’re Back.”

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,856

Warnings: Amnesia, metal limbs, death, bombs, seizures, a hard af ball being thrown at a face, I think that might be it.

Request: Yes. Thank you sm anon for donating to BLM!!

Summary: You forgot her. You just wondered when you’d remember.

Ko-Fi

(Not my GIF)

***

You don't remember.

Haunting isn't it?

How those three words can chill someone to their core. Coming up blank when they try to pinpoint a part of their lives.

It could positively turn someone's veins into ice. The blood flowing underneath cold, like a rushing current underneath a frozen river.

Your name.

Your serial number.

Your rank.

Those were the first things running through your mind, as you realised the darkness you were seeing all around you, was because of your own eyelids. Nothing was blinding you, nor keeping them shut. Nothing but the heaviness they held. For reasons, you did not know. But, whatever it was, you knew that it was not good.

You didn't know where you were.

Or what had happened to bring you to a place that felt strange and abnormal to your gut. It was just that sense you had. Forged from your years in the military.

When you thought hard about where you were, you came up with a blank. There was just nothing there. Nothing that told you where you were, how you cam to be here, not even if you were safe. Nothing.

The last thing that you could remember was laying on the warm, sandy ground. Conversing with your squadmates.

Things had been peaceful at that moment, out in the sun, having a few minutes of downtime.

But now?

Now your eyelids began to flutter.

You were coming through. Retreating from the dark clutches the back of your mind had upon you.

A high-pitched ringing swam through your brain, whilst you tried to focus your blurry vision, blinking heavily. When the ringing slowly started to dull, the realisation dawned on you that the ringing was not blaring around you, like some faulty radio that you could turn off. But was your own ears.

Yeah.

Your previous perceptions were correct.

Nothing about this was right.

That feeling swelled now. Vibrating in your bones.

A muffled yell rang through the room, and a cloudy figure ran towards you, fiddling with something in front of you. They kept yelling. The shouts grated against the slowly dispelling ringing in your ears.

Then.

Then you began to hear them clearer.

"Y/L/N!"

What?

"Y/L/N!"

Ugh.

"Y/L/N!"

Oh, yeah! That's your name!

Suddenly, as if you had had a bucket of ice water thrown on you, you snapped out of your hazed state.

Your vision was clear.

The ringing in your ears dulled into nothing within a few seconds.

And now you could fully see the man in front of you. The one looking shocked beyond belief. The one, you realised, who had freed you from your binds on the metal recliner-like chair.

The flesh on your left wrist bright red, raw, and light scars littered it. Ones old and new. Your other wrist hardly damaged, just a few small scratches adorned the metal there.

Wait...

METAL?!

Your arm hadn't been made of metal before. It was flesh, muscle, skin, and bone. Not this!

Many thoughts ran through your head at that moment, looking around the dark room you were in, with the close to erratic man, who wore a black kevlar suit.

What the fuck was going on?! Where were you? What happened? Who was the blonde guy in front of you-? And how did he know your name? And why in the fuck did you have a metal arm?!

To name a few...

"Y/L/N!"

"What?!" you yelled back.

"We gotta go!" the blonde man said, handing you a pistol.

Okay, yeah. That's fine, you knew how to use a gun.

As you pushed yourself out of the "chair" that you were previously strapped too, you followed the unknown man through the half-open door, and into the hallway. You finally resonated the thunderous, ongoing, heavy fire going on throughout the whole building.

"This way." He gestured forward with his head, his gun raised, with yours mirroring him, noticing you looking around the hallway curiously.

So, you followed him.

This strange man. That you just met. Not knowing if you could even trust him.

But he knew your name.

So, you trusted him more than most others right now.

Not having many other options, that weren't stupid as all hell. You followed him.

"We've been after this base for some time now."

"Right," you said, voice slightly conveying your confusion as to why he was telling you this.

"We just never expected to find you here- Or at all, really. God only knows what HYDRAs been doing to you, all of these years."

"Okay..." you replied slowly, before the rest of his sentence dawned on you, "Wait. HYDRA?"

"Yeah. Those slimy motherfuckers have been making their comeback," he noted, "But we're working hard to eradicate them before they get too up and running."

Hydra?

Like the snakey Greek water-monster?

That's a real thing?!

"Anyway," the blonde scoffed, with a smile upon his face, "Who do you think has been holding you here, all these years?"

"I... don't know."

Before your new-found ally could reply, a person dressed in all black, with a patch sewed onto their chest, that looked like a red skull and some type of octopus tentacles surrounding it. Who was- aiming a gun at you!

Yep! He's a bad guy!

You cleverly deducted.

Swiftly you raised your borrowed gun and fired a single shot. Hitting him right between the eyes.

"Huh," the blonded chuckled once at your marksmanship, "Ya still got it, Y/L/N."

"Thanks," you uttered, "When did I lose it?" you asked with a cocky smile upon your lips.

"Not as long as I've known you."

"What?" you whispered to yourself, continuing in that same hushed tone as you watched him run down the hall, and past the man you just shot down, "How do you know me?"

Then you were taking off after him before he could get too far away.

***

You said nothing the whole way to wherever the hell the blonde guy and his teammates were taking you. You just sat and processed everything.

Hundreds of questions running through your mind, as you stared off into space in front of you. 

By the way, he and his team were glancing your way every other second, you knew they wanted to talk to you. Ask you question after question, that ran through their own heads, that you knew you would not be able to answer. But they didn't bother you out of respect, and you obviously wanting to be alone right now. That, or they didn't know how to talk to you, at this moment.

Soon enough you were back at "home base" or "HQ", as they called it.

"Y/L/N," said the same blonde man that helped you escape, leading you out of the back hatch of the 'Quinjet', "Welcome back to SHIELD."

You walked off of the jet and onto an aircraft carrier.

The bright blue sky surrounding it. Not a grey cloud in sight.

"SHIELD." You nodded once, deciding to go along with everything you were told, by the man who obviously knew you. Until you could talk yo someone more senior, that is. "Right."

That's when you noticed it.

The sky.

There was only sky. 

No water in sight.

Then you saw the gigantic thrusters.

You were in. The sky.

Your eyed widened at the realization, the blonde beside you noticing this. He let out a hearty laugh and slapped your shoulder blade. His hand hitting a portion of metal, making it thud dully.

"Oh yeah, we got the hellicarriers back up and running, while you were away."

"Right. Okay." You nodded again, voice trying to stifle the shock you still felt running through you.

"This way, Y/L/N. You're wanted."

"Wanted?" you asked as he began to lead you towards a tall man wearing an eyepatch. "By who?"

"Fury, of course," he laughed heartedly," He'll want to debrief you on all of this."

"Aha."

You never took your eyes off of the man before you. You assumed he was 'Fury' or someone who would be taking you to them.

"Y/L/N," the new man said, nodding to you once in greeting.

"So, you're Fury? The boss of all this shit?" You waved your fingers around.

He looked at you somewhat confused. As the blonde uttered a confused, "What?" behind you.

"Yes."

"Good." You smiled, before your whole demeanour changed, entirely. "What the fuck is going on?!"

***

So, you lost your memory -that much you already knew- and apparently, you were some Agent at this SHIELD Organisation, and a member of some team called The Avengers.

Well, you were.

They thought you were dead- Well, who wouldn't after you had been missing, for the last six or so years?

If only you could remember anything of the last eleven years.

"So, now what?" you asked, sitting before Fury, in his office, "I don't remember you, anybody- I don't remember that blonde guy that saved me from those "HYDRA" dudes," you stressed 'HYDRA' questioningly, because you had only heard of them today, and had no clue who they were. All that you knew, from what Fury had told you, was that they were the bad guys.

You could have guessed that from the way one of them was trying to shoot you before, but okay.

However, you didn't know if you could even believe the man before you.

That is until he showed you proof. Documents, pictures, videos of you around the base, laughing with people you had never met before. Some even had you training recruits in them.

You had this whole life here.

And you couldn't remember any of it.

"That man was Tompson. He was a part of the team you directed before you joined The Avengers. He was one of your close friends."

"I've never met that man before in my life," you told him assuredly, pointing at his closed office door.

"You have."

"But I can't remember, Fury!" you yelled jumping up from your seat, "The last thing I remember, was being in Afganistan, talking to my friends."

At that, his face grew sad. He remembered how much you cared for your squadron, they were like your family.

You noticed this.

"What? What happened to my friends?"

"They died," he told you bluntly. Shocking you to your very core, more so than finding out aircraft carriers could fucking fly. Tears welled up in your eyes, "It was a bomb. You saw it all... they didn't survive it. All but one. But he... he lost most of his brain ability. You used to visit him... he had a seizure a few years ago. He died too, I'm so sorry."

"Who-" you choked out, "Who was it?"

"Petersburg."

Your face contorted into nothing but one of pain. Tears finally slipping down your cheeks, as you turned to face away from Fury.

That man was like your brother. The closest thing that you ever had to one. And to find out what happened to him, it felt like getting shot.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Fury repeated.

Before you could get a chance to reply, the door burst open, interrupting you. And in ran a red-head.

"Romanoff!" Fury bellowed in the background.

You were surprised when the small woman threw herself at you, but your reflexes kicked in just in time, and you managed to catch her. Holding her against your body as she hugged you.

"Oh my, God," she breathed, trying to keep her emotions at bay. She pulled back, holding your face between her sort hands, you could see her eyes shifting from pure relief and happiness, to worry, "Y/N, are you okay? I've missed you so much, baby."

"What?" you whispered at her pet name towards you. Unable to tear your gaze from her shining green eyes.

"Romanoff." Fury tried to get her attention, at the same time. But failed. But, in her defence, you did blank him calling her name, too.

"-I was so worried about you." Tears grew in her eyes, as she uttered, "I thought you were dead." But she blinked her tears away, shaking her head at the mear thought, moving to wipe your tears away with her thumbs. "Are you tired-? Hurt-?"

"Romanoff."

"-God, I can't believe you're really here-" she smiled... then.

"Romanoff!"

Her attention finally snapped to the man, who she had ignored ever since barging into his office. "What?"

"Y/L/N here has lost their memory."

"What?" she repeated her previous question, shoulders drooping, and her fingers trailing to the sides of your jaw. "How much?"

"Eleven years."

"What?" She convulsed. Then turned back to face you, slowly lowering her hands from your face, them moving to hang by her sides, and you instantly missed her warmth. Yet, she finally noticed the wonder in your eyes, as you studied her face.

"Before you came in," Fury began, "I had just told them about Petersburg."

"Oh," she uttered breathlessly, seeing the sadness flashing in your eyes before you dropped your head slightly. The green-eyes stranger grabbed your biceps, immediately feeling the difference between them, but decided that could be dealt with at another time, "Honey, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault." You waved her off, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room, somewhat. And she finally noticed the metal of your hand, her eyes widening just so before she blinked them back to normal.

"I went yo his funeral," she told you, "I said goodbye for you."

"I- Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

You let out a small chuckle at her graciousness.

You shook your head, gesturing to her, "Hey, who are you again?"

"I'm Natasha. Natasha Romanoff." She smiled. "We were... we were close."

"Close? How close?"

"Very close."

"Well... it's nice to meet you, Natasha Romanoff. You already know who I am," you joked, putting your hand out for her to shake.

She laughed, taking your metal hand and shaking it.

"That I do... I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back."

And you were.

It was better being here, in the bright open world, with people who seemed nice. Rather than back in that dank building where you had been held captive.

Yeah...

You were glad to be "back".

***

Three weeks later and you were flourishing.

All that you were missing were your memories.

You hadn't remembered a single thing in the short amount of time that you had been staying at the compound.

Your "old" new-found friend, Tony Stark, and his college and teammate, Bruce Banner, had told you not to worry about that. And that your memories will come back, you just had to give them some time.

You had asked how they knew. How they knew that you would remember everything, and wouldn't have to essentially restart your life.

That's when they told you about Bucky. A man currently on a mission with some guys named Sam, and Steve. A man who also had a metal arm, but no metal leg- Which you soon discovered you had, the same day you had returned, as you went to the bathroom.

You had quite the shock, seeing the metal of your left leg, starting at your mid-thigh.

However! That Bucky guy had been brainwashed, just like Tony and Bruce had verified, that you had too. And Bucky's brainwashing had gone on for much longer than yours have. More years than you had even been alive. He had managed to get all of his memories back within a few years. So, they were sure you would, too.

So, that filled you with hope.

But still. They ran tests.

Just to make sure.

But you knew they just wanted to document your brain activity for research, and you were happy to play along.

They even brought in a teenage girl named Shuri, to "decondition" you. Just in case you had any triggers that could be randomly set off and would make you into a killing machine. Along with many other possibilities.

You jumped at that. Not wanting to accidentally hurt the people you had found yourself growing close too, in such a small amount of time.

The people who saw you as family.

Now, here you were.

Outside on the compound's grounds, getting ready to kick a re-enforced ball, towards a kid named Peter Parker. And with your metal leg, no less.

The boy asking you to do so, because he was curious about how far you could kick it.

Let's just say.

You could kick the ball super fucking far, with your left leg.

Peter dove for it. Huffing as he caught it. Landing on his ass.

You laughed as Natasha came up beside you, with a smile on her own face.

"I like that kid," you told her, pointing to Peter, who was moving to a stand.

"Well, I would hope so. You practically adopted him."

"Wait. What?" you snapped your attention to the stunning woman next to you. Just as Peter managed to regain his footing, and a re-enforced ball was colliding with the side of your face. Sending you tumbling to the floor.

Them worryingly yelling after you.

Okay, yeah. That kinda hurt.

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #fics for BLM

[lcnelyinthesky]

pairing: akaashi keiji x female reader

genre: fluff!!, TLFY!au

warnings: none :>

word count: 1249

synopsis: you come home from a horrible day at work to your boyfriend akaashi, who has his heart set on telling you a little story.

author’s note: chapter six of lily and i’s “the last five years” collab! i remember being super proud of this when i wrote it, so enjoy!!

“Keiji, I’m really not up for your antics right now.” Your tone had a slight bite to it after having a horrible day at the bar you were employed by. The big dreams you had weren’t working as planned and today had been a tipping point, and while you love your boyfriend, he could sometimes be a bit overbearing with his ideas.

Schmuel would work 'til half-past ten at his tailor shop in Klimovich

Get up at dawn and start again with the hems and pins and twist

Forty-one years had come and gone at his tailor shop in Klimovich

Watching the winters soldier on, there was one thing Schmuel missed

“Oh come on y/n!! I made this just for you. It’s just a little Christmas story, I call it ‘The Story of Schmuel, Tailor of Klimovich,’ please, just relax and listen.” Akaashi grabbed your hand and led you to the couch in your living room. The whole space, albeit small, was decorated to the brim with Christmas decorations. Every wall was adorned with colored lights and the small, green tree on the coffee table had a star on the top that was far too big for it. He stood in the center of the room, making his already tall body just a bit taller with a step stool as a stage. He continued to speak in a funny voice

"If I only had time," old Schmuel said "I would build the dress that's in my head. A dress to fire the mad desire of girls from here to Minsk. But I have no more hours left to sew.”

Akaashi’s eyes began to light up more and more as he got into the story.

Then the clock upon the wall began to glow… And the clock said: "Na na na na, na na na, oh Schmuel, you'll get to be happy! Na na na na, na na na, I give you unlimited time! Na na na na, na na na, So Schmuel, go sew and be happy!"

Something about his passion always fascinated you. He was reserved and quiet as a person, but that let him be far more meticulous than most. He could see every single thing and he remembered them all. There was no getting past Akaashi Keiji, but he wasn’t necessarily stubborn. 

But Schmuel said, "No, no, it's not my lot. I've gotta make do with the time I've got."

You had grown to know him better and better through the time you’ve been together. He opened up to you and you did to him. If you told anyone that your quiet boyfriend was telling you a very animated story about an old man, they wouldn’t believe you for a second.

But you knew Akaashi. You trusted him, and he trusted you. You two worked in a way none of your relationships had before. 

Schmuel was done at half-past ten and he said, "Good night, old Klimovich!" Put on his coat to go, but then the clock cried, "Wait! Not yet! Even though you're not wise or rich, you're the finest man in Klimovich! Listen up, Schmuel – Make one stitch and you'll see what you can get!"

He was a goofball under the stoic, silent facade. He was playful and passionate and open, and you thanked fate every day for letting you see that side of him. 

But Schmuel said, "Clock, it's much too late. I'm at peace with life, I accept my fate..."

But the clock said, "Schmuel! One stitch and you will unlock the dreams you've lost!"

Akaashi’s face was lit up.

So Schmuel, with reluctance, took his thread. He pulled a bolt of velvet and he said:

"I should take out my teeth and go to bed! I'm sitting here with talking clocks instead!"

His eyes were glistening.

And the clock said: "Na na na na, na na na, oh Schmuel, you'll get to be happy! Na na na na, na na na, I give you unlimited time! Na na na na, na na na, just do it and you can be happy!"

He was in his element.

So Schmuel put the thread through the needle's eye, and the moon stared down from a starless sky

And he pushed the thread through the velvet black, and he looked, and the clock was turning... back!

So he grabbed his shears and he cut some lace as the hands moved left on the old clock's face!

And his fingers flew and the fabric swirled – It was nine-fifteen all around the world!

And you were so thankful to be a part of that.

Every cut and stitch was a perfect fit as if God Himself were controlling it! And Schmuel cried, through a rush of tears, "Take me back! Take me back all forty-one years!"

You sat there and giggled as he got so into his story. His face had curled into the biggest smile as he watched the glee enter your eyes. You grabbed the blanket from over the back of the couch and covered yourself in it, finding a mug of tea on the table next to you that presumably Akaashi had made before you came home--it was still warm. You sipped and filled yourself with warmth, feeling the horrendous parts of the day melt right away. Akaashi’s tone quieted down as he told the next parts of the story.

Plenty have hoped and dreamed and prayed, but they can't get out of Klimovich

If Schmuel had been a cute Goyishe maid, he'd've looked a lot like you

“Wait. I'm Schmuel? Why am I Schmuel??” You looked into the light blue eyes of your boyfriend, who was now kneeling in front of you on the couch. He held both of your hands in his and spoke right to you.

“Oh yeah you are, dear.” Akaashi giggled when he spoke, getting ready for his explanation as you scoffed jokingly. He may have just compared you to an old man, but you couldn’t help but feel loved in his presence.

Maybe it's just that you're afraid to go out on to a limb-ovich

Maybe your heart's completely swayed, but your head can't follow through

He winked at you and got up, walking to the other side of the room again, ready to continue the story with as much passion as before.

But shouldn't I want the world to see the brilliant girl who inspires me?

Don't you think that now's a good time to be the ambitious freak you are?

Say goodbye to wiping ashtrays at the bar! Say hello to Cathy Hiatt, big-time star!

He then grabbed some things off a nearby table, all wrapped lightly in white tissue paper and a pale yellow ribbon. 

Here's a headshot guy and a new BackStage where you're right for something on every page –

Take a breath. Take a step. Take a chance… Take your time.

He set the things down in your lap as you shifted to place your feet on the vinyl flooring. Akaashi knelt down in front of you again, putting his hands on your knees and looking intently into your eyes. Vulnerability and honesty and love was plastered all over his face. His features softened and he took his right hand up to push a piece of your hair behind your ear. He placed a kiss on your forehead when you moved your head down slightly.

Have I mentioned today how lucky I am to be in love with you?

