#self monitoring has done wonders for me

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Amai Mask/F!Darling: Lucky (1/)

If you were anyone else, you'd be wondering how you were fortunate enough to spend most of your life in Amai Mask's penthouse. I mean, he's at the top of every "Top 10" list for Heroes, pop stars, models, and singers. Bad lighting doesn't exist for him. And his body looks like it was carved from marble. He had so many fans that would kill to live with him.

And yet, the "lucky" one was you, and all because you had the gall to criticize him. To refuse him.

You were dragged to a dumb concert by a friend who'd won two tickets, and you had the nerve to open your fat mouth while waiting in the backstage line. That was the crime that warranted you being kidnapped, imprisoned, and hurt in ways you never imagined.

"Look, I have celebrities I crush on that you don't think are attractive, and this guy is yours," you'd said diplomatically. "I just don't get the appeal of a guy who's so dedicated to a facade that he named himself after it."

"Oh, come on," your friend groaned. "His name is about his appearance! Like, he looks so sweet, but it's a mask to hide how badass he is and how violent he gets with monsters."

"Yeah, I'm sure he can punch monsters real good," you replied sarcastically. "Plenty of Heroes punch monsters without turning their job as a civil servant into an entertainment career. Doesn't that make you feel...weird? It's like if a K-Pop idol was also in the milit--"

"Compulsory service is a thing in South Korea," your friend quipped.

You crossed your arms. "Okay, bad example. Imagine if a K-Pop idol was a firefighter, or a cop, or a fed. Which he is, technically."

"Gawd, I'd kill to see him in a uniform," she sighed. "Can you imagine? Holding those cuffs..."

"I'm sure the guy who beats criminal Monsters to death would show restraint and use nonlethal force like handcuffs. Well, if you're a human, he probably would. Though if you're not hot by typical standards I could see him being rough, just because you're not quite as human as the Pretty People."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Getting roughed up by him after he cuffs me? The crime rate would go wayyy up just for people dying to get that chance~"

You rolled your eyes. "Can anyone in this line explain to me how this guy is hot in a way that's totally distinct from every other idol? Apart from the fact that he has a different serial number from the others that came from the same entertainment industry factory?"

"Okay, Daria," your friend said with a smirk. "Just because you're too good to be into idols doesn't mean we aren't."

"I'm fine with idols, just not ones like...him," you retorted. "Either be an entertainer or be an enforcer of the government. I'm not a conspiracy theorist but with his influence, he could get away with all sorts of dirty shit. And he's probably done way worse than the typical police brutality against Monsters." You crinkled your nose at the countless posters, CDs, t-shirts, figures, all bearing his aesthetically perfect and boringly pretty face. "He just seems so hollow, you know? I almost feel bad for him."

Your friend snorted. "You sure sound like it."

"Look, let's say for the sake of argument that he is using a persona all the time. He's an agent of the federal government AND an idol, both being industries that exploit the shit out of everyone inside. And he's so stuck inside that he can never express any genuine emotion that doesn't look good. Imagine not being able to feel or express shit that everyone else on the planet gets to: you can't feel anything without immediately wondering what you look like and adjusting so you don't look ugly while you feel it."

"So you're saying he self-monitors as much as your average woman?"

"In a Naomi Wolf sort of way, yes," you replied with a smirk. "Even if the guy is annoying, I also feel bad for him if that's how he lives. Imagine having such a complex that you think being ugly is the worst thing in the world. I'm not a prize, but your average ugly person probably hates themselves way less than he does when he's alone." You felt a smile creep up on your face. "Wouldn't it be the dumbest and most delicious bit of irony if he hated Monsters so much because they don't hide their ugliness as well as he does? Like a Japanese Gaston."

Your friend pouted. "Aww...you're just making me love him even more. Maybe he just needs someone to see the real him and help him love the real him. Someone who's an armchair psychologist like you!

"And now, the Armchair Psychologist is noting that we've moved to the classic I Can Fix Him route. My non-professional advice is to just ogle him with detachment and not think too much, lest you get too depressed and ruin the relationship between fan and idol-cop on a pedestal. No guy is worth it, especially him." You suddenly hear a chorus of screaming around you that makes you wince. "Goddammit! He isn't worth this tinnitus either!"

Your friend giddily jumped up and down to get a better look at Amai Mask waving as the line started to move again. "I beg to differ," she sang. "Ooh, he put his hair up in a little man-bun!"

Amai Mask took the mint-infused water bottle that an assistant had given him with a smile; once they'd turned around to scurry to the next task, he dropped it immediately and sipped it. Just two more hours and he could go home and rest for a bit before meeting with his management crew to plan everything for next month: tours, photoshoots, a briefing with the other Top-Ranked Heroes at the Association...

He sighed and dabbed at the bit of sweat forming on his brow with his neck towel. He loved pleasing his fans with an appearance, but even he needed to rest sometimes.

"Five minutes," his manager warned. "You need anything before you head back out there? I can push it back if you want hair and makeup to pop in."

Amai shook his head and set down the water bottle to put his hair up into a loose bun, carefully letting a few pieces fall to frame his cheekbones. "No, just this," he replied, frowning at his manager. "You should know by now that I don't like that level of prep for autograph signings. They want something intimate and personal, something casual." He applied a bit of tinted lip balm to complete the look. "This should be perfect."

"When are you not?" His manager smirked and checked his watch. "See you out there."

Amai heard him walk off and leaned against the barrier separating the queue from the behind-the-scenes area, closing his eyes. For a man as busy as him, these brief little moments during the day were the closest he got to relax when he had a tight schedule. Plus, the chatter of people made for a nice background noise.

"I've streamed his new album, like, a zillion times--"

"Did you see the pics of him from that charity gala? His suit was so--"

"Is it too much if I ask him to sign my dakimakura?"

He covered his mouth to hide how his face crinkled as he snorted. That wasn't even the weirdest thing he'd signed this month from a fan.

"I just don't get the appeal of a guy who's so dedicated to a facade that he named himself after it."

He raised an eyebrow. Someone like that was at one of his events? Normally he heard these things from random drama videos or read them online. The more vitriolic, the funnier it was to see how much they seethed over his success and talent. Hearing it in person wasn't that rare, but it was a small surprise; normally they didn't pay for his concert tickets.

He heard a woman next to them speak up in his defense, obviously a fan. Ah, he understood it now--the first voice was someone dragged here by a friend. He tried to imagine what the two of them looked like: the fan dressed in a concert t-shirt, maybe some merch as accessories, and the cynic in drab shapeless clothing, maybe a shirt depicting a musician they thought was sooo much deeper than his music. A wardrobe that came out of thrift stores and secondhand shops, complete with an imaginary pat on the back for being oh-so ethical in their nonexistent fashion.

The more they talked though, the more he was dragged out of his little 5-minute meditation. The background noise of the others melted away as he found himself focusing on what these two were saying. It was annoying, but nothing he hadn't heard before from his critics.

"He just seems so hollow, you know? I almost feel bad for him."

His eyes shot open. Suddenly he found himself staring at the mirror he'd just used to put his hair up. Every other jab stung, but just barely. Why was he even listening to this nobody? They were pretending to feel bad for him, just as hypocritical as they said he was. He took another sip of water and massaged his temples when he noticed he was narrowing his eyes into near-slits in the mirror. Shit, he didn't want to look wrinkled and stressed during the signing. He had some eye cream in his bag; he just needs to ignore them, dab this on, and relax for the rest of his--

"He's so stuck inside that he can never express any genuine emotion that doesn't look good."

The hand that was reaching for his bag's zipper froze. He bit his tongue and felt a pulsing in his temples. Shit. SHIT. If he felt that, then that meant--

He willed himself to look into the mirror and fought the urge to vomit as he saw a small vein starting to rise next to his left eyebrow. This stupid, ignorant bitch was actually getting to him. Why? Why? He can just ignore them.

"I also feel bad for him if that's how he lives. Imagine having such a complex that you think being ugly is the worst thing in the world. I'm not a prize, but your average ugly person probably hates themselves way less than he does when he's alone."

He had to clench his fists to keep from punching through the barrier and crushing their skull to shut them up. Someone like this had NO right to feel pity for HIM. No shit, they weren't a prize. Being ugly on the outside and inside, and that smugness, that audacity to pretend they feel bad for him--HIM, their better in every possible way?

"Wouldn't it be the dumbest and most delicious bit of irony if he hated Monsters so much because they don't hide their ugliness as well as he does?"

His hands tightened to the point that he felt like his bones were about to pop through his skin. The pulsing in his temples was unbearable, but he couldn't bear to look in the mirror to see how bad the vein had gotten. He had to get away from them. He had to shut them out, to be better and ignore them. He took another swig of his drink and headed back to where he'd left the signing table, massaging his temples with a bit of medicated cold-pressed cream. Soon he felt the pulsing subside, and after a few minutes of breathing, he was back to normal.

He came out again and felt a wave of comfort as he heard his fans screaming for him. This was his comfort zone, exactly where he was supposed to be. He was in his element. That little worm was in his world, and while he had to fight the urge to scan the crowd for them, he suppressed a chuckle at the thought of them feeling so out of place and uncomfortable among the throngs of screeching fans surrounding them.

"Thank you for waiting," he said with a warm smile. "Sorry for the long break, but I can't wait to meet the rest of you all!"

Another round of screams rang out as he settled into his chair and chatted mindless pleasantries and feigned intimacy with the fans at the front of the line, signing things so quickly and expertly as if his hand had a mind of its own. As the line progressed, he tried to listen for the voices of that particular duo to see if his image of that nobody were accurate.

When he spied a woman in a t-shirt from last year's concert standing next to a more subdued one in a flavorless top and jacket, he knew he'd found them. Once they finally reached the front of the line, he made sure to give the fan a sweet smile and take their hand as they handed him a film poster with shaking fingers. "Thank you so much for coming," he said kindly. "Ooh, this poster takes me back. I had a lot of fun filming this one. What's your name?"

"You touched my wrist," the fan whispered. She shook her head. "I mean, uh, that's not my name. Not Wrist. It's, um...oh God, uh--"

"Shizuka," the Cynic interjected. "Her name is Shizuka."

The fan nodded eagerly. "Yep! That's it."

Amai Mask smiled and signed the poster. "So, did you enjoy the concert, Shizuka?"

"Ohmygod-you-said-my-name--I, um, yes! I went to one last year but this set had all my favorite songs, and it was just so...Wow! You're a natural onstage, like...a real showman, you know?"

"People say that a lot," he replied with a hint of feigned humility. "I'm just grateful that what I'm good at coincides with my job. I love performing for everyone, especially fans like you that tell me how you enjoyed it."

The Cynic struggled to roll her eyes as her friend fawned over him. He turned his gaze to them and smiled, holding his pen up. "Did you have something for me too, Miss...?"

"____. And no thanks," she replied awkwardly. "I just came with her since she won an extra ticket. But like she said, you're a uh...real showman." She tried to sound somewhat enthused, but she wasn't as good an actor as he was. "You must have down a couple litres of water in between songs with everything you do up there. I was exhausted just watching you do your thing up there!"

More false concern and acting like she's so cool and detached. He let out a small chuckle. "I like to think I get energy from my fans, but the water and electrolyte drinks in between sets help too." His golden eyes shone strangely for a moment. "I do feel bad that you came all this way and waited in line just to walk away with nothing special, though."

He stood up and to the delighted and surprised screams of the crowd (and Shizuka), he took out his phone and handed it to his assistant before putting an arm over each of the duo while he posed in the middle with a dazzling smile. The assistant snapped several pictures and immediately chose the best looking ones to post to Amai Mask's promotional account for his concert tour. "Once you see this online, could you comment on the post and let me know you saw it? That way I'll know your usernames!"

Shizuka nodded furiously, trying not to cry too hard from joy as she felt Amai Mask's hand on her shoulder and imagined how perfect they would look in a picture together side-by-side. ____ felt Amai Mask tilt his head and whisper something into her ear that made her blood run cold.

"Thanks for coming, Armchair Psychologist."

#.opm #yandere opm #.amai mask #yandere amai mask #fem darling #.myshit

[remotepixel]

Platonic Yan!Tony Stark headcanons:

First post, very nervous </3.

(Request are open btw!!)

I've seen him called a mother hen multiple times but it's definitely amplified here.

-He's always wondering about the what-ifs and, as an important part of his life, most will be centred around you.

-Even small things like not wearing a coat when it’s cold will probably mess up his heart even further (please put one on, for his sake).

-Tech will be made in your honour because 'you never know'.

-And, as for giving it to you, I think it would go two ways:

-Straight-up giving it to you as a gift (pretty casually for him).

-Or leaving it really obviously somewhere and when you ask about it he acts all casual like he didn't spend the last week on it.

-In either of these scenarios he would be impatiently waiting for you to praise him.

-Like you're looking at it and he's making his usual quips while internally dying in suspense.

-He lives off your approval even if he'd never admit it.

-Any sort of positive reaction to him or his work would lift his mood for the rest of the day (though it may indirectly encourage him to work instead of living to get that same reaction).

This is probably obvious but mf would definitely stalk you online.

-Like, the tech isn't just for you, he isn't that selfless.

-Its a way to monitor you:)

-The Stark phone is tracking you 24/7 and reading/watching everything you're doing.

-There's a screen in his lab just for your activity and JARVIS is on alert in case he misses anything (which is kinda hard when he's glancing at it every 2 seconds but the lack of sleep catches up sometimes).

Just like his constant seek of approval, he wants to constantly be in your life and know everything about you (other reason why his inventions are handy).

-Knowing everything allows him to feel comfortable and increases the chances of you actually liking him (or at least, that’s his logic), and it’s the same for being around you 24/7 (though it also helps his paranoia, that he will be there to protect you if anything happens).

-He'd play nice with your parents (lowkey reluctantly) , teachers, background check all your friends, anything to keep himself involved and in the loop surrounding you.

(He definitely has a whole terabyte or more of information about you with a lot of security measures just in case anyone finds it).

I think due to his upbringing (yk, not having a good dad lol) he would compliment you often.

-He's not an overall affectionate guy so it would probably be the subtle 'good work' or pat on the shoulder but he'll try at least.

-That's why he normally goes with gifts- whether tech like mentioned before or anonymously paying for any subscriptions, bills, etc.

You not liking him for any reason would crush his soul.

-He overthinks everything, to the point where if you forget to say hello to him or something he'd convinced he's done something wrong.

-He knows self-loathing isn't good and he's reading too much into it, but it doesn't help when all he can think about is yet another person leaving.

-He'll play it off ofc but he'll be searching for ages trying to find any more clues for your behaviour.

-He isn't good at comforting so, if you’re in any sort of negative mood, he'll make more jokes, drop in a few not very subtle 'you can talk about anything to me', just anything to try and get you happy once again.

-If you're happy, you'll want to be near him and that makes him happy in return.

-In his mind, its a fair deal.

Although impulsive, he’s self aware.

-He knows his behaviour is strange to say the least, but he basically gaslights himself into believing it’s the best choice.

-Like, you fall over once? Well, that wouldn’t have happened if he was your guardian.

-I don’t think kidnapping would happen unless you get put into serious danger which he then believes warrants keeping you ‘safe’ in the tower, or he overreacts to a trivial thing (he’s in his mother henning mood), decides enough is enough, and then realises what he’s done an hour later and now has to live with the consequences.

