#so i did my best to sort of. fuse them

[captainofthetidesbreath]

so, my understanding of things (note that I'm working off only a vague recollection of what we learned this week, so I'm unsure what was directly said or simply implied) with Ashton and being a "titan of blood" and carrying a fragment of primordial elemental capability and Efterin claiming to have received a blessing from Evontra'vir and Keyleth speculating that perhaps Efterin had an artifact with a shard of a titan (primordial) is that Efterin sought to fuse Ashton to a shard of a titan in a ritual that borrowed from how druids of the Gau Drashari and their descendants in the Ashari meld with the land and become trees or other natural elements

it is known that Efterin preached about restoring the primordials to the world, as they are all dead, and that this was considered foolish and impossible by at least the Ashari. so, I imagine that his hope was that if he fused Ashton to this shard, it would re-create a living titan

the phrase "titan of blood" is interesting because it's semantically distinct from "titan's blood" / "titan blood" (or, "blood of a titan"). off the specificity of that construction, what, I think, Keyleth is trying to say is that whatever ritual Efterin performed made Ashton into a sort of titan, or what could be the best approximation of it now, but one that has flesh and blood rather than a body of raw elements like the titans had (as reflected in the elementals).

of course, Efterin also blew up the village, but my understanding or sense or theorizing here is that he DID successfully enough fuse the shard into Ashton and succeeded, in a sense, in re-creating some kind of breathing titan—like a different sort, or someone who is fraction of one, or is one in a different physicality, or something. just straight up fused Ashton to the shard and made them a titan the way the druids fuse with trees and become themselves trees?

#Critical Role #Ashton Greymoore #CR spoilers #cr meta #Critical Role things

[sapphire-drawings]

Hey Sapphire!! I have a question about your Adult Webber

How did he end up getting fused with a spider? Is it sort of the same way that the normal Webber did?

Express reply for Beetle lol

In my head it started all the same as the canon but instead of kicking him out, his mother recognized his crying and they realized what happened to their only child

And his dad would be so mad!

By losing this rare spider specimen he also lost the opportunity to be somewhat relevant in the science community (and his child too). Since that day everything changed and Webber grew with little to no affection practically raising themselves, specially from his dad. The only good company being his now own spider.

But I also like to think his grandparents would try their best. Grandpa providing as much books as he could to read together developing a love for literature, also taking his father's entomology and other sciences ones and eventually finding ways to get more growing up. Such a bookworm, but what else would he do, right?

He considers himself a scientist like his dad taking every opportunity to apply everything he read. Not because he was taught.

Soooo yeah, not a good childhood

Does any of this makes sense? Not at all. It's way more logical for them to get rid of him but that's what Au's are for, right????

#He got the scolding of his life #Thanks for showing interest in my weird ass ideas lol #chafi replies #it took me a year and a half to realize there's a photo of Webber's grandpa in his house. Feel so stupid #I've watched the short an insane amount of times #dst au #dst adult webber #dst webber #dst #dont starve #dont starve together

[gunpowderdtim]

could i possibly please hear your marius backstory hc? no pressure ofc

boy am i glad you asked.

Byron, as per "canon", grew up on a planet with poor nutrition, poor everything really, with his sister, Dorothea, and his parent. (menntioned by kofi once)

Dorothea and Byron spent their time, when not experiencing the horrors, poking around ruins, trying not to die, and to scavenge what they can from the relics left behind by the long-crumbled ancient society of some sort.

(Very memory of water, if any of you have read that book)

One day, Byron and Dorothea stumble across an entrance to some sort of old science facility, or warehouse, or perhaps hangar is the best word.

And together, they discover Kismet, Fate, (or, more pertinently within my mechs canon, fate in the matter that a story has its written ending.) - and Byron begins piloting it.

A sword in a stone, one might say.

Arthur.

When Arthur got his railgun, that started his destiny.

Byron did not have a military grade gun.

Byron had Kismet.

Now what is Kismet?

A gundam, a mecha, a giant fucking humanoid robot vehicle that Byron then pilots to do plot things.

What sort of plot things? Exactly what doesn't particularly matter, only that Byron did not stop.

He just kept on fucking going. Until he couldn't. That sounds sort of familiar, huh?

Like Hercules.

[Zeus's] favourite trick is to offer [his bastard children] a place in the family, contingent on the completion of a suicide mission or two. Most barely last a week, but Heracles? Heracles is too mean, too tough, and too stupid to stop. So he just keeps going. 

Now, Kismet eventually will crash, with Byron inside, but thats to discuss later, for now, lets ask another question:

How does Kismet operate?

To me, Kismet is made of a very familiar metal - the sort, that we may know, "hums like a far off chant"

(the sort of metal i think all Mechanisms are made of, a far off chant, you say? like a song?)

And how, i may offer, do machines of metal like that operate?

His name is Kvasir, a low level member of the Midgardian resistance, but that doesn't matter. What matters is the dozen tubes and feed lines plugged into his veins, pumping blood through the arcane glyphs and blood channels and gears and sigils that line the chamber. The metal is the same as that which makes the track, and it hums like a far off chant.​

Blood. Blood that runs through channels, the life force of the user, hoooking them into the heart of the machine to feed it, to regulate it.

(We know the mechanisms are likely powered off void. They shimmer rainbow when damaged.)