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[terminally-karkalicious]

allow me to rant about the only thing that has been in my brain for the past two months and that is doll customizing babeyyyyy

i know there’s a 90% chance that you wont give a Shit about any of this but here we go anyways

SO first you gotta choose a doll. preferably one with a high range of motion to avoid creating new joints or having annoying limitations like not having elbow joints for some fucking reason. what the fuck mattel. give monster high dolls back their ball jointed shoulders and elbow joints. smh

the most common dolls ive seen used as bases are monster high and ever after high. most customs ive seen are highly stylized so the stylized face molds work well for those types of dolls but dolls like barbies are good for when you want a more realistic face-ups.

once you’ve got your base picked out you gotta wipe that bitch’s face off with like. acetone or nail polish remover or something strong like that. you can also use acetone to shrink doll heads which is cool as hell imo. n e way once the face is wiped you gotta chop off the hair and remove the hair plugs from the inside. ive seen this done several ways but the easiest and most common way ive seen is to dunk the head into boiling water for ~30 seconds until it gets squishy and malleable. once you’ve got the head back, you can use pliers (i think tweezers would work in a pinch) to pull out the hair plugs which are kinda icky because theyre covered in glue and other gross shit. ew

now you must decapitate the doll. dunk em back in the boiling water to soften them back up then just tug the head off. the neck pegs look funky and are usually a different color than the body so thats cool ig

once the head’s off, you can start the face-up which is basically just giving the doll a new face using stuff like watercolor pencils, acrylic paint, gouache, and a whole lot of other stuff. hell ive seen people use person makeup on these dolls.

next,,,,, hair. there’s about twenty million ways to do hair from gluing yarn wefts to sewing to rerooting with purchased nylon doll hair or yarn wefts but i’m gonna talk about the most common one ive seen which is rerooting and gluing.

before you can reroot, you need doll hair. which, as i mentioned, can be bought at stores like the doll planet or made at home with yarn in literally any color. have fun with it! make rainbow hair or something idk

to make homemade wefts, you take some acrylic yarn, cut it twice as long as you want the hair to be (keep in mind you can cut and style the hair once it’s been rerooted), fold them in half, and tie it to something sturdy like a wire coat hanger for the next step.

once you’ve got your yarn tied to your hanger, use a pet brush and brush the yarn until it’s wispy and looks like hair. then take a straightening iron and iron the weft flat. then remove from the hanger and boom. hair wefts. ta-da

to reroot the wefts onto the head, use a rerooting tool (which can be as simple as a needle with the eye cut at angle) (just google it please i’m shit at descriptions)) to poke small sections of the hair into the head. you can use the pre-existing rooting holes for your own reroot as they’re usually pretty reliable. to reroot, take a small length of you doll hair (about 10-15 strands), loop it in half, and put the middle of the loop into the reroot tool. poke the end of the tool with the hair on it into the pre-existing hole and remove the tool. the hair *should* stay in and fill up that plug!! also remember to plug thickly at the hairline and part of the hair where it's most noticeable. it doesnt matter as much in the center of the head as that’s not usually visible on the doll. once you’ve rerooted, squeeze in strong glue through the neck hole and squish around the head to make sure it covers all the plugs and secures them in place. then pour hot water onto the head to make the hair lay flat for styling later.

also, you can reroot yarn directly into the head to make thicker, more textured hairstyles. and since the yarn is thicker, you dont need to glue the inside of the head for the hair to stay in place!!

if youre not doing body modifications (which are also cool as hell) then it’s time for clothes but clothes are boring and i like body mods more so i’m gonna rant about them instead

the material ive seen most doll artists use is apoxie sculpt, which is like play doh on steroids. it comes in two parts which you gotta mix together for some reason. why dont they sell it pre-mixed. what was the reason. also once it’s dry it’s super super strong and you can sand it, drill into it, paint it, and all kinds of stuff. very nice and i want some for myself.

you can use hand saws and drills and shit to whack off doll limbs to make stuff like digitigrade legs or new joints. also dont be afraid to use other mismatching doll parts when customizing like heads and bodies and forearms and hands and shit. it literally does not matter if youre gonna recolor the doll anyways so have fun with it. make frankenstein’s doll if youre feeling spicy

accessories my beloved. stuff like tiny beads and clay baubles and shit will literally transform the entire doll plus they’re adorable and multi-purpose

i suppose i must talk about clothes now. ah well. you can find great clothing patterns if youre new to customizing on other customizer’s etsy shops and probably google although those will probably be lower quality than paid pattern pieces. and keep in mind that if it exists as clothing irl, you can likely make it doll-sized. there are literally no limits to your clothing options as long as you can execute your idea.

the once all your components have been made, you can assemble the doll again!! and finally see what all the parts look like together!! very cool 10/10 stars.

ight that wraps up my doll rant. i could really go into more detail on certain parts but thats a whole other rant for a whole other day smh. sorry for fucking flooding your inbox ender ahaha……………. you asked for this

little did you know that dolls have been one of my favorite things since like ever. if i can read a 25 chapter long fanfic i can read this B)

mattel definitely fucked up by completely ruining MH doll designs and just stopping EAH, alot of their profits most likely came from people who collect and customize dolls and by changing MH doll designs/Stopping EAH dolls they 1. most likely lost a small (or big if we're not jus talking people who customize dolls) part of their profit and 2. made it harder for doll customizers to make dolls/get commissions out rather quickly because they probably have to waste more time making joints or learning how to make joints.

EAH/MH dolls (specifically MH dolls) had AMAZING MODELS because there was so much variety with height, face shapes, etc (my favorite molds had to be the short/tall dolls and the cat molds because of the tails) and doll customizers really went all out with enhancing a molds unique features. The only "downside" abt MH dolls is that they (or atleast most)(from what i remember)) had slimmer faces but wider eyes while EAH dolls have wider faces with slimmer smaller which left a canvas for the face and not the eyes (and vice versa for MH dolls)

I've never seen any videos where a barbie is customized (maybe because i absolutely despised barbies at the time) so I'll definitely have to check those out but they seem to be good for realistic makeovers. I've seen like like semi realistic makeovers for EAH/MH dolls that were pretty good too tho (pretty sure mostly EAH dolls since yk MH dolls were used for creature makeovers while most EAH dolls weren't)

yeah i was always amazed by the head shrinking with acetone. honestly i still am?? idunno i have no idea how that chemical bullshit works. Ive seen a few of uh makeovers that just pain over the face (in multiple layers ofcourse) but that's usually when they're painting the entire body a different colour (again usually when they're turning a doll into a funky little baby man). I've also seen a few that just chop the hair off and take out the hair plugs yk without uuh like softening the head or just go straight for the hair plugs after taking off the head (i used to do that it was funny to me??). i always really liked when they used watercolour pencils or just colour pencils in general to draw/sketch on the face cause like wow ur drawing on ur doll without ruining it?? kinda epic maybe even poggers and pogchamp?? oh god my brain is failing wjshsmsj.

Watching them putting the hair back on the doll was, other than the face stuff, was the BEST part for me. Favorite type of hair was iuuuuuh was either thick yarn or brushed out yarn. Literally worship the people that would reroot the hair, theyre the most patience people on this earth!! it's literally insane but i guess that's what happens when you've been doing that for years? you guess kinda get used to it. when they put glue into the head does it just become stiff?? like it's just a clump of dried glue or does it like..hollow out again??

dude you literally cannot convince me most of the supplies used for doll makeovers. APOXIE CLAY LOOKS SO FECKING GOOD. its edible and i will die on that hill. The body mods are literally so amazing!!!!! it's so impressive how theyre able to imagine certain features THEN LIKE ACTUALLY MAKE IT LOOK ACCURATE TO WHAT THEY WANTED TO LOOK LIKE AFTER LIKE ON TRY (or many yk trial and error is very necessary for..everything). Absolutely loved when doll customizers would saw off a dolls legs and use different ones or just completely get rid of the torso to use a different one. it's like uuh that one big guy that's mismatched and sewn together. very cool. The accessories are so fun!! just small little details you seen really need but can add because it's your feckin doll!! I used to be absolutely obsessed over the doll clothes i would find on etsy, so much so that i started sewing shitty shirts and dresses for my uh "customized" dolls (they were absolute HORRORS idk WHY my mom let me feck up my dolls like that).

Thank you for this!! i haven't been able to talk about any of my interests for a while and this just really made me happy!!

Question fer u my fellow MH/EAH enthusiast: what was your favorite MH/EAH movie/episode and doll series. Mine was The fusion dolls (MH obvi) and that MH movie "Haunted" cause we got to know more about Spectra :D

#YOOOO LONG POST?! #long post #:) hehehe #this was very fun to read cant wait for ur next fanfic length ask #asks :D #theoreticallyjasper

[friendlylocalwhumper]

interviews

colby | colby released | desmond and kip | desmond and kip released | sonia | sonia released | major | major meets nona | state of affairs 1

Interview 1: Remy

“What’s your name?”

Long black curls frame an elegant face. Kind eyes are shadowed by thick eyebrows and circles underneath from exhaustion. Bruising spans across the cheekbone catching the light from offscreen, blue and green and yellow. He cradles his left elbow like a single wrong twitch will get him writhing in pain.

“Remy,” He whispers to the person behind the camera.

“Remy. What happened to you?”

His eyes flick to something the camera isn’t pointed at. His fingers flex slightly with nerves. “I… got caught sneaking in someplace.”

“Why were you sneaking?”

The shirt that he’s wearing, heather grey and wrinkled, has blood on it. There’s a smear of brown by his nose: dried blood. Remy lifts his good arm, leaving the injured one alone, to tuck his nose into the crook of his elbow and inhale. It appears to calm him down.

“Is there something special about that shirt, Remy?”

He glances up and nods, talking into his sleeve, speaking above a whisper now but it makes no difference, his voice is muffled. “Yeah. It’s… I borrowed it. I was sneaking in, to see… his parents wouldn’t approve. They were never going to. A warlock, a boy… I just wanted to see him. Not even do anything. We’ve only kissed.”

“I’m not judging you, Remy.”

Nervous tapping fingers still. He offers a jerking nod. “I know. It’s just… this is all I have, his shirt. My shirt. He gave it to me, said it’s mine now. It still smells like him. It won’t forever. And I won’t see him again. I promised I’d keep coming back, even if it wasn’t safe for me. As long as it was safe for him.” Remy falls silent, haunted. “...He said it was safe.”

The interviewer allows him a moment to collect himself. Then, they ask, “Was he wrong?”

Tanned fingers scratch idly at a scabbed-over cut on his cheek. “...He was really wrong. I got… we got caught. I never used magic in that house, I swear. Never even talked about it. I just wanted to be with him. His brother came in. Tried to kill me.”

“What exactly happened? What made you think he was trying to kill you, not just scare you off?”

Remy snorts. “Grabbed me by the neck, tried to shove me out the window I climbed in. I almost fell. M-... my… the guy I was with, he defended me. Got into it with his brother so I could run. I tried to grab my shirt off the floor, but I got his instead. He might be dead. He might hate me.” Remy is staring at the floor, shoulder scrunched up to his cheek like the pressure can replace a warm hand cupped there in support.

“What happened to your arm?”

A twinge of pain rolls through the limb as Remy’s reminded of it. “Oh. The brother, he pulled on it. Messed something up, inside, I think. I don’t know any healers.”

“And what’s it mean for a magic user, if you can’t find a healer?”

Dark lips angled into a frown, Remy looks into the camera for the first time. “You find a place to hole up and you hope it heals on its own.”

“No hospitals means you’ve gotta make do with what you can find. Can you always find supplies when you need them?”

He snorts, eyes back on the interviewer. “Barely ever. Mostly you can find the basic stuff, or trade for it. Wrappings, uh, rubbing alcohol, bandaids. But the painkillers, the suture kits, the, uh, splints and slings, that stuff is impossible to get. I’ve seen…” Curls ranging from pitch black to a deep warm mahogany, depending on how much light they catch, get thrown dense and wild as he shakes his head. “That’s dark stuff, though.”

“Go on. Just the truth, that’s all I’m looking for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Remy scrunches up his nose, itching at the blood clinging to the skin there. “Um. Yeah, okay. I was saying… I’ve seen people die from not being able to get bandages, using hoodies and stuff instead. Infection. Seen kids… there’s just, a lot of bad stuff happening, that doesn’t have to happen, just ‘cause we can’t get what we need.”

“So your arm? What are you going to do about it?”

With his good shoulder, he shrugs. “I don’t know. Get drunk and find someone to shove at it until it pops back into place, I guess. Or just try not to move it, for a couple weeks, and hope it’ll fix itself. Even if I do find a healer, I don’t have anything to trade. So, um… I guess I’m kind of screwed.”

The interviewer doesn’t answer. Remy’s eyes find the camera again, brown twinkling with the same light that illuminates the colors of pain at his cheek. The image freezes, the video finished playing, lingering on the face of the warlock who was resigned to pain and little hope of finding any help, even from his own kind.

Interview 2: Nona

The video starts with a blur of movement. Brown carpet that’s been crushed into a grimy, stale, solid mass. Stained walls, a torn beanbag chair, limp hands with split knuckles.

“Tell me about the safehouse.”

The witch tips her head, eyes narrowed. The camera is aimed at her, and she looks like she wants to fight it. “Why.”

“Because it matters. You matter. Someone, someday, is gonna ask how we survived. You’re part of the answer.”

The interviewer’s explanation doesn’t flatter her. Lilac hair goes flying as the witch tosses her head back, clearing the straight strands from her face.

“I’m Nona,” She starts, mouth hanging open on the last vowel. She tests the camera’s patience for a handful of seconds before continuing. “I’m a witch. I run this safehouse. It’s a grimy shithole but ask anyone who comes through, they know I’m in charge.”

“So I’ve heard. Does it matter, that they know?”

“That I’m in charge? Fuck yeah. You’ve gotta make it clear. No one’s in charge, anyone can throw their jacked-up muscle around, then people are getting the shit beat out of them all over power struggles. One guy wants the living room to himself, the other’s decided he rules the kitchen and if you want food, you gotta pay an entry fee. Stresses everyone out. Gets people more hurt than they already are. That’s why I kick people out, lay down a couple rules, show my face every now and then.”

“You’ve got to remind everyone that there’s someone keeping the place running.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. It doesn’t work, otherwise. And they could take over anytime. I think about it all the time. But they know I keep the fridge stocked. They know I forgive shitty mistakes and let the worst ones come back when they’ve been fucked up by cops, or something. I found this place and I built it up myself. Boarded up the windows, got the electricity going, sewed up the shitty cushions so you can sit down without fluff shooting out of the seams. And you know how long it took me?”

“No. How long?”

“One motherfucking day. I did it in one day. You know why I busted my ass for sixteen hours?”

“Why?”

“Because if I didn’t finish, if I didn’t get a lock on that front door to keep the dumbest non-magic criminal fucks out, I wouldn’t have a place to sleep that night. I put the lock in last, because if I couldn’t manage the rest in time, I didn’t deserve to fucking sleep. I wanted to make this a place that people could sleep, at least. And I did it. People know that. Ask me why they don’t do it themselves, make a new place, get to be in charge.”

“Why?”

“Because they hurt. They’ve been sleeping on floors, and getting beat up, and they’ve been walking in shoes that don’t fit them. Because they’re angry, and paranoid, and tired all the time, and they can’t pick a lock without their hands shaking, so they sure as shit can’t fix up a whole house. And they’re so focused on fighting each other, watching their own back, making sure their stuff isn’t stolen, that they can’t stop to pick up a project and see it through.”

“Are all magic users like that?”

“Mmh…” Nona taps her chin. “Most of them. It’s the easier way to be. You get stuck in a loop of getting hurt, running, hiding, going out again to get something you need, and getting hurt again. It’s hard to get out of that. The only ones who can really try to do more are, like, witches who get tired of the loop. The guys, they don’t get out of it as much. But we don’t live long, anyway, so it’s not like anybody gets much of a chance to change through the years. There’s no plans, just trying to live through the day to get to sleep again.”

Nona cracks her knuckles and stretches, lounging in the beanbag chair a moment before sitting upright again and scuffing the heel of her boot against the floor.

“Does anyone ever challenge you? Try to take over?”

The witch nods, hair falling forward over her shoulders to brush her cheeks. “Sometimes. I knock ‘em on their ass with magic, though, so they never get far.”

“Get far?”

“They never do much. I don’t let ‘em.”

“Never do much? What is it they try to do?”

Eyes dark with makeup glint with anger. “They try shit. You’re not stupid. This talk’s over.”

“What do they-”

“You get that camera out of my face,” Nona growls, knocking it off whatever held it, sending the picture flying with blurry smeared colors, “Or I’ll-”

The audio cuts off, and the video stops on a blur of brown and grey, the chaos of escalating fury falling into silence.

Interview 3: Lux

“Okay.” The camera shifts, settles, shifts again. Someone breathes heavily from beyond its line of sight. “Okay. It’s safe here. Can you talk? We got away. Can you talk now?”

The camera turns, finally set up securely against some steady surface, to focus on a shaking warlock with a hand pressed to his stomach. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“Ye-eah, I can - th-this is important, you said?”

The interviewer gasps a few more harsh breaths. It sounds like they’ve been running hard, and can only now catch their breath. “Yes. Yes, it’s important. Tell me - tell the story of what, just happened.”

Blue eyes flick up to the camera, then the off-screen interviewer, then back to the camera. “Um. O-okay. I can… I can, talk about it, just, hnn - I-I, what’re you gonna use this for? What can I… is it safe, to t-talk about…? Anything?”

“Lux.”

“Mnh?”

“We already talked about this.”

A shudder runs through him, a wince twisting his features. “Oh. S-sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just that I explained all that, like, twenty minutes ago. Do you have trouble with your memory?”

Tense shoulders tilt inward. “I th-thought, thought you wanted to hear ‘bout, what happened.”

“I do. I also want to hear about you. Why can’t you remember things?”

His breaths, jagged and quick from running, too, don’t even out. “...What happens if I don’t want to talk?”

It’s silent for a moment. He looks like he’s prepared to get hit.

“That would be disappointing. But I’d leave you alone. I don’t interrogate people, I just try to collect their stories. You don’t have to do anything, Lux.”

An uncertain hum slips out of him and he lifts his head from where it fell, his body uncurling from the defensive position it settled into. “Really?”

“Really. Can I ask you something?”

A shoulder scrunches up toward a dirt-streaked cheek in a half-shrug.

“Did you really think I would hurt you, if you didn’t want to talk?”

There’s no audible guilt in the interviewer’s voice, but sadness flickers across the warlock’s face. “Oh, it’s - it’s okay. You didn’t do anything, to, to scare me. I don’t think. It’s just… I’m just like that.”

“Why are you like that?”

The fingers of his free hand twist a loose thread of his ripped sleeve. Lux stares at the floor.

“Lux?”

“Hmm? So-orry. Um. What did you ask?”

“Why are you like that? Why do you get scared? I’ve done a lot of these interviews, and most people are angry, or tired, or sarcastic. Most don’t let it show that they’re scared. You seem very open about it.”

It’s hard to tell, in the poor lighting of the video recorded at the first snatched moment after some escape from danger, but Lux is paling from his wound. He glances down at it, curls hanging. When he looks back up, he blinks, searching for words to answer with. “Um, I… got made that way. I was, I was… do you know who the Hunter is?”

“The Hunter? He made you open? I thought he killed everyone he took. Did he kill someone you knew?”

“Mnh - uh - ye-eah, but - that was just part of it. He-e, he used to kill, everyone. Mostly. Then he… he took me. I was there, he had me, for… for a year.”

“A year? How did you survive a year with the Hunter?”

“He… I don’t know. He just liked me. It was a l-lot, a lot of pain. And… mind magic.”