Overall, he’s a paranoid, approval-seeking, obsessive silly little guy :)

#yandere mcu #yandere #yandere tony stark #platonic yandere #platonic yandere tony stark #yandere marvel #RemotePixel

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To Ms, Raven,

I was wondering if you could answer this question for me.

Why doesn't Riddle hate his mom and will he finally be fed up with his mom controlling his life and stand up against her?

I mean Mrs. Rosehearts literally made him study all day, banned his playing time, yelled at him for JUST eating a tart, and forbid him from playing with Trey and Chenya (literally isolating him) and a heck ton of other bad things.

Before we begin, let me make my intentions clear: my goal is NOT to justify Mama Rosehearts' actions in this response, but to explain Riddle's sympathetic feelings for his mother despite being the product of helicopter parenting, isolation, and potentially abuse. (I say "potentially" here because people have different perceptions of the severity of her actions depending on factors like culture and personal experience. Some people also have fan theories which draw conclusions of more severe abuse based on the few canon details we have; I will go into more detail about these points later in the post). PLEASE NOTE: in order to address the question posed to me, I will have to discuss many potentially triggering subjects, such as various forms of child abuse and the resulting psychological trauma and trauma responses. While I am not an expert, I do have some background in this area and will do my best to speak mindfully on these matters. Please proceed with caution!!

I think a good place to start off with is first reviewing Riddle's backstory and how his mother and home life is depicted to us, the players. We need to establish what is true and debunk what is false or not yet proven (because there are a LOT of headcanons out there which make Mrs. Rosehearts far more terrible than she is actually shown to be in canon, and many people tend to believe these headcanons as fact because "well, she abused Riddle and so I more readily believe she would also do these other terrible things"). We also need to clearly establish that RIDDLE'S POINT OF VIEW ≠ THE PLAYER'S POINT OF VIEW. We need to put ourselves in Riddle's shoes as much as possible as we walk through this discussion. With that being said, let's proceed.

Firstly, it's true that Mrs. Rosehearts has very... questionable and extreme parenting methods. In Riddle's post-OB flashback, we see a majority of these questionable methods on display: she monitors Riddle's nutritional intake, forbids him from eating sweets, and has him spending most (if not all) of his time studying. Later on, when she discovers that Riddle had disobeyed her, she yells at Riddle for breaking her rules, skipping studying to play, and eating a strawberry tart. As a result of this, she takes away the one hour a day Riddle had for self-study (when she did not monitor him) and forbids Riddle from playing with Trey and Chenya ever again. We would also later learn that Riddle's mom has already decided a career path for him to take (which would be that of a medical mage) and that her relationship with her husband is also rocky. However, the "heck ton of other bad things" she has supposedly done simply does not exist. Certainly, there are a lot of headcanons, and I fear that some fans may have conflated headcanon with canon.

At most, you could say you think Mrs. Rosehearts has neglected her son (perhaps not meeting his needs for affection/socialization) and/or perpetuated emotional or psychological abuse (shouting, isolating him, maybe one could also argue withholding affection when he acts out of turn, etc). Even then, interpretations will vary greatly based on a player's personal experiences and cultural background. (For example, it is more socially acceptable in some Asian cultures for parents to not be openly affectionate and more critical of their children, whereas this is VERY much frowned upon in the west. As another example, if you experienced this kind of parenting yourself, you may be far less willing to understand Mrs. Rosehearts' POV, maybe even believe she is undeserving of having her POV seen.) Mrs. Rosehearts has never laid a hand on Riddle, and she has also never been guilty of putting him down, name-calling him, or insulting his abilities. There are also claims that Mrs. Rosehearts starved her son, which is why Riddle is short in stature. (ADDENDUM: I believe this resulted from a misunderstanding; fans misinterpreted “600 calories” in Riddle’s post-OB flashback as his daily intake, which is far below what a developing child needs. In actuality, “600 calories” is per MEAL, which would, in fact, meet a 5 year old’s daily caloric intake, particularly Riddle’s lifestyle which does not seem very active.) Those are just common headcanons which people more easily believe because they already go in with this impression in their minds that Riddle's mom is an irredeemable monster. What I think is flawed with this take is that this is, in no way, what abusers are ACTUALLY like. Very few abusers (whether fictional or real life ones) are cartoonishly evil. This is also true of Mrs. Rosehearts. I always see people claiming she's the epitome of wicked, but if you look more closely at how she is presented, you'll see that she's... not. Yes, she still did bad thigs that scarred Riddle for life. That doesn't mean she didn't love for or care for her son, and this will ultimately also impact how Riddle sees her.

Let's go back to Riddle's post-OB flashback. Pump the volume up as high as you can, and listen to how Mrs. Rosehearts speaks to her son. Does that sound like a woman who hates her child or relishes in abusing him? No, that's the sound of a mother who worries about her child's safety, nutrition, and studies. Again, I want to reiterate that she DOES take it way too far and that I completely disagree with her parenting methods. However, that does NOT mean that Mrs. Rosehearts is 100% a bad person and has no redeeming qualities. She pushes Riddle so hard because SHE genuinely believes that this is what is best for her son and what will help him succeed, and Riddle also believes in this. We may not agree with how she's going about raising her child, but that is also no reason to make accusations of her which aren't true. Mrs. Rosehearts being a figure of decent character is also something which is supported in how Riddle and other townspeople act toward her. He truly admires her and her accomplishments, and works hard in his studies in an effort to please her; likewise, the townspeople know Mrs. Rosehearts as a competent doctor (part of which, I would imagine, involves good bedside manner). Also note that Mrs. Rosehearts does not randomly scream at Riddle (despite being known for having a temper), she only raises her voice when she is actually mad and concerned for him. Perhaps the anger is too much, sure, but she does not go off on her son for like... asking for a strawberry tart for his birthday. She addresses him very calmly but sternly and explains why he should not eat such a thing, and this paints her as more rational than being a constantly irate woman the fandom often assumes she is.

Consider also that Riddle will naturally have a good opinion of his mother just by being her child. Most children are socialized to look up to and to admire their parents, because these are the first people they get to know, and the people who will support the children throughout their entire lives. This may be even more so for Riddle, who grew up in a community where his mother was also admired by the townsfolk and he had very little exposure to differing points of view. And what is a child if not impressionable? We see this clearly illustrated in book 1, where Riddle is constantly repeating his mother's teachings or acting in accordance with them. For 17 years of his life, he was told and taught that his mother knew best, and that was, for all intents and purposes, ALL he knew. So when his worldview is unexpectedly shattered, it's NOT easy for him to put all the pieces back together again. That's why he lashes out at Ace when Ace tells him off--because it's hard to accept the truth that his whole life was a lie, and it's much easier to lash out and blame others for it instead.

17 years is a very important number here. It's a LONG chunk of time to only be exposed to like... mainly one worldview. Even when you realize what has been normalized to you for your whole life isn’t actually normal, you won't instantaneously change it. To think otherwise would be naive and short-sighted. Think of it like trying to break a bad habit or achieving a New Year's goal. It's not automatic, and it takes conscious time and effort to achieve. It's not fair to demand of Riddle that he suddenly hates the woman who raised him, and nor will it be easy for him to "stand up" to her or to rebel. You see it in book 4 before he leaves for holiday break: Riddle looked far less confident, even nervous, to speak with his mother, and understandably so. If Riddle reacted harshly to being told he was wrong, and then acts skittish about letting his mother know his true feelings, then it can be assumed that this is, perhaps, learned behavior. Riddle is scared about how his mother will react when she's told she has been wrong all these years. He's still a scared child who doesn't like being yelled at, just like when he was chided for disobeying her. That experience is still very much ingrained in his mind, and he fears similar punishments. Not only that, but think about how "by the books" Riddle is. If it's not on an exam or in a textbook, it's difficult for him to do. I guarantee you there is no textbook out there that gives a scared teenager step by step instructions on how to break this difficult news to a highly opinionated parent. Riddle is not only still reeling from his recent revelation, but also confused about how to navigate his new understanding of the world and of his mother. Of course it will be a challenge for him to articulate his thoughts to someone as imposing as his mom.

It’s difficult especially with children to come to grasp with the idea that a parental figure, someone whom they love and entrust their lives to, abused them. It flies in the face of all they’ve known, and to a still developing child it can be devastating. It’s the ultimate betrayal of trust. What happens a lot of the time is that victims of abuse try to justify or defend the actions of their abusers, whether for fear of their own lives, having developed sympathy for the abuser, or just so the victim can better cope with and make sense of their circumstances. I also want to add here that there are many cases where victims of child abuse try to justify the abuse to themselves by attributing blame not to their abusers, but to themselves. This seems to be the case with Riddle, as in his post-OB flashback we see Riddle stating "Because I broke the rules, my favorite part of the day was taken away from me." He refuses to cast blame on his mother because "she was the most accomplished mother in the city, and therefore, the most correct". This fits into and maintains Riddle's then current understanding of the world and is a protective measure that kids take to prevent damaging their egos; he was likely way too young and way too sheltered to be able to challenge it at the time.

All of this is also partly why it is hard for victims of abuse to leave their abusers. In Riddle’s case, it is particularly a challenge because he literally lives with his mom outside of school and has no other place he could really stay considering how tight of a leash his mom has on his schedule. Like… what even IS he supposed to do now? When he innocently defied her before, he was swiftly punished. He’s powerless. That’s what a lot of arguments for “Riddle should just stand up to his mom” fail to account for, it’s just not feasible for him to do given the circumstances, even if he did have the courage to do so. Can he really be blamed for not openly rebelling when he is aware that his mother will not respond positively to it and will likely make his life more difficult than it already is in retaliation? She could even pull him out of school if she wanted to and believed that her son was being badly influenced by the students there, and that would only make Riddle more miserable. There is no easy way to reconcile this complex situation.

Something else that needs to be said is while Riddle now realizes how controlling his mother is, that doesn’t mean he suddenly wants NO restraints whatsoever on his behavior or that he “should” hate her now. He’s someone that benefits from having schedules and some structure to his life, it’s just that his mother took it to an extreme. It’s also true that he puts a lot of value in performing well, so much so that he drives his dorm members to do the same. Now, it’s totally up for debate whether or not this is something that is a genuine aspect of Riddle’s personality and values outside of what his mother has instilled in him. However, it’s still the case that Riddle does not necessarily view rules and structure as a negative thing. He still imposes them considerably even after he comes to recognize his mother’s parenting was toxic and uses rules as the basis for his day-to-day behaviors, even obeying the usually absurd rules set by the Queen of Hearts. The same can be said of studying and the substitutes Riddle finds for traditional play (ie crosswords, logic puzzles, etc.). Riddle may just naturally be inclined to enjoy these things, or he could just have developed the affinity for these things due to having no other options. If these are his actual hobbies or how he likes to spend his time, then regardless of how they became his interests, they should be respected and considered legitimate. Mrs. Rosehearts is responsible for instilling good habits in Riddle just as much as she is also responsible for his childhood trauma.

I want to clarify that Riddle does not, of course, want other people (and certainly not his mom) making all of his decisions for him. He has thought about pursuing law instead of magical medicine like his parents had wanted him to, but is reluctant to express this to his mother (most likely because he thinks she won't take it well/will reject the idea). The thing is, Riddle does not want either extreme where rules dominate his life, and nor does he want no rules at all. He wants the freedom to choose some things for himself, but he also finds a degree of comfort in the "absolute"-ness of rules and governance. Riddle isn't at the point where he is entirely comfortable with making his own decisions yet, and that's why he still heavily relies on rules to guide him (even as late as book 6, when he refuses to let Azul get hurt because of a law stating that only those with medical licenses can perform certain healing spells). If Riddle cannot stand on his own just yet, then I don't think he's emotionally ready to unyieldingly confront his mother about... well, everything, either.

One comparison I sometimes see is that of Mother Gothel and Mrs. Rosehearts, and Rapunzel and Riddle. Both children are put in a situation with an abusive mother figure who keeps them isolated from the world, but there are key differences in their tales. For one, Mother Gothel is Obviously Evil and constantly and willingly gaslights and manipulates Rapunzel for her own gain rather than out of genuine love or concern for her daughter. At the end of Tangled, Rapunzel manages to escape Gothel’s clutches and into the lap of luxury as a royal (ie her true family). Riddle does not have those same resources or connections, and nor is Mrs. Rosehearts nearly as evil as Gothel is, which muddies the waters on what Riddle feels okay doing. Not all cases of abuse are the same, and nor do they all call for the same responses. We also need to think about the meta context of Riddle’s story; it’s not a fairy tale or a traditional Disney princess movie where he can marry out of his abusive household a la Cinderella style. TWST asks us tough questions about life and our relationships, and Riddle’s unresolved family matters are one aspect of that. We should not expect clean, perfectly happy endings in TWST where Mrs. Rosehearts is the clearly bad person to be hauled off to jail while Riddle declares his hatred for her and runs off to enjoy his newfound freedom. Easy solutions like that don’t suit TWST’s tone or its methods of conflict presentation and “resolution” 💦 (which are not really solutions, but more like works in progress).

Try to think about this from Riddle’s perspective and not as an onlooker only seeing the absolute worst aspects of his mother. You, as Riddle, assume your mother has your best interests at heart and have known her as your caretaker for all your life. You have lived one way for 17 years and you hardly know anything else. The one time you strayed, you and your friends suffered because of it. And now you're being told actually everything the person you considered a paragon, the person you basically modeled your life after, is wrong. Your entire existence and everything you've done (because it was taught to you), by extension, is suddenly wrong. You're not going to automatically hate your mom for doing this to you because in your head, because you have all these other factors to consider: the good sides to her that you have experienced, the good intentions behind her teachings, etc. It doesn't negate the pain you're feeling, but it definitely makes it a lot harder to swallow. It's like being told a lie your whole life and then you're exposed to the truth. It's not going to be easy to handle, and it will no doubt take extensive therapy, time, and effort to overcome and to muster the strength to even talk on equal terms with the source of his trauma. You can see this perfectly exemplified in Riddle’s post-OB flashback sequence; never once in it (despite being told from Riddle’s POV) does he speak ill of his mother. Instead, he seems lost and confused and hurt, asking her why his heart still hurts even though he has followed every single one of her rules. You can tell here that he does not hate her at all for what she has done, even though he also acknowledges that she is the root of his issues. Both things can be true, and there is nothing wrong with that.

I think a lot of the discrepancies in our perception of Riddle's mom and Riddle's perception of his mom ultimately comes down to not being able to put aside our own intense feelings of protectiveness for a character we like and/or have spent a lot of time getting to know versus Riddle, who actually knows his mother on a far more intimate level. He can see her goodness, and how much she cares for him in spite of her sternness. Understandably, some of us have also been in circumstances similar to Riddle, so we may empathize with him and want him to act out against his mom when maybe that isn't actually the best answer considering how... messy things are. We have to think like Riddle is and not like ourselves when trying to determine why he may not be entirely hateful toward her. No matter how badly Mrs. Rosehearts' behavior is perceived by us, the fact of the matter is that Riddle will find it hard to break free from her influence on him (which has basically shaped who he is as an individual) and will be reluctant to brand her as his abuser and completely turn his back on her. She is not only his family, but a teacher and mentor, and seemingly the main figure in his life so far. To throw that all away in the blink of an eye because he realized that person abused him just is not realistic. The abuse very obviously still happened, but the emotional attachment and the positive feelings Riddle has of that abuser are still there, keeping him tethered to them. The scissors are in his hand to sever that tie, but he also has to think of his own emotional capability to handle that cutting of the relationship and the consequences that will follow.