Byron is Kismet's pilot, and, i would imagine, there has to me a mechanism of sort to pilot it, pilot fate, to me, i envision a cuff around his arm, with veins of metal snaking up his veins, sapping his blood, drop by drop, to power the machine.

Byron is the heart, in the center of machine, who needs hearts blood when you act as it? He controls Kismet with a cuff around his arm He is its pilot.

He steers fate.

Thor begins pulling levers and throwing switches seemingly at random, causing the glyphs and channels to move and warp their constellations.

Byron, most likely, pulls the wrong lever.

Kismet crashes.

And Byron becomes it.

Or it becomes Marius.

The cuff stops being around his arm, starts being his arm, fusing into his body, his bones, becoming it, becoming him, and Byron becomes something else altogether.

Byron Von Raum once piloted Kismet.

Kismet is now piloting Marius.

What is the relationship between parasite and host? What is the relationship between pilot and ship? What is the relationship between Mechanism, and the body a mechanism 'enhances'?

What is the relationship between a story, and its ending?

#marius von raum #the mechanisms #the mechs #asks #the amount of narratomancy i can shove into this guy is INSANEEEEE

[lxm-memories]

a cry from the past, a call from the future w/ luxiem

✧ luxiem x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: a painful memory doesn't have to remain a memory forever, right?

✧ content: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of character death, some scenarios have open endings, paragaphs and sentences writtin in italic indicate past conversations, most of luca's and mysta's scenarios are written in the past!

✧ rule of thumb: please read my works as fiction related to the streamers, they are in no way real or connected to what the actual streamer is as a person - i write for the personas of luxiem, not for the person behind them.

✧ a/n: hi. (insert the one meme of the hamster doing the peace sign). the outfits did give me some sort of inspiration to write these short drabbles for each guy, although my motivation in general is low in general for them. but either way i hope ya'll will come to like em! thank ya'll for your patience !!

p.s: shu's and voxs' scenarios are way longer than the other 3 because ideas for them comes easier with these sort of scenarios

As much as Shu tells everyone he doesn't like lying, he will always without a doubt tell one white lie to each person asking him about his past.

"Oh, I was teleported to this world when I was quite young! I barely remember my own world at this point!"

That was the white lie Shu would always go by. But now he's gazing at himself at the mirror at the corner of his room, high ponytail and various paper shikigamis floating around him as he heaves a sigh. He knew it would be a futile attempt, but reverting back to his own form would be his best shot at trying to do what has taken him years to do ever since he first got to this world.

"You know you look way scarier when you're all dolled up in your usual sorcerer form," the sorcerer in question merely chuckles at your comment, setting down the scroll he was reading before leaning over to brush a stray piece of hair away from your face, "That is its primary purpose, so I'm glad it has that effect even if it's on you," he says, "Oh so it's only for decoration purposes?" you ask with a grin, your lover shaking his head with a playful roll of his eyes.

"Of course not, every clothing is fused with more concentrated mana, to the point I even have to seal some off to not make it all fly out of control if something were to happen," Shu informs, pointing towards the mark on his forehead, "There's a certain time warping spell I want to try. It's forbidden, but we could care less about that," he says, to which you only hum as the you glance over the garden, where his parents are busy drawing out an array, "... Ominious," you mutter.

Shu stops for a second, glancing over at you before back at his parents, letting out a long hum before tapping you on the shoulder to get your attention, leaning down to peck your head, "Nothing's going to happen, I promise," he reassures, to which you only laugh with a bitter smile, "Better not, if something did you knew I would wait after all."

It was his idea.

And something did happen.

When the sorcerer felt himself getting sucked into whatever wormhole he had created, parents long sucked before him since they were the closest when it first opened up. Shu struggled to turn around to look after your form, hand stretching out to reach for your hand that was reaching out for his own, "[Name]...!"

And that's how he found himself in his current predicament, years later after he was dumped into a more modern world and away from you. Years of testing out magic in his more normal form to make sure that when he's in his prime form, he can manipulate the space for one purpose and one purpose only.

He doesn't know if his real world runs on a different timeline than the current world he's residing in. He hopes not, but either way he just have to know if you were okay.

"They can't be that mad can they?" he mutters with a dry laugh. Taking a deep breath, Shu stars rechanting the mantra he had done all those years ago when he first separated from you. And as he sees the wormhole gradually create an image of his former world, he sees the familiar figure at his own house cleaning the garden.

At least he confirmed that his old world and current world ran on the same yearspan.

The person in question were somehow able to feel his gaze on them and looked up with furrowed eyebrows. The sorcerer can only let out a choked laugh when he sees your eyes, once void of emotion light up in surprise. And Shu can only give a wry smile in response to your shock because every bone in his body is screaming in pain.

"I finally got you."

"I still don't know why I have to dress up like this," Ike comments, and you merely glance back at the male whose looking at himself on the full length mirror, twisting his body back and forth to look over every detail "Isn't it... too white?" he questions in the end.

You merely snort at the choice of words, placing his beloved beret back on the shelf before walking up to his back, adjusting the blue scarf and peeking at him from the side, "Well it's a more extravagant book fair, no? You're even going to promote some of your own work there, I would rather you stand out a tiny bit instead of blending in the with the crowd."

"I look like a bride," he says with a chuckle, "Even better on the eyes then," you retort, telling him to bend down a bit so you can clasp on the earrings, "There, all ready," you whisper, leaning in to peck his cheek.

"Have fun, alright? And if it get's too late then just stay at a nearby inn. I would hate for you to walk back home alone."