Lux glances up, as he mentions the taboo magic, and cringes. He must’ve seen a reaction in the interviewer.

“So your time with him wore you down, took way your defenses. He… did that, to you, and now… what is your mind like now?”

Sweat beads across the warlock’s brow. He doesn’t ask for the interview to stop. “It’s, it’s a mess. It’s just all mixed up, and I forget things, and… everything is hard. M-my… my magic, ‘specially, it, it doesn’t like to work anymore.”

“Do you think that was part of his tactics? He kills a lot of magic users, it seems like he’s trying to cripple the community. Did he mix you up so that your magic wouldn’t work, so you wouldn’t be a threat?”

His frown draws lines into his face. “No. He just, he just liked it. Scaring me. Changing me. It’s not about… he doesn’t do it for, like, society. Going after magic users, it’s just because they’re already hurting, no one cares about us. We’re just easy to target. He’s not like the feds.”

“You sound like you know him pretty well.”

Lux takes a breath, holds it, then nods. His head is heavy on his shoulders. “Better tha-an anyone, I guess.”

“Better than Quinn Mae?”

He blinks. “Quinn - you mean, Quinn, who, who let the Hunter take them, to try and… make a difference?”

“Yes. They sacrificed themself to learn about the Hunter. And it seems that they were successful. But do you know more about him than they do, even after that mission?”

Emotion gets Lux fidgeting. “Th-they - they did a good job. I think they probably learned really important stuff. It wasn’t… I don’t think it was a good idea, but I, I’m proud of them, for trying. I just - I was there for so long. I know more than the facts, I know how he feels about stuff. The Hunter loves, loved me, I… was close to him, for a long time. And I, I haven’t been much help, even though I know all that. Just knowing about him doesn’t make him that much easier to take on. It, um - it actually makes him angrier.”

“Angry enough to start torturing his way through every witch and warlock alive?”

“That’s - you’re out of line.” The assertion is quick and anxious. “It’s not Quinn’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. The Hunter likes to hurt people, he likes to punish people for being brave. Quinn did the, the bravest thing in the world, and that - it just, I guess it set him off. But it’s not their fault.”

“Sounds like cause and effect, Lux.”

“No. I - if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, he - he wanted me back, he wanted to hurt me, and I said no. I said no to him. He’s punishing me.”

“How did you say no? Did he ask? Why didn’t he just take you anyway?”

The trembling has gotten worse in Lux again, and it jars his hand against his wound, adding tension to the way he sits. “He-e, he called me. On my phone. I said no. I said - he could take me, but I wouldn’t make it easy. I wa-as trying to be b-brave. I was - healing. But… but I guess, he’s been frustrated, and, and I… set him off. I don’t know. He’s hurting so many people, and I’m trying to, to find them all, to make sure they don’t die, to help them process it all. I know what it feels like.”

“So you’re trying to help with the spree, on this end, after they get hurt.”

“Ye-eah. Trying.”

“There’s no way you can save them before they get hurt? You can’t stop him?”

The warlock’s brows twitch. “I-I… no. I’ve thought about it. I’ve… I tried to offer myself up, instead. He loves me, I thought maybe he just wanted me to, to break, to take their place… but he doesn’t want me. He said, said maybe some other time. He just wants to… he’s having fun.”

“I see. Alright, Lux. I’m sorry for bringing up a painful topic. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s not your fault. I try not to step in with how I feel, but I wanted to say that. It’s not your fault.”

Lux’s head is dipped down, leaden with guilt. “Yeah, well… you don’t know him like I do.”

#whump #drabble #angst #mine #the spree #lux #remy #nona #riku rose #this is how we lived #recorded #past trauma #afraid #angry #bruised #blood

[bredfaith]

headcanon dump for hidan (2/2): persona version:

his favorite food is ribs. like, seriously, he could eat ribs every single day and never get tired. they gotta be swimming in barbecue sauce and so tender they're falling off the bone, though. failure to make them correctly Will result in your immedate demise

education in yugakure wasn't exactly the best, and considering hidan didn't give a single fuck about school, he isn't the brightest tool in the shed. he is, however, very knowledgeable on the human body. where pressure points are, what every organ and body part is and where it is, what certain things can damage a person quicker or bring them the most pain and where to hit to kill someone before they even realize they're dying. in all reality, he would've made a great medic. y'know, if he wasn't so into murder.

doesn't speak like everyone in yugakure, his dialect much different than everyone else's; loud, mean, aggressive, even when he's in the greatest mood. (he basically talks like he's from new york city because i'm from new york city and you can't convince me he don't sound like that)

believes that immortality = invincibility, and while there hasn't been anyone able to really take him down, he isn't the smartest when running into a fight. he's like a god of war game, hacking and slashing whatever he can and honestly hoping for the best. though, in addition to this, he has the capability of using his brain in a battle and making decisions that actually work, but he's arrogant and confident in himself to the point where he doesn't feel like he has to think so hard

feelings aren't really his thing. he likes moving around with an air of disinterest. you'll never mean anything to me, he tells himself, this will never matter. he does a pretty good job with convincing himself, and no one wants to be around him long enough to prove him wrong, which has only helped him solidify these thoughts

despite many little complaints, he ultimately respects jashin more than anything or one in the world. he finds some parts of jashinism to be weird, time-consuming and annoying, but he never skips a prayer or performs a ritual improperly. it's a testament to his loyalty, and how no amount of complaining or cursing will change the absolute care in which he does something that actually means something to him

money has absolutely no value to him. except to buy himself some ribs

he still visits the valley of hell regularly, sitting at the shrine of jashin and recounting sacrifices (all of which he remembers, even if he pretends like he doesn't). the scythe is an artefact, a piece of jashin torn away and sealed by the shodai mizukage before he'd found it, and despite him not knowing any of this just yet, there's a pull he feels to keep this slab of bloodied stone updated. as if it were watching him

hates the cold. will complain loudly and annoyingly if he's in a place he can't be shirtless because of the weather. so used to the heated, humid airs of yugakure, even too strong a wind can put him in an awful mood

wounds heal on their own, especially during/after a ritual, but if a limb is completely severed from his body, it has to be sewed back to him. the limb won't succumb to rot so long as it's in his general vicinity. he could also, technically, take limbs from other people and use them as his own. i'm pretty sure one of his fingers is not really his own*

#*still working on this one so it is subject to change #this is probably not everything but i can't think of anything else at the moment so enjoy #i love this awful awful man that would kill me in a heartbeat #tidbits: hidan.

[devil-kindred]

Repercussions

Pairing: Isobel Walters⎟Female Deputy/John Seed

Rating: T

Warnings: drug use (bliss), hallucinations, kidnapping (i guess?)

Summary: Isobel disappears into the Henbane, intent on staying away from Holland Valley for as long as possible and takes an unfortunate trip in the bliss that opens far too many eyes to a revelation that could change everything. [aka: Faith tests the waters of temperament with the deputy and learns some valuable information.]

WC: 2,429⎟1/1⏤ part two of the sins of the past series (though part one is not required reading as it’s set before the events of FC5)⎟read it on ao3

-

“Bliss. Great, just great.” Isobel murmurs as she takes in the expanse of greenery coated in fog so thick she can barely see three feet ahead of herself. “Don’t know what I expected from Sharky’s stories but not… this.”

She holsters her gun and tentatively steps forward, unsure of what direction to head into let alone what she’ll find hiding in the bliss. She doesn’t wonder for long, however, as a figure rushes from the fog and latches onto her with both hands.

“Deputy!” A giggle from the woman who’s appeared before her. “So kind of you to join me!” Faith relinquishes her hold and dashes a few steps away, twirling once before throwing her arms wide with a smile. “Welcome to the bliss, a peaceful place where things can be whatever or whomever you desire.” 

Isobel stares her down cautiously, still aware of herself if only slightly.

“Oh come on, Deputy. Don’t you want a rest? To see the people you love at peace? You can have it.” She disappears into fog, only to reappear behind her causing Isobel to turn and nearly jump back at the sight. “All you have to do is walk the path. Do that and you’ll be accepted into our family.”

In the ensuing silence, Faith steps forward once more and takes Isobel’s hands in her own. 

“The Father will look after you. He’ll make you feel loved and safe.” Faith stares into Isobel’s eyes, that gentle smile still in place even as her tone twists. “Don’t you want to be safe, Deputy? Both you and your daughter?’

Isobel freezes, the words hitting her like a bucket of cold water to the face, and all the hazy ease of the Bliss is gone. Replaced by mounting panic, and, as her gaze goes wide Faith’s turns knowing.

“What?” She asks, her quick nonchalant laugh sounding near hysterical.She tries to backpedal, to reel in her loss of control like a fish on a hook, but it’s of no use.

“Shh, everything will be all right, Deputy.” Faith, now looking smug, yanks her down into a cluster of bliss flowers and holds her. One arm wrapped tightly— far tighter than someone her size looks capable of— around her shoulders, holding her still in the field of bliss as she draws in big gasping breaths of tainted air. “It will be all right. Just breathe… and relax.”

Faith’s words grow faint as she strokes Isobel’s hair, and just as her vision starts to go dark— sparkles drifting and dancing at the edges— she vanishes in a puff of green haze. 

As if she were never there to begin with.

-

Everything has a hazy warmth when she opens her eyes again and she finds herself sprawled out on a grand bed. A fluffy white pillow is tucked beneath her head and sheer white curtains waft in the warm breeze at the edge of her line of sight. The mattress creaks and dips beside her and she slowly turns her head to find the source of the added weight.

“John? What are you doing⏤”

“Shh.” He shushes her as settles onto the bed next to her, hooking his fingers into the hem of her shirt and slowly pulling it upwards. “Everything’s fine, deputy. Just relax.”

He splays a hand across the exposed skin of her stomach and drags his palm against it, his long tattooed fingers tracing the silvery white scar stretching across her abdomen from side to side.

“Cesarean.” Her voice is soft and lazy, barely there as the warmth of the room intensifies.

“She wasn’t natural?”

“Well gee, John, when you say it like that you make it sound like I bought her from a lab somewhere.” Isobel says as she stares down at him with a mix of distaste and annoyance. “No, she wasn’t a natural birth. She was breach which made my only option a cesarean.”

“Stubborn.” He chuckles, his palm still flat against her skin as he looks up at her⏤ dark blue eyes staring deeply into her own amber. “Did it take long?”

“Given they had to put my internal organs back and sew me up afterwards, yes. I didn’t get to see or hold her until after they cleaned her off.” Isobel’s voice is soft and, while her eyes still meet his, he can tell she’s lost in the memory. “Her eyes were grey when she was born⏤ not unusual with newborns⏤ but they turned blue later.”

“What is she like, Isobel? Tell me everything. I want to know all about our daughter.”

Something in his smile looks… off, and yet she finds all kinds of details falling from her lips as the room turns hazy and her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.

When Isobel comes to once again, John is laying beside her on the bed with his head propped up on hand and the other tangled in her hair. He flashes that same smug smile as blinks up at him, trying her best to shake the fatigue from her limbs.

“Quite the sleepyhead, aren’t you?” 

John’s voice sounds wrong and after some thought in she realizes the southern drawl that has always laced it is missing from his tone. He speaks again before she can question it and she spends her time trying to wrap her still fogged mind around what he’s asked.

“What?”

“What is your daughter’s name, Deputy?”

Isobel squints up at him in confusion as he looms over her on the bed. “I already told you. Did you say ‘your daughter’?”

“So you did.” He says quickly, smiling gently and steadfastly ignoring her question. “It’s just, we’ve talked about so much. Your old home and town— who our daughter is currently staying with, and all about her. I know you gave me her name, I just need you to tell me again so I can make sure I have everything right. Don’t you want her to have a proper welcome into our family?” He coos, stroking her hair with a tattooed hand.

“Bella.” Isobel answers, dark eyes fixated on his hand as he pulls away. “John?”

“Yes, Deputy?”

“Why are you missing a tattoo?”

At her words, his likeness wavers as if someone had waved a hand through him. 

“John?”

 The John who was not really there smiles and reaches a hand out of her line of sight, shaking his head gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll all be together very soon.”

Isobel feels a prick in the inside of her arm and the world falls away.

-

The screech of tires and a large cloud of dirt are what greet Isobel in the waking world as she comes to with an accompaniment of voices loudly bickering with each other.

“You sure it ain’t a peggie? I don’t wanna get over there just to have some frickn’ angel trying to claw my face off.”

“Hurk, man, I would know if it was an angel. They just stand there, they don’t lay down. ’Sides, I’ve been traveling with po-po for days. I know how to find her.”

Isobel sits up with a groan, a hand to her head and a stinging feeling in her arm.

“Po-po! See, I told you I knew how to find her.” Sharky rushes to her side, crouching down to look her over. “Man, you are way worse for wear than I expected.”

“Thanks, Sharky.” She says dryly, even as she grins.

“What happened? One minute I had you with me and the next you disappeared into the damn trees like some sorta nymph or something. ’Cept it was more creepy than sexy, no offense. It’s not you, just the way you walked off kinda dead eyed and didn’t listen to me. Total boner killer.”

“Madre de dio, my arm is killing me.” She swears, either ignoring or not hearing Sharky as Hurk Jr. climbs out of the car and hauls her up to standing position. “I was with John.”

Hurk Jr. and Sharky exchange a glance. 

“Uh, Dep, we were right on the edge of the Whitetails when you disappeared.” Sharky stares her down with a concerned gaze. “Nowhere near the Valley and the Seeds do not strike me as people who like to share their toys. So unless Johnny boy was pulling an extreme heist⏤ and believe me, he’s too lazy for that⏤  there’s no way you were with him.”

“But he asked about Bella.” She replies, confusion lacing every bit of her tone.

“Who’s Becca?” Hurk Jr. interrupts, as he helps Isobel to the car and lifts her into the seat with ease.

“Bella.” She corrects, head lolling back against the seat. “My daughter.”

“Uh Dep,” Sharky says, climbing into the front of the truck and leaning into the back seat as Hurk Jr. climbs in the driver’s side. “let me take a look at your arm real quick.” He takes her extended arm gently, turning it this and way that, his eyes locked onto the large bruise and needle mark in the crook of her elbow. “Did anything look weird when you were with John?” He asks, making quotations as he says the name with his free hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Did anything look hazy? Or, like, green? Maybe there were sparkles somewhere?”

“Why would you ask⏤ The bliss.” Isobel pulls her arm out of Sharky’s grasp and digs frantically in jacket. “I was in the bliss, I saw Faith and wherever she is the bliss is always involved.”

“Dep, what’re you looking for? Maybe if you just, slow down a bit... You might’ve overlooked whatever it is.”

“No. No. Fuck!” Isobel shrieks and slams a hand down against the seat, eyes wide in panic. “It wasn’t real which means she knows, which means he knows.”

“Who knows?”

“Faith! She knows about Bella which means J⏤ means that her dad knows about her.” Isobel can see the ‘wait a minute’ stare on Sharky’s face, but she’s lucky enough that he lets it go and doesn’t press her on it. Instead, he focuses his efforts on getting everything back to normal or as normal as peggie-infested Hope County can be. 

“Dep, you gotta calm down. Let me get us back to the valley and we’ll get the Doc to look you over.”

“No!”

“Hurk, I don’t think the valley is very high on Dep’s list of places to be right now.”

“Where do you want me to take her then, Sharky? She needs looked over! We just picked her up out of a field in the middle of the Henbane⏤ she could get pulled back into the bliss again if we stay here. Besides, she’s not in any shape at this point to be running around the Whitetails unless you wanna go toe to toe with Jacob motherfuckin’ Seed.”

“You don’t have to be so harsh, dude. I’m just saying we shouldn’t make her panic more than she already is.” Sharky turns back to Isobel, patting her leg absentmindedly. “Dep, I know you don’t want to go back to Holland Valley but we have to take you somewhere. Let’s drop by the Rye’s for a bit, maybe Nick or Kim can take a look at you and see if they can have the Doc come to you.”

Isobel gives a reluctant nod, slumping back against the seat and saying nothing in reply as Hurk turns the car around to head to their newfound destination.

-

Faith stalks down the path to Joseph’s church, ignoring the curious stares of the chosen as she walks by without a word. As she reaches the building two of the chosen standing guard scramble to open the doors for the herald of the Henbane. She nods in their direction, all the acknowledgement she’s willing to give them as the doors of the church are thrown open wide. She steps inside, barefoot as always, as the faithful turn to look with their guns at the ready… They hesitate when they see it’s only one of the heralds, but only lower them at Joseph’s command.

“May I have a word alone with The Father?”

Joseph inclines his head and the faithful file out without a single protest.

“Joseph—“

“How fares our wayward Deputy? Has she yet joined out crowd of the faithful?’’’ He asks from his seated position, voice terse as he studies the pages of bible in his hands. 

“No, she’s still resisting—“ Joseph sighs in disappointment and Faith rushes on quickly to evade the oncoming fallout. “… but I learned something important. Something that could be helpful in our efforts to sway her to our cause.” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, graceful footsteps carrying her up the steps to the pulpit. She twirls once and then faces forward, hands braced on the dark stained wood as she leans towards him with a smile. “The Deputy has a daughter.” 

There is an uncomfortable stretch of silence following her words and, as her eager smile begins to slip away, she rocks back on her heels. Faith had thought he would be pleased with the knowledge... but his silence says otherwise.

“As much of an opening as that would provide, the idea of using one’s child against them seems unbecoming of our noble cause.”

“Even if the daughter were one of our own?” Faith questions as she steps away from the pulpit, slowly descending the stairs and kneeling before Joseph. “Wouldn’t you want to save her?”

“I wish to save as many souls as I can. You know this.” He shuts the bible with a loud snap and stares her down with a level gaze. “Enough dancing around the topic, Faith. You have my attention and it must be very important for you to leave the Henbane without permission. You say the deputy’s daughter is one of our own?”

“She’s John’s daughter.” She says with renewed glee, bouncing back to her feet. “She told me herself.”

Joseph closes his eyes and turns his face to the heavens, letting out a slow breath as Faith waits, eagerly bouncing from foot to foot. After some time, he opens his eyes and levels his gaze with Faith’s own.

“Have the deputy brought to me and speak of this to no one.”

“But Joseph⏤”

“I will look into this information and, if things are as you say, I will have our family be reunited.”

“Yes, Joseph.” Faith exits the church with renewed purpose and sets off to locate Isobel, and as she pulls the stolen phone from the pocket of her dress, ponders on doing more digging of her own.

#ship: bad at love #oc: isobel walters #isobel x john #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfic #fc5 fanfic #fc5 fanfiction #john seed x deputy #hopecountygazette

[secret-engima]

Vitae verse, Favorite insults and threats, by clan. I think the Furia were the seafarers? So threatening to use someone to troll for sharks is probably a pretty standard one. But what else, and what about all the other clans?

Ooohhhhh lemme- lemme see what I can come up with. Let it be known, that I do not like swearing and am, in general, bad at making up insults so nothing here is gonna be exactly SCATHING.

Ostium - They call you an Ulric. If they really REALLY want to call you a moron, they say something to the order of “YOU PULLED AN ULRIC.” or “YOU ARE //SUCH// AN ULRIC.” The Ulrics would be insulted but... it’s kinda true. If they say that “even an Ulric wouldn’t do that” that’s their way of saying you are a waste of oxygen, how have you even survived up until this point, go jump off a cliff and rid the world of your stupidity before it infects everyone nearby. Now, for threats- Ostium- don’t really do threats? If they REALLY hate you, then they won’t bother insulting you or telling you, they’ll just go straight to murder (See: Libertus taking one (1) look at Glauca near Nyx and flooring the gas to run him over. Also see: Libertus climbing on the roof of a speeding car with a broken leg to Better Stab Glauca).