If I can make a quick aside, try to think about things from Mrs. Rosehearts' POV too. Imagine thinking you're a great parent and your son is so successful as a student, etc. Then that successful son comes to you during winter break after a year and a half or so of studies at NRC and he tells you actually you've been a terrible mom and they have everlasting trauma because of you. I don't know for sure what Riddle actually said to his mom then, but I imagine that any kind of information that challenges her worldview will be hard for her to take. It's the exact same thing Riddle is going through: living your whole life thinking one thing, only to have the rug pulled out from under you and it turns out the total opposite is true. I'm not saying you have to empathize with Mrs. Rosehearts, but please at least realize the similarities here. When you reframe the situation from her eyes, it's... basically the same as Riddle. You're faced with a hard truth, and you need to take the time to process it and come to terms with the mistakes you've made the past 17 years. I'm in NO way claiming that Riddle is to blame for what he went through, I'm just saying that this may all be difficult for Mrs. Rosehearts to take as well. (And it’s almost impossible to get a parent stuck in their ways to change their minds.) My point is, things are not going to change so easily on either of their sides, and it would probably only further aggravate the situation if Riddle were to keep instigating.

Maybe hate seems like the rational response to some of us. But for someone like Riddle who knows very little of the world and obviously still holds tender feelings about the woman who tutored him and took care of him... yeah, he's not going to default to hate. He's scared and confused and still trying to understand it all. I don't think we should push him or question why Riddle isn't hateful toward his mom. If anything, I think it's good that he isn't automatically putting all the blame for his actions on her. He's accepting some personal responsibility for the things he's done and said, and taking the time to reevaluate and reconsider his complicated relationship with his mother. That's a totally normal trauma response (just as much as hate is a normal trauma response for other victims), and I think it’s valid as a form of constructive self-reflection.

I guess I want to wrap this response up by saying… I know what Riddle is probably going through. His childhood is shockingly similar to my own, and I know that I’ve had to come to terms with a lot of complex feelings as a result of those experiences myself. But that’s not universal. Some people who have gone through the same things as Riddle may be angry. That’s normal too. We don’t always know how individuals will react to trauma, be it the same as Riddle’s or entirely different than his. Just because people think you should react with anger and hate doesn’t mean that victim actually will. We’re not in their heads. We don’t know the full story (Riddle’s post-OB flashback actually shows us very little of what Mrs. Rosehearts is like). All we can really hope for is to try our best to understand their perspective, support them without personal judgment, and grant them the space and time to decide what to do themselves, rather than impose our own ideals on how Riddle “should” behave or react in response to trauma. Even if the intent is good and we want the best for him, it may not come off as being all that helpful (something which I also talk about in this post).

#twst #twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #twst character analysis #disney twisted wonderland #question #notes from the writing raven #tw // child abuse #Ace Trappola #Trey Clover #Chenya #Che'nya #Azul Ashengrotto

[nite-puff]

this is probably the sentiment for a lot of characters, but the divide between people who only know surface level info on taka and the people who have scoured the ends of the earth to find more info on him has never been more clear to me.

like i could ask “does taka know how to use a gun?” and some people would straight away be like “no???” or just think it was a joke because haha funny hall monitor with a gun is a funny image.

but on the other hand, i know some people would be genuinely curious and speculate whether or not he actually knows how to use one because they are insane enough about him to know that his father is a police officer that is always armed and that his family name can be so hated that said father may or may not have taught him how to use a gun in self-defense.

my point is… i’ve thought way too much about whether or not taka knows how to use a gun. and that there are casual taka enjoyers out there who aren’t plagued by this line of thinking, because there is nothing that can be done with that information . i wonder what they think about instead.

#ramblepuff #extreme ramblepuff #this thought has been tormenting me and i want to share it #kiyotaka ishimaru

[springbreezes-and-peonies]

The Wishing Star

“……You REALLY promise this will work? Like this is a real thing and not…I dunno…a scam of yours or something Magolor?”

The spider-kind Floralian Taranza sat anxiously in one of the few seats onboard the dimensional traveler Magolor’s ship. He’d been tying and untying and generally fiddling with his red scarf for what felt like hours now. If what Magolor promised him was true, then everything would be better again. His whole world would be rosy again. But well, that was the problem with Magolor…he didn’t always tell the truth…He could be nice, and polite, but Taranza knew at heart he was a bit of a con artist…

“Look would I lie to you? Don’t answer that…But yes, it’s true. I’ve studied the Ancients, devoured knowledge about them for a LONG time. It’s how I got the Lor here, it’s how I learned to slip through dimensions, and it’s how I came to meet Kirby and you in the first place. These Clockwork Stars are real…they can grant the user any one wish. And when I say ANY wish? I mean ANY wish. Anything you want. When I heard about your uhm……situation…I decided, ‘who would be more deserving of a wish than my good friend Taranza? The stand-in King of Floralia! Who could deserve a wish more than him!’ And so I HAD to tell you!” Magolor enthused…maybe a little too much, before toning it down again.

“……Well yeah…and you made me promise to give you something in return…but you still haven’t told me what that something is…” Taranza stated, gazing curiously at Magolor with his four, front-facing eyes, his horns twitching a little as he thought. ‘What could he want from me? He’s such a trickster…I wonder what I have that he wants…’

“Don’t worry about that now! I haven’t even decided yet! I just feel I deserve some reward you know? For bringing you out to the Star and for not using the ONE wish myself heehee. I could’ve done that you know? Clockwork Stars are hard to find, and our little pink friend has destroyed two of them already…”

Magolor said, grinning a little to himself as he watched the Lor’s display system carefully.

‘Oh you’ll see what I want Taranza…and I know once that Star gives you what YOU want, you’ll be so happy…you won’t even think of saying no to my request! I want a seat of power in Floralia…and I want to see where you’ve kept that destroyed Dark Mirror…I know you’ve gotta still have it, and I can fix it…and once I do…I’m gonna see just what this mirror-world has to offer…’

“I suppose it doesn’t matter……whatever you want, if this works, will be fine…I…” Taranza frowned, looking down, clasping his six hands together.

“I just want to see her again……” He sighed, his silver hair falling into his face a little as he looked down.

“Welp! It shouldn’t be too long until we’re to that Star, and you WILL see her again! I know it will work Taranza buddy! I’ve read all about them!” Magolor enthused again, he was SURE it was the appropriate amount this time!

“Yeah…I……” Taranza began, but stopped just as suddenly, lost in his thoughts. He took a deep breath, and reached into his cloak, materializing the beautiful, tiny, pink bloom he’d picked from the Dreamstalk that had grown in his Queen’s place after her passing. He touched the flower petals so delicately, gazing at it closely, a look of longing in his four eyes.

“I just…hope it works…I hope she can remember our love…I…hope she is the Sectonia I knew and fell in love with…before that mirror changed her so much…” he sighed sadly, holding the flower to his chest gently, as he often did for comfort. In a way, it was all he had left of his wife and love.

“Don’t doubt me so much! It will work! And I bet, as long as you phrase it right, the Star will bring her back just as she was before her change, her true self! Just make sure to phrase your wish right!” Magolor explained, checking his monitors again. He WAS certain this would work. After all he’d studied a good deal about the Clockwork Stars the Ancients had built. They could be a little tricky, but as long as you were careful with your words, they’d give you just what you wanted.

“But what if I’m NOT careful enough?” Taranza asked, and his vision began to blur, as he felt his eight eyes burning with tears. “What if I don’t phrase things right or…or what if it doesn’t matter? What if the Star can only bring her back to her most recent state and it does, and she…she tries to warp and hurt everything again? I…I can’t stop her then! Not alone and I…I don’t know if I have the emotional strength to fight her anyway!” He began to cry so heavily, his thoughts overwhelming him as he remembered his Queen’s final day. All the time she’d spent under the mirror’s influence, she still would show him love, and affection on occasion, though it became more and more fleeting as time passed, as if part of her old self was trying to break through, but that day……

“If it brings her back like that…She…She even hurt ME in that state…I…that’s how I…I realized that…” Taranza could hardly speak from crying so much now, on the verge of hyperventilation. His thoughts were becoming too much. He wanted his beloved back, it had been a few years now, and still he missed her and dreamed of her every day, but the possibility of things going wrong was so overwhelming for him.

Magolor heard his voice cracking, and his cries becoming urgent, and he turned away from his monitors to face him. He could see tears streaming from all of his spider eyes, as he clutched the dream-blossom to his heart. A look of surprise and concern spread over Magolor’s face at the sight, and he rushed quickly to the spider-kind’s side.

“H-hey now…” He patted Taranza’s back gently. “Don’t worry too much about all that, it’s gonna be okay! I mean, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! You can’t let it pass you by, by worrying so much about this stuff! It’s gonna be just fine, I’m sure of it!” Magolor was nervous to be in this position. He was not what anyone would call the comforting type, but he couldn’t help but feel moved by Taranza right now. He’d never really had any feelings for anyone the way Taranza had for his Queen. He’d basically been a loner his whole life, never part of a group. Never growing any tight bonds with anyone, certainly not relying on anyone for love and affection or much of anything really. He just went where he wanted, took what he wanted, and did what he wanted and that was that. But to see someone else like this…he couldn’t help but feel genuinely sympathetic to Taranza’s sorrows in this moment.

“I don’t s-see how you can be so sure……” Taranza shook his head, and looked into Magolor’s golden eyes, tears still streaming down his face.

“You’ve not wished on any of these Stars yourself…you’ve no idea what could go wrong and…and bringing a whole person back to life can’t be easy……” He sobbed a little more, looking at his dream-blossom once more, its petals so beautiful and pure, its scent so much like his Queen’s, the nostalgia it conjured up brought him both peace and heartache.

“Regardless I have to try…Everyday I spend without her…the pain is immeasurable…even after three years, it’s still so immeasurable……” He wiped his eyes some, but he continued to cry still, unable to sooth the pain he felt in his heart.

“And I owe it to her to keep trying whatever I can…because the mirror was my gift to her…Her death was my fault…I owe her a new life…a better life…” He sobbed, as he tried and failed to choke back his tears.

Magolor frowned sadly, and looked down. He couldn’t help but to feel a little ashamed of himself. All he’d ever wanted or longed for was…material. Power, titles, objects…but here he was, taking advantage of this man, struggling to be a good king to a broken kingdom, lost without the love of his life. In his grief, he would give Magolor anything if he could actually help him bring his wife back, and Magolor knew this to be the case…and just like with Kirby before, he was taking advantage. ‘No…I’m…not gonna go being all soft now over some widower…I’m. Not. A deal is a deal and…and he agreed! And besides! He’s getting something too! So it’s fine! It’s fine! Isn’t it…?’ Magolor’s thoughts were racing, and he looked at Taranza, his primary white eyes flooding with tears that showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.

‘HECK!!!’

Magolor wrapped his hands round Taranza, hugging him close. “You gotta stop thinking like that……You already told me, you just found the mirror randomly and when you found it, it LOOKED like a normal mirror. You had no way of knowing the power it held OR what it would do. So stop blaming yourself or……or I’m turning this Starcutter around! Okay?” Magolor said, he could hardly believe himself right now.

“Okay…” Taranza nodded, and hiccuped a little as they eased up some. “I’m just a-anxious…I’ve never been so close to a-actually getting her back Magolor…” he explained and hugged Magolor back with his six hands, being very careful of his dream-blossom as he did so.

“You just gotta practice your phrasing for when you talk to the Star okay? Here, we can try a little right now, since we’ll be there soon…” Magolor explained, and he stopped hugging him and cleared his throat.

“Just say something like: ‘I, Taranza wish for my wife Sectonia to be revived from the dead exactly as she was before encountering the dark mirror!’ Then it’s all very clear and there’s no way to get it wrong!” Magolor smiled a little, and looked at Taranza, awaiting his response.

Taranza wiped his eyes again, and mumbled softly to himself “I…Taranza wish for my wife Sectonia to be revived from the dead exactly as she was before encountering the dark mirror……” He stated, and repeated the statement over and over several times to be sure it would stay in his mind. He nodded to Magolor and smiled a little through his tears.

“Thanks…” he said, tucking his dream-bloom away in his cloak again as he felt his nerves beginning to settle once more.

Magolor nodded, and smiled warmly at him scratching one of the horn-like shapes on his hood shyly. “Yeah well, you know…anytime…” he said, and laughed awkwardly.

A beeping sound came from the monitors on the Lor Starcutter, and Magolor raced back over to check.

“Oh boy!” He exclaimed as he looked at the display. “ We’re here! Let’s go!” He grinned as he took one of Taranza’s hands and guided him out into space, where they would be face to face with the clockwork star. ‘Do I even care about my reward anymore? Am I just doing this to see him happy? He’s…lost so much…he deserves to have her back. He didn’t deserve to lose her! I want my reward but argh! I want him to be with his wife again!’ His thoughts were racing as they both floated out into the void of space.

Taranza looked up at the massive, gold clock-face in awe, and maybe a little bit in fear. Its eyes opened slowly and its expression was cold, apathetic, mechanical as it stared down at him. This was it. This thing, the size of an asteroid was going to be the key to bringing back his wife, his queen, his best friend. He just had to say the words exactly as they practiced. He just had to open his mouth…

Gears could be heard shifting and spinning slowly, and the soft, subtle, beeping of computers sounded faintly from within the Star, as its gaze shifted down coolly upon Magolor and Taranza.

“I am Star model: DWARF. Any request made to me shall be fulfilled to its completion and to the satisfaction of the requester.” The Star spoke clearly and mechanically to them.

“I am able to fulfill only one request per visit, and may only see one visitor per ten years. State your request if one is to be made. It will be fulfilled concisely, to the letter.” The star finished.

Taranza floated still, on the spot, unable to move or speak, until he felt Magolor push him gently forward, and heard him whisper encouragingly to him.

“Go on. Just like we practiced.”

He cleared his throat, and gazed up at the clock face…He took a deep breath and reached into his cloak again, calling the dream-blossom forth for comfort and peace of mind, gazing upon its petals before facing the Star once more.

“Star model DWARF…I…I, Taranza wish for my wife Sectonia to be revived from the dead exactly as she was before encountering the dark mirror!” He stated as clearly as he could, Magolor mouthing the words with him as he spoke, crossing his fingers and closing his eyes despite himself.

Gears could be heard whirring within the star, and its eyes turned round and round in its sockets before gazing squarely at Taranza once more.

“Your wish is to revive the soul and life force of the departed Floralian Queen Sectonia. Her soul and being as they were before the transformation brought upon her by the dark mirror. Is that correct?” DWARF asked for confirmation, its eyes cool and focused, unblinking.

“Y-yes. Precisely.” Taranza nodded in agreement. He couldn’t wait. He was shaking with anxiety and anticipation. ‘Oh my queen. How I’ve missed you. Oh to hold you again…to feel your embrace…to see your beautiful eyes gazing into mine…to be at your beck and call…to feel my purpose return…my Queen, my Sectonia…my dearest friend…my flower…my EVERYTHING. It’s here, right here…finally…’ Taranza’s head was spinning so much, he felt his cheeks warm with blush and his heart pounding in his chest like a ceremonial drum. He could already see her sweet face, already feel her six hands that fit so perfectly in his, already hear her loving voice urging him on, calling his name to ask something, anything of him. Already…already…

The sounds of gears shifting hard stopped his daydreams short.