Ike did have fun. And he did stay at the fair later than usual, so he ended up staying at an inn. And the next time he woke up, he woke up in a room he was unfamiliar to, and a street vastly different from his own.

Sometimes he wonders, if he had chosen to take the extra time to trek his way home. Would you have also arrived in the future with him?

The pristine white clothes that he usually wear somehow became the only memory he had left of you from the past, but even he admits that he stands out way more than he should in these type of clothings. He had asked Shu if there were any way of getting his old clothes back, the sorcerer merely asking if he had a reference at hand.

Said reference was hidden behind a single journal that was always strapped to Ike, to which he fished out the blue hard covered book and flipped to the last page. A single photograph that was on the brink of fading was given to Shu, in it which were himself in his usual attire and you, brightly grinning towards the lens. It was the last memory he had of you besides the outfit he was currently wearing.

If he sensed the mood drop, Shu didn't comment, but he did merely tell Ike to switch to some clothes he wouldn't mind losing. To which he did, and once he were freshly changed, Shu had merely snapped his fingers and the clothes were replaced with the exact same clothes that he wore on the picture, "I'm no fairy godmother, but I can at least do neat tricks like that," Shu said with a laugh, giving him a smile filled with pity.

"Why not take a walk outside?" he suggested, to which Ike only heaved a sigh before nodding with a small smile. Once outside, Shu had suggested going to a flea market that sold a few antique trinkets. And as the duo parted ways to browse various stalls, Ikecame across a stall that sold some old books, the pages weathered with time and the spines crooked from years of usage.

The person behind the mountain of books greeted them cheerfully, but Ike was too absorbed in browsing that he didn't take note of them, "Hey that's a pretty neat beret, I have a similar one at home!" they said, and Ike looked up to give them his thanks when his breath hitched.

Why did the person in front of him look like the spitting image of you?

"Ohh, a leather jacket! What's the occasion for?" Luca asks with a bright smile when he sees the leather jacket with a fur trimming by the collar. You had given to him right before starting to clean up the blood on his face before disinfecting the smaller cuts over his body, the man before you hardly flinching as he twists the jacket around to get a proper look and rubbing his cheek against the fur.

You give the strap on his left thigh two taps and then gun holster by his chest area another tap, "These two, and because you tend to just waltz out there for every confrontation with your bare arms out. For a mafia boss you sure like to leave every skin vulnerable, hmm? Not even a proper dress or suit even," you huff, pressing down hard at a particular deep cut by his forearm which makes Luca yelp.

"I didn't expect there to be that many! We had agreed that it would be a private meeting after all!" he whines, trying to appease you by giving you his usual innocent look, to which you merely push the sunglasses resting on top of his head back over his eyes to ignore direct eye contact, "Besides, you said you liked seeing my muscles!"

"It wasn't an open invitation for you to prance around every meeting and affair within the mafia showing them off though?" you retorted, tying the bandages you wrapped around him properly before you sit back, glaring at him to which he only shrinks away.

Mafia boss or not, one should always be scared whenever they have angered their lover.

"I'll make it up to you! You want some new clothes? Maybe we can visit that one restaurant you have always wanted to go to! What about I take a week break and we can go on a trip, or-"

"How about we go and get you a suit?" you suggest, which makes Luca stop in his tracks and cock his head to the side, "But that's not a gift for you though?"

"The reason why so many other organizations think you're such an easy target is because you make yourself look so easy to target. No intimidation per say, since you're not exactly decked out in tattoos either which has somehow become a normalcy here," you snort at the last sentence. Knowing he can't appease you, Luca merely grins before wrapping his arms around your waist and shuffling you away from your seat at the table to his lap, "Then why don't we go immediately tomorrow? And then we can take a walk around the city for a date?" he pleads, and you merely chuckle, brushing aside his hair, "Sure."

Luca has never been so grateful for whatever 6th sense activated that day that implored him to grab you along with him to go suit shopping although you had only mentioned it in passing.

How could he know that a wormhole would open right in front of the two of you along with the detective that had a vice grip on him at that time?

Either way, he was sure he would've been a lot more lost if you weren't there for him. And as he blinks his eyes open to greet another morning, he's met with the sight of you peacefully sleeping beside him.

And he smiles, sure life is a lot more relaxed and mundane now (for the most part) but at least you're there with him.

"Didn't you say you were going to go with a more inconspicuous look?" Mysta turned his head when he heard you voice from the door, cocking an eyebrow as he looked at himself once again, "Isn't this pretty inconspicuous?" he asked back.

You blinked without saying a word, waiting for him to crack a joke like he usually did, but then you realized he was dead serious and let out a snort, "Hon, I don't know where you got that hat custom made, but surely prancing around the city with fox ears wouldn't be considered blending in with the crowd?" you ask, redirecting your gaze towards to another hat with said fox ears, only much smaller in size and a more nuanced colour, "Especially if it's bright orange?"

Mysta huffed, turning around to properly face you with a waving finger, "You don't understand, this is fashion!" he argues, and you merely sigh with a shake of your head, "Fashion that will take a few months for people to wear gradually, not immediately decked out in it," you say, but you do look him up and down before whistling lowly, "It does suit you though," you praise, "But it's also godawful if your plan was to try to catch that aforementioned thief you've been tailing for months now."