Furia - Barramundi Brains is a common one, because barramundi are kinda ... stupid. Even for fish. At least when I play the fishing mini game. Anyway- another fav insult is Shark Bait (for reckless), and Kelp Limbs (for weak), and Starfish (for “you are so annoying just GO AWAY YOU OCEANIC COCKROACH”). For threats, it’s using you as bait for sharks, keelhauling you, or just- very graphic descriptions of how they intend to kill you, drain your blood from your carcass and use it as paint coloring for their ship.

Altius - “few cracks short of a full flask” (crazy, stupid), Piece of Bomb (useless, ugly), Ulric (moron, they learned that one from the Ostium). Can and will threaten to roast your toes and and feed them to you. Can and will threaten to smite you like a tree (by which they mean they will hit you with lighting. Repeatedly). Also will say something to the order of “gotta freeze the fish” to another Altius as shorthand for “I’m gonna turn this guy into a cube of ice, care to help?”

Arra - They don’t really do the verbal insults thing? They will just- Stand There. And Judge You™. Feel the Judgement. The Disappointment. The Contempt For Your Very Existence. Feel It. They Watch From the Shadows, They Judge You And Find You Wanting. For threats they will pointedly start sharpening their weapons or counting the arrows in their quiver. Will also, if fletching an arrow, sight down the shaft to make sure it’s straight ... while “coincidentally” pointing it at your heart. Coincidentally. Will paint the names of whoever they hate most onto their arrows JUST so you know who they are imagining killing with each shot.

Lazarus - Masters of the Disdainful Glance. Will snidely say that your thumbs are too big for thimbles (this is childish until you consider these are the tapestry weavers/tailors of the Clans and they are basically calling you incapable of what they consider the bare minimum of self-care). Will say “He pulled a Furia” to indicate an act of utter reckless stupidity (similar to Ostiums and their Ulrics). For threats, will start casually and loudly discussing with each other in your earshot just WHAT sewing needles can do to you when used on various parts of your anatomy (like what they will do to your eyes, your fingers, your nerves in your spine, the list is extensive). After making their graphic descriptions they will pointedly stare. At You. Just in case there was any doubt that they were describing what they wanted to do to you. Also they have crossbows and will 100% paint little names on the bolts like the Arra do.

Bellum - Weakling, Coward, Spineless. These guys will also go so far as to call you Outsider if they think you’re a coward enough (which is ... slightly less effective against actual Outsiders but to the Clans that’s big). For threats, they will threaten to chop things. Chop your arms, your legs, then your face and leave you rolling in the wind. Will also threaten to pull off your fingers and other such lovely things. If all else fails they’ll just- grab an axe and start coming for you.

Ulrics - Will call you Slug (slowpoke, lazy), Outsider (coward, scum). Will also call you Cat Stomach (implying a fussy stomach, which implies you can’t handle using magic/warping like they do). Like the Ostium, are not so big on threats and will instead go Straight To Murder.

That’s all I got for now.

#SE asks #talisward asks #Thrown to Wolves verse #Secret Engima Rambles

[kunoichi-ume]

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions: Noara Starspark

No one asked, but I wanted to do these for Noara. Writing the last little bit has been a struggle (between new job, this quarantine stuff and the fucking earthquake it’s a wonder I can concentrate on anything) so making myself think about these questions is a good exercise. Plus it was a good reason to use this beautiful sketch that @dingoat​‘s Ahuska did of my beautiful Jedi girl. 

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions and because I did all 30 of them I put it under the cut, just to be polite.

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this — optional. In a bed that is in a safe location, as much ‘hers’ as any bed ever is, Noara is a starfish. Stretching out across the surface, wrapping the blanket around her limbs, moving in reaction to whatever is happening in her mind. In the field? She doesn’t move much, sleeping lightly enough to wake if anything about her environment changes. It’s not about getting a good night’s sleep in that situation, just getting enough rest to keep going.

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc. Noara has a noticeable scar on her right cheek but few people look close enough to see the claw mark scars on her neck that she received at the same time. The wounds there were thankfully not as deep as the one on her face.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like? Not really, she grew up on a planet that isn’t known for any particular accent and speaks a fairly basic form of Basic with little deviation/special pronunciations.

Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly? When she is flustered or nervous she doesn’t quite stutter but she has a hard time getting the words out and will often start to say one and then have to stop midword to change it because it’s not the one she wanted to say.

What are their chief tension areas? Her shoulders and lower back. She tries her best to present an image of a strong, mature Jedi Master that is capable to carry the heavy responsibilities given to her.  

If you were to pick one song — and only one song — to describe your character, what would it be and why? Choosing just one is hard, I have a whole playlist for her and most of them could work as the “one” song to sum Noara up but I think I need to go with Brighter by Patent Pending. It is a great mix of being optimistic about the future but also jaded and weighed down by the past, which is very Noara. She has a hard time dealing with everything that has happened to her but refuses to let it define her and never looses sight of the hope that life will get better.

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral? She tends more toward the negative. Noara has no illusions about her lot in life, she is important to a lot of people but not because of who she is - just for what she can do. Her abilities are far more valued than she is for just being herself. Depending on the version of her this is more extreme, in I’ve Got You she is very convinced her abilities are the only why people are around her, in Jedi Sitters she feels like she is a failure as a Jedi because of what happened when she was under the Emperor’s control (and the very fact she was able to being manipulated so completely) and my Sith version of her that I don’t talk about as much as I would like to has no illusions that anyone cares about her until a very stubborn Mandalorian/Republic spy Fynta enters her life.

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts? Quick for sure, she is pretty impulsive actually. When she has time to sort through her thoughts she usually ends up second guessing and doubting herself. Gotta make those choices before her insecurities can catch up.

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time. This one also depends a bit on which version of Noara. In I’ve Got You she doesn’t dream often, or even deal with nightmares, until Valkorian decides it’s a good way to try and manipulate her. Jedi Sitters Noara has constant nightmares and avoids sleep as much as possible, staying up later with caf or meditating until she passes out from exhaustion. Sith Noara’s life is a nightmare, why would sleeping be any different?

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation? It would be a major trial for Noara to ever be on a subway, it would be very triggering for her claustrophobia. Busses only work because she can see out the windows, doesn’t feel as trapped as she would knowing she was inside a tunnel underground.

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like? Noara trusts in the Force but has never been a very religion driven person. She knows the Force is there, and what it does, but big questions like “how did life begin?” don’t really concern her much. Scholars can figure that out as far as she is concerned.

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has. 

Despite being a virginal space monk, she loves romance stories - especially ones with hot scenes she can live vicariously through; 

Rarely sits in a chair the way it’s meant to be sat in, like perched on the back of a chair or couch, lying on a couch so her head hangs off the cushion and her feet are draped over the back, both feet folded underneath her when on a bench type seat; 

Exercises almost obsessively, always working out because sitting still is difficult for her unless she has something to occupy her mind; 

Taps her fingers, shakes her leg or fiddles with her thumbs when feeling impatient or anxious; 

Wears dark purple makeup in a traditional Nabooian style because it makes her feel like she belongs somewhere, like she had a home at some point, and she doesn’t openly acknowledge the reason being that she has no idea where she is from and feelings like she is missing part of herself by not knowing.

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something? Yes, it usually ends up with her chasing the bottom of a bottle or working out until she can’t go on anymore.

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo? This is such a hard choice for her, Noara likes having people at her back but hates the idea someone could get hurt if she messes up or isn’t fast enough.

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time? She is very tunnel minded when it comes to a task, until that one is done she doesn’t really notice the other things she needs to do and often gets overwhelmed if there are too many things to do all at the same time.

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each. 

Best: Physical Education, Technology/mechanics, Languages, Flight/piloting, Literature. 

Worst: History, Philosophy, Biology, Home Economics like sewing/cooking, Math.

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people? Extrovert, even if she has to force it sometimes. She likes crowds because the focus isn’t going to be on her when there are lots of other people around.

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether? Noara is in a weird place where this is concerned. She leads, because people look to her for it, because the Jedi Council assigns leadership positions to her, but in almost every case she thinks there is someone else would would be better qualified.

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight? Noara is a fighter through and through, sometimes to her own detriment, but running away is never her first, second or even third choice. Lana getting her out of the spire was a test of the Sith’s patience in every way.

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why? This depends on the version of Noara. 

In I’ve Got You that was the Emperor, but she would never consider that murder. It’s justice and he earned it. 

In Jedi Sitters she would give anything to be able to kill the Sith who controlled and abused her after the Emperor “gifted” her to him. 

Sith Noara would kill… well most people she has interactions with, but Darth Ira who stole her from the Jedi would be at the top of that list.

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why? 

First she would wish for peace between the Empire and the Republic - even with magical wishes she doesn’t think they could ever merge into one collation but if the Empire and Sith could see reason and stop the needless violence she would be satisfied. 

Second, Noara would ask for the ability to save all the people under her protection - failing to keep someone safe who trusted her is devastating every time it happens. 

Third she would want to know her family, who they are, where they are, why they let her go.

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone? It depends how well she can read them through the Force. If she can feel their sincerity she trusts fairly easily, even when the person is a Sith like Lana. If someone is shielding their intentions from her she is very cautious about them.

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart? Affection. Romance for so long is such an unattainable concept to her but affection is rare, something that makes her want to reach out to the person offering it and never let go. Touch starvation is very much something Noara deals with before she has a certain Mando to cuddle next to at every possible opportunity.

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why? The Emperor, Valkorian, comes to mind. Most Sith would see her as their enemy as well.

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks? Because so much of her life is making choices and giving orders she doesn’t feel qualified to give, she likes letting someone else take charge. She isn’t a sub in every encounter, but Torian having his way with her - and giving her firm directions - is a sure way to get her going.

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble? When on her ship or whatever location is serving as a home base at the time, she cleans her face and lets her hair down, changed into pajamas if she doesn't expect a sudden awakening.  In the field she doesn’t do much other than assure herself she found a safeish location though her preference is to use an energy stim or two and stay awake and aware - something she has done for days at a time before finally crashing.

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be? Why didn’t you keep me?

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets? Before Torian, no. She never questioned that she would become one with the Force and it would be a more peaceful existence than her life was. After, and especially after learning his people’s thoughts about the afterlife, she has many doubts about what she believes and if they would be together again. Regrets are a big problem for her, no matter how she feels about death she is going to have plenty of those.

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why? So restless! Noara always needs to be doing something, even if it’s meditation. If her mind or body doesn’t have something to do she gets anxious.

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why? Well most of her life she has eaten prepacked field rations, the Star Wars equivalent of MREs. So making a responsible, balanced choice she would say those. She needs the nutrition to keep up with both her active lifestyle and maintain her muscle mass. As a petite woman with a high metabolism she has to be conscious of what she eats to keep herself in good condition. Idealistically? Cake, with the loophole that it can be ANY kind of cake. She enjoys sweets and they are such a rare treat for her, the idea of getting to try lots of different varieties and flavors would be very tempting.

#swtor #Jedi Knight #OC: Noara Starspark

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 27)

Jemima Jones IV

Another con! This one with Micah. This chapter contains criminal activity and mature topics of conversation. 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

When I woke up, it was to Hosea's voice and gentle shaking of my shoulder. I'd fallen asleep in the chair by Arthur's bed, head cradled by my folded arms up against the nearest storage crate. I blearily lifted my head and blinked at my surroundings, momentarily confused. I remembered quickly, though, eyes immediately finding Arthur who was laying awake already, the morning sun pouring through the canvas of his tent. 

"There she is, thought I was gonna have to toss a bucket of water. Out like a light, though I don't know how, that can't be comfortable," Hosea greeted me, gesturing to the twisted, hunched position I'd woken up in. I stretched and grunted, putting my spine back in the right order, it felt like.

"Sorry, I'm in the way," I noted, realising the man was here to check on Arthur. 

I stood up and ambled past him, letting him sit down in my place.

"Surprised it ain't Grimshaw bustin' in here, putting you to work. It's late," Arthur said as Hosea gingerly pulled back his wound's dressing. 

"It is?" I murmured guiltily. "I should start on my chores."

"She knows you're not slacking, I think a late start is perfectly acceptable given the circumstances," Hosea assured me, pressing the back of his hand to Arthur's forehead.

"You have my permission to milk this," Arthur said, and I snorted.

"I don't mind chores," I shrugged, watching as Hosea tilted Arthur's head up and felt around under his jaw, checking for swollen glands. 

"Well, there's no sign of infection so far. How're you feeling?" He asked.

"'Bout as well as you'd expect."

"You're in pain, I imagine, but other than that?" Hosea clarified, gaining a one-shouldered shrug from Arthur. "Okay. Well, let us know if you start feeling unwell."

"Will do." 

"We'll get you some food, you gotta eat to get your strength up," Hosea patted his forearm then stood up.

"I ain't hungry," Arthur grimaced. "Especially not for whatever Pearson's rustling up."

"I don't care. We'll make you some oatmeal."

"I'll slice up some apple to go in, to sweeten it up and make it taste of something," I added.

"I don't need no fuss, just leave me here to fester and I'm sure I'll surface in a couple weeks," Arthur grumbled. I sighed and walked over to him, leaning over his bed. 

"Let us take care of you, Arthur. Everyone cares about you making a recovery," I told him softly. He blinked up at me, an unhappy crease in his forehead.

"Who'll still care when I need someone to stop me rolling into a ditch when I'm trying to take a damn piss?" He grumbled. My brows raised and I paused for a moment before shrugging. 

"I'll help you," I said. Arthur snorted.

"Uh, no. You won't. I draw the line there," he hissed. I straightened up and nodded in acceptance. 

"I'll do it. You go and make him that oatmeal," Hosea volunteered, patting my elbow and sending me on my way. "Come on, big guy."

I heard Arthur's groan of frustration as I left, and Hosea began helping him to his feet. I felt awful, seeing him so reliant on others when it was clear to me he was fiercely independent and did not like to trouble those he cared about. I wished he would see that he wasn't putting anyone out. He was injured, and we wanted to help. 

I prepared his oatmeal and brought it to him, he was pleased that he didn't need it feeding to him, because once he was propped up on some pillows he could use his good arm to feed himself. He waved me off to go about my day, though I felt reluctant to leave him alone in his tent. I did notice other members of the gang going in and keeping him company every now and then, though, notably Charles, John and Javier. Dutch too, of course, as well as the girls. They brought him books to read and candy to lift his spirits. Jack had visited with Abigail, and I was standing close enough that I could hear his curious questions and Arthur's sweet patience in answering them. Even the one asking whether he could see through the hole in his shoulder. I was pretty sure I'd seen everyone at least poke their head into the tent to ask how he was feeling. Even Micah.

A week or so passed and he was slowly getting better, more mobile. He was still confined to his bed for the most part, mainly under the orders of Hosea who insisted he take it easy and avoid unnecessary strain. I kept Arthur company most evenings, sometimes falling asleep in his tent, but whenever he caught me dozing before he fell asleep he'd send me to my bedroll. In the daytime, sometimes he'd venture out of the tent to stretch his legs and keep from going completely mad, but he'd lost a fair amount of blood and taken quite a beating and he tired easily, so his walks were short and few.

I hadn't left camp since my trip into town to get those supplies for Arthur, and I felt stir-crazy, not used to being in the same place without a change of scenery. I spared a lot of thoughts for Arthur at that, wondering if he felt the same way. I had been doing general chores around camp to do my bit, but I certainly felt ready for something different halfway through the second week of such routine. So, when Micah approached me one afternoon when I was sat by Arthur doing some sewing, I was inclined to agree with whatever scheme he had cooking up. 

"Reckon I could pull you away from the resident colander for a few hours?" He'd greeted us, gaining a stern look from myself and complete ignorance from Arthur. 

"Depends, it gonna get me out of here?" I replied. 

"Of course. I've been itching for another one of our jobs, we always work so well together, you and I," he touted, voice a praising drawl.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, seeing Arthur's chest rise in a heavy breath from the corner of my eye. I glanced at him, and he was just staring at the top of the tent from his reclined position in bed. I realised how rude it was to discuss getting out of camp while Arthur had no option to do so, so I quickly rose to my feet, leaving my sewing on the table next to me. 

"Well, actually–"

"We should leave Arthur in peace," I quickly interjected, giving Arthur a nod and a smile before I left. He just watched me go with an expression I couldn't read. 

As we walked away, Micah continued, "I was thinking we could go to the Parlour House, pull a little something like you did with John."

"Yeah? Like what?" I asked. He stopped walking and turned to face me head on, an impish smile on his face. I stared blankly for a moment, then cocked my brow. "Oh, you want me to think of something?"

"You have such a way with these things," he flattered me, putting his hands on my upper arms and giving them an encouraging squeeze. 

I brought my hand up to my mouth, idly running my fingers across my lips in thought. Micah's tongue peeked out, brushing against the bristles of his moustache at the corner of his mouth as he stared at me expectantly. I shrugged his hands off of me, a frown forming on my face. 

"Give me a second, I hate being put on the spot," I grumbled, eyes flittering around the camp for a source of inspiration, as if the perfect plan would jump out at me from the sight of Molly preening in the mirror, or Charles constructing fire arrows, or Swanson tripping over his own feet as he stumbled by, singing a loud, slurred song.

My lips curved into a smile when magically, an idea did emerge at the glint of light bouncing off a beer bottle in Uncle's hand. 

Gathering the materials for the con was easy enough. I found an empty box in one of the wagons and asked around for any pretty gift bags; which Molly could provide. I asked Uncle to drain his beer, wrapped the bottle in a piece of cloth and swung it against the ground so it shattered. Finally, I poured the broken glass into the box, sealed it up, and put it away in the gift bag; all the while, Micah followed me around camp, curious and confused, but quiet. 

"Train station," I said to Micah once the prop was ready and he gave me a quizzical look. "It's better than the Parlour House, plus I don't wanna seem suspicious, in case anyone saw what I did last time."

"Sure, you gonna explain what we're doing?" He cocked a brow. 

"On the way," I smirked, then padded off to dress in something a little prettier; corset, petticoat and all, with a few pieces of borrowed jewellery too. 

-

We arrived by horseback at the train station and I'd brought Micah up to speed. He'd laughed at my plan, not out of malice but because he thought it was brilliant. We were sat in the train station, waiting for the right time to strike. We needed someone who looked like they had money, of course, and with the town being close to Saint Denis, I was sure we'd find someone suitable passing through the station.

I left it to Micah to pick the mark, he sat by me, watching the doors behind us and preparing to give the signal for me to move. It was a simple plan, neat and tidy how I liked them with little room for things to go wrong, relying on acting skills. I was sitting in my finest clothes with the gift bag on my lap and my back to the doors, even Micah had dressed up a little sharper than usual just to add to the believability of our job. I was well rehearsed, having pulled a similar job on my own before I'd joined the gang, excited anticipation twisted in my stomach and made me feel just a little bit sick. 

Micah's knee suddenly bumped against mine; it was show time. Without so much as a pause I suddenly rose to my feet, turning to step out from the end of the bench without a glance back. There was a thump and a crash, of course, the pretty gift bag hitting the ground just a second after a body collided with my own. I stumbled for effect, crying out as I tumbled onto my side, hip hitting the floor, limbs sprawling out and making one heck of a scene. Heads turned, the man who'd bumped into me froze, eyes widening and a number of emotions passing across his face. Shock, confusion, annoyance. 