“To bring someone back from the dead is one of the largest of requests. It is possible but an energy force will need to be exchanged.” The Star spoke, and the cold eyes of its face glowed a moment and turned abruptly to face Magolor. “He will be sufficient.” It said coolly, and a ball of gold light surrounded Magolor, freezing him in place.

“H-hey!” Magolor tried to call out, but no sound came from him. He couldn’t move. He was stuck in place, totally helpless. ‘Oh no…a power source I…I’m an IDIOT! AGH! I should have known! I should have known! This isn’t just some party favor he’s asking for! It takes a soul to get a soul! I’m so stupid! You wanted power Magolor…well now you’re about to power this blasted Star!’ His gold eyes were wide with fear. He was completely at Taranza’s mercy. ‘There’s no way…He’ll give me up…I know he will…I saw how much he misses her…he loves her…In his position I would do the same…Heck I would do the same just for riches! I can’t even blame him. Damn!’

All of Taranza’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he stared up at the clock face. ‘It…It’s going to take Magolor to…But…’ He shook his head and focused hard.

“W-wait!” Taranza exclaimed frantically.

“Y-you need him as a power source to fulfill my wish? I…That would kill him!” Taranza said, waving all six of his little hands frantically.

“To revive the dead, a living thing must be exchanged as a source of energy within my core. I would need a strong source to use as a battery, as Queen Sectonia of Floralia was a powerful being. The mage has immense powers and knowledge. His life force would be sufficient to revive the Queen.” The star explained, awaiting Taranza’s response.

Taranza looked at Magolor, stunned speechless as he saw Magolor’s panicked, golden eyes staring back at him from his bubble. He was completely trapped, completely helpless. Everything was up to Taranza. Everything was his choice now.

“I…revoke my wish…I wish for Magolor’s release instead……He is my friend…I cannot lose him……” Taranza spoke, and his voice trembled and quaked as he did, all six of his hands shaking as he held his dream-blossom close. “I would not be here but for him…I…cannot exchange his life for my Queen’s…” his voice cracked, and he looked down. He could feel his heart breaking all over again, but Magolor…he’d consoled him. He’d shown him genuine kindness on this journey. He could not offer up his life to some Star. It was not his life to give.

“Friend……?” Magolor spoke again, but still no sound came out. He suddenly felt his limbs loosen up and the bubble around him disappeared as the gears within the clockwork star turned, its eyes slowly closing once more…

“Request fulfilled. Star model DWARF Entering SLEEP.” It spoke, and the whirring of mechanical sounds slowly died down.

Taranza burst into tears as he watched the Star’s eyes close, all hope of seeing his Queen again fading with the light from those eyes. “What’s done…is done…” he muttered quietly, sniffing gently at his dream blossom before tucking it back into his cloak, returning with Magolor to the Starcutter.

Magolor boarded with him in silence and entered the coordinates for Popstar into the Lor to begin their journey home. He wanted to give him a moment to self-sooth. He doubted he wanted to hear his voice at the moment. After a time, he finally spoke up.

“I……I’m sorry…I got your hopes all up and I…I didn’t think it worked like that…” Magolor could feel himself tearing up a little too. He shook his head. “Taranza…I…I did have…less than stellar motives for wanting to help at first but…but after talking to you I…I genuinely wanted to help. I mean that. Honest! From the bottom of my black hole of a heart…” Magolor said, speaking softly to him.

Taranza shook his head sadly. He felt beside himself with grief, but he was happy that at least Magolor wasn’t dead now too. He couldn’t have gone through with such a thing. Not ever…

“Y-you still took me out here…to the middle of space…I…What do you want as a reward…?”

He wiped his eyes sadly, he felt so defeated as he looked at Magolor.

Magolor thought hard for a moment. He could still make his request. He could still get his reward…power…magic…knowledge. It all could be his. He shook his head.

“Well I…You said I…uhm…back there, to that Star, you said I’m your friend??? I…don’t really, particularly have many friends…maybe…my reward…can be your friendship. If you uhm…really wanna be friends with a con artist like me…” Magolor said, scratching the back of his head nervously.

‘Curses! That pink puffball and his little Dream Team, found-family crap is rubbing off on me! But…Taranza will be a valuable friend…he knows a lot about magic. And…he said we’re friends…’

Taranza looked at him a moment in stunned silence, and he floated over to him and hugged him tight. “Mhm…You are my friend, it’s true…I’ll be your friend for sure. You’ve…helped me a lot today, even if things didn’t work out…”. He smiled weakly, happy with Magolor’s requested reward.

Magolor smiled a little in surprise before gently shoving Taranza away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. All that mushy stuff. I don’t do hugs alright.” He laughed a little and looked at Taranza. “Anyway. Thanks for, ya know, not sacrificing my life energy to a cold, wish-granting, computer thing to resurrect your dead-wife and all that…I uhm…really appreciate it. I’m really grateful…” Magolor said, and looked back at his monitors, watching the Lor chart their course.

Taranza laughed softly, wiping his eyes again as he sat back down in one of the passenger chairs, sinking back comfortably in his seat. He felt so exhausted.

“Yeah…Anytime…” he said, sighing deeply, a mix of emotions running through his brain. ‘Maybe life is for the living now…and I should start paying attention to the people I have with me still…instead of grasping constantly for what is lost and gone…’. He thought to himself, and he closed his eyes to rest. ‘What a terrible, wonderful day…’

#kirby fanfic #kirby #taranza #magolor #fanfic #return to dreamland #kirby triple deluxe #triple deluxe #queen sectonia #joronia #kirby sectonia #hoshi no kirby #kirby taranza #taranzolor #kirby magolor #Taranza fanfic #magolor fanfiction

[dogwatch05]

Human: The Space Dog Chapter 6

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Very short chapter six as I am getting back into the swing of writing this series. I am working on plotting a few chapters out, but I really don't know where this is going to go so any and all suggestions welcome. Enjoy this snippet of content and I should have some bonus content coming out later today.

Dear Diary,

I just...I can't with this anymore.

I mean come on, why'd she have to startle me like that? She's lucky I don't have a pre-existing heart condition. That could have killed me for God's sake!

Shaking my head I sat down and took a few deep breaths and glared at Momma. She jotted down a few more notes on her pad before walking Sounder and I back to my room. They sat with me for a while longer before both walking out.

I sighed as they exited and watched the door for several minutes before stretching and sprawling out on my bed area.

Frustration bubbled up in my chest as I stared at the ceiling. Everything that had happened up until now seemed to be useless. I never asked to be picked up by tiny cat people. I never asked to be studied or have someone attempt to train me. And I never asked to be stuck in a room, as nice as this room was, only to be taken out just to have tests run on me. And to top it all off, I'm always being ever so slightly underfed no matter how much I show that I need more. I was always hungry but not to the point that I would starve. I imagine that after a while my calorie needs will balance out with what they are giving me but definitely at the expense of my current good condition.

"What else can I do to show you that I am intelligent??" I growled at the blinking red light in the corner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's intelligent all right. I mean who could doubt that. That Beast Master is more of a beast than Frantal. He recognized himself in a mirror. That's pretty telling that he's at least sentient. Not that that was in any doubt. Not only did he recognize himself, his reflection seemed to trigger a response to groom himself. A sense of self is really telling for what level of intelligence we are dealing with here.

He easily figured out how to use a tool to get food out of a hard to reach place, although it appears he's already done this exercise or a similar exercise before based on how quickly and easily he completed the task, so this test probably does not showcase his natural abilities.

He recognized that the treat was moved from the red box and didn't try to open the red box again simply because it was there the last time. In hind sight, probably not the best test to run but I was running out of ideas. At least we know he can recognize that the pattern of putting it in the red was broken.

And lastly he can recognize fear expressions and follow a pointing appendage. He's empathetic at least to a point. He spun around to face whatever had scared me. Probably just to face it so he wasn't taken from behind, but from what I could tell, his body language was defensive so he was probably preparing to fight."

Montressa leaned back in her chair and looked at F'rangel across her desk.

"Makes me wonder what world he grew up on to develop these traits. And his eyes. You can see something going on behind them. Almost like you can see the intelligence he has through his eyes. Sometimes I look over my shoulder and see him staring at me. Something else is in his eyes in those moments. Something beyond intelligence. Bah, I'm probably just anthropomorphizing him. Anyway, look." Montressa leaned forward and turned her monitor toward F'rangel. A live feed of Frantal was displayed. "He's got manufactured textile clothing on. Maybe he was a pet of some sort. The probability of a mammal being sapient is almost 0. Every lifeform that has been sapient so far has been reptilian, avian, or some other egg laying creature. The only reason that the Tori are sapient is because we uplifted them and you can see how that went. Monsters with no moral compass that perform tests in horrible ways on innocent wildlife and dispose of them when they are done with them by killing them in mass executions. Hopefully the Council doesn't make that mistake again.

Anyway, maybe his master taught him these behaviors and clothed him. The environment may have been too cold for his furless body or maybe there's some sort of ceremonial or traditional value to the clothing."

F'rangel sat still and watched her talk animatedly about Frantal. He shook his head in amusement and chuckled.

"What?" Montressa questioned, trying to decide if he was laughing at her or at their situation.

"Oh, nothing." F'rangel responded nonchalantly. "It's just that you seem to like this creature so much. Don't get me wrong, you have my leave to like this creature. You've taken a liking to far worse creatures before. Do you think this Frantal has the potential to be socialized? To be trained?"

Montressa glared at him before thinking. "Yes. I believe he does."

F'rangel stood up and walked around to the other side of Montressa's desk. Pecking her lightly on the cheek, he whispered into her ear "Well, I guess you've got your hands full with his training then."

To be continued...

#humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #hfy #humans are deathworlders #humans are weird #DogWatch05

[p3ski]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3K

The incident at the church was never discussed, although the tension from the event still lingered. Gavin stared unwaveringly at his monitor, scrolling through the latest CyberLife testimonies. This had become a pattern over the last few days, with him trying to complete his work with as little engagement with Nines as possible. This had not gone unnoticed by his partner, who quickly grew resentful of being served the cold shoulder. It seemed equally content to ignore him back. If only out of spite. 

"Still fuck all coming from these interviews”, Gavin mused, finally breaking the silence. “If anyone knows anything about this Synthetic Reaper, they're keeping tight-lipped."

This was not a topic that Nines was interested in, evident in its painfully unenthused response. 

"Indeed." 

The detective bristled, knowing he only had himself to blame for the unsociable atmosphere. Turning his attention back to his computer, the menial task of report filing suddenly felt like a blessed escape. After a few minutes of typing, his phone reverberated from the side of his desk. He ignored the notifications at first until the persistent buzzing became a nuisance. 

Reaching over to silence the device, he was soon grateful he'd done so, as brightly illuminated on the screen was a series of incriminating texts. Outlining the embarrassing details of his most recent personal struggle:

Actually Decent (4)

[10:03am] Gav

[10:03am] hey

[10:04am] have you and Nines made out yet

[10:04am] or are u still planning on wimping out

Gavin pulled his phone closer, out of the view of prying eyes. He went back to scanning the information on his report, focusing on a section he had yet to finish. "You got anything for this new code? The one in the victim’s scripture?"

“No." 

Amazing. 

His phone shook again, and glancing down, he saw that Tina was diligently adding to the collection of unwanted messages:

Actually Decent (7)

[10:06 am] because if youre gonna bang a stranger 

[10:06 am] please pick one thats normal

[10:07 am] no more weird kinks

"No?" Gavin questioned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "That's a first for you, smart ass."  The tone was intended as jovial, but the reception was frosty at best. Nines shot him a sharp glare, huffing disapprovingly under its breath. 

Gavin’s fingers twitched on his keyboard, wondering if he should cut his losses and accept his looming termination. There were other jobs he could pursue, after all. Perhaps a career as the world's most surly birthday clown. Or a disappointing male stripper. 

Actually Decent (9)

[10:09 am] I still have nightmares about the pet-play guy

[10:10 am] I’ll never recover from the things u told me

Nines slid Gavin a slip of paper. "The message is nonsensical. Most of the text makes sense, but the ending appears to be gibberish." 

He peered down, scanning over the carefully penned digits. "...So what are we thinking? Another hidden code, like SL C?" 

"Might I suggest you take some time to determine that yourself." The android squeezed its mouse tightly. As if it were trying to crush it to pieces. “I am getting rather tired of you ‘copying my homework’." 

Gavin was caught off guard by this. While his partner was far from agreeable, it was unusual for it to lash out in such a juvenile way. There wasn’t a hint of care or remorse as it diligently scanned its monitor, refusing to look up. 

Once the initial shock had subsided, it transformed into something ugly. An instinctive urge to push back. Gavin balled up the paper indignantly, flicking it over the desk. “You got a problem with sharing notes, just say. You don’t have to be a little bitch about it." 

Nines laughed, although not in the way that he’d grown used to. It was a harsh sound, short and sharp, "I find it insulting that you have snubbed me this long, only to speak now when it seeks to benefit you."

The detective tensed uncomfortably at this before puffing out his chest defensively. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re working together. Hardly an effective partnership if we can't at least share information." 

“It is difficult to work with you in a professional capacity when there is something more pressing we need to discuss." 

"And what the fuck would that be?" 

There was a loud, crunching noise. Gavin looked over to confirm that Nines had, indeed, destroyed its mouse. Fragments of plastic littered the desk whilst others remained embedded in its hand. In the android’s eyes, there was a strange vulnerability intermingled with its usual intensity. Not so much confronting as it was pleading. 

"You know." 

A tight bind encompassed Gavin's chest and threatened to cut his breathing. His focus drifted from his companion’s eyes down the expanse of its smooth, pale skin. He followed the gentle slope of its nose, counting the freckles on the way, and ultimately found its lips. They looked warm and inviting—enough that he felt compelled to lean towards them. 

It was then that he realised he was utterly fucked. 

"I'm going for a smoke." He pushed away from his desk, shooting to his feet in a hasty motion. There were measured footsteps trailing behind him as he cowardly marched away, but he refused to turn around. Not wishing to cause a scene. 

Shoving his way through the fire exit, he hurriedly paced down the steps, caring little if he slipped on the ice. His hand found the cigarettes in his pocket, and he squeezed the box with such intensity that he successfully crushed half of its contents. Pulling out one of the smokes left intact, he had barely touched it to his lips when the heavy door slammed open behind him. 

"I would appreciate it if you stopped running from me," a stern voice chided. 

Staring vacantly into the parking lot and with nowhere else to go, Gavin glumly accepted the inevitable, surrendering to the demand. "I’m not running," he denied, in staunch contradiction to his previous actions. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"I’d think that is rather obvious. I wish to discuss what happened." 

While he tried to maintain a facade of composure, there was no hiding his racing pulse. He knew Nines would have to suffer a serious malfunction not to sense how panicked he was. "I don’t know what you mean."

“Then I'll have to enlighten you: I am referring to the reckless - and frankly deranged - behaviour you exhibited at the church the other day." 