"I mean, if I do stand out and he sees me then he will flee, that will do something for this case," he retorts back, to which you shrug, "Valid point, do be careful though," you finish, grabbing the pure white jacket that still smells fresh and casting it over his shoulders, "Try not to run so fast that your jacket falls off then, hmm?" you remind him, leaning in to give him a kiss on the neck, the detective shrinking away from the ticklish sensation.

"Of course, be prepared for this because tonight is the night I catch him!"

Mysta Rias doesn't remember a lot after that evening, he did remember catching the thief - but said thief also vehemently denied that he was a thief and tried to pin the blame on someone else. But as they were mid-argument, he felt a powerful force drag him somewhere - somewhere away from where he was, and away from everyone he loved.

It was dark after that, Mysta remembers almost close to nothing after his world blackened. He can feel his legs walking, but no matter where he turned and walked, he saw no end to the endless darkness.

He just knows he's alone - and away from the people he loved with his entire being.

He doesn't know how long he kept walking, but eventually he saw something bright, something beckoning him to come closer, but just as he reached it - everything blinded him.

"Hey sleepyhead, why don't you wake up already?" he wakes up with a start, the person before him yelping at the abrupt action, "Jesus christ, Mysta. Don't scare me like that!"

His sullen eyes brightened, immediately recognizing your voice and he stammers out, "H-How? W-Why, do you know who I am?!"

"Yes, a drunk person at the bar I work at who gave me your name when you came and immediately asked for a whiskey before passing out?"

And every hope he had just becomes crushed at your dismissal, planting his face back on the bar table.

"... I'm joking, it's me, I'm sorry for scaring you," Mysta huffs, merely turning his face to the side, "I already knew, but that was a terrible joke."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Hey, can I ask for a favor?" Vox hums, a silent affirmation to your question without speaking much, but he does glance over to your form by the bedroom door with raised eyebrows.

"... Can you turn into your true form for me?" you mutter out after a silent pause, Voxs' eyes widening in surprise and a surprised silence falls over the room. Ever since the fated day you had indeed revealed to be one of the clan members from all those years ago who died under the fire along with his other clan members, Vox had assumed that the two of you would eventually talk about that time.

He didn't however expect for you to ask him to don his true skin that he used to show back in those days. Vox had long abandoned trying to look like the intimidating demon he was once he failed to protect all of you, almost ashamed of seeing his true form that would always remind him of his failure.

If he was distraught by the request, he certainly didn't show it. Merely putting away his phone before gesturing you over, and once you were right between his legs he gently took a hold of your wrists to place them on his shoulders before his hands settled on your waist, "Not that I particulary mind, but why the sudden request to see?" he asks.

You're silent for a moment, merely admiring his features that look more humane than before, "... For old times sakes I guess. You did run away from me every time we met after all," you point out, the demon looking away from your knowing gaze in guilt, "I already apologized for that numerous times, dear," he sighs, at this point you've made yourself comfortable on his lap, and Vox rests one hand on your thigh as he leans his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"... It's also fine if you're not-"

"Close your eyes for me then, please?" Vox whispers in the end, which makes your breath hitch. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes with the small whisper of, "Thank you, my lord."

You're aware it has merely gone a few seconds after you've closed them, but it feels like hours. Your body was tense from anticipation that you visibly jerk away once Vox puts a hand on your cheek, a silent confirmation that you can open your eyes again.

"Hey- stop tugging at my horns, they're going to fall off," you let out a laugh, continuing to rub the horns and drag his head closer to you to get a proper look at the horns, totally ignoring the warning in his tone, "I can't help it my lord, they're just so beautiful I have to touch," you explain.

"No one else would dare try to touch these, you know?" Vox comments, but you only hum in response, letting your hands fall back down onto his shoulders, "But I'm a special case, aren't I?" you joke.

Vox didn't give you an answer.

"Haha, they're still as beautiful as back then," was your only comment, but your gaze wasn't directed at the horns Vox remembers you adored so much, neither were your hands on his horns.

Your hands were rather cupping his cheeks, thumb brushing over his skin while your gaze was softly staring back at his own widened ones, "At least someone still loves my true form," he chuckles, and you merely snort before resting your face on the crook of his neck.

"My lord, I can assure you. The thousands of followers you've gathered once again will surely love your true form as well," you start, chuckling when Voxs' embrace tightened around you, "But I'll make sure to savor the moment I have with your true form until the day you're ready to show them."

#nijisanji #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #luxiem imagines #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #mysta rias #mysta rias x reader #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #reader insert #x reader #not proofread #jesus this took me a while #moreso the 3 others took me a while #vox and shu took me like 20 minutes.

[dickmedowndc]

af·fec·tion - Jaime Reyes x Haphephobe!Reader

Word Count: 1,650

Summary: Jaime can say a lot of things are weird about his life: one of his best friends is from an obsolete future, he has a snarky sentient piece of alien technology fused to his spine for life, and his partner always seems to flinch when he reaches out to touch them. At first, he thinks it is little more than them being jumpy and spaced out, until Khaji Da informs him that scans show genuine fear and anxiety.

Notes: Requested by @pink-lemonadae-san for a reader with haphephobia (fear of physical contact). I tried my best with this one, I’m not familiar with this fear. Also, more geared towards Young Justice, the Animated Series, but only as a reference.

…★…

Jaime can say a lot of things are weird about his life: one of his best friends is from an obsolete future, he has a snarky sentient piece of alien technology fused to his spine for life, and his partner always seems to flinch when he reaches out to touch them. 