"Watch where you're damn well going, woman!" He yelled at me, not giving a fig about the fact I was laying on the floor. Ah, well at least I didn't have robbing a kind gentleman on my conscience.

I winced, shifting onto my other side and rubbing at my hip, then froze, eyes settling on my bag.

"No!" I shouted, moving quickly to grab the bag, making sure that everyone could hear the tinkling of broken glass as I moved it. 

"Angel, are you alright?" Micah was quick to jump into action, crouching down next to me and putting his hand on my shoulder. 

"I'm… I'm fine. I'll probably have a bruise but I'll live. That's more than I can say for my gift," I told him sadly, holding the bag up to him. Micah's head swivelled to the man. 

"Don't just stand there, you moron!" He spat, shaming the man into reaching out, taking my elbow in his hand and working with Micah to help me back to my feet. 

"I didn't even get to open it!" I bemoaned, staring down at the bag in my hands. 

"Oh… oh, I'm sorry, angel. These things happen, maybe we can, uh, buy you a new one," Micah said, his tone edged with nervousness. "Just sit yourself down, dear, that was a nasty fall."

Micah guided me into my seat, as everyone stared, gawping. The mark fidgeted in his spot, cheeks reddening as people scowled and tutted at him. 

"You, uh, you alright, ma'am?" He asked awkwardly. I kept my head down, turning away just a bit as if to pretend he wasn't there.

"You just yelled at the poor girl, leave her be, let's you and I just have a little chat," Micah grumbled at him, taking the bag from me and shoving the guy's shoulder to get him moving in the opposite direction.

Despite him being on the other side of the room, I could hear every word from Micah's mouth. He wasn't concerned about being quiet, the more onlookers the better. 

"You any idea how much this thing cost? How long I scrimped and saved to straggle together enough cash to make my lady's birthday a special one?" He began, shaking the rattly bag for effect. 

"Hey, she stood up right in fr–"

"Don't you for one second think about blaming her for this. Be a man! Take responsibility!" He snapped his interruption then gave a heavy sigh. "She's been wanting it for weeks, it's this pretty little vase from this place in Saint Denis…"

"Are you alright, miss?" A gentleman nearby asked, distracting me from my eavesdropping. 

"Oh, yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, sir," I said, disappointment seeping into my tone. "Today had been so special, this is all such a shame!"

"It's your birthday?" He asked, and I nodded. The man glanced over at Micah, then rose to his feet. "I'll go see if I can lend a hand, see if we can talk some sense into that man. I heard the way he yelled at you, that's no way to speak to a lady; 'specially not one just been knocked over."

My lips parted and I watched him walk over to join Micah, giving his two cents and urging the mark to cough up some cash to go towards a new vase. I had not been expecting that. Soon enough, another feller joined in. I almost felt guilty, but this was what we did. This was how we made money! The mark looked plenty rich enough, in an expensive looking suit, a gold ring on almost every finger. The attention he'd drawn had him pulling out a billfold and pushing it into Micah's eager hand with an angry hiss of acceptance, before he was storming out of the station muttering about not being able to miss his train. 

Micah pocketed the cash, uttering his thanks to the other men who'd stepped in before he was gliding on over to me, a smile threatening to lift his moustache. He held his hand out to me and I took it, he helped me up, dusting his lips across the back of my knuckles in a way I'd have to have words with him about.

"My lady, I'm sorry about all that. Tomorrow I will go and get a replacement for your gift, for now, perhaps you'd like to get out of here and get a drink with me, take some of the edge off such a stressful situation?" He suggested. I smiled, giving a small curtsy. 

"Perhaps," I nodded. Micah straightened up, guiding me from the station with a hand on the small of my back. 

-

"I cannot believe that man stepped in to help you," I was saying to Micah, sat upstairs out on the balcony of Rhodes Parlour House, over a bottle of beer. 

"What a sucker," he chuckled. 

"Poor man. He had no idea what he was doing," I shook my head, biting my lip.

"I almost lost it right there, you're lucky I never laughed, missy," he teased. 

"How much did you get?" I asked, leaning forwards, elbows on the table. He leaned forwards too, smirking. 

"Sixty. Not too bad for free money, huh?"

"Not bad at all," I agreed, brushing my fingers up and down the side of my beer bottle idly. 

"How's your hip? You hit the floor pretty hard there," he asked, eyes dipping down my body though the table was blocking his view.

"A little sore, actually, never meant to act that part out so well," I admitted with a snort.

"Well, I guess it earned you a few sympathy points. And no one can say you aren't committed to your role, you did good, darlin'," he drawled, sipping his beer and licking his lips as he locked his eyes on mine.

"I think I may have found my calling; I should be joining the theatre," I laughed. 

"No, no, you're staying with us. You're far too valuable an asset," he told me, and I gave an awkward huff at the flattery. "I'm serious, you've brought in a decent sum of cash since you've been rolling with us, I like your attitude."

I shrugged my shoulders, "I just do what I can. I owe my life to the gang, I don't wanna be a freeloader."

"You do more than your fair share. Between you and me, I reckon most'a the women back at camp are holding us back, they don't put in graft like the rest of us," he leaned in conspiratorially and spoke under his breath. "That's why you're a breath of fresh air."

"Oh, now that ain't fair, the girls do plenty, it just goes unnoticed," I defended, frowning at him. 

"Maybe they do, but you ask me I don't reckon it balances out too well," he shrugged, "we could probably get on just fine without the women."

"You ain't forgotten you're speaking to one of the women, have you?" I cocked a brow and Micah acknowledged me with a gaze that was unnerving in its shameless assessment of me. 

"Oh it's mighty hard to forget that I'm in the company of a woman," his tone was bold, a little vulgar, even, and he was smirking at me. "But I don't class you as one of the women," he made air quotations with his fingers as if to categorise them as an entity all of their own.

"Oh? Then what am I?" I queried, genuinely curious about his response. 

"You, you're somethin' special. I can see you really going places in this gang, you keep doing what you do. Especially if you stick by my side."

I didn't say anything for a while, not entirely sure what to say. Micah kept on staring at me, a smile plastered across his lips, beer on his breath as he leaned across the table, taking up some of my personal space where I was leaning on the table too. 

"Anyone ever told you, you got a real pretty face?" He suddenly said, taking me by surprise. "Especially those eyes. Real nice eyes."

My brows raised and I leaned back a little, my back meeting the chair. "Oh, well that's kind of you to say," I murmured. 

"You ever think about that kiss we shared?" He asked, though he received silence as an answer. "You tasted nice, was good while it lasted, weren't it? Even though you made out like it bothered you."

"Well, it did bother me. But that's in the past, ain't it? Not worth talking about, let's forget about it."

"You think? I thought people were supposed to always remember their first kiss."

"If it's all the same to you, Micah, I'd rather not count that one," I told him curtly, and a smile settled across his features that was amused and more than a little predatory. 

I thought for a moment he was finished, with the resulting silence, but it did not last long. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, resting his beer bottle on his belly.

"You know, I think it's sweet you're a woman of little experience, you don't see that all too much, not with the company we keep. Ladies like Miss Abigail; I ain't got a problem with a woman who sells herself but, well, you know. There's something mighty appealing about a pretty thing who ain't ever been sullied by the hands of another man," Micah licked his lips, his expression decidedly lascivious.

"Micah, this ain't a proper topic of conversation," I huffed, getting warm in the face and shifting uncomfortably.

"I suspect you're curious. 'Bout what a man can do," he continued, ignoring my discomfort, "be honest."

"This ain't proper," I reiterated, speaking under my breath, "where on Earth has this come from?" I balked. He let out a dirty laugh. 

"You're a sweet little thing, ain't you?" He said, then sat up, draining his beer. "You and I, we have fun together, don't we?"

"Fun?" I repeated. "I guess so, sometimes."

"Yeah, we do. I reckon we could have all sorts of fun, I could show you what you've been missing out on all these years, if you'd let me," he offered, gesturing to me with the neck of his bottle, "how about it? You can trust me, you'll have a nice time. Just a little fun between you and I."

I narrowed my eyes at him, rendered speechless. 

"Would you like that? We could pay for a room here, head back later and nobody has to know about it but us, it'd be like uhh… like a private celebration of our own," he carried on, and I couldn't comprehend how blind he was to my obvious displeasure. 

"Just so I'm clear; are you asking if I wanna have sex with you; here? Now?" I asked bluntly, seeing him flinch just a little at the way I asked, no frills or nothing. 

"I'm asking if you'd like to have a little harmless fun with a trusted friend, it don't gotta be put as brash as that," he rephrased and I sighed. 

"Put it how you like, the answer's the same. I'm not sleeping with you, Micah. Nice try, though. The pep talk was nice, I was even a little flattered," I told him drily. His shoulders sagged and his smile dropped.

"Fair enough, your loss," he grunted, casting off any charm he may have had. I snorted, amused more than anything. 

His eyes wandered back to me at my laugh, and he couldn't help but smile a little too. "Something special," he echoed from earlier, shaking his head.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #atink #reader insert #arthur morgan x female reader #micah bell #rdr2 fanfic

[sheanam]

i was inspired to create new background characters for outliers, perhaps they’re somebody’s neighbors eventually, and came up with these two! their names are jamie and hector ‘heck’ barclay, a married couple in their early forties from scotland, who’ve known each other since they were eight year old bffs and have been inseparable ever since

loooong dump of various character history details under the cut! because it all came to me very quickly and i gotta get it out there! and i’m only getting it out there because a lot of it won’t be relevant for a very long time or even show up in the comic at all probably!

jamie and heck (heck/heckie are the scottish nicknames for hector, i’m very tickled) are both metahumans, though of the very lowkey variety that makes them useless as superhero material, not that either would ever want to be one; they’re very happy as plain civilians, thanks. they met in a special primary school themed around preparing metahuman children for integration into regular non-powered society, and their super powers could best be described as ‘songbird’ and ‘disney princess’

jamie’s got bird wings on his back and a few other birdy features (jury’s out on whether or not walt’s powers would freak him out like regular birds), but that’s about it; the wings are pretty much just big useless accessories, they’re not big or powerful enough for him to do more than a little angry chicken flapping, and jamie suspects that whatever metahuman genes he’s got are half-assed and not fully developed. he’s a real good singer and musician, though!

heck’s got a little bit of a nature-y spirit thing going on? insects, birds and small animals are frequently attracted to him, water near him runs clean and the koi pond he’s got in the backyard is perfect, and the vegetables in his garden grow big and spotless. he can even do a little bit of light soothing and healing, and can cause some really eerie glowing at night if he really puts his mind to it

they were born and raised in glasgow, though they both got out as soon as they could; heck went to college down in london, studying history and languages, and jamie left school immediately to work in the music industry, becoming a session musician (bass guitar and piano) and eventually his own solo act. they both stayed very close and when forced to be far apart made sure to keep in touch over the years, and when jamie’s career started building he hired heck as a general assistant so that he could come with him on tour, leading to a lot of fast and fancy music industry people wondering why this dowdy little sweater man was attached to a cool rising star’s hip

jamie and heck are both on the grey ace spectrum, and spent a lot of years struggling to figure out their dating lives and preferences and such; it made for some stressful personal times for jamie as a rising rockstar, and heck was convinced he was just going to be a lonely ‘confirmed bachelor’ his whole life. one night during a tour they both got very drunk and emotional and woke up the next morning married, where they both went ‘...oh! well alright. sure!’ and stuck with it, because dammit they realized how devoted to each other they are and don’t really care about anybody else, might as well

jamie put out two albums and a couple singles; most of his stuff sold okay and one of his singles went gold, and he had a very promising musical future ahead of him, but health issues that’d been bothering him since his teens finally built up to a head and he wound up diagnosed with a pretty solid case of fibromyalgia. he couldn’t tour anymore and he struggled even to keep up with a regular recording studio schedule, so he was forced to retire. he’s a stay-at-home dad who occasionally puts music online when he feels up to it now, remembered as a one-hit wonder who maintains a small but loyal following, and he’s pretty bitter about how things turned out. he’s got a number of fibro symptoms that he has to deal with, chronic pain and exhaustion and weakness and all the other fun stuff, and has various walking aids for the bad days and sunglasses for when the light sensitivity and headaches play up; having a third set of limbs doesn’t help much

heck does part-time tutoring at a local community college and for online courses, helping students learn french and latin, but does what he can to be at home a lot so he can be with jamie. likes food and making food for others (and making sure jamie gets something in him on the bad days), gardening, and knitting/sewing. he’s made quite a few of his own sweaters and scarves! heck’s got a quaint little etsy shop too, where he sells seeds and bulbs from his garden, and some of the stuff he knits

they’ve got a kid or two because heck’s very nurturing and for all his grumpy grousing jamie’s pretty dadly too (and deathly afraid of failing at it due to his chronic illness); one’s away at a boarding school on a scholarship and they’re not really sure what to do with themselves, they weren’t expecting empty nest syndrome this early. both have a couple siblings themselves but neither’s family is particularly great, heck’s in particular, which is why heck took jamie’s last name when they got married. they both keep in touch with one decent sibling, but for the most part are on their own, and are very happy that way

anyway they’re cute and i like them

#jamie #heck #outliers #character dump #sketchblarg #long post

[creaturecarnival]

Monsters From 9

Hey, it’s ya [REDACTED], mod Frankie, and for my first post, I thought I’d review a movie which I wish I’d watched much sooner than I did, 9! If you haven’t seen 9, I highly suggest you watch it as soon as you get the chance. It’s about a bunch of grimy magic rat-people dolls called the Stitchpunks fighting evil robots in a war-ravaged post-apocalypse, and if that doesn’t entice you then I’m afraid I can’t help you. This post will contain major spoilers, so if you want to avoid that then get the fuck outta here and watch the movie, ya dingus! Or don’t and just ogle these cool ass monsters, whatever boats your float.

The Cat Beast

We’ll be reviewing these monsters in the order that they appear in the film, so first off we have the Cat Beast! The Cat Beast really does perfectly exemplify the aesthetic of the movie, mixing together organic and inorganic elements to create something more disturbing than the sum of its parts. The part that stands out the most is obviously the cat skull that comprises its head, complete with a super evil glowy red eye in the left socket, and a blinding spotlight in the right, which really kicks the design up a few notches in my opinion.

This official art gives a nice profile view, and you can really see all the bones intermixed. One of my favorite things about it is the way it moves. Its posture and general appearance would suggest that it would be crude and animalistic, but it shows signs of higher intelligence such as picking things up in its claws and carefully inspecting them, and throwing 2 in a cage after capturing him instead of killing him outright, meaning it is capable of much more complex thought than you would expect at first glance, which is really eerie and jarring.

The Fabrication Machine

The main antagonist of the movie, the Fabrication Machine is an enormous robot that was created by the same scientist who created the Stitchpunks. Where our heroic rag dolls were made from fragments of their creator’s soul, the Fabrication Machine was made from the scientist’s intellect alone, meaning it could be easily influenced by outside forces who controlled it. It was made with the purpose to be an instrument of creation, but the only other human character, The Chancellor corrupted it and used it to create war machines that would eventually turn against humanity, wiping out all life on Earth with poisonous gas. I think that it would get along well with GLaDOS.

Design-wise, I LOVE the Fabrication Machine. The iron wrought industrial aesthetic is just so cool, and I’m a sucker for gigantic machinery in general. As a bonus, whenever it gets excited about something, a network of sparks run across its surface! It’s an unnecessary detail, but it elevates the design as well as the expressiveness of the character. The way that it cobbles together all of its creations is also really fun to watch, specifically the scene where it’s making our next creature on the list...

The Winged Beast

After the beheading of its first lil’ abomination, the Machine decided to take to the skies with the aptly named Winged Beast. Equipped with a total of four beady red eyes and a scorpion-like tail tipped with a harpoon gun, this thing is gnarly. Its wings are stitched together tatters of a flag, it uses a fan to propel itself through the air in addition to its wings, and apparently it has human bones incorporated into its body, because we see the Fabrication Machine cutting up the remains of a human skeleton. I can’t identify any on the creature’s design, but we can assume they’re in there somewhere. My favorite part of its design the “beak”, which is made up of at least 10 discreet blades, and opens up like a nightmarish origami fortune teller where all of the predictions read “death”.

THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about, babey!

The Seeker Drones

Next we have possibly my favorite design in the whole movie, the Seeker Drones. The first time we see them, there’s only one and it just brings the Winged Beast’s head back to the factory. The next time we see them, however, there’s dozens of them, and they’re patrolling the skies outside of the factory with spotlights.

We can really get a lovely view of it on this texture call-out sheet. It uses bellows to propel itself, and has a siren attached to it that it can crank with its single talon-like arm. And just look at those adorably googly little eyestalks!!! That’s the part that really makes the design for me. It just gives this goofy charm that you don’t expect from an evil robot and I love it. I love this silly snail-zeppelin.

The Spiderbots

These guys can be seen crawling all over the factory in a couple of scenes. It’s not really clear why they were created, and I really don’t have all that much to say about them. They’re just fairly generic little spider robots, and that’s okay, because they don’t really have to be anything more than that.

The Seamstress

Well, this one wins the contest for “most viscerally disturbing” by a landslide. It is incidentally also the most powerful creation of the Machine by far, capable of paralyzing onlookers with 2’s corpse, which it has attached to the end of its serpentine body like a rattle, tying them up with thread, and then storing them inside its own body. Clearly it was at this point that the Machine decided it was time to quit fucking around.

Here we can really appreciate all the components of this monstrosity. This was the highest resolution image I could find, I swear. Anyway, the cobra-like silhouette is really cool when mixed with six limbs befitting of an insect with a crippling sewing addiction. It’s also bookended nicely by the two most wonderfully ghastly features it possesses.

That bisected doll head complete with spooky red eye is a nice callback to 2’s trinket cart which was comprised of a similarly damaged doll, and is a really neat way to incorporate visual elements that the viewer associates with 2, since this monster’s basis is to take that character and twist him into something horrifying. I thought the Seekers were my favorite at first, but after looking a lot more closely at the Seamstress than I originally planned, I’ve gotta say it’s my favorite just because of how strong it is in both concept and execution.

Conclusion

When I first saw 9, I fell in love with it. The aesthetic, the characters, the worldbuilding, and yes, the monsters, all come together perfectly to create a true masterpiece. I was shocked to see that it has a 7.1/10 on IMDb, a 57% on Rotten Tomatoes, and a 60% on Metacritic. If you read through this review and still haven’t watched it, it’s on Netflix as of the writing of this post and I strongly encourage you to do so. Also, I’m calling it now, there’s gonna be a sequel movie or series released on 9/9/19.