Gavin was grateful for the harsh wind outside, as it gave him the perfect excuse to hide his face under the guise of preserving his light. He thought back to the day in question and the moments leading up to the assault on his partner. There had been no thoughts when grappling the man, just white-hot rage that scorched his skin and blinded his senses. The answer to what happened eluded him, and he was content to leave that way. 

“I’ve got nothing to say." He said, moving forward to descend another concrete step. 

His partner would not be so easily sated. It calmly closed the door and began its own descent down the staircase. Gavin stepped in time, seeking to maintain the distance between them, as Nines persistently charged forward. This carried on for a while, like some sort of surreal line dance. "For someone who despises androids so vehemently, you seem extremely keen to jump to my defence."

The run of the steps finished, and the two found themselves on the pavement. Unless they wished to carry their quarrel into the busy streets of Detroit, Gavin knew it was best to stay put. “I am not jumping to anyone’s defence."

"It isn't the first time you've done so for me." Nines ignored his protest, exploiting its looming physique to tower over its partner. "There was the man outside Mikey’s—"

"That didn't mean shit."

"I don't believe you." It sounded exhausted, as if it had been dwelling on the subject for days. "Please, I'm just trying to understand."

“There’s nothing to understand. You said before that I have some weird saviour complex. Call it instinct."

"Why would you seek to save something you so openly despise?" 

Gavin took a shaky drag of his cigarette, the smoke catching in his throat, "Because it's my job", he said plainly, though his wavering tone was far from convincing. "I wasn't going to let him hurt you like that. I would have done the same for anyone, human or android." 

"I do not feel pain, of which you are aware." Nines picked holes in the flimsy argument without hesitation. "What reason would you have to believe I was hurt?" 

The detective backpedalled, realising that he'd trapped himself with his own telling wording: 

"I didn't mean hurt; I meant break," he excused. 

"I assured you that my structural integrity had not been compromised." 

"Just let it go. I wasn't thinking." 

"I disagree. You have been thinking a great deal." The android pressed, toeing the line between firmness and aggression. "I needed no saving the night I stayed over, yet you showed me the same consideration. I find your continually shifting attitude towards me deeply confusing." 

This machine doesn’t know what he’s doing , Gavin thought to himself. Nothing good would ever come from the proverbial shitstorm that was beginning to manifest.  

Wait. He stopped, firmly correcting himself:

It. 

Not he. 

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“You’re one to talk”, he seethed, expunging his frustration like poisonous venom. “I don't know what's gotten into you, but this buddy-buddy shit is getting old. We aren't friends; we're co-workers. We don’t have to pretend we’re anything more." 

He tried to pull away, to which Nines reached out, grabbing him firmly by the arm. "Why are you so desperate to deny what you feel?" 

"What do you know about what I feel?" Gavin snapped. The proximity between them was dizzying, their faces inches apart. "All you are is a hunk of plastic pretending to be a person."

The cruelty of his words came with little conscious thought. Part of him wanted to stop, but he refused to back down. He had already made the fatal mistake of letting the android into his mind, and he needed to shut it out before things got any worse.

"Your views have changed; you no longer believe that." Nines attempted to sound assured, but its torn expression betrayed this.  

"You said you weren't interested in pretending, and I'm not interested either, android." The word was spat from his lips like an aggressive slur.

His partner’s temple shone red, and its grip tightened with mounting defiance. "I understand that I will never be human, but I do not lack the capacity to feel." 

"Don't delude yourself," he sneered, barking out a cruel laugh. "You try to get into my head, manipulating my feelings to serve your directives, and you wonder why I fucking hate you."  

Nines let go, recoiling fiercely as if the man burned to the touch. As it stared at him with wide eyes, there was no mistaking the raw heartbreak that blighted its features.

"I see." 

The voice barely registered above a whisper, but to Gavin, it could have been screaming. He found himself unable to look, to face the consequences of what he had done. A part of him wished to take it all back. To pull his partner into an embrace and hastily beg for its forgiveness. But he knew that he couldn't. At least not now. 

Once that line had been crossed, there would be no turning back.

The ash built up on his neglected cigarette, and he made no effort to flick it away. With the light extinguished, he allowed it to slip limply from his fingers. "I'm going to get a coffee. Be back in a few." 

"You can get coffee from the canteen”, Nines replied, words strained from its melancholic state. 

“Not that coffee, I want...different coffee...at home”, he cringed at the weakness of his excuse. "Just don't wait up, and don't follow me."

Gavin turned on his heel and made his way to his apartment, refusing to look back. Whilst walking, he looked through his phone, swiping away the messages from Tina and instead opening his USwipe account. Seeking a distraction from the disastrous interaction that had just transpired, he filtered through the matches, looking for someone of interest. 

He was pleasantly surprised to find a well-kempt man around his age with a bio that didn’t immediately scream ‘weird pervert’ or ‘serial killer’. He was reasonably attractive, too - with a mop of dark, curly hair and warm hazel eyes. Emboldened, he opened his chat log and fired off a quick message:

Alex

You: Hey

did u want to meet up? 

It wasn’t anything elaborate, but Gavin had never been one for making the first move, so he reasoned it was progress enough. 

Arriving at his front door, he hoped to find some time to unwind. While he knew he couldn’t hide out indefinitely - and would have to return to the station at some point - a fleeting escape was a small mercy that he would happily embrace. However, this hope was quickly extinguished when a distant yowl greeted him from the bathroom. 

"...Tiff?” There was an unpleasant lurch in his stomach, telling him that something was wrong. 

While his cat was usually vocal, there was something off about the noise she was making. It sounded weak and strained. Shaking off his coat, he charged through his living room and slammed the door to the bathroom open. He found Tiffany lying in the bath, half-turned onto her back and staring vacantly into space. Her chest was falling and rising rapidly, and it didn't take Gavin long to realise what was happening.

"Shit", He dropped to his knees, scurrying over in a dazed frenzy. Almost as soon as he'd leaned himself over the bath, Tiffany let out another long cry, and he tried his best to console her. Gently running a hand on her back and shushing softly. "It's okay, girl, I've got you." 

The cat continued to pant and strain, and Gavin wondered, with significant guilt, how long this might have been going on. Extending towards the door, he pulled a towel from the nearby rail and gently pushed it beneath her. At a loss for what else to do, he reached for his phone, preparing to call the vet for some much-needed advice. An incoming call thwarted his efforts, and he stared at the screen in disbelief, unsure how to react.

While he entertained the idea of rejecting the call, he found himself unable to do so. The phone seemed to vibrate endlessly as the called ID quietly mocked him. Slowly, he pressed accept, and the caller wasted no time in pleading their case:

"It was not my place to make such brazen assumptions about your emotions. I would like it if we could talk about this—"

While Nines babbled, the detective noted the faint speckles of blood that littered his bath, plunging him deep into a nervous spiral. "Not now. We'll talk later." 

Tiffany was straining a lot at this point, as Gavin recalled the vet telling him that this should be 'minimal'. He had no idea what defined minimal - or at what stage it was acceptable to freak out. 

"Is everything okay?" Nines pressed, picking up on the obvious tension. 

The cat's legs jerked violently, and he moved closer, pushing her back for a better view. He observed in horror the tiny head peering out from beneath her tail. "I need a fucking vet." 

"For what reason?" Its tone became frantic, as though it were sharing in his panic. "Is it Tiffany? Is there something wrong?" 

"Well, she's about to shit out a kitten. Other than that, she’s just dandy." He held his breath, watching nervously as the baby's head stalled in place. Tiffany brought herself forward, desperately trying to push, before flopping back down in defeat. 

Gavin reached out to support her, aware that Nines was still talking to him but unable to process what it was saying.

"Did you hear me?"

"Hear what?" he hissed back frustratedly, overwhelmed by the situation. "Seriously, I'm not in the mood to play games right now." 

"I'm not suggesting we play games. I'm suggesting I come over and help you." 

He slumped back, groaning deeply, and buried his face in his arms. "What part of 'I need the vet' did you not understand? You can't help any more than I can."

"I beg to differ. While I am not professionally trained, I have reviewed extensive resources on the stages of feline birth." Nines’ voice was calm and reassuring, pulling him back from the brink of a full-blown meltdown. "My assistance would be invaluable to you." 

Gavin paused, determining if he could set his pride aside sufficiently. If only for the sake of his pet. After some deliberation, he conceded, reluctantly accepting the offer, "Fine, just hurry up. This thing's coming out looking like a red Gusher, and I have no idea if that's normal or not." 

The concern soon resolved itself as Tiffany arched her back again and gave another firm push. The kitten’s head fully emerged, revealing a small, furry body behind it. The gentle twitching of its legs assured him that all was well, and his heart swelled with pride for his pet. 

Perhaps something good could come of the overwhelmingly shitty day.

#dbh #reed900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh nines #dbh fanfic #dbh gavin #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #g9 #dbh gavin reed #gavin x rk900

[tittyinfinity]

Fuck clubs. The hole-in-the-wall karaoke bars are where you want to be. They have things to do other than drink and many will have different events during the week. You'll run into every type of person of every age. A few weeks ago I sat and had a conversation with a trans man who had just recently started transitioning in his 60s next to a person I hadn't seen since high school. There's no pressure to dress up all fancy, either. You have something to do other than sit, drink, and talk – it's fun listening to people perform, no matter their talent level, because we're all having fun. And then you can get on stage and put on the shittiest performance of your life and people will pat you on the back and congratulate you as you walk off. Sometimes a large man will rip a huge line of cocaine and then sing 2000s pop music and you'll feel emotions you'll never felt before. Sometimes you meet older women who give you the best life advice you've ever heard while rolling the fattest joint for y'all to smoke together. Sometimes someone will just bring their (non-service) pet and everyone is just like hell yeah that's cool. Most of the people there are regulars, and once everyone gets to really know you, you can walk into the bar confidently knowing that no one will try to make you uncomfortable or push your boundaries, and if someone tried, there's already 10 people in line waiting to beat their ass over it.

Clubs are a sensory nightmare for a lot of us – usually packed as hell, bright lights flashing everywhere, so many people talking on top of the loud ass music that you can't hear anything, etc. They're more expensive to be at, most of the people there are college-age, and there's a higher pressure to look a certain way before you go out. A bigger crowd means more danger, too – especially when it comes to watching your drink. The regulars at smaller bars watch out for each other a lot – busy bartenders serving hundreds of people at a club can't monitor that as easily.

I say this as a person who has a hard time socializing. Just getting myself out there and around people really helped me to feel happier about the world and myself, knowing that there are so many more people like me than I thought. Conversations with people who are much older than me have made me more excited for the future than scared. There have even been plenty of times I've gotten into conversations with conservative leaning people and ended up with them agreeing with me after hearing my opinion out. Because people are at the bar because they WANT to connect with people. They don't want to start an angry argument and look like an asshole, and they'd get kicked out if they did, anyway. (Granted, I am also a small white female-paasing person, so I'm a bit safer having these conversations than other people would be.)

You don't have to be invited. Just show up. Find which place suits you. People don't care or think you're weird if you just show up and sit alone. I promise you. Drinking isn't required. Hell, in states where it's legal, you can just sit and smoke weed out on the porch and chill if that's what you're into.

Being lonely can suck. And I know bars and clubs aren't for everyone. But I figured I'd share my experience, because finding a way to put myself out there has done wonders for my adult self.

#.bdo

[uselesssomebody]

reader that didn’t have a lot of emotions before she turned (to whatever you want) but now the bite made her feel things she never felt so she just asks everyone “why is my heart tingling 😠” HAHA

complete masterlist | teen wolf masterlist

words || 𝟙.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which the reader feels - maybe a bit too much

a/n || yo anon i love this request, and i'm sorry i haven't gotten to it in a hot minute. not gonna lie, i did make this a bit more romance-y and a bit more stiles-y than originally intended because: surprise! i'm a whore!

➵ alright the rest of the requests will be out within the next two weeks so stay tuned!

➵ next non-request fic is one i'm so excited for: a bucky fic inspired by a halsey song and a buzzfeed unsolved episode. if anyone can guess it, i will dedicate the whole fic to you hahaha

➵ me to myself while writing this: you didn't expand on the romance enough

➵ also myself to me: whore it is two in the morning go to bed

warnings || fluff, i suppose

➵ a wee bit raunchy, esp. near the end, but deffo not smutty so that is why i am not putting an 18+ warning

➵ if you still think you will be uncomfortable/are not suited for that type of content: hey! come back later or check out my other fics!

it’d been weeks since they’d had an occurrence. while everyone else was happy to finally focus of school, work, or each other - stiles seemed like he was gasping for another wild, supernatural goose chase. 

y/n could see it in his eyes, everytime he overheard one of his father’s radio transmissions, and the light in his eyes fades when he has to hear about a regular violent assualt, as opposed to one where a ‘strange, furry, four-legged creature’ was the perpetrator. similarly, stiles had been careful to monitor his best friend’s - he’d never admit it to scott - condition over the coming weeks.

she’d been bitten no more than a mere week and a half ago, and she’d taken it surprisingly well. he knew he shouldn’t, but stiles couldn’t help comparing her reaction to scott’s - during a time that seemed so long ago now. he’d noticed both the big things - the noticeable flinches and disgust at the school bell or when a loud motorcycle revved along the road. he’d abused the fact that her hearing was uber-sensitive; scott had been trying to wean stiles away from the sheer invasion of privacy the power granted. but stiles wasn’t having it, happy that y/n shared in his somewhat-immoral curiosity. he also noticed the small things: the twitching of her eyes when listening out for small noises during their otherwise quiet study sessions. the cold weather of the growing winter meant she would wear gloves often, but he’d seen the small, crescent-shaped scars littered on her palms. 

he didn’t know if he could attribute it to the bite, but he also seemed to notice that she was much more emotive than usual. before it, shows of insecurity or joy were both scant; a tear being shed was almost unheard of. because of it, stiles was almost bombarded by the sheer giddyness and depression that seemed to follow her around for the past few days. she laughed more - it was akin to a cackle now, but stiles thought it was cute - and it had done wonders to stiles’ self-esteem, happy that at least someone was appreciating his jokes. and he could have sworn that, as lydia convinced the lot of them to go to the movies, tears had dripped on to his sweater - the one she’d been leaning her head against - as one of the main characters in the film died a rather upsetting death. and he could have also sworn he hear her quiet sniffles as he drove her home. 

he was at a stalemate - unsure as to how to approach her about it. would it be insensitive? was he in the right to say anything? was anything even actually different going on? he was pondering the questions as he walked out of class - and walked into someone. shaking his head in shock, he’s happy to see scott.

“hey, man. you doing okay?” scott must’ve noticed his penseive state, and stiles was quick to brush him off.

“yeah, yeah, i’m good.” they walked to their lockers in silence, before stiles realizes that the answer to all of his questions in standing right in front of him, “hey, scott?”

“hmm?” 

“uh - when you first turned, did you - well, was there any difference in your emotions?” he stumbles the question out, somewhat unsure of exactly how to phrase it. scott looks confused, implying stiles probably hadn’t done a good enough job.

“emotions? uh, you remember that i’d get angry and that would lead to me changing, but-”

“no, no, not like that. i meant - were you more, like, expressive? did you just feel happier or sadder or whatever?” scott pauses to think about it.