He almost doesn’t notice it at first – the way that you seem to flinch when someone touches you, muscles tense. But you always seem quick enough to hide it with a smile that seems painfully faked to him and an assurance that you really are fine, just spaced out a bit. But after each time, you seem to curl in on yourself a bit tighter and put some more distance between yourself and anybody within the immediate vicinity. 

Jaime just thinks it has more to do with you spacing out than it does anything else, or maybe you’re just not as keen on touch. That much was fine, while a lot of the people he knew could be touch driven, that did not mean that everyone was. So, Jaime avoided touching you as much as he could, at least while you were friends. 

Things began to shift a bit more when he finally asked you out, overjoyed when you agreed to a date. And then even more elated when at the end of the night when you ask him for a second one. Not wanting to push his luck, he had not asked for a kiss, instead reaching out for a hug, which you had returned – but not before he swore that he saw a flicker of fear across your face. 

You never said anything about it though, and so he brushed it off. 

Things continued on this way for a while. 

Jaime does not just jump in to touching you, choosing instead to keep it more reserved, at least in public. Major PDA certainly doesn't seem like the sort of thing that you would be on board with, and he cannot fault you for that much. But the little touches do pick up more in private – taps on the shoulder, a quick hug, etc. Things seemingly so innocent that Jaime never pays their acts a second mind. 

The fact that you never initiate them seems to go over his head. After all, you show your affections for him in other ways – ones that have become obvious to him as the relationship had progressed, so it never comes down to a question of your feelings. 

And still he chalks up the jumping to you being lost within your own head. You wouldn’t be the first person he knows to be like that, and you never tell him otherwise. Any discomfort on your part is quickly hidden. 

Khaji Da has been, for the most part, instructed to leave it be – when the sentient tech had expressed a desire to scan you earlier on. Feeling too much like an invasion of privacy, while also throwing the agreement that only teammates could be scanned and only in battle. As far as people that Jaime trusted went, that was. So reluctantly Khaji Da had backed off the topic. After all, the scarab had been assured, if something was wrong, they had to trust that their partner would be upfront about it. 

That was likely why it surprises Jaime so much when Khaji Da pipes up one day, directly after he has hugged you. 

“Scans indicate that your partner is afraid, Jaime Reyes.” 

It was a weird enough sentence to hear, and Jaime was too confused to be annoyed that Khaji Da had scanned you. But afraid? There was nothing that should be causing that – the area was clear, it was a quiet and calm day, you had been fine for most of it, and you had yet to tell Jaime something was wrong. 

Scared couldn’t be right, could it? 

So, he ignores it, instead enjoying the rest of the day with you. He can talk to Khaji Da about it later. 

But later comes sooner than expected when the date is at an end and Jaime goes to hug you once again. 

It's that same voice echoing in his head: “Scans indicate a spike in your partner’s cortisol and adrenaline levels, indicating stress of fear, Jaime Reyes.” 

This has his attention. The only thing that had changed was him touching you, but still, you make no mention of it, pulling away and wishing him a goodnight before moving off in the direction of your home. 

Jaime calls after you, telling you to stay safe, but the gears in his head are turning to the point of smoke and it is Khaji Da who has to prompt him back into moving finally. 

“Khaji Da.” 

The scarab responds to that, a little whirr that tells Jaime the spotlight is his. 

“Are you sure that they were afraid both times I touched them?” 

“Affirmative, Jaime Reyes, your partner showed signs of distress.” 

It’s silent for a moment before Jaime asks his next question, quiet as he can, almost as though he is trying to avoid the answer. “Do you think they’re scared of me?” 

“Unlikely. Your partner actively seems relieved to be with you unless physical contact is initiated.” 

“But if they’re scared of touching me-” 

Before Jaime can finish his sentence Khaji Da has already interrupted him. “Your partner shows signs of distress at all physical contact, including that initiated by other individuals. This is not isolated to you.” 

“How long have you been scanning them?” This was too much information for the scarab to have from one day alone, and Jaime knew that much. 

In almost an embarrassed fashion, Khaji Da could be felt almost receding from the edges of Jaime’s mind before answering. “Two weeks.” 

“We talked about this, ese.” 

There’s an indignant clicking in protest before it seems to calm. “Your partner has not confided in you about their fear and steps had to be taken to find the cause. Best course of action: speak with them directly.” 

Jaime can’t argue with that. Whatever the cause of your fear was, you had certainly tried your best to hide it. And it had been a success. But Jaime had to speak with you about it eventually if things were going to get better – it admittedly hurt to know you were scared to touch him, and despite Khaji Da’s words, part of his concern was that you feared what he was capable of. 

A call or text message was not going to cut it, so Jaime would wait until Wednesday when he could speak with you in person again. No heads-up, he didn’t need to leave you a nervous wreck if he told you there was something the two of you needed to talk about. It wouldn’t be good to have that stewing under the surface for a few days. 

So, to say you seem a bit surprised when you show up Wednesday and Jaime has his hands in his pockets is an understatement. You expect a hug or for him to reach out to you – even if it terrifies you – but instead you’re met with no attempt. Paired with the serious look on his face, it begins to leave a feeling of unease prickling along your spine. 

“Did I do something?” 

That catches him off guard for a moment and Jaime is quick to assure you that no, you had not, but he does need to speak with you – and he needs honesty. 

It does nothing to settle the worry you feel, and already this conversation is headed in a direction you really do not like, already having a vague idea of what the issue is. 