#creature carnival #mod frankie #9

[rosesisupposes]

To Dust or To Gold

Part 8 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Pairings: established Royality, Analogical, pre-romantic LAMP (emphasis on Moxiety and Logince)

Chapter Warnings: Hospitals, death threats, background character deaths, some gore, hallucinations, self-hatred, bipolar cycling (both depressive and manic), cliffhanger ending :D

Word Count:  9,395 [it’s a doozy]

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice   @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis @hawthornshadow

~~~~~~~~~~

“So,” Logan began.

“So,” Roman responded, reclining in an ornate ruby chair.

“Sew buttons!” Patton interrupted, draping himself across Roman’s lap.

Virgil growled in frustration. “Can you please focus for a single second?”

The heroes had relocated to the supers’ gym, still anxious to keep the untested villains away from the mayor.

“We don’t take orders, Reflex,” the Marauder replied evenly. “We’re only here because you two don’t seem as incompetent as the rest of the super assholes.”

“You don’t need to take orders,” Logan said, shooting Virgil a reassuring look even as he spoke. “We just need to know what exactly you can do, and plan how we’ll stay in contact.”

“Asking for my number already? I couldn’t possibly, not so soon,” Roman responded, fluttering his eyelashes.

“We’re not joining your ‘hatchet’ or whatever you call it,” Patton added. “We’re here to take down a murderer, not get sucked into the system.”

“We’re not asking you to join H.A.T.C.H.,” Logan said patiently. “But if we don’t know where you are or how to contact you, that just makes you a liability.”

“Actually it’s just an air ability,” Patton quipped back. His lips didn’t twitch. He didn’t grin. But the smugness was palpable from across the gym. Logan lost his train of thought at the overwhelmingly familiar feeling of a punster at work. He could practically see his dad’s irritatingly-pleased grin shining through Patton’s smooth mask.

Virgil, a true hero, came to Logan’s rescue. “So, air ability. Air manipulation, no matter where the air is, yeah? Inside or outside of a person?”

Gale Force paused, then nodded.

“And you, Shiny Red Boy, any limitations we need to know about?”

The Crimson Marauder gasped. “Shiny red boy? That’s the best you can do? I am appalled, I am disgusted, I spend my life dedicated to being chaotic neutral and this is the thanks I get??”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay, Drama Red Queen, shall I paint the roses for you or are you going to answer the question?”

“Joke’s on you, I like that nickname,” Roman said with a sniff. “I just need to keep focused. And my constructs can only be autonomous if they’re tiny. And I can’t do more overall mass at once than something about the size of this entire room.”

Logan looked around the echoing room, designed for whole teams of heroes to practice in at once. “That’s some power,” he said softly. “And limited only by strength of mind. Fascinating.”

“And what about you two?” Patton asked in a saccharine-sweet voice. “You wouldn’t get us to divulge details without returning the favor, would you?”

“I have, as you’ve seen, a super speed ability. I can also speed read or manipulate just a hand or limb to go at enhanced speeds. I can go from 0 to 60 in .0001 seconds, and my top recorded speed is 1,700 miles per hour, or approximately 2,700 kilometers per hour.” Logan responded matter-of-factly.

“And what about you, Tall, Dark, and Muscly?” Roman asked.

“I picked my super name as Reflex for a reason. I’ve got fight, flight, and freeze. Super strength, superflight that can rival the Doc here for speed, and the shockwave you both saw the other day. I send out a burst of energy that stuns or knocks out anyone in a given radius.”

“Can you control who it affects?” Patton asked curiously. “Or is it just anyone?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted. “I can sometimes control it, yes. If I’m focused, and I’m not too upset at the time. It’s not guaranteed.”

“How upset were you the other day then?”

“You’d just attacked my partner. I was pissed, but in control. If you’d more seriously injured L- the Doctor, you might have needed more than one day to wake up from the coma I put you both in.”

“Partners are important,” Patton said softly, running a hand through Roman’s dark, wavy hair. He turned and made eye contact with the heroes. “If you hurt him, I will end you.” It wasn’t a threat, but a statement of fact.

Virgil locked eyes with the villain, jerking his head at Logan. “And if you hurt him, you’ll wish I’d only killed you.”

Roman chuckled, flashing a smile at Logan over Patton’s curly head. “Aww, look at then, they’re bonding!”

Logan looked up at his partner and back to Gale Force. “They’re bonding over death threats. I don’t think this is how I expected a hero-villain team-up to go.”

“It’s okay, Doc, you and me are clearly the pretty faces of our respective teams next to the brawn of our boys here.”

“Excuse you, I did not get three degrees in the time it takes most people to get one to be called just a pretty face,“ Logan said with an frown.

“Doesn’t make it any less true, though,” the Marauder replied with a wink. “Your face is pretty, you gotta accept it.”

Logan stared at the villain. “Is this flirting?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“No, I’m legitimately asking, I’m apparently unable to identify it on my own.”

Virgil and Patton stopped staring one another down in time to hear the last comment. Virgil snorted. “Doc, you have understatement down to an art.”

“Shush, you,” Logan said, blushing faintly.

“Do you have, like, a crush on him?” Roman gushed.

“Please, no-”

“Oooohhhh, he totally has a crush on him!!” Patton chimed in, bouncing in Roman’s lap.

“Reflex, I take all of this back, this was a terrible idea, I’m leaving…”

Virgil gently nudged Logan with a shoulder. “No you won’t. This is too important. And you and I are good, no matter what.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Darling, I think they might be gay,” Roman stage-whispered to Patton.

“And I think you might be annoying,” Virgil shot back. “Enough fucking around. We know your powers, you know ours. What we don’t know is anything about the bastard out here killing our city.”

Logan adjusted the goggles on top of his head. “We can tell you what we know from the Mayor. It’s not much. They clearly can cause some sort of nightmare or hallucination in others. The survivor mentioned the outline of a smile in the dust clouds.”

“Like the Cheshire Cat,” Roman murmured. “How very Carollian.” Logan started, a curious expression on his face as he looked at the taller villain.

Winds gusted around Gale Force as he lifted himself up off of his partner’s lap. “A survivor? Who saw what happened?”

“Yes, a teenage girl. She’s in the hospital.”

“Could we ask her for more detail?” Virgil mused aloud. “Get a full description of events, see if there are any little details she may have missed?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

~~~~~~~~~~

To say that the hospital staff reacted oddly to seeing the until-recently most prominent villains strolling in the front door, accompanied but not restrained by some of the best-loved heroes would be putting it mildly. Reflex had to undergo a brief concussion test administered by a well-meaning emergency tech, and Doctor Vectorious had to calmly talk a doctor into putting the defibrillator back on the wall and stop brandishing it as a weapon.

Once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Virgil politely asked after their patient.

“Ah, yes. She’s conscious and stable, if still very shaken. Her family is in with her right now.”

“Can we see her?”

“Not all of you! Pick just one, and her mom stays no matter who it is.”

Virgil nodded. “We should ask who she wants in there. Who she’d be most comfortable with. She’s just a kid, after all.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll ask. You may wait here.” She paused, looking around the waiting room with many sets of staring eyes. “On second thought, follow me.”

Patton seemed completely oblivious to their observers. Roman stared at his surroundings as they walked, sniffing the air frequently. Virgil walked closer than normal to Logan, accidentally bumping him several times as he fought the urge to shrink into the hoodie he wasn’t wearing.

The doctor showed them to a smaller, empty waiting room and left them there with a brisk nod.

“Why’s it smell so weird here?” Roman finally asked.

“Weird?”

“Like, sharp. Stinging in smell form. Kinda acrid, I guess. But also a bit like soap?”

“That’s the antiseptic,” Logan said. “Have you not been in a hospital before?”

Roman went quiet, then finally said, “I haven’t been to a doctor’s office before. Not that I remember, anyway.”

Logan pursed his lips and Virgil was about to speak when the doctor returned.

“The patient has made her request,” she began.

“Yes?”

“...she asked for him,” the woman replied, pointing at the Crimson Marauder.

The group looked to Roman, then back at the doctor as one.

“I confirmed it with her. She specifically requested ‘the red one.’”

Roman nervously adjusted his cape and mask. “Can she speak to me now?”

“Yes, follow me.”

He stepped into the indicated door to see a middle-aged woman with plenty of silver threads in her plump braid helping the young woman on the cot drink from a pink plastic cup. “Um, hi, Ms. and Miss Rodrigeuz. I’m the Crimson Marauder,” he began.

The young woman sat up without her mother’s help, leaning forward eagerly.

“Are you really, though?”

“...would anyone try to impersonate me?”

“I mean… I saw the group. You’re with the heroes again. Are you still the Marauder if you’re back?” she asked with a bruised smile. 

“Back…?”

“You don’t remember me, do you. I was probably one of many people who thanked you, back in your Prince days.”

Roman’s eyes went wide. “Sofia? That Sofia?” he asked, voice cracking. “The little princess?”

“You do remember,” her mom commented softly, brushing a gentle hand through Sofia’s hair. “She kept that crown for years. Even when she insisted that princesses were ‘only for los niños’, she would keep pulling it out when she thought we couldn’t see.”

Roman swallowed a lump in his throat. “I could never forget. You were the first person ever to thank me. The first civilian to treat me like a real hero.”

“Only the first civilian?”

“I- another hero did, too. Many years ago.”

Sofia tilted her head. Her bruises were shockingly colorful, and she spoke carefully around a tender jaw, but she seemed otherwise in one piece. “Why did you stop?”

“What?”

“You were ours. The Prince of Sycamore Heights. Why did you become a villain?”

Roman looked down. “It’s… complicated. But I thought I could do a better job for our home this way.”

“Things did get better,” her mom said. “For years, it was so much better. After you got rid of the Patrol.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Roman responded automatically.

“You and Copper Eye. I remember,” Sofia said. “I loved watching her work.”

“So did I,” Roman said quietly, swiping at the tear wriggling out of his eye. He swallowed and settled his shoulders, trying to compose himself. “Sofia, can I ask you about what you remember about this attack?”

“It’s not much,” she warned.

“Anything helps. We’re going to get whoever did this. I promise.”

Sofia looked up, meeting his eyes directly. “Don’t promise unless you mean it.”

Roman looked back steadily, and placed a hand over his heart. “I, the Crimson Marauder, formerly the Scarlet Prince, promise you, Sofia Rodriguez: we’ll get the one who hurt you and all those people, or die in the attempt.”

Sofia nodded fiercely. “Here’s what I remember.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Crimson Marauder sat on a red swing floating from nothing as Gale Force reclined on air beside him. They faced the heroes, who were more sensibly sitting on the edge of the roof of an office building near the middle of the city. All four contemplated the details Roman had shared in their own ways. A tiny tornado ran up and down Patton’s fingers, Roman created and vanished mini constructs, Logan’s fingers tapped so quickly they left erosion trails on the concrete, and Virgil hummed tunelessly under his breath.

“You know what seems weird to me?” Reflex said at length. “I don’t know if this means anything, but your friend seems like an extremely level-headed teenager. And yet...”

“...you gonna finish that or do you just think teenagers are dumb.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re dumb, they just scare the living shit out of me,” Virgil said with a quirk in his smile. “No, she seems really collected, really rational, and yet she didn’t think twice before leaving safety to get to her family.”

“It’s family,” Patton said curtly. “Of course she didn’t.”

“Believe me, I understand protecting family,” Virgil replied. “But not even trying to confirm? Not even when she saw others running? It seems like she was just operating off panic.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Brendon Urie Wannabe,” Roman snarked. But he had also reached out and grabbed Patton’s hand, squeezing reassurance to his partner to counteract the dark cloud spread across his face.

“Do you think that tells us something about how the villain operates?” Doctor Vectorious asked Reflex, pushing them back on track.

“Maybe it’s more than just visual hallucinations?”

“Hm, interesting theory, but-” Logan began, when their watches began to blare with a new H.A.T.C.H. alert.

“Fuck, the harbor!” Virgil said.

“Southeast,” Logan said at the same time. He looked up at both villains. “Meet us there.”

Reflex was already soaring away, a streak of black and purple stretching through the city. A second blur joined him, black and white and blue paralleling his trajectory from the ground.

Roman squeezed Patton’s hand once more, tightly. “We’re doing this, yeah?”

“We are. We have to.”

“Okay then. Time for some thrilling heroics.”

As one, they went from sitting to moving, both riding a red hang glider that sped as quickly as the ripping wind that sprang up to carry it.

They soared over the city towards the water, following the heroes. Roman nudged Patton as they approached.

“What is that?”

“Looks like a dust cloud. Someone’s being naughty.”

“Should we land?”

Patton nodded, letting go of the frame to point to roof where the heroes were braced, trying to see into the obscured area. He floated down to land softly, Roman a breath behind him. They stared at the enormous cloud of dust and debris, trying to make out what was happening underneath.

Reflex frowned. “It’s not moving.”

Doctor Vectorious nodded. “If it were a true debris cloud, it should be dissipating or growing, not just staying static. It’s obscuring something, and I can’t tell what.”

“Maybe I can help clear things up,” Gale Force offered, sending winds towards the very center of the obstruction. Dust and rocks and debris blew up and away, out of the three-block radius and into the harbor.

The Crimson Marauder gasped aloud as the cloud faded. “Whatever I was expecting, that wasn’t it.”

The dust cloud had been pushed away. But a dark mass remained. It oozed through the streets, a bulbous form that dragged on corners and sidewalks but left no residue. It was mesmerizing, in an off-putting way. Colors shifted and played over its dark surface like far-off nebulas brought to earth, now an orange veil, now pink, now a green or blue haze. It absorbed light rather than giving any off, but besides the flicker of changing colors, no movement was seen.

“...I know I’m gonna regret this, but I think we should go straight into it,” Reflex offered, stepping out into the open air. “We need to know if it’s solid, and this is where the alert said the disturbance was.”

“Are all heroes dumb enough to wander into Definitely-Murderous-Glow-Clouds or is it just you?” Gale Force asked mildly.

“All hail the Glow Cloud,” Logan and Roman said at the same time, then scowled at the other for having the same thought.

“What else do you suggest then?”

Patton huffed, and paced on the edge of the roof. “...I don’t know.”

“We’ll send the strongest two first, then,” Doctor Vectorious mused. “‘Flex, you fly in with Gale Force to blow off any more debris, and to see if you can wind-funnel your way in. We’ll back you up, ready to pull you out if needed, or Marauder here can add a construct tunnel if you’re able to open it up. Is that acceptable?”

Patton frowned at what felt like condescension, at this hero trying to tell them what to do. But, with resignation, he realized he didn’t have a better plan, and Valerie’s murderer could be getting away right now for all they knew. Stiffly, he nodded his assent.

Roman cupped his neck, fingers tangled in the curls at his nape. “Be careful, gingerpie,” he whispered. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Don’t worry, honeygold, I’ll be your boo no matter what,” Patton murmured back with a grin. He kissed Roman firmly on the mouth, right under his mask.

“I’m too pretty to date a ghost,” Roman complained, but he was smiling all the same.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay, Hurricane Gay-trina, let’s not waste any more time. Can you make a wind tunnel I can fly through without getting hurt?”

Without a word, air raced past them into a clear cone that hollowed out, a tube of rushing wind that stretched from their spot towards the mass. Virgil acknowledged his villain partner with a two-fingered salute and sped down it, rocketing towards the form that continued to shift colors. He extended a clenched fist, bracing himself to collide with the edge, ready to use all his strength to bust through if possible.

Instead of hitting a hard edge, though, he just passed into it as the sun disappeared. Darkness surrounded him, the pitch black of an overcast midnight. He could suddenly hear impacts, crunching rock and shouts and screams, and froze. He couldn’t move suddenly, not without seeing around him. He might hurt those near him worse with too fast a movement or a misplaced step.

Virgil had never expected to experience relief at seeing Gale Force, but the tunnel of wind opened up the mass and brought in Patton and the setting sunlight in a joint beam. “It worked!” Virgil said. “Quick, blow away as much of this as you can. I can try to stun everyone if I need to.”

The villain didn’t pause or argue, but multiplied the cyclone until copies branched out in all directions. They punched through the dark haze in dozens of places, bringing in the scant evening light and blessedly fresh air. Some of the screams faded, and Virgil could finally see the faces of surrounding civilians as their terror faded into confusion.

Both hero and villain could see what had caused the screams. A young villain, a H.E.A.R.T.S. dropout Virgil remembered, had paused in the center of the chaos. They blinked, slowly shrinking their hands back from huge, car-sized fists to normal limbs. The villain looked around them, and down at their torn costume. It was as bloody and ripped as their hands, the bold gold and red of a ringmaster’s coat turned into something out of a horror film. The Contortionist fell heavily to their knees, still shaken.

A burst of blue fire brought attention to the other active combatant. This was a current H.E.A.R.T.S. student, not yet a full hero, and even through her mask it was clear she was terrified. Another flash of light and she popped into being closer to the newcomers.

“V- I mean, Reflex?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“It’s really me, Blynk,” he reassured her, crouching slightly to shrink the almost-foot difference in their heights.

“I- where did they go? The ones attacking me? They were… everywhere.” She balled one hand in the loose blue dress that made up her costume as the other pulled up the attached hood nervously.

“It was an illusion,” Patton explained. “This new villain, Agent Whisper. They make you see things that aren’t there.”

“I couldn’t get away,” she whispered. “No matter how many times I teleported, they were still there to catch me.”

“They’re gone,” Virgil assured her. “You’re safe.” He offered his arms, and the young hero dove into his embrace. Speaking over her head, he looked up at his villain partner. “Can you fully break this up?”

“Here comes Mister Blue Sky,” Patton said with incongruous cheer, expanding the existing funnels. Light filled more and more of their view until the full sky returned and the last of the strange substance melted into air.

A zip and a thud heralded the arrival of the missing hero-villain pair.

“Good work,” Logan told them both. “A small bit seemed to split off, but you cleared the area and appear to have fully disrupted any illusions.”

“They got away?” Patton asked sharply. “Which direction?” He was already started to drift into the air.

Virgil grabbed the loose tunic and tugged him down. “We can’t just chase after them!”

“Why the fuck not?”

The angry question was spat into Virgil’s face, but it was Logan and Roman who answered simultaneously, “We need to help the people here.”

The fading sunlight showed just how right they were. Craters littered the landscape around them. So did bodies. Every visible face was bruised or bloody, but luckily, most were moving as civilians picked themselves up out of the wreckage.

Logan was already confirming that emergency care was on the way as he zipped around the battlefield, assisting where he could. Roman took one look at the injured and started to conjure glowing splints and crutches.

Patton was still staring angrily at the direction Logan had indicated was  that of Agent Whisper’s escape, straining at Virgil’s hold. “Let me the fuck go,” he snapped. “I’m not here to be your goddamn hero, I’m here for revenge.”

“You think I don’t get that?” Virgil snapped back. “I want the bastard dead as much as you do, so don’t think for a second that you have a monopoly on rage here.”

“Then what are we waiting for? We’re the strongest and those two both know it. Let’s follow this piece of shit, grind them into dust, and be fucking done with this ‘partnership.’”

Virgil’s grip slackened for a second as he looked around them, a cloud of anger on his face. But it passed, and he pulled Gale Force all the way back to earth. “We can’t just rush in. This isn’t just for revenge: it’s to stop more people getting hurt. And it’s because we’re the strongest that we can’t risk blazing through, because we’ll be the reason more are hurt.”

Patton crossed his arms, glaring at the taller man. “What makes you think I care about a couple of casualties if it means I get revenge?”

“Because you’re still human,” Reflex responded. His gaze was level, understanding. “If all you wanted was their death at any cost, you wouldn’t have come to us. I’m not asking you to admit anything, but I have a feeling you know more about collateral damage than you ever wanted to know.” A nerve in Patton’s cheek jumped at that and Virgil nodded. “Like I said. Not asking you to admit anything. But I get it. I never wanted to be a hero. But then my partner convinced me that it’s not about getting recognition, it’s not about the fights. It’s about doing the best you can for as many people as you can. It’s about using these powers I never asked for to do what others can’t.”

Patton grumbled, but assented. “Fine. What can I do here, then?”

“Help me with the rubble? Drop it in the harbor if you need to.”

Reflex and Gale Force joined their partners in cleaning up the disaster zone. ‘Flex lifted enormous chunks of rock and concrete gently to free trapped limbs or to uncover more bodies. He tossed them into the air, where the wind-manipulator caught them and floated them safely to the water.