“uhm, i - i guess, i mean - yeah, i guess i was.” stiles wasn’t fully convinced by his answer, but thanked him anyways, bidding him goodbye before heading out. the only way he’d get an answer was by going to the source - y/n.

he’d let himself into her place - the spare key in its familiar place in the potted plant by the patio. he had immediately noticed the silence on the lower floor - evidently, her parents weren’t home. however, he could hear light music from upstairs, so he hollered a greeting to her as he walked up the stairs.

she didn’t even glance up at him as he walked in, instead offering a quiet greeting as her eyes stayed trained on the work in front of her. she seemed… stressed. god, stiles had never even seen her stressed - how on earth does she consider him her best friend? realizing that now wasn’t the best time to bombard her with questions, he instead found a comfortable place on a cushioned chair by the wall, swinging his legs over the armrest as he pulled out his own textbook. 

there was silence between them for a moment, with just the soft melody of the song she had playing. 

“your book’s upside down, ya know?” she broke the silence by pointing at his book, still refusing to take her eyes off her paper. it was true, he really han’t been paying attention to his book - focusing instead on if she was okay. he was quick to correct it, muttering a small story, “you should be,” she responded in her usual humor, but her voice quivered a bit as she made the light-hearted joke. stiles didn’t know whether or not to press her, but decided that making sure she was okay outweighed the potential awkwardness of the following situation. he cleared his throat.

“y/n, are you okay?” he was looking at her in earnest, and he saw her eys flit up to hers, before quickly fixating back on her paper. even in the dim light of the room, he noticed that she wasn’t actually focusing on the text, instead sporting a gaze that was unfocused and distant.

“why-” she cleared her thoat, her voice-crack obvious, “why do you ask?” stiles gulped.

“i - i dunno, you just seem a bit stressed. you need help with something?” 

“no, of course not, it’s just this stupid lit paper and-” her voice broke off before she could continue, and stiles could see small drops glisten as they fall onto her lap. was she crying? he rushed to her side, quick to take the paper that had been causing her such misery away from her. 

“hey, hey - it’s okay, it’s okay - you’re fine - i…” stiles trailed off, unsure of what to say to his best friend - the person who never cried, the person who walked around with such a confidence that it almost came off as arrogant, the person who barely showed her emotions. he opted instead to wrap her in a hug, allowing her to shake against his shoulder.

he listened as her little gasps and hiccups dwindled down, and she slowly, begrudgingly, untangled from him. she was quick to wipe her wet face with her sleeve, and stiles waited patiently as she calmed down.

“i’m so - so sorry, that was so dramatic, i didn’t mean to spring that on you, i-” in an attempt to justify herself, she had begun rambling, but stiles was quick to reassure her.

“no - no, it wasn’t. you okay now?” she smiled - it was small, but it was there.

“yeah, much better.” she grows silent, and that small smile fades. she bites her lip, as if she’s unsure if she wants to say something or not. obviously deciding she should, she takes a final deep breath to calm herself, “it’s just - ever since the bite, i’ve been feeling like everything’s hitting me all at once. i mean, i got used to the lights, noises and smells, but - shit - i can’t deal with all this fucking stuff. i’m swinging from happy to sad so quickly, and over the dumbest things, and it just feels like my heart’s always tingling! and i can’t get it to stop and i hate it - god, i hate it so much.” stiles’ theory had been correct, but now he was wondering as to why exactly she hated it so much. she had started fiddling with her sleeve, her confession leaving her in a state of vulnerability.

“i - why exactly is that so bad?” he said it in an earnest tone, hoping not to come off as confrontational. she looks like she’s not going to answer him, and he’s about to gently press her further, when she exhales deeply, and throws her head back a little.

“you wanna know why it’s bad?” it’s rhetorical, but stiles nods nonetheless. instead of a verbal answer, she grabs his hand - bringing it slowly up to her chest. finally placing it on the dip between her breasts, he lets out a soft exhale at the rapid beating of it, “that’s why.” her voice isn’t above a whisper, and stiles’ mouth is dry as a bone, “i can’t even look at you anymore without my brain going into overdrive, and-” she laughs, a breathy laugh laced in uncertainty, “i don’t know if it’s one of those ‘primal urges’ or whatever but…”

“i-” stiles had regained his voice, and had dropped his hand in shock, “i - you-” instead of allowing him to continue an incoherent ramble, y/n inches closer, and starts closing the gap between the two. she could hear his heart, already beating inconsistently, somehow still manage to pick up the pace - as she lowered her lips to his. she can feel the sweetness of his breath.

“i need you stiles. god - i need you so bad it hurts.” she can see the small movement of a nod as she presses down on him, the meshing of their bodies perfect in an almost indescribable way. the heat from his body enhanced the inferno of emotions she could feel in her own, and every graze of his fingers over her hips, his hair on her forehead, and the press of his lips felt amplified to a unignorable extent. as much as she’d hated the sensitivity to everything over the past few days, she was relishing in every sensation provided by the man - her best friend - in front of her.

when they broke away, they were both a bit breathless. she had his head in her hands, and ran her fingers lightly through his hair.

“still worried about that lit paper?” she laughs, even at such a serious moment, she loved that he could still make a joke.

“should i be? i thought i’d have all night to work on it.” similarly, he laughs.

“not anymore.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #fluff #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski oneshot #stiles stilinski fluff #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski request #teen wolf request #uselesssomebody

[gumnut-logic]

I have many many favourite things and TB2 carrying TB1 like she's a lil baby koala is one of them. Having Thunderbird One on board instantly raises Thunderbird Two from a two to a ten 😎😘

You have pre-empted me :D I has a fic being written ever so slowly as it requires sooooo much research that has very much alot of the above involved.

Here be the first part of said fic for your enjoyment. It is only set up, but hopefully it will pique your interest anyway.

@the-original-sineater is fully aware of this project. Apologies for its slowness.

-o-o-o-

“I told you to back off.”

“It was my decision.” The Commander’s voice cut across the cockpit.

“Well, you were wrong and here we are.” Anger dipped in flippancy was a far too familiar response on John’s part.

Virgil sighed to himself. This wasn’t going to die down anytime soon. A quick glance in Gordon’s direction did not improve the chances of an early resolution either. Gordon had that spark in his eye that heralded trouble with a capital G.

They were all stressed out. It was supposed to be a simple test of new equipment, specially set up in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. John had even come down to help, bringing Eos with him.

Penelope had brought out her refurbished oil rig, now named ‘FAB Three’ with Brains aboard for monitoring, and Gordon and Four were aboard Two with Virgil just in case. Thunderbird One had begun testing what could hopefully be a new shielding system that could prevent their ‘birds from being brought down or damaged by projectiles, including firearms and shrapnel from explosive situations.

It had all been developed following an incident where a chemical factory self-combusted and took out part of Two’s tail plane, preventing her launch to safety. She had also been subject to a rain of debris that was resisted mostly by her cahelium hull, but it had been a close enough call to anger Brains and that always resulted in mass invention on the scientist’s part.

Unfortunately, this time it had proven a failure. Scott had pushed One above the recommended speed limit for the test, in defiance of both Brains and John, for who knew what reason.

This was John’s area of expertise. Usually it was Virgil who helped Brains, but this time it had been John due to some of the complicated theoreticals involved, and the fact Virgil had been unavailable for a good chunk of the time needed. Consequently, there was no doubt the laws of physics were being bent this way and that.

The crumple zone on One’s cone had proven that dramatically.

What had been a simple test had turned into a hair-raising rescue from one second to the next. Virgil found himself maxing out Two’s speed limits to swoop in and snatch One out of the sky before she ended up in the Pacific.

So this wonderful trail of events had led them to their current situation - heading home, One strung under Two like a mother carrying a baby, and pilots of One and Five yelling at each other in the backseat.

Maybe Virgil was carrying children.

Certainly felt like it.

“If this shielding is going to work, it needs to work under all conditions.”

“This was an indicative test only, not a working prototype! That’s why there were speed limits!” John was obviously exasperated.

“Then why didn’t you test it on Two?”

Virgil frowned at the insinuation that his ‘bird was slow, but it was obvious that his big brother had more on his shoulders at the moment than just this test. It wasn’t like him to make such a careless mistake.

“Because Two was obviously needed to catch your ass when it fell out of the sky.” The sass was muttered by Gordon.

Virgil closed his eyes.

Oh crap.

There was silence a moment and he could feel the explosion building. The tension in the air of the cockpit twanged.

Maybe he needed to invest in some shielding of his own.

“You keep out of this.” It was sharp, commanding and all acid.

Beside Virgil, Gordon turned around in his seat. “No, this time I’m with Johnny, you shouldn’t have done that. You could have gotten yourself killed. Hell, you’ve probably given Alan his first grey hair. It was stupid and not like you. What the hell is going on?”

Virgil groaned.

Again, there was silence and he could see Scott’s reaction to the mention of their youngest brother, and the guilt that came with it. Alan was currently buried in a video game at the back of the cockpit, headphones on and hopefully oblivious to the train wreck currently in progress.

Virgil had removed him from duty because his little brother was exhausted after a long-haul space mission with Kayo the day before. But Alan had been determined to join them for the test, tired or not.

Virgil had been keeping an eye on him, but obviously his eye should have also been on Scott, who should have had a good night’s sleep last night, yet was now exhibiting symptoms that refuted that assumption.

When they finally got home – Two could not fly her usual speeds with One strapped to her belly – Virgil was going to investigate what the hell was up with his big brother.

Assuming they all survived the conflagration currently in progress.

Perhaps it was the argument that distracted him. Perhaps it was just fate doing a Tracy Tuesday, but in any case, the explosion came as a complete surprise.

They were halfway across Tongan air space when something reached up and slammed Two sideways. Her yoke was ripped from his hands and her windows were engulfed in cloud before being blanketed in a pitch black. Her instruments screamed and the whole cockpit fell sideways, loose equipment slamming into bulkheads and bodies as his brothers yelped.

Virgil grabbed at the yoke and threw power into her rear thrusters. Two fought with everything she had…

Her engines howled.

She flipped, tumbling…

A roar reached up and engulfed them. The blackness ripped through the forward windows and, caught in a swell of sensor blinding sound, everything was ripped out, including his grip on consciousness.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds eons #I may have posted a bit of this before #but i can't find it #flyboytracy

[inferno-ontherocks]

The Waiting Pain (A 911 one-shot)

A post 6x10/6x11 spec one-shot in Bobby's POV

Can also be found on Ao3 here

The shrill sound of a flatlining heart monitor throws Bobby Nash into immediate consciousness from the hospital bedside.

The chair below him groans from the rapid shift in his weight as he lifts his head where it had once rested on the mattress besides its occupant.

The heavy dread, lodged in Bobby's chest, wraps around him as he frantically looks towards the source of the sound to check the monitor.

But when his eyes finally land on the machine, the thin line remains in the same up and down pattern it had been in all night. The short beeps of the heart monitor are the only sound filling the room- breaking up the horrifying whoosh of the ventilator breathing air into Evan Buckley.

It was just a dream.

Buck was still alive.

They had gotten his heart started again, and it has been beating ever since.

Bobby repeats this to himself several times. 

He isn't sure- knowing now that it wasn't real- that he could call what he dreamt a nightmare.

Not after witnessing the real horror of Buck's still frame, dangling lifelessly from his harness.

Not after feeling the weight of his unresponsive body as he held him up before they were able to place him on the gurney. 

Those are the real nightmares. Those are the things that will plague him for the rest of his life.

Bobby sighs as he readjusts his grip on Buck's hand, ignoring the fact that his own are shaking. He hadn't wanted to let go of it. Not since he took hold of it last night after pulling his Captain-Card and sending everyone home to rest.

He had hoped that by doing so he would be able to feel any movement, signaling that Buck had awoken.

But it never came.

The fact that he also needed to make sure Buck was still there- well, that was something he didn't want to think about.

It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since Buck was in the firehouse kitchen with him. Bobby remembers the gleam in the kid's eyes when he told him the secret ingredient to his chili recipe with barely any hesitation.

"It's me." Buck had said, and that's all it took for Bobby.

He had grown fond of the boy over the years. Much more than when Buck first joined the one-eighteen. 

"This isn't a family." Bobby can still remember saying those words to Buck. And oh, how wrong he was. They had become so much of a family, that sometimes Bobby found it hard to draw the line when he needed to be their Captain. But he did it anyway. To keep them safe.

To try to keep them safe. Because there are moments like these that he always hopes to never see again. Moments where a member of his team- his family- is lying in the hospital.

Where the kid he views like his own son, lays pale and unmoving, in a hospital gown surrounded by wires, and a ventilator protruding from his mouth.

It's a horrific sight and Bobby wants Buck awake and better and out of this hospital so he can erase the image from his mind. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to, though. Not even when Buck is up and back to his normal self, always on the move, always smiling.

He wonders if this is some kind of sick karma for what happened in Minnesota. 

Bobby shifts his gaze back to the heart monitor, willing Buck's vitals to go back to a normal range. Willing for him to just open his eyes.

He isn't sure how long he sits there staring for, but the sounds of footsteps pull him from his thoughts. He's made sure to always have part of himself on alert in case the doctor were to come in.

Bobby shifts his gaze to the doorway.

Eddie, who looks like he hasn't slept the whole night, stands just outside the entrance to the room staring directly at Buck.

"Eddie. Hey." Bobby greets. His voice is hoarse from just waking up, as well as all of the begging he had done the night before to Buck, and the myriad of prayers for Buck to pull through.

Eddie makes no indication that he hears him - still staring, but Bobby can see his hands shaking at his sides.

"Eddie?" Bobby gets up slowly from the chair, forcing himself to release Buck's hand so he can check on the other member of his chosen family. 

He approaches Eddie like you would a frightened animal. As he gets closer, he can see how pale he is. How red his eyes are.

Eddie had seemed to be in shock - reasonably so - from the moment he ran to the ambulance when they were loading Buck into, to the moment he left the hospital last night. Bobby is wondering now if this is just the outcome of it finally wearing off. Or if perhaps he is still in a state of shock.

But something is different.

"He didn't-" Eddie cuts himself off before clearing his throat. "How is he?"

"No change." Bobby tells him simply. Regretfully. He wishes he had better news. 

Eddie runs a trembling hand through his hair making Bobby aware again of his own shaking hands. He forces himself to steady his own. 

It won't do Eddie any good for his Captain to be falling apart. Not when Eddie's so clearly falling apart himself.

"I-," Eddie chokes out as he steps into the room, eyes still glued onto Buck. "I had this dream that- that I didn't clip Buck's harness correctly. So when he fell-" Eddie flinches and his voice wavers and Bobby can see the moment Eddie tries to harden his features, trying to contain his emotions, "And then every time I closed my eyes, I just kept seeing it over and over again. To the point where it started to feel like that was what actually happened. And I-"

Eddie finally pulls his gaze away from Buck to look at Bobby. Bobby can see the way his eyes start to water. He can see his jaw clenching as a response. Eddie looks away from both of them now.

"You had to be sure." 

"I had to be sure." Eddie confirms and Bobby nods, understandingly. After all, he just had his own similar experience just before.

"Come sit." Bobby says, gesturing to the empty chair next to the one he had been in prior. 

Athena had sat with Bobby for hours through the night. There was no way she wouldn't be there for her husband. Especially not when it came to Buck. Athena had such a soft spot for the young firefighter and, much like Bobby, she loved him like her own. She stayed with him until only a few hours ago when she had to leave for her shift, but Bobby refused to leave just yet. 