Jaime struggles for a moment, trying to find the words that he needs without sounding as rude out loud as it seems in his head: “when people touch you do you...” He trails off, sighing before waving his arms outwards. Finally, he relents. “Khaji Da scanned you – I didn’t know about it!” he clarifies quickly, seeing your raised brow. “But scans show that when people touch you that you get.... scared?” 

His words seem to have an effect, and Jaime watches as your shoulders slump, your eyes focused anywhere other than on him. And then he sees it, a weak nod. So, he was correct. 

“Haphephobia - it’s the fear of being touched.” You have to stop for a moment, pulling in on yourself. “It isn’t just by strangers though, it’s by anyone, even family and friends.” 

Things are beginning to make sense for Jaime – little actions he had not stopped to consider before, things said by family or friends of yours that he had met. “You know you could have told any of us; we wouldn’t push you about it.” 

“I was told to just get over it – and a lot of our friends have a touchy love language. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be able to touch your own partner?” 

Jaime frowns at that, the tone he picks up on too depreciative for his liking. “There are other ways to show you care.” 

He doesn’t get a response from you, seeing you backed up into your own invisible corner, like you could make yourself vanish if you tried hard enough. “Hey,” he starts, soft as he can, “you show me you care in all kinds of ways – we can figure out how to handle this, and so can our friends. But we can’t start fixing things if we don’t know there’s an issue.” 

“I know, I guess I just didn’t want you guys to be disappointed.” 

“If we knew and ignored it that would be a different thing, but we can work with this,” Jaime assured. It was almost instinct to reach out, but he managed to catch himself in time, offering his partner a smile that seemed to finally have them relaxing. 

“I’d like that.” 

#dc x reader #jaime reyes x reader #blue beetle x reader #nicole writes

[davesbigwhirlwind]

My uncle made me into a nerd

I just wasn't that academic I used to tell my mum - she disagreed - she thought I was just lazy. She was probably right.

I was 16 and leaving school and I didn't have any plans. So my mum announced that she'd spoken to my uncle, who had kindly offered to give me a job as the office junior at the firm he owned. As he lived and worked far away, it had been agreed that I would live with him.

The following Sunday I got the 2 hour train to my uncle's, where he met me at the station.

My uncle was quite a traditional man - he had a fully, neatly trimmed beard, fairly short coiffured hair, and generally wore tweed jackets and cardigans, and was seldom seen without a tie, and loved to smoke a pipe. He was a serious man, and definitely not one to have a joke - he could also have something of a short fuse, and could be a man of few words. Despite this, we had a good chat, and he seemed genuinely pleased that I was going to be working for him - he said that he felt I had great potential, and that he was sure I would do well - I just needed to follow his instruction and do my best.

I knew my uncle would want me to be fairly smart for the office, so I'd brought my old school trousers and shirts to wear in the week. I mentioned this to him, and he said we'd sort everything in the morning.

I settled into the spare room, which was a big, comfortable room with a double bed, chest of drawers, TV and big wardrobe which was currently half full of all sorts of stuff, such as an old computer, boxes of paperwork and some old clothes.

Monday morning came, and when I got out of the shower and there was a multi-packet of briefs and white vests on my bed. My uncle passed my room and said to put on the underwear and then he would be back - I explained I already had underwear that was fine to wear, but he said it made sense that I wore what he had got for me as it was new, and could I just do it please.

I did as he asked, to save starting off on the wrong foot, and then my uncle came in "Right, we'd better get you ready for your first day at work! Are you excited?" I assured him I was, and was ready to get stuck in. He said he had sorted some clothes for me to wear, but I reminded him that I had already brought some trousers and white shirts with me. "Oh no, you don't want to be wearing your school uniform! You're an adult now, so it's only right that you look the part. Now, I've looked out some clothes I don't use that will be perfect, given that we're a similar size - and you're welcome to keep them." I said I could buy anything that I needed, but he said that wasn't necessary, and I should save my money, and he was only too happy for me to make full use of these things that had just sat in his wardrobe. This was clearly an instruction rather than an offer. 

I looked at what my uncle was wearing - a pair of bluey-grey wool trousers and a pale grey check shirt, with a dark grey tie with cream stripes through it - he always looked a very washed out, as he generally only wore shades of grey or bluey-grey, with only his brown shoes adding any colour, and everything always looked very old fashioned. I could only hope that the clothes he was offering had been rejected by him for being too casual or colourful.

He went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of chocolate brown socks which he passed to me. I looked a bit confused. "Put them on" he said - I genuinely hadn't understood, as I could believe that anyone would think that a 16 year old boy would wear brown. I slipped the socks on, and he instructed me to pull them up. I did so. He then went to the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt that was very similar to his - a cream colour with a check running through it. I buttoned it up. It seemed very baggy and long in the body, but my uncle assured me that was the style. Next, he pulled out the most horrible pair of flannel trousers. They were a mid-brown colour, made with thick wool and tailored loosely - again, I said I'd just wear my own trousers, but this time he was clear "put them on." I grudgingly took the trousers from him. They were very rough texture and surprisingly heavy. I slipped them on and as I pulled them up my legs I could feel the coarse material rubbing against my leg. It felt horrible. I pulled them up and on buttoning them up I found they fitted my waist perfectly. The twin pleats meant there was extra fabric which then made for a wider trouser than the normally skinny jeans I'd normally wear. Sharp creases ran down the middle of each leg and then a turnup at the bottom gave extra weight which anchored the trousers which then hid part of my foot, due to being wider than I was used to. 