The Crimson Marauder flew into the air to check for more injured civilians, held aloft by his glowing hands. He was aware of Doctor Vectorious moving quickly somewhere below him, running up buildings and around the square to find civilians who’d been outside as well as in the surrounding apartments and offices. Was anyone limping? Anyone who needed a temporary bandage? Where was the emergency services van, shouldn’t they be here?

A huge crack of of rubble and rock shifting distracted him, and he whirled to see where the noise was coming from. By the time he registered that it was just Reflex working with Patton (aww, his love was working with one of his crushes!), he’d lost focus and his glow went out. He fell, stomach dropping as he tried to conjure something, anything, even just a mattress or a trampoline to break his fall.

A warm impact hit him as a blur originating from a nearby roof crashed into him and carried them both to a fire escape on the other side of the narrow street. The blur resolved back into Doctor Vectorious, and he found himself being held in the shorter man’s arms.

The speedster stared for a moment, then looked away with a slight pink tinge to his pale cheeks. “You’re, um,” he said, jerking his head towards him without looking back. “Uncovered.”

Roman started, feeling his face. The impact had knocked off his mask, and the hero was pointedly looking away to preserve his identity.

Or, perhaps, Logan was looking away because his internal monologue had been hijacked by the phrase, “Oh fuck, he’s hot.”

Roman quickly conjured a replacement mask and slid out of Logan’s hold to stand on his own again. The hero remained with his gaze averted until a siren’s blare drew close, announcing the arrival of the emergency crew.

“Thank fuck,” Roman sighed, and flew himself down to greet them. He explained quickly that his constructs needed to be replaced now so that they wouldn’t fade if they got too far away. He was already grateful that they’d be detached from him long enough that they hadn’t faded when he momentarily lost focus, and was eager to be able to draw back his energies further.

Virgil, Logan, and Patton ferried the injured from ruins of the street to the vans, including both the young hero and villain to the separate supers truck. Finally, they were able to move out. The heroes had acquired a better-functioning scanner for the villains, one that could call them specifically when they were needed, and allowed the villains to call them securely if they should so choose. About to part, Reflex paused, and offered Gale Force a handshake. Warily, the villain accepted, and the Marauder did too, in turn. Doctor Vectorious was more hesitant, but copied his partner.

Back in Logan’s apartment, the shorter man washed his face thoroughly, still shivering slightly at the remembrance of so many hurt. “How many casualties was it, all told?”

“Ten. All civilians. Both The Contortionist and Blynk are on bed rest, but they’ll recover. Total injuries are at about 25 people, but the techs said at least ten additional civilians avoided worse injuries that could have lead to critical conditions thanks to our timing as a group.”

Logan sighed. “I know I should be grateful that we were able to help so many, proportionally, but…”

“I know.”

“This villain is no joke, Virge. 35 deaths and it hasn’t yet been two days.”

“We’ll get them, Lo. I promise.”

Logan looked up. Virgil was back in civilian clothes that he left here in his partner’s apartment, one of his trusty black hoodies unzipped over a plain tee and sweatpants. Logan had changed back into his version of casual: a button-up not fully buttoned, no tie, and jeans.

“Speaking of promises…” he began. He ran a hand through already-mussed hair. “I was cut off, yesterday. I know that there are bigger, more pressing issues now but I still want to finish the thought I was trying to express.”

“Lo, it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, you know that, right? I’ll still love you as a friend no matter what.”

Logan sat next to Virgil on the couch. “I appreciate that, Vee, but that’s not where I was going.”

“Oh?” Virgil asked, smiling hopefully.

“I apologize for my obliviousness, Virgil, and for how long it took me to put this together, but I believe I feel the same type of romantic sentiment towards you as you’ve expressed that you feel towards me.” Logan reached out a tentative hand to take Virgil’s in his.

“You’re sounding like a textbook again, Lo,” Virgil teased, squeezing Logan’s hand.

“Sorry, I just-”

“I’m not complaining, not in the slightest. It’s part of you, ya know? It’s part of the charm.” He shifted over on the couch until their thighs were touching, and, receiving a nod of approval, draped an arm around his partner’s shoulders. “I love you, Logan.”

Logan blushed deep. “I love you as well, Virgil.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

Lips met in tentative sweetness and softness, neither pushing or needing to. This was them, comfort and companionship that felt as natural as breathing. And at this particular moment, breathing was the more difficult option of the two.

At long last, Logan broke off and looked up into Virgil’s dark eyes. “Are we… dating? It seems like an odd term, or at the very least an odd distinction.”

“I mean. We’re already partners,” Virgil said with a shrug and a grin.

“Oh no, don’t you start on puns too, now. There’s already Dad and Gale Force, I refuse to take any more of this.”

“Okay, okay,” Virgil said, laughing. “I’ll have mercy. Because I love you.” He most definitely did not add in the phrase because it was a relief to say it out loud after so many years of thinking it. He would definitely not continue to sprinkle it in liberally after seeing Logan’s pink-cheeked reaction to hearing it.

“I must say, I was quite impressed by the Marauder today. I thought he’d entirely turned his back on heroing when he realigned, but it appears he really is a hero at heart. Or, at the very least, a super who cares about the well-being of civilians over his personal gain.”

“Almost like people can have a change of heart without a change of personality,” Virgil commented mildly.

“He’s still a villain, though,” Logan added sharply. “And don’t think I didn’t see Gale Force trying to run off before you talked him down.”

Virgil sighed, letting his arm fall off Logan’s shoulders. “He’s not all bad, Lo. He’s just an angry human with far too many scars that haven’t come close to healing yet.”

“So are you. And yet you’re still a hero.”

“But I’ve had you, for nine years. He only has whats-his-name. Roman. Princey. Who’s just as burned, if not quite so angry.” Virgil’s voice was soft.

Logan frowned. “Why make excuses for them?”

“Because it’s not hard for me to picture a different world where I went that direction instead, Lo. I… I could picture myself neutral, hiding from my powers. Or a villain, angry at the city for not finding me sooner. Gale Force understands that. The fury. And besides that… I like them. For all that they’re frustrating and have evil tendencies and all the public displays of affection.”

An eyebrow raised above glasses frames. “You like them?”

“I mean, you know I’ve been flirting with Princey during fights. It’s not just because I’m a walking stereotype of a snarky hero. And the other one, Patton, he’s not bad-looking either.”

“Ah, I see,” Logan said quietly.

"This doesn’t affect how I feel about you, Lo, not in any way,” Virgil rushed to clarify. “It could never. It’ll always be you, no matter if I pursue these other feelings or not.”

Logan relaxed slightly. “I don’t know that I feel similarly, or even could, not when I only realized how I felt about you through a strong platonic bond over literal years.”

“That’s more than okay. You mean the most to me. If you’d rather I keep quiet about these feelings, just let them fade…”

“No, that’s unnecessary. I am not opposed to you, ah, pursuing them, just keep me informed. I do understand the… attraction.” Logan blushed lightly, but coughed and continued. “And as long as you’re safe. They’re still villains, Vee. We can’t trust them, not past taking down Agent Whisper.”

“You may be right. You usually are. But, I don’t know, man. I feel like maybe we can, this time.”

Logan raised an eyebrow again. “Virgil the cynic, wanting to trust people?”

“Oh look, it’s the pot, calling the kettle black,” Virgil replied, shoving Logan lightly in the shoulder.

“Guilty as charged.”

“By the way, can I borrow your phone charger, I wanna call Mom and Mama today, and the sibs if they’re home.”

“Why do you think I bought an extra-long purple cord?”

~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337475 Classification: A.3.i [Tertiary Tier Hero, Legacy] Name: Blynk Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Injury Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] McKenzie Bleu Affiliation: Hero /////////H.A.T.C.H. Status: Temporarily Inactive Partners/Sidekicks: N/A Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Short-Range Teleportation; Enhanced Durability; /////////Range approximately 100 yds; does not need to see destination, but does need to focus on it Costume: Black leggings with lace up ballet slippers; blue dress with white stripe on the skirt with attached hood Age: 17 Height: 5’4 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled, anticipated ‘19 Note: Daughter of DI#265353; Not yet cleared for independent hero missions - involvement in IR 18-Z-0015 unintentional and due to proximity alone