The two sit down and Bobby goes to return his hand to Buck's, but he stops. His hands are still shaking- the dream and the nightmare of the situation still playing in loops in his head.

He has to keep it together for Eddie. He crosses his arms instead.

"You know," Eddie breaks the silence after a couple of minutes, "Usually I can't remember my dreams for the life of me. Leave it to that one to be the one permanently burned in my mind." He laughs humorlessly, hands clenching in his lap.

Bobby's heart breaks, for what seems like the millionth time in the last week. Between Buck and Wendell, he’s not sure he has much left to spare.

Bobby wants to be able to tell him it'll be okay. That Buck will be okay.

But he's afraid if he speaks the words out loud, the universe will spite him and do the opposite.

So they sit in silence, listening to the whoosh of the ventilator, willing Buck to just open his eyes.

Come back to us, kid.

___________________

It's not until hours later, after leaving to give Maddie time with her brother, that Bobby goes home. 

It's when the front door clicks shut, that Bobby's composure finally shatters.

With unsteady and exhausted legs, he finds himself starting to sink to the floor, shoulder sliding against the door on his way down, as heavy sobs rip through him.

"Bobby?" He hears Athena call out through his cries as she runs up the steps. It's that small sliver of light in the dark that allows him just enough effort to look up at her worried expression.

"I can't lose another one." He barely gets the words out before the insufferable pain is encasing him. The worry and the fear that has been building since the lightning strike is suffocating.

"Oh, Bobby." Athena wraps her arms around him and he leans heavily into it, "Buck's a fighter. He's going to make it through."

Bobby lets himself fall apart in Athena's arms. Finally home and away from the rest of the world, he crumbles. 

He tries to let Athena's words sink in.

Buck is a fighter. He always has been. Bobby hasn't known the kid to be anything else. So Buck has to make it. There's no other acceptable outcome. 

So why does it feel like he's already gone?

#911 #911 fic #911 spoilers #911 spec fic #Bobby Nash #Evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #post 6x10 #Bobby Nash will forever be Bucks father #Bobby Nash POV fic

[gwillwrites]

For You, For Her

Little self indulgent first kiss thing between OCs. Lovita belongs to @grumpys-blank-worddocument. Art credit also goes to AJ.

The light in the electro-lantern flickered. Hyram reached over and gently tapped the lantern’s casing, coaxing the batteries to provide a little more power and keep the bulb stable. Percussive maintenance worked wonders more often than not, even to the point where the techpriests the tanker knew followed it as a matter of practicality as much as any of their more esoteric rituals and maintenance practices. The lantern flickered once more, as if to protest being struck, before the light grew stronger and stabilized. Hyram watched it for a moment longer, just to make sure the little machine spirit wasn’t trying to trick him. When it failed to resume its flickering, the tanker turned his attention back to the data slate on his desk.

Hyram didn’t get letters often. There were few outside his regiment that he spoke to, or cared enough about him to actually write. He didn’t even need all the fingers on his hand to count them. All three, so far as he knew, were still back home on Venturia. Tonight’s reading was from his sister. She wrote to him most frequently, usually three or four times a month on average. Of course some of that frequency depended on when and how often Hyram was able to get a break between things to write her back.

The data slate winked on with a plaintive hum. It seemed all the machine spirits were taking issue with being used tonight. Hyram couldn’t necessarily blame them. The blizzard outside was enough to make anyone grumpy. Were it not for the fur-lined coat he wore and the space heater working overtime in the corner of the tent, he would be throwing a fit too. Hyram let it warm up for a moment before opening Emillia’s letter.

Dearest brother, I hope this finds you well.

Hyram smiled. He could hear Emillia’s voice in his head as he read what she had written. They hadn’t spoken face to face in over a decade. Not since he had joined the Astra Militarum. She had been eleven back then, but he could imagine what she would sound like as a grown woman now. It was one of those things he just knew.

Your last letter left me in a state of worry. I don’t know what a knight-desecrator is, but it sounds terrible. If you truly managed to destroy one, then I suppose the Imperium is better off for it.

“You have no idea.”

Imagining you face off against something so horrible is just… Mother and I both worry. She is doing well, by the way. You asked in your previous letter. The doctors said there is no more sign of the disease in her. We are all elated and she is slowly gaining her strength back. She will still need to go back for periodic monitoring to make sure it does not return, but we are hopeful. The Emperor has truly blessed her in her healing. But back to the point, if you are well enough to keep writing after facing such a monster, I suppose we do not need to worry so much.

“Prayers are always welcome though.”

On a lighter note, how is Lovita?

Hyram could hear Emillia’s smug tone through her written words, and could imagine the knowing smirk gracing his sister’s face as she wrote them.

You did not mention her in your last letter. Is she still around? Are you still seeing each other?

Hyram snorted. “Maybe that’s because I wrote the last letter from the medicare’s tent,” he said. “And seeing each other is hardly the way I would describe it.”

Even as he said the words, there was a strange pang in his chest, as if he wanted it to be true. There was no denying that something existed between the two of them. Hell, even the rest of his crew were doing their best to get something to happen. That made Hyram feel guilty. Lovita had done her best to express interest, but he had purposefully ignored her, telling himself he wasn’t worth her time, she could do better with anyone else, that he didn’t deserve her. All because of the way he felt about himself, his past, and his own perceived shortcomings. Was he wrong?

I hope you give her a chance. Not just because I think dating someone would do you some good, but because I think you deserve a chance at happiness in this life, Hyram. Even if it is only fleeting. I do not know how long the God-Emperor will keep your paths crossed. I do not know if you know. But I know that if there is anything there between you at all, you owe it to her and to yourself to try.

“You owe it to her…”

The last words died on his tongue as he read and reread them. Hyram’s brow furrowed as emotions warred within his breast. He could agree with the first part. Hyram wanted Lovita to be happy, and he would do anything he could to see her smile. Hearing her laugh had become a bright spot in his life, something he chased after more often than he would care to admit.

But did he owe it to himself?

His father sprung to mind, and the guilt and rage of that night that saw Ezekiel Barrus’ life extinguished at the hand of his eldest son. Hyram’s intentions had been good, but there had been enough spite in his actions that night to render him guilt-ridden since then. Over fifteen years later, and he had been unable to wash the blood from his hands. He hadn’t even been able to disguise it with the blood the Astra Militarum expected him to shed. So instead, he had convinced himself he wasn’t deserving of happiness, and had worked to deprive himself of everything and anything that could possibly grant it.

Including Lovita.

Hyram placed the data slate down. His sister’s voice continued to ring in his head as he skimmed through the rest of what she had written in the letter, but he was no longer focused on what she had to say, as if it had absorbed too much new information at once and needed to blot out everything else to give him a moment to process.

You owe it to her and to yourself to try.

Maybe Emillia was right.

+++

The stench of blood and antiseptic mixed with the scent of mud and wet earth. Hyram pulled his jacket tighter, as if the rain pouring from above hadn’t already soaked through every layer of clothing he wore. It wasn’t the rain that caused him to seek warmth. Hyram had been cold and wet before. He would be cold and wet again. He was used to it, and weathered the discomfort as well as anyone in the Astra Militarum. No, the pulling of his coat had nothing to do with the weather and more to do with the nervousness he was feeling.

Hyram stopped a junior orderly struggling through the mud with a trolley laden with supplies. Boxes of syringes, bandages, clotting powder of dubious value now that it was as soaked as the orderly was. The trolley’s wheels had gotten mired down in the mud and the orderly was struggling to free it and get it moving again. In exchange for his aid in freeing the stuck trolley, Hyram received from the orderly the information he needed. He made his way down the row of tents, turned left at the first intersection, and continued along until he found a long tent of drab green fabric with the word RECOVERY stenciled in yellow paint over the entrance flap.

Hyram stepped inside.

The smell of antiseptic doubled in his nostrils, and the sound of the storm was replaced with the groans of the injured and the patter of rain on the canvas above. It took a moment for Hyram’s vision to adjust to the dim yellow light seeping from glow globes hung at intervals along the tent’s support poles. 

The wounded and convalescing were placed on cots and arranged head to head and foot to foot. White sheets provided warmth, though some had heavier blankets given to them by sympathetic squadmates or families following in the regimental trains. The cots were arranged in a grid pattern, with avenues up and down and across at intervals that allowed medicae and nurses to pass and minister to those under their care.

“I’m sorry, sir, but visiting hours for the patients has ended for the day.”

Hyram turned to find a short man in a nurse’s apron standing beside him. He was balding, with thick spectacles perched on the end of a pointed nose. The name tag pinned to his chest read Klawskinni. One of Klawskinni’s hands clutched a clipboard close to his chest while the other adjusted his glasses, as if trying to bring Hyram into better focus.

“Yes, I know,” Hyram said, his gaze going back to scanning the tent.

“Visiting hours resume tomorrow morning at 1000,” Klawskinni said. “You can visit your- hey, wait! Sir!”

Hyram strode past the man, ignoring his pleas to wait and slow down. Klawskinni did his best to keep up, but the taller man’s strides were longer and carried him farther faster. Hyram did not care. He had seen who he had come for.

Lovita stood up from the bedside of a trooper with bandages wrapped firmly around the left side of his head. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she heard Klawskinni’s frazzled tone. “Sorias?” she called. “What is the matter?”

Then she saw the tanker coming towards her, and her eyes widened. “Hyram? Hyram what are you-”

The rest of the sentence caught in her throat as Hyram pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Lovita’s eyes went even wider, surprise written clear across her face, before she melted and kissed back. She almost threw her arms around Hyram’s neck before she remembered where they were.

“Hyram!” Lovita stammered, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes. “What was that for?”

Hyram swallowed breathlessly, suddenly aware that he may not have thought this course of action through entirely. “I, uh… Because I wanted to.” Hyram glanced around, acutely aware that some of the patients were looking at them. A few had knowing smirks on their faces. One gave him an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

“You wanted to?” Lovita raised an eyebrow. “Hyram this is hardly the time or place.”

“I… I know…” Hyram felt color rush to his face and fought to keep embarrassment from rising any farther. “I’m sorry.”

Lovita looked up at him for a moment longer. Then she smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. “You are a wonderful, silly man, Hyram Flint.” The hospitaller went up on her toes to reach his lips and kiss him again. Someone on the far side of the tent gave an obnoxiously cheerful whoop. Lovita let the kiss linger before coming back down. “And my shift ends in an hour.”

“An hour.” Hyram repeated, still blinking owlishly at her. Then he smiled, an honest smile full of more warmth than any Lovita had seen on his face before. “Alright then. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

“Good,” Lovita said. “Because I am quite interested in seeing what else you might want to do after that kiss.”

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #black library #fanfiction #fanfic #writers of tumblr #warhammer community #[Death Before Dismount: Hyram Flint]

[delicatebluebirdruins]

Devil in the Details (DLC edition)

Daughters:

Jack, I've put our guest to bed in the trailer. (I told her she could have the old bedroom, but she insisted…)

Marguerite

Mia trying to isolate herself incase contact with her would expose the Bakers to infection... I think it might have done actually considering how quickly it snowballed in daughters and the infection coming and going in waves (they were fighting it)

To the Baker Family,

Thank you for saving my life. But please forget all about me.

Mia tells Ethan and the Bakers to forget about her. And she forgot herself really

I was assigned to transport some important cargo on that ship. Getting involved with me, or that cargo, can only cause trouble for your family. Big trouble.

Please don't contact the police or state authorities. Just pretend we never met.

few reasons for this warning: one is because the police and state authorities would be woefully unprepared. two the connections would catch up a bit quicker (maybe the connections were monitoring missing persons cases along the route?) and take Evie back or outright kill her and Mia

And… you saved me, so take this advice in return. If you see a girl near the ship who looks about ten years old, DO NOT approach her.

I would have put this sooner to be honest. And another thank you. One good turn deserves another.

If she talks to you, get away as quickly as you can. Just try not to make her angry in the process. If you've been feeling ill at all, then I'm afraid the worst may already have happened.

It's a fate worse than death, and it can't be cured at a hospital. I'm so sorry.

of course the people infected lose all form of self just wanting to please whoever infected them

There is a way to stop it, though. Serum. If you inje stop the symp

as we know from the reports in the salt mine the serum Mia is referring to would not work. But maybe hope would be enough to keep them sane (it was for Zoe the only one to read the letter)

and the ending is because Evie caught up and interfered

Bedroom: (i love the start where Clancy gets told by Margurite that Evie wants him to be her big brother just the big ass ?????)

Jack's Journal fragment (I want to say this diary entry is from 2015 or 2016 we don't know but I think 2016)

Jan. 24 Marguerite's on the warpath again.

I can handle her when she's yelling–it's when she gets all quiet that you gotta watch out. At that point, you say one word and she flies off the handle. Nothing for it but to wait.

as someone who has gotten jumped on by Margurite without hearing her and dying during Ethan must die yeah sounds about right

Margurite is the angry one with a short fuse acknowledgment something

Jan. 28 Goddamn Zoe. All Marguerite did was yell at her some, and Zoe went and pointed a knife at her.

Just pulled it right from the dresser! Who knows where else she may be hiding them.

I better check everything in the house, just in case.

What am I gonna do with that girl? It's like she doesn't appreciate a loving family.

Zoe showing some sign of infection and being scared of her family

hi Evie and her ideal

Not A Hero

Operation "Lurking Fear"

Primary Mission Extract Lucas baker

Location Dulvey, Louisiana, USA Baker estate

Threat Profile ·"Molded": Alpha variant, others ·Anti-personnel traps (lethal and non)

Notes: Due to the lack of intelligence and the number of unknown factors involved, Chris Redfield of the BSAA wll act as a bioweapons specialist on missions.

they have some intelligence (I wonder who they got it from) but not a lot

so they send in the luckiest (and unluckiest if you have to rely on him unless your name is Jill, Claire or Sheva) and most experienced man they have

LOCATION UPDATE:: Recent intel has confirmed that Lucas Baker s holed up in the mines near the Baker estate.

Profile - Lucas Baker: Suspected associate of criminal organization The Connections (role unconfirmed). Holds vital intel regarding said organization.

they need info and Lucas is the best one for it at this point

Profile - The Connections: Criminal organization producing bioweapons for sale on the international black market. Limited intel on size, market share, and members. They are the prime suspects implicated in the production and distribution of the E-Series bioweapon. E-Series model "Eveline" is present and active at the Baker estate. Lucas Baker seems to be monitoring her and reporting on her activities.

Limited: meaning small in amount or number. so they have a small idea of how big the organisation is, how much they're worth (market share meaning: the percentage of the market for a product or service that a company supplies) and how many members it has

prime suspects. Prime meaning most important, suspect to believe something to be probable. to me this reads as the connections not being the only group experimenting the with mold

Letter from Blue Umbrella

For many of you this is your first mission with us, so we wanted to make it clear what Umbrella is all about.

Though many of our staff hail from the infamous pharmaceutical giant Umbrella, our purpose is to make amends for the atrocities perpetrated under the Umbrella name. That is why we re-incorporated as a PMC in 2007.

We will put a stop to not only anyone who is engineering or selling bioweapons, but those who support those efforts as well.