I was then told to do up my top button. I did so but it was really tight! I was then passed a brown tie with beige stripes. I tied it and my uncle then clipped on a solid tie bar about a third of the way down which attached to the shirt - very similar to one he was wearing. "You'll always want to wear one of these as it stops your tie getting in the way"

"Now, shoes," he said digging into the bottom of the wardrobe. "I bought this pair but they were too big for me, so I bought another pair in the size smaller, so I'm thinking these will fit you perfectly. He then presented a pair of highly polished tan brogues. They were covered in intricate stitching and decorative small holes in the leather and with a row of very fine laces running up the middle. I recognised them. They were identical to the pair my uncle was wearing. I said something about hard leather not being good for my feet, but he assured me I would soon get used to them. He pushed them onto my feet and then tied the laces tightly. What between the collar cutting into my neck and now the shoes restricting my ancles, I was not feeling so good, and that was before the horror of the suggestion of having to wear this outfit out of the house!

My uncle had one last surprise up his sleeve, as he showed me a tweed blazer in a light tan colour, wide lapels, and a longer, boxy fit. it was again heavy and felt too big. My uncle did up the top button of the two on the front and declared it perfect. I was then shepherded downstairs to be paraded in front of my aunt, who declared me to look very handsome, and that the colours really suited me. 

My uncle explained that he had tried wearing shades of brown for a short time, but he felt grey suited him better, so he relegated those clothes to the back of his wardrobe. I thought back to when I'd looked in the wardrobe and the various being brown, fawn, cream colours in the wardrobe - it now dawned on me that these weren't just random clothes that had been put there for storage....

There was a big mirror in the hallway, and I stopped to stare. I looked ridiculous. If you chopped my head off you'd think I was a middle-aged man (or older!) as no-one under 50 would wear any of these clothes, or in any of these colours. And this look definitely didn't suit me, and nor did it go with my lovely hair which flowed freely to just below my shoulders and with the gently tussled look that I had perfected after getting out of the shower. At least my hair was there to express my personality.

"Right, will we go then?" my uncle said. I nodded grudgingly. He opened the front door and gestured for me to walk in front of him to head to the car on the drive. I took one step 'clack.' And another 'clack.' I then walked closer to the car 'clack. clack. clack.' I lifted one of my feet and looked at the sole, fitted with metal plates. I then remembered you can also hear my uncle coming a mile off. I'm used to it now, but it always used to take me by surprise, as, on any hard surface you would hear his shoes clacking as he walked. People would look up and stare. Now this was me too. Though, to be honest people would stare anyway given what a 16 year old boy was wearing, but this would mean they'd get an audible alert.

We travelled in silence to the office. I was reflecting to the last half hour. It was really bad. the only saving grace was there was no-one I knew was there to see me.

We arrived. I got out the car. I took a couple of steps, still trying to get used to both the slippery soles of my shoes and the noise they made. My uncle strided off towards the door. I followed him into the office, both off us clattering down the polished wood floors in our polished brogue shoes. Everyone instinctively looked up. With that racket, who could blame them, and also I guess in heralded the arrival of the boss. Many pairs of eyeballs stared at me.

We reached the corner and he pointed to a desk as part of a group of 4 "this is yours, take a seat" now this is Sally, Daniel and Mark. And this is Alexander" I said hi to each of them. Sally was probably 60 and I knew to be my uncles secretary. Daniel was around my uncles age and I found out was office manager, while Mark was a graduate who had joined the firm the previous summer. 

"Make yourself comfortable, and we'll talk through your induction shortly" I sat down, and Mark sat next to me did a bit of small talk, and we got onto the fact I'd just left school. "was it public school? by any chance?" Mark asked. I said no and asked why he'd said that. "Well, it's just based on your outfit, I can only imagine that someone from public school might have clobber like that!" I explained that my uncle had had a guiding hand in the outfit. "Ahh, that explains it - I'm surprised you got away with that hair in that case" I queried this "well he made me get my hair cut shorter because he said it looked too messy." I looked at Mark's hair it wasn't long but it just about reached the collar of the shirt he was wearing, and just above his eyebrows, brushed to the side. He looked a bit surfer-like. "I love my hair, so there's no way I'm cutting it" I said.

The morning went quite quickly. Everyone was friendly. I took my jacket off as soon as I could, as all the other men were just wearing open shirts, so I felt over dressed (as well as being downed in a sea of turd-coloured clothing).

It got to 12.30 and my uncle said "right, grab your jacket, we're going out." I grabbed it and clicked along behind him. He turned round "well put your jacket on then" which I did while trying to keep up with him as we headed to the car. 

We parked up and headed to an open doorway, and I found myself in a barbershop. My uncle had a few words of greeting and then pointed to me "This is Alexander. He needs smartening up, as we discussed" I was told to take my jacket off and sit straight in the chair. 

I said I just wanted a light trim, as I was being caped up, but the barber patted me on the shoulder and told me to just relax, as my uncle had already sorted everything.

My hair was about a maximum of about 10 inches long at the front, and maybe 4 or 5 inches at the back - it was all swept back in quite a loose, bohemian style that I loved. I really didn't want to loose that style.