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337432 Classification: Z.3.iv [Tertiary Tier Villain, Unknown] Name: The Contortionist Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Incarceration, Injury Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Tai Kim Affiliation: Villain Partners/Sidekicks: N/A Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Body Plasticity - Medium Spectrum; /////////Can alter density and length of body parts; cannot fully transform into other shapes Costume: Bodysuit in black, red, and gold; designed to look like a tailcoat with gold braiding; /////////Strongly reminiscent of a ringmaster outfit, but able to stretch with them Age: 19 Height: 5’10 Pronouns: They/Them H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Dropout Note: Believed to have left the city until involvement in IR 18-Z-0015

~~~~~~~~~~

They were woken early the next morning by yet another H.A.T.C.H. alert. Virgil gave a single breath to regret his poor, poor sleep schedule before changing into his costume.

Mayor and S.E.A.M. Stokes weren’t sure of the exact nature of the disturbance, but they knew it involved supers. In this uncertain climate, that meant sending their best, just to be prepared. At Virgil’s urging, Logan had conceded to alert their villain partners as well.

“What’s the harm in being ready, L?”

“They’re collectively responsible for over fifteen felonies.”

“...yeah, but they’re on our side now.”

Logan fixed his partner with a look.

“I know, I know. We can’t trust them entirely. But you trust me, right?”

Logan softened. “Of course I do. I trust you with my life.”

Virgil paused, blushing slightly. “I… god, I love you, Lo.”

“I love you as well.”

Standing by the window, in full costume, seconds before rushing to whatever crime scene had alerted them today, Virgil stole a moment to pull his partner in close and kiss him softly.

They parted, both pink-faced. “I’ve just got a hunch, Lo. I think we’ll need them, or at least not regret bringing them along. And I swear, I’ll protect you if they try anything.”

And thus, as they surveyed the scene from the top of a nearby building, the villains arrived as well.

“I don’t see Agent Piss-per anywhere,” Gale Force said with a frown.

“We haven’t either,” Logan replied evenly. “But they’ve been targeting super fights so far. It’s only logical to conclude that any fight between persons with enhanced abilities will continue to be targets for them.”

“I’m not participating in your self-righteous state-sanctioned vigilantism,” the Marauder said, lounging against the wall. “Who’s even fighting?”

“They’re a recurring duo. They either partner up or are on opposite sides, it depends on which muse is controlling her,” Virgil explained, gesturing to the dark-clad figure visible from above. Many brilliant lights surrounded her, with more seeming to sprout from the galaxy print on her suit. Tiny constellations flew towards her opponent and swirled around the other’s massive, cascading skirts. With Gale Force’s help, they could all hear the conversation on the wind - a steady stream of chat and compliments, even as star constructs disrupted the princess-figure’s attempts to infiltrate the nearby museum.

“Who’s this?”

“Today? Nebula. You may also know her as Ghost. But she’s not nearly as active as some I could name,” Logan explained, glancing side-eyed at where Gale Force seemed to be taking notes.

“Yes, but what about the aesthetic one,” the Marauder asked with a tone bordering on reverence.

Virgil smirked. “She’s known as Lovely Darling. A mesmerizer with a strong affinity for princesses. So you know, pretty familiar, except more people are infatuated with her than just herself.”

Roman pouted at the tall hero and opened his mouth to object when the air suddenly shifted and four sets of eyes snapped to the scene below.

A dark dust cloud was rising, despite the complete lack of debris or destruction from the existing fight. Looking for the details, Virgil saw how the ‘dust’ cloud dragged and stuck on corners as it neared both supers.

“Heads up!” Gale Force shouted, and the air itself carried his voice, surprising them both as they noticed the impending danger. Logan was there a breath later, grabbing them both and pulling them away before rejoining the group in a blur.

“Go in all at once?” Virgil asked.

“On y va,” Roman said firmly, and they moved forward as one. The minute they passed into the cloudlike mass, Roman had the strangest sense of someone muttering, Oh, this should be fun.

And then the world went grey. His limbs went heavy and his heart turned to lead. A sluggishness settled over his entire body as he crumpled to his knees. He couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but struggle to stay upright, and he watched his constructs melt away in a blink of an eye. Of course he couldn’t create anything. He was useless. Everyone knew he was the weakest of their group. No raw power like Reflex, no elemental power like Patton, no brilliant strategy like the Doctor. He just had his little red toys. And now, he didn’t even have those.

It was fitting, wasn’t it? Let everyone see how worthless he was, whether a hero or a villain. He could die here, in this cloud, and the world would not note his passing nor feel his loss. A tear coursed down his cheek and fell onto his hands as he struggle to just barely brace himself. All he was good for was tears. How had anyone been fooled enough to believe anything else? Had they even been fooled? Or had they just been humoring him, pretending that he had something to offer. Seeing his obvious fragility and flattering him the way you compliment a child’s terrible scribbles. Who could ever truly believe in him? His arms trembled, and he collapsed fully, prone upon the ground, awash in despair and listlessness.

Logan was running as he passed into the cloud. He was surprised to see it was only a hair’s width as he passed through, coming into practically the same daylit scene on the other side. He kept running as he looked for the villain. Ro- the Marauder was flying on his right, with Virgil and Gale Force on his left. Was that Agent Whisper up there? The dark, humanoid shape was further back than he’d guessed. He pushed himself to speed up, to get there faster before the villain could escape again. He was reaching a rate of one hundred miles per hour - why weren’t they getting closer? His muscles felt odd, not the normal level of burn for this speed, but the wind was rushing through his hair and he could see the world flashing by through his goggles. Perhaps his workout routine was finally helping him reach new speeds. He pushed harder, blurring into five hundred miles per hour, fighting to reach the villain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his villain partners had fallen behind him, but Virgil was still there on his left. But Agent Whisper was still so far away. He ran faster, nearing his top speed. He was a blur, a bullet streaking towards its target, but he could still see and feel his whole body. Finally, the dark antagonist was near, and he went to slow down to grab them, incapacitate them, bring them to justice.

But he couldn’t stop. His legs wouldn’t slow, his arms still pumping in rhythm to keep running. He was still moving, still in the nimbus of speed that almost no one could see. He looked frantically around only to see that he’d left Virgil far behind. He tried to turn, but couldn’t. He was just running, running, through the city, past the city, over hills and mountains and water and more mountains and he couldn’t stop. How would he get home? How would he live? How would he see Mom and Dad again, how would he be there for Jem and Bea? How would he be with Virgil, now that they finally were? He’d left him back there, surrounded by villains. He’d left him all alone, the one thing he’d promised would never happen back when they’d first met. How would time pass while he was stuck in this endless speed? Would he even feel it? Would he just run until his body gave out from the stress or exhaustion?

“Please!” he tried to yell. “Please, get me out!”

But his words were whipped away by the rush of air and movement all around him. He was trapped.

Virgil was prepared for his first step into the cloud, for the light to cut out and the fog to surround him. He felt slightly more of the texture this time, a weird film that clung to his skin. He strode in, scanning for the villain, trusting his hearing more than his sight, which extended only about three feet in any direction. He turned almost instinctively to look for Logan at his right, to check if the speedster had dashed in. He saw his partner but… Logan was frozen, eyes jumping and flitting around. His muscles twitched, but he seemed glued to the spot. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Past him, a red-and-black form lay curled in a fetal position, unmoving.

Virgil reached his partner and love in a single step, reaching out for his shoulder. The impact caused Logan’s eyes to snap open as he cried out in pain. Virgil immediately pulled his hand back, only to see bones protruding from Logan’s arm from how strong his touch had been.

“Fuck, Lo, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry-”

“You always are,” Logan snapped back, blood seeping down his shoulder. “Sorry will mean nothing when you kill someone. They won’t care that you didn’t mean it!”

Tears sprang from Virgil’s eyes. He looked down to see the concrete was crumbling where his foot had touched the ground. “Please, Lo, let me help-”

“Don’t touch me!” his friend screamed, terror in his eyes. “Stay back!”

Virgil swallowed hard and obeyed, stepping back, but craters formed with each step. He backed into something and whirled to see a huge wall sway and fall, crushing those who’d been unlucky enough to be sitting behind it.

“Stop it!” Logan yelled, and his terror had shifted to hatred. “You ruin everything you touch!”

“I don’t-”

“Just hide away, Virgil. Just leave this city, leave your family, hide away where you won’t hurt anyone anymore. You’re a threat to everyone around you, so just go!”

Tears coursed down Virgil’s cheeks. “Lo, please-”

“You are and always have been nothing more than a ticking time bomb, Virgil. Didn’t Sandry teach you that?”

The tall hero froze. Logan no longer sounded like himself. Virgil knew his dearest friend would never mention that, no matter his anger. No one would - except Virgil himself. Logan’s words were Virgil’s own, the ones he directed against himself on all the dark days. The world crumbling at his touch, inadvertent pain against the one he loved? This was his own private nightmare made real. He took a deep breath, in for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

“I am not a monster,” he whispered to himself. “I have enhanced abilities. I use them to do the best I can to help others. I pull my punches, I take care to not use too much force. I don’t hurt my loved ones. I am a hero because I try to be one, and I succeed at an above-average rate.”

Slowly, the craters fixed themselves, and the wall re-erected itself. The blood and bones vanished off Logan’s arm, and he was now as he had been, frozen, looking with distress off into nothing as his eyes shifted rapidly. Virgil reached out slowly, gently, to brush his shoulder with a feather-light touch. His partner didn’t respond, but neither did he bruise.

Virgil turned, hearing footsteps. He kept breathing evenly, repeating his mantras to himself, and stepped towards the sound of movement. It was Gale Force, Patton, walking evenly through the mist without hesitation.

Patton stepped through the border of light to dark as easy as breathing. It took him almost ten steps before he realized he no longer heard the heroes and his partner on his right. He turned to see them all paralyzed. Roman’s beautiful, radiant red fire had faded. Patton had been around for enough dark days to recognize the despair etched into his love’s face. He almost ran to him when he saw that the Doctor was frozen too, not on his knees but standing. Doctor Vectorious, who was intriguing and infuriating and condescending and so very pretty seemed to shiver and jerk with some internal movement. Even Reflex had paused, looking confused and distressed. His love and his... partners. Not friends. They were coworkers, if that. Nothing more. What had put them in such a state?

He felt a slight weight on his chest. An impression of tears, of bricks and water and twisted metal. He turned, and walked towards the center of the cloud, seeking Agent Whisper. He was sure he was getting closer, he could feel it. And with every step he saw flashes of the past. A dusty courtyard, the Hundredth-of-an-Acre Wood. A lanky child carrying two giggling girls on his back. Phantom hands smacked his and ran away laughing in a game of tag. Two women smiled down at him, hands linked.

Now they shifted. Bruises and blood appeared, torsos were covered in brick. Limbs became maimed and mangled beyond recognition. And voices drifted out of mouths that couldn’t possibly be producing them.

“You should have saved us.”

“Why were you the only one to survive?”

“You let me die.”

Patton lifted a hand casually to push back the clouds and give himself more visibility. Finally, a form in the mist. It seemed to eat the light around it, a human-shaped hole cut out against reality, a black pit that had no eyes to stare at him.

“How?” a voice asked, shrieking in impossibly high and low octaves at once. It was an eagle’s cry and an earthquake’s rumble, unnatural and natural at once. Patton turned to it, and smiled brightly.

“Oh, kiddo, were you trying to make us feel bad? Here’s a fun little factoid for you!” He grunted with effort as he conjured a cone of air, tightly wound and pointed away from his team. His face fell into a dark mask as he sent the tornado hurtling towards the dark form opposing them. “I’ve felt worse.”

The form dodged easily, but backed up. Reflex appeared at Patton’s side, scowling and tensed to attack. The mist started to lift, helped along by Patton’s winds.

Both hero and villain heard a sound that might have been the crack of rock and might have been a swear. Clouds suddenly rushed past them, flowing from their backs towards Agent Whisper. They swirled around them and starting to soar into the air, a column of dark clouds even as the last traces faded from the square. Reflex shot off from the ground, ready to give chase, but in a breath the clouds were gone and out of sight.

“Fuck,” he said, coming back to land. “That was rough. How were you so unaffected?”

“It’s just ghosts,” Patton replied with a shrug. “I’m always surrounded by ghosts. I’m more worried about our partners.”

Reflex nodded, and they both flew over to where Roman and the Doctor were recovering. Patton was immediately kneeling at Roman’s side, rubbing a warm, grounding hand on his lower back.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered. “The dark is gone, you’re safe, and wonderful, and deserving of all the love I could possibly give you and at least twice as much on top of that.”

Roman stirred, slowly uncurling out of the fetal position. “Sunshine?” he asked raspily. “That’s really you?”

“It’s me, my ruby. I’m here. I love you. You deserve that love.”

Roman moved slowly to sitting up, shuddering. Patton continued to rub small, comforting circles on his lower back, the other hand coming up to run through Roman’s silky, dark hair.

“How did it come on so suddenly, Pat?”

“Agent Whisper, sweetness. I guess that’s what the illusions are - a blast of bad emotions, and our brains fill in the rest.”

Roman shivered and nodded. “Makes sense. And I’m already starting to feel better. Thank you, honeybunch. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Virgil half-listened to the villains’ conversation but his main focus was on Logan. He gently touched his arm, still flinching at the idea of accidentally hurting him. But the speedster’s eyes had finally gone back to normal, focusing on Virgil’s face instead of cycling rapidly.

“Vee?” he asked, voice barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this real?”

“Yes, L, it’s real,” Virgil murmured back.

“Can I-” words seemed to fail him, but he lifted his arms enough for Virgil to understand him.

“Of course,” he said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around his friend and partner. Logan hugged back tightly, burying his face in Virgil’s muscled shoulders to avoid knowing if there were tears on his face or not. Virgil hugged tighter, lifting Logan fully into the air and surprising a laugh out of the shorter man.

“Hey! I’m not a child!” he complained, grinning.

“But you are my babe,” Virgil responded, teasing. “My tiny boyfriend.”

Logan blushed a deep red at that. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am.”

“That’s gay,” Roman drawled, standing with Patton’s help. “Dear, look at the heroes, they’re gay.”

“Heroes? More like queeroes!”

Logan’s blush didn’t fade as he glared over. “That was terrible.”

“Is that why you’re laughing internally?” Virgil asked blandly, to Logan’s indignation.

“Hey, don’t out me in front of them!”

“Oh horror of horrors, the nerd might actually have a sense of humor,” Roman said, draping a hand dramatically over his forehead. Color had returned to his golden cheeks, and his eyes were practically crackling with rich hazel energy.

“I’m glad you’re both feeling better,” Virgil said, putting Logan back on his feet. “Even if this Whisper fuck got away again.”

“We know what they’re capable of, now,” Logan said. “We can prepare for next time. Or at least brace ourselves for it.”

Patton nodded. “‘Flex and I are proof it can be overcome. So there’s hope for you two as well.”

“Go home and get some rest, gather your emotional strength,” Virgil advised, slipping his hands into Logan’s grip. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll be called again much sooner than we’d like.”

The villains nodded and flew off together, Roman rocketing ahead of Patton.

“Ladybug, slow down,” Patton complained. “You’re going too fast for me!”

“You’re going too slow!” Roman cried happily, looping in circles high and low. “God, I can’t believe how much better I feel now that we’re away from that creep!” He laughed and created a glowing red surfboard. He stood on it and balanced with exaggerated outspread hands, conjuring a huge red wave that crashed over Patton as he flew through the air still. He giggled, and the wave crashed into an explosion of butterflies and ruby wings sprouted from his back.

“Ro, come on, let’s go home,” Patton pleaded. “We can bring the butterflies if you want.”

“Butterflies are old news,” Roman replied, snapping his fingers. The forms around him melted into a huge dragon that carried him on its back as it blew sparkling fire.

“Roro, please!”

“No, not a dragon. A witch!” Roman cried, unhearing. “No, both!” Crackles of energy sparked as the dragon shifted and twisted into a dragon-witch complete with crystalline hat.

Patton sighed. The emotional manipulation had triggered a manic phase, and there was no reasoning with Ro when he was in mania’s throes. He turned in mid-air and flew to their home alone, trusting that his love would come find him when he’d calmed.

Roman flew, creating and destroying and creating anew until the sun started to fade. When the light in the sky began to match the red light of his constructs, he looked up at the clouds and thought of Patton. His love, his salvation, his partner in crime. Literally. Not that they’d been caught more than the one time.

He flew lower, just above the rooftops, finally traveling at normal speeds once more. Just as the forced low had been brief, his uncontrollable high was resolving faster than normal, too. He sheepishly contemplated the apologies he would need to make to his partner for worrying him and leaving him behind when he’d soared into the sky.

He floated down to earth to walk the last few blocks home. He stepped off into a dark alley to change back into civilian clothes.

If only he’d looked a bit harder at the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337403 Classification: M.1.ii [Primary Tier Neutral, Acquired Powers] Name: Ghost/Nebula Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Lulu Ador Affiliation: Neutral /////////H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only Partners/Sidekicks: #337471; #337402 Primary Foes: #337402 Powers: Shadow Teleportation; Psionic Construction [Star Sprites] /////////As Ghost, can travel through any shadow to any other; As Nebula, can summon star-sprites who are directed by her thoughts Costume: Tailored suit in a galaxy print and bow tie with a matching mask Age: 27 Height: 5’7 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class ‘10 Note: Valedictorian of her class, on similar caliber to DI#337255 - Doctor Vectorious. Ghost appears to be almost like possession, while Nebula is the 'true' form. When as Nebula, she is a hero, albeit one frustrated with the overly-physical nature of typical heroing due to her fibro. Classified as neutral because any given day she may be one or the other

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337402 Classification: Z.2.i [Secondary Tier Villain, Legacy] Name: Lovely Darling Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Danielle Disney Affiliation: Villain Partners/Sidekicks: #337403 Primary Foes: #337403 Powers: Mesmerizing; Power of Suggestion; Forced Infatuation /////////Anyone within a radius of approximately 10 yards is susceptible; focus on a particular person makes it more compelling and longer-lasting Costume: Purple and pink ballgown with a hoop skirt; heart-shaped mask Age: 26 Height: 5’7 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class ‘11 Note: Teams up with DI#337403 - Ghost/Nebula and feuds with her in equal measure, depending on how much her current scheme might affect others

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a/n: Spot the Steven Universe reference! There's also a Firefly quote in there. Partly an homage to one of the other possible names for this fic as a whole, ‘Big Damn Heroes’

(Fanfic writing, aka, finding ways to sneak in references to other fandoms and also inserting your friends in as background characters <3)

#another goddamn hero story #aghs #superhero au #supervillain au #superpower au #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #long post #long chapter #//gore #//hallucination #//hospitalization #//death mention #lo and virge finally talk it out #royality #analogical #moxiety #logince #eventual LAMP #i'm so sorry this chapter is VERY long #roses writes fanfic

[macgyvermedical]

Fun Things To Do With Ethanol, A “Friends + Enemies + Border,” Scientific/Medical Review

I have so much on my plate right now. This is going to take forever and I shouldn’t be writing this. But... Have I ever told you about how much I love low resource surgery?

Like, it is 100% my THING.

I want to tell you ALL ABOUT IT.

The episode is split between MacGyver and Desi staging a last stand at a pediatrician’s office with a group of Syrian refugees in Bosnia and Bozer and Riley contending with a bomb-based booby trap meant for Oversight. There are plenty of decent based-in-reality MacGyverisms in this ep, and the ones I particularly want to focus on involve the use of ethanol as a vehicle fuel, use of gunpowder as a cauterizing agent, and the realities of trying to complete improvised surgery under the circumstances in the episode.

Ethanol

In the first scene, Mac and Desi are driving a car running on homemade ethanol. Mac explains that he had rushed the fermentation of the ethanol himself, leading to a less-than-smooth ride.

Traditionally, ethanol is what we think of as drinking alcohol- vodka, beer, wine, and other alcoholic beverages contain ethanol as the psychoactive ingredient. In certain parts of the world, particularly the US, Brazil, and much of Europe, ethanol is a common vehicle fuel as well. Ethanol is popular because it’s renewable (its made from feedstock like grain, sugar beets, potatoes, and anything else that’s sugary or starchy that you happen to have a lot of), produces less air pollution than gasoline, and is also cheaper than gasoline (it gets about 1/3 fewer miles per gallon, though, so the price difference isn’t as significant as it looks).

Most gas sold in the US is a mixture of up to 10% ethanol and 90% gasoline called E10, and most gas sold in Brazil is E25. Starting in 1999, certain vehicles (called “Flex Fuel” vehicles) were designed to run on higher concentrations of ethanol, like E85. Flex Fuel vehicles are capable of running on up to E100, but E100 itself is fairly rare outside of Brazil.

Because ethanol is produced like traditional drinking alcohol, it’s not completely unrealistic that Mac could have made some. All he would have needed to do was mix some yeast, sterile water, and starch/sugar together, wait until ethanol formed (a process called fermentation), and then heat it so the ethanol evaporated out. He would then have to collect the ethanol vapor and let it condense, a process called distillation. Since some water vapor would evaporate too, the distillation process would have to happen multiple times to have a high enough concentration of ethanol to be usable fuel.

Now, it takes about 3 days minimum to produce ethanol by fermentation under even perfect temperature conditions, and since the yeast’s gotta do the heavy lifting, there’s not tons you can do to speed it up. Speeding up the distillation process, however (not distilling the ethanol enough times), could have resulted in a higher-than-ideal water content, which may have caused the problems shown in the episode.

While we don’t know how long they were stuck and Mac and Desi could definitely have kept themselves and their criminal charges alive in the wilds of Bosnia for three or more days, it seems a little suspect that Matty would have tolerated that long without communication.

Now, even though the vehicle was clearly manufactured before 1999 and was therefore not a flex fuel vehicle, it could have run temporarily on a relatively high ethanol blend. So if they stopped and added ethanol before the gasoline actually ran out and then were careful to drove slowly, they could probably could have made it to a gas station on their improvised fuel. It might have caused some engine knocking and decreased performance, but it would have been possible.

Cauterization

I’ll start with the fact that you really can stop bleeding with cauterization. Surgeons do it all the time with a tool called an electrocauteur, which is a tiny electrode that gets hot enough to very precisely burn the cut end of a bleeding vessel. Long ago, cauterization was also used a lot less precisely to stop severe bleeding, treat infection, and seal amputation wounds. Heck, the 1985 ep “To Be A Man” featured Mac getting an infected bullet wound cauterized while trapped behind Soviet lines in Afghanistan.

Now, despite that ringing endorsement, cauterization is not something you should consider in a remote environment. For one thing, the old-timey medical people were wrong- burn wounds, like those incurred during cauterization, are actually more likely to get infected than most other kinds of wounds. Burns damage cells deeper than the surface, and those damaged cells can’t fight infection like healthy ones could.

But what if they’re going to bleed to death? Wouldn’t it be better to save them now and deal with infection later? Well, the problem with this is that either the wound is on a limb and improvising a tourniquet is a better option, or the vessel is very deep in the abdomen or chest (as the big bleedy ones tend to be), and the average person is never going to be able to find the bleeding vessel without doing enough additional damage to kill the person in the process.

Let’s talk specifically about the wound in the episode. Take a look at the picture above. You’ll note the abdomen is not just a slab full of bleeding things like a lot of TV makes it out to be. There’s a lot of organs in there, and if they get damaged they can lose function, cause severe blood loss (liver, spleen), or spill infectious (intestines) or digestive (pancreas, stomach) material into the sterile sac that holds the abdominal organs. Spills of stomach acid, digestive enzymes, or fecal material can cause severe infection or physical damage that can be life threatening.

A gunshot wound as shown in the episode would have gone through Felix’s left upper quadrant, a little above and to the left of his belly button (belly button being roughly where the yellow lines cross). Mac assesses the wound and determines that Felix is bleeding severely, to which Nazir replies that if he had a needle and some thread he could sew it up.

Now, as you may have guessed, simply sewing the wound closed wouldn’t do Felix any good. Let’s assume that the bullet only went through the horizontal (transverse) part of the large intestine, and maybe a small artery. Because of this, Felix has fecal material spilling into the previously sterile sac around his intestines which will cause infection if not cleaned up. He also has a non-functional large intestine preventing him from taking in food or liquid. Add some blood loss and a damaged artery that was possibly taking that blood somewhere important and is now spilling that blood into a place it shouldn’t be, and no sewing/cauterizing is going to realistically solve any of those problems- even in the very short term.

So what to do? Well, that’s not an easy answer. Realistically, he needs surgery as soon as he can get it. Until that happens, direct pressure can help slow the blood loss. And I’m talking like someone’s whole body weight on that wound. Remember- that bleeding vessel is really far in there, so a lot of things are going to have to deal with getting compressed if he’s truly in a life-threatening blood loss situation.

Like the idea of sewing the wound closed, the gunpowder macgyverism seems to just seal the top layer of the wound, not doing anything for the actual part that was bleeding. Plus, given that igniting gunpowder on someone would probably cause additional damage, its just not a good idea. A macgyverism to take it’s place could be the diagnosis of the damaged intestine by remarking on the smell of fecal material. Sure, its a family show, but you gotta start training kids to recognize bowel injuries early, right?

Improvised Surgery

I just want to stop and give credit to the fact that someone on the writing team recognized that Felix needed surgery for his abdominal gunshot wound. It doesn’t always happen on TV, and the fact that it happened on a show that once confused a simple oxygen mask with a ventilator while at the same time confusing oxygen with compressed air is pretty nice.

I also want to recognize that the whole point of this story was that they went back for and saved Felix. In fact, Adnan’s line “to have left him would have proved true the kind of lies that are told about us” made it abundantly clear that Felix kinda had to live. But I agree with Dr. Terzic’s assessment that he has an exceptionally low chance of survival.

Let’s start the improvised surgery discussion with what actually needs done to save Felix. This includes:

Stabilization- fluids/blood/oxygen/etc...

Stopping the bleeding and/or restoring blood flow to where the artery was taking it

Repairing the intestinal wound

Cleaning up the spilled fecal material in Felix’s abdomen

Closing the peritoneum (the abdominal organ sac)

Closing the entrance/exit wounds

Treating infection/draining pus/preventing additional problems

The situation can be interpreted one of two ways- version one is that they just need to do the bare minimum to save Felix’s life in the moment, after which he could be actually operated on by a surgeon in a more applicable facility. Version two is that this is all the medical care Felix is going to get for this wound, and the entire surgery has to be completed here or it never will be completed.

Version One:

Assuming that the most immediate life threat for Felix is, in fact, bleeding, the focus of any intervention only has to be on stabilizing him and maybe stopping the bleeding if it’s getting in the way of that. Most family practice and pediatrician’s offices would have some emergency supplies. Maybe not a crash cart, but equipment to take vitals, oxygen and various ways to deliver it, limited IV equipment and fluids, a bag-valve-mask device, limited emergency drugs, and a few choice emergency phone numbers.

Felix has been unconscious for a long time, and that’s really concerning because being unconscious from blood loss typically means not enough blood is getting to the brain and that brain tissue is dying. If he isn’t already dead, he’s definitely in shock, so they need to assess and treat that by getting some vitals on him, getting available IV fluids into him, giving him oxygen and/or supporting his breathing with the BVM, and basically doing everything they can do to keep his blood circulating oxygen as effectively as possible while doing what they can to get him to definitive help. All this while continuing pressure or packing the wounds to put some internal pressure on the bleeding artery to stop things from getting worse.

Version Two:

Listen, the idea of performing major abdominal surgery in a pediatrician’s office should freak you out. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and it’s actually pretty terrifying the way it shakes out in the episode.

And yet, because the reality is people live and get sick in places without available and/or high-tech medical resources, low-resource surgery happens- and it happens a lot. While a lot of times the survival rates are much higher in places with oxygen and running water, even really basic things like IV access and monitoring equipment aren’t 100% necessary in all cases.

That being said, there are better candidates for it than others. Given that Felix is unconscious for the entire episode, how invasive and intricate this surgery would have to be if it was all he was going to get, and the fact that a pediatrician is not remotely trained for this, I don’t think he’s a good candidate for it. 

Now, you probably want me to talk about it anyway, so let’s say instead that Felix is hemodynamically stable, conscious, and that the pediatrician was, in a past life, a battlefield trauma surgeon. This doesn’t make things perfect, but it evens the playing field a little. They’re now playing on “difficult” rather than “legendary”.

More on low resource surgery overall.

A lot of the monitoring, ventilation equipment, and drugs necessary in modern western surgery is because of the anesthesia used. Using something like ether, which doesn’t (often) cause significant vitals signs changes at anesthetic doses, doesn’t require specialized monitoring equipment to use. Plus, ether acts as a muscle relaxant when used as an inhaled anesthetic (necessary for abdominal surgery) while not interfering with respiration like other agents would. Making it from ethanol (maybe they have some left over?) and sulfuric acid (from, say, a lead-acid battery) is both possible and the macgyverism of the century.

More on ether here.

Anyway, moving on to the surgery itself. Scroll back up and take a look at the list. Doing all of that would require a large, midline incision.

Very high-level, the surgeon would find the bleeding vessel and probably clamp it off if it wasn’t going anywhere important. The likelihood that they’d actually be able to do surgery to repair the artery is pretty low under these conditions, so if it was going to, say, a small section of intestine that had no other way of getting blood and would die if the vessel was clamped, it might make more sense to remove that section so it wouldn’t cause problems by dying inside Felix later.

Then they’d have to find and then repair and/or remove and re-connect the section of intestine damaged by the bullet. Once all this was finished, they’d have to wash the remaining intestines and abdominal organs as thoroughly as possible to prevent infection from the spilled fecal material, placing one or more drains to the outside which would continue to remove pus and any other fluid that could accumulate. Finally, they’d have to repair and close the rest of the damage done around the entrance and exit wounds.

More on laparotomies here.

It’s a lot bigger of a surgery than just sewing things shut, and Felix has a long recovery ahead of him. Hopefully IV or IM antibiotics and IV fluids are available, because he’s not going to be able to do oral anything for a while. He seems young and otherwise healthy, though, so provided nothing else goes wrong, there’s a chance he’d actually survive long-term.

P.S.

I would like to note that they finally threw a little timely social commentary in by centering the A-plot around aiding a group of Syrian refugees. the conversations that ensued in the doctor’s office, including Sana and Desi’s conversation about their experience of being a refugee and an immigrant respectively and Adnan talking about how out of options they were lent a sympathetic narrative to a concept that has otherwise routinely been used for fearmongering and the spreading of hate in mainstream media. It’s just tip-toeing into the water, but there was something very 1985 MacGyver about it and I hope it continues.

Awl - X-Ray + Penny - Duct Tape + Jack - CD + Hoagie Foil - Guts + Fuel + Hope - Wilderness + Training + Survival - Father + Bride + Betrayal - Lidar + Rogues + Duty - Nightmares - Seeds + Permafrost + Feather -

#MacGyver #friends + enemies + border #review #surgery #ethanol #cauterization