We made a mess and now we have to clean it up. By keeping the Umbrella name, we show that we take responsibility for that mess and we want you to remember that you carry this responsibility with you in every mission

thank you game developers for including Graves Diary and the Scientists dying message in RE3R. Umbrella collapsed in 2004

Eveline Observation Log

E-001 Log - July 22, 2016

Health: Good Mental State: Good Mutamycete Secretion: Normal Other: n/a

Not much change. She just plays with dolls all day. Turned two guys Molded today.

why do these records start in July 2016 when Lucas has been cured since 2015 (lmao that's today I'm writing this)

what change was the writer looking for

bit of normalacy for Evie. those guys were turned into the white molded possibly (i say this because the white molded have more human like heads and have human organs. but it could be either)

E-001 Log - August 12, 2016

Health: Coughing, exhaustion Mental State: Slightly stressed Mutamycete Secretion: More than usual Other: n/a

After playing ball with dad, she started complaining about being tired. Turned one guy into a Fat Molded.

self explanatory

begining of Evie's decline and another moment of normalacy (I wonder what Jack thought of this and I wonder if Margurite was involved at points as well)

it depends on the individual on what turns into what

E-001 Log - August 26, 2016

Health: Bad Mental State: Stressed Mutamycete Secretion: High Other: Sudden aging

She's aging all of a sudden: losing weight, hair falling out, the works. The more she screams, the more she vomits. Basement's heavily contaminated. No apparent cause for the aging. Gonna ask for further instructions

poor Evie.

the basement in the main house obviously and then got moved to the proper lab in the mines

E-001 Log - September 9, 2016

Health: Weak but stable Mental State: Delusional, incoherent Mutamycete Secretion: Stable Other: n/a

Aging has slowed, seems pretty stable. Got the E-Necrotoxin from the company. Orders are to use it "if she gets out of control." And I thought I was the funny one.

the connections have no desire to salvage Evie after they got her data from an entirely new environment (not quite real world but close enough) Lucas wants to keep going until she dies (?)

Researchers Journal

June 11, 2017 I'm sick of this guy Lucas. They just gave him my job as lead researcher.

Who do they think I am? Why do I - a Stanford graduate with a master's in microbiology - have to work under this lunatic? All he does is mess around with the test subjects-making them all fight each other and doing unnecessary autopsies. He's sick. He knows nothing about the E-series mutamycete's potential. I'm going to report his behavior at the next meeting with HQ.

that makes the time frame interesting as he was in charge for a month (ish)

what the fuck did Lucas do to get promoted to lead reseacher?

Lucas is a little like Alex Wesker and that is not a compliment

as for the potential Lucas wants to see how far it can go we don't know anything about these guys

Lucas Journal

I killed off all the Connections' researchers.

They were poking around where they weren't supposed to when I wasn't looking, but I knew exactly what they were up to. Probably didn't like having to report to me.

So, I thew them in a cage with some Molded. They shit their pants and begged for their lives. I'm just worried I won't be able to hold back from laughing when I make the report that they met with an unfortunate accident.

Probably a good time now to cut ties with The Connections. I'm the only one who can really make good use of Eveline's mold.

I wonder what exactly the other researchers were looking for

considering Lucas is aware of our movements as Ethan and as Chris (turning all the traps in the green shutter)

Lucas is terrible

What was his exit strategy? And here it is the reason why he betrayed them in the first place

Email Log:

Sent: Thursday, July 20, 2017 10:22 AM

Things got a little out of hand, but I took care of it. I'm sending the E data now. It shouldn't take long.

After it goes through, I'm outta hetw;j

Umbrella and Chris

I wonder if he was planning on destroying the lab

Note on the Wall

Buyer for E data? → Got one -Get set up for transmission

still don't know who he was talking to

End of Zoe

Orders are as follows, effective immediately:

The mutamycete is on the loose in the swamp, and it'll keep mutating as it encounters new organisms. We can't allow the stock of medicine compounds to be exposed-if they suffer a mutation they'll be useless.

Transfer the whole anti-infective synthesizing station over to the paddle boat.

these are a bit better then what the connections were dealing with but still able to become useless if not careful

Analysis Report

We've finished analyzing the tissue samples believed to be from Jack Baker.

The cells exhibit an extraordinary resilience to physical and chemical damage; the E-Series mutamycete secretes a telomerase-like enzyme through the cell wall, causing abnormal activation of the ERK pathway to achieve forced cell division-quickly regenerating damaged tissue.

However, the repeated cell division quickly leads to breakdown in the intercellular structure, leading to the sloughing, slurry-like effect we've observed in the collected tissue samples. Our working hypothesis puts this down to the cells reaching their Hayflick limit.

Note that the samples from the other family members (the wife Marguerite, the son Lucas, and the daughter Zoe) do not exhibit the same extreme regenerative properties. The symptoms may differ from subject to subject. Further study required.

The Hayflick Limit is a real thing

how did they get the samples? what are the samples with Lucas and Marguerite its obvious as they're both dead. But what did they get from Zoe just some hair and/or dead skin? probably it had to be something of a size to be able to test how it regenerates and how can they tell what is regenerating? I wonder what else they learn from Zoe after she gets checked up? (did they take samples from Mia and Ethan? probably. I wonder what they found)

confirmation of what we know (report in salt mine)

#resident evil #ethan winters #mia winters #zoe baker #jack baker #daughters dlc #not a hero dlc #end of zoe dlc #joe baker #one day i will be consistent with tagging things #re talk #chris redfield #lucas baker #less analysis and more snark #hey that was thursday this year #hope you can see the colours #get evie to watch mitchells vs the machines that would be a fun thing for her #resident evil 7 #resident evil biohazard

[imopeningup]

The trippiest thing i’ve experienced in life is like being in a relationship where I can’t grow or change. Any effort at individualism / difference halts. And maybe one protects their difference by hiding it, in the deepest corner of the psyche. In essence it’s not that you’ve showed up to this other person as perfect, it’s that they make it known that you are one mistake away from being deemed imperfect. And imperfection is the life sentence you’re trying to avoid.The self monitoring alone, which you develop to cope, eventually will drive you nuts. But this inability to like trust the other person in their acts of love / care is the most corrosive thing. I go through relationships being there in a codependent sense, but not actually being. Or I  start on equal terms with someone, giving and receiving, and then it becomes “unequal” or the person I am with doesn’t want anything tangible from me and my brain shuts down. I simply can’t understand the logic and I end up trying to make a mistake so that the ending falls on me. Sometimes, if it simply cannot be done, I disappear. And it’s a cowardly loop. Sadly one that’s not just an issue of self esteem. Like yes the questions “Why would so and so like me, want to talk to me, care for me?” etc. come up but something else is operating. Everyone has needs, however the other person doesn’t have to seem “needy”, because needs, wants, and desires simply arise and one rushes to fill them. And then the dynamic flops or the other person feels the shift and all is kaput. Although never quite as neatly as it seems. I think that if conditional situations were the modus operandi (and this was coupled with avoidance) then it could be hard for a person to show up without immediately being in the negatives in some sense. Because there’s this logic about one’s value also immediately hanging in the air. And there seems to be this feeling and this drive to prove that value to the other person, subconsciously or not. My problem is that in this headspace, I seriously wonder how a person could simply step outside and feel the breeze on their face? How might they slow down their mental processes enough to dip their toe into the water and really feel the ripple? There has got to be a way for a person to come to understand that life isn’t a series of conditions, and that there isn’t a huge dark cloud of scarcity hanging over everything. 

[somensfw-blue]

as I am now back, it is time for small horny thoughts before bed

L'manbur, the man who had it all, rambling on an on about every single thought he has in his brain as he fucks you, from praise, to bliss, to wonder. "gods you're just so wonderful like this beneath me, the view of your gorgeous self is as mesmerizing, like you are the prettiest work of art, my darling"

Vilbur, unhinged yet still somehow grasping sanity, for the first time since being kicked out of L'manberg he's gentle with you, to the point where you ask him about it only for him to reply "we've been through enough, didn't we love? time for us to catch a break, finally."

Ghostbur, exploring what it truly means to be alive with you, asking lots of innocent questions about sex as you ride him, the ghost choking up or moaning mid sentence and reader having to slow down to understand the sweet and innocent ghost, only for him to ask you to "p-please, do not stop. I n-need to understand what it feels like to be a-alive"

Simpbur, full of jealousy after you come back from a date, he pins you to the wall and decides to show you that he really deserves you the most. "no one else can make you feel like I do, no one can make you moan so sweet, tremble so much, or even look at them the way you look at me~ you know no one is worthy of your beauty and grace like I am dear~"

ARGbur, letting you ride him as he works; but only if you don't cum until he's done. pants are discarded as one of his hands is on his keyboard, while the other is on your hips, guiding you as you ride him while he switches between you and the monitor. "couldn't wait for me to be done with work huh? don't worry baby, I'll let you have whatever it is you need. only if you obey and not cum~ you can stop if you need, but don't cum until my entire focus is purely on you."

I think this is a fair amount of horny ideas for tonight. I will go to bed for now but I'll be back soon! enjoy the horny and take care!

~🌻 Anon

(P.S. - here, have some snacks, can't be horny on an empty stomach: 🍟🥨🍪🍿🍫🥓🍩🧊)

*cracks knuckles* okay let's get down to bid-niss

l'manbur - gods this man, very quickly gets to the point where he is so drunk on the feeling of you, on the sounds of you, that his eloquent words drawl together and become nothing but rambles and praises for the gorgeous person who he gets to claim as his. (of you want to interrupt his ramblings and have his voice crack, you have three options, depending on your position. 1) give his curls a strong tug, pull his attention where you want it. 2) take your mouth off his cock, and run your tongue over the veins. and 3) reach down and give his balls a gentle squeeze, give them some attention)

vilbur - "you're being so gentle, wil." the words are observant, confused, and a little desperate. it hasn't been long since being kicked from your home, but he quickly devolved, fucking your rough and harsh, relishing in leaving marks and having you scream his name. he kisses the corner of your mouth, using a gentle finger to move some hair that stuck to your forehead. "we deserve a break, after all of this, don't we? a time to slow down and just feel you."

ghostbur - of course, having all of wilbur's good memories means that he remembers what sex is like, especially sex with you. but those memories are fogged, both because of dying and because his mind always clouded when with you. so ghostbur wants to clear up those memories, understand truly why his body has the need to feel you. but he doesn't know how, so he asks you. and he doesn't stop asking you, even as your hips drop and roll forward so your hips meet, his cock his that spot inside of you that has your eyes roll back, and his words stutter. after struggling to force the question out three times, you slow your hips, leaving him completely inside of you but only shifting with your breaths. "n-no please don't stop. i'll fig-figure out talking later. i wan- i need to understand what it feels like to be alive."

simpbur - every date you went on, you made it clear to simpbur that you thought they were better than him. but he knew better, knew what you needed and what you deserved. you deserved better than they could ever give you. and maybe you knew it too, when you came home from another bad date or worse hookup and immediately collapsed into his always waiting arms. (and maybe once or twice, it went further than comforting hugs, but you always just called him your best friend) but he beat you to it, already waiting by the door for you to come home. the door was barely shut before you were pinned to it, one hand beside your head, the other on your hips, pulling them toward him. "you know that they can't fuck you like i can. can't make you moan and scream, make it hard for you to walk the next day. i don't know why you bother yourself with them, when we both know that i worship you, and make you feel better than anyone ever could."

ARGbur - (this shit is my kryptonite you don't understand. i am obsessed with 'riding s/o while they work bc you're needy') he didn't neglect you and your needs, that was a certainty, but sometimes while he worked your core started to ache and you needed to feel him inside of you. as soon as you walked in, he knew you were there, watching out the corner of his eye as you walked over to him. "can i ride you while you work?" you posed the question as if asking if he wanted food, and he just smiled. "only if you think you can keep from cumming until i'm done." you didn't know if you'd be able to, not really, but you nodded anyway and worked yourself out of your pants and underwear, before pulling his cock out of his trousers. every now and again, you felt one of his hands move to your hip and guide you as you slowly rocked on his cock. "i want you to have my full attention when you cum, love. give you everything you deserve. so just hold on."

(thank you for snacks!! snacks are always good!)

#someblue chatters #c:WLBR #c:VLBR #c:LMNBR #c:GHSTBR #c:ARGBR #c:SMPBR #🌻 anon #k:praise #someblue thoughts

[thatstormygeek]

I used to shop at Hy-Vee. I no longer shop at Hy-Vee, for a number of reasons. But I still have to go to Hy-Vee once a month to fill a prescription for my dog because it would cost $30 more per month at the pharmacy where we fill the rest of our prescriptions, and even more than that to get the meds through the vet. [USA USA USA USA]

This isn't the biggest pain when the pharmacy drive-thru is working. But ours has been broken for months.

So we get the dog's drugs and grab some frozen stuff while we're there and go to self check as we usually do. Turns out, they have installed cameras above the registers (in addition to the ones staring you in the face while you scan) and that camera really, really did not like me handing the prescription to my partner to put in a bag of scanned groceries.

It stopped EVERYTHING for the register cop employee to come over and make sure we weren't stealing something. It didn't tell us why it stopped, of course. Just said we needed to wait for "assistance." But when she scanned her code to clear us, there was a nice little video for her that showed us bagging a prescription without scanning it since, you know, we'd paid for it at the fucking pharmacy.

And it made me wonder how much that system costs. How much they spent on those cameras and the software to detect someone pocketing a candy bar or whatever. And the staff they surely have sitting there "watching" the monitors.

Personally, I like self-serve options because I prefer not to interact with people unless absolutely necessary. But I also know that companies did not start providing them for that reason. In the short term, execs looked at replacing humans that require paychecks and occasional breaks with machines that don't and saw Line Go Up and said "Do it now."

Then the reality of machines set in, and repairs and downtime and software glitches made Line Go Up Less and execs got all grumpy. They were still forced to employ people despite the machines, so they were still flushing all of that potential profit into the sewer of the economy (which is not to be confused with the Economy which is the only important one because Wall Street).

Also, it turns out allowing people to check their own groceries also allowed for easier shoplifting, which made for an easy scapegoat when the Almighty Shareholders saw Line Go Up Less and went shocked pikachu.

The thing about the Line is that it always has to go up. The more the better. Plateauing is not an option. Going down is inconceivable.

The machines have to stay because Line Go Up, but something has to be done because it's not enough Up. More cameras. Recording. Take some of the thinly-stretched, overworked humans and put them on register cop duty. We are in the business of PROFIT. If customers also get their purchases in a satisfactory-enough manner that we aren't buried under complaints, it's a bonus. But that's not our purpose. P R O F I T

P R O F I T ! ! !

Anyway.

Yeah. So I wonder how much that system at Hy-Vee cost. And how much of the ever-increasing price of groceries goes to pay for it. And where it ends.

As for me, it made the decision to stop getting anything other than the dog drugs there pretty damn easy. Maybe they'll take all that money they are saving now that they've Solved Shoplifting and fix the pharmacy drive-thru so I don't even have to set foot in the prison store.

*snort* yeah, right. but i guess this face is worth it.

#this is my brain on life #trashpool says fuck this shit #trashpool adventures in peopling #just capitalism having a normal one #fuck all stages of capitalism #capitalism is the least sexy vampire #late stage capitalism #missouri #us politics #furfam #what do you hear starbuck