Before I could say another word the barber had his clippers in his hand and with a comb he was pulling out my hair from the side of my head about an inch or so and then cutting off the remaining hair. Massive long stands of hair were falling to the ground. This was years' of growth. "I really want to keep the length on top" I blurted out. The barber just smiled vaguely. This combing and clipping continued round the back and to the other side of my head, so that the hair on the sides was now drastically shorter, though still a little bit shaggy, and just nestled on the top of my ears. It was already way shorter than I would like. He then started on the top though this time leaving maybe 3-4 inches of length. I was devastated. He then dragged the comb down my head causing a slight pain on my head, and leaving a very precise parting down the left side of my head, as he combed the hair carefully to each side.

This done, he now turned back to the sides and using his comb, he now angled it downwards and swiped more hair off the side of my head. This time about half an inch of hair fell, and I could soon see that he was leaving shorter hair of only about an eighth of an inch at the bottom and blending upwards to maybe half an inch higher up, and progressing round my head once more. He then took a smaller razor and went round my ears and then also cut a line across the top of my sideburns, and I could feel him carving a line across the back of my head.

On the side of the brand new part he then continued with clipper and comb taking the length of all of the hair to the part line progressively longer, but the maximum length still only being about three quarters of an inch. Then across the top of my head he did some snipping with the scissors but with only very small specks of hair flying off. He then went around the upper sides blending the shorter sides with the longer length. This was all looking very short.

Finally, he then brushed down the long hair at the front and cut across my forehead at a diagonal, leaving long hair by the part which hung just above my eyebrow and finishing near the top of my head on the right side of my face. 

Suddenly the chair was tilted back and shaving foam slapped on my face. My little facial hair was quickly removed, and I could feel him shaving off my entire sideburns. On being returned upright, I could see that my face looked very pale following the removal of my attempts at facial hair - while the hair on my head made me look like some sort of preppy American Highschooler with the side part hanging loosely over my forehead. The barber took some gel in his hands and ran it through my hair working outwards from the part line. He then took the hair at the front of my head and flicked it upwards and to the side creating a small ridge. 

"Done" he announced proudly. My uncle stood up "excellent, now Alexander looks like a man you'd be proud to walk beside. Excellent work."

The barber showed me the back, which was a short blocked taper, where less than an hour before had been my beautiful mane. My neck was so pale! I saw what was a very standard business man's haircut. I guess it's exactly what my uncle would choose. In fact, it was just a shorter version of his haircut really. We definitely had matching side partings now. It was too grim for words. But he was the boss.

Back at the office, I felt even more embarrassment and we both clacked through the office, and me - not just a vision in brown, but now with my short business man's haircut. On sitting down, Mark whistled "that's some haircut you got there. Thought there was no way you were cutting it?" "Well my uncle made me realise that shorter hair is easier to manage when you've got a job." Neither of us bought that - it was blatantly obvious from the style of what was on my head that only one person had had any input into my new conservative haircut, and my new outfit, and it wasn't me.

Back at the house, my aunt was thrilled with my cut, and said how I looked like my uncle when he was younger!

I took my jacket off and sat down. I undid my top button, and started untying my shoes as my uncle jumped in - "we don't take out ties or shoes off until we retire to bed", he admonished me. I grudgingly re-tied. 

"Now, I've a treat for you - as a working man, you deserve a treat, and I'd like you to join me in a pipe." Now, he smoked regularly, but I had no interested - and in fact, I hated even the smell. I'd never smoked, and didn't want to. I politely declined.

He opened his drawer next to his seat and took out two pipes. One was newly boxed, he passed that one to me. I unwrapped it. He showed me how to roll tobacco and pack a pipe. He gave me a tobacco pouch, and lighter. Mine to keep he said. He then lit my pipe for me and put it in my mouth "now breath it" I tried not to breath in much, but even the little I did made me cough. "and again" I tried and coughed more. We continued this for about 20 minutes until the nicotine was making me feel faint. It certainly wasn't a treat.

By the end of week one I was hating it. The daily outfit remained identical, other than alternating between tweed blazers, shirts and ties, all in earthy shades. And he kept making me persevere with the pipe. I was coughing less but really didn't like it, and I now stank of tobacco.

I'd been getting on well with Mark - I think he felt sorry for me, and invited me out on Saturday with my mates. My uncle was happy to agree. I explained I'd like to wear my own clothes, but my uncle couldn't understand it - if you have good quality smart clothes available, why would you want to wear lesser clothes. And also all my old clothes had mysteriously disappeared. This wasn't a new work wardrobe. This was my only wardrobe.

Mark smirked when I entered the pub - "do you ever not dress like a grandad" he said.

We had a company away day which included some drinks afterwards. A couple of the guys said they were going for a cigarette, and my uncle said we'd join them. He got his pipe out and nodded to me. I shook my head, but he gave me THE look. I grudgingly got my pipe out. We lit up. Mark looked at me with disbelief. I could understand it. Here I was dressed in brown tweed, with the geekiest haircut and smoking a pipe. I was a lost cause.

#Nerdification #forced makeover #tf story #nerd #geek

[lewkwoodnco]

Hi I want to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song False God, I want it to be best friends to lovers, with the miscommunication trope. Like they were best friends and started falling for each other, and try to hide their feelings. Then then after a case they got into an argument, about Lockwood throwing himself in danger again and he kisses her, but she just gets even more confused and mad, she thinks that he only did it because he wanted to distract her from what happened, so she gets even angrier. The argument gets even more heated and they start even yelling at each other, then they stop talking to each other for days, and the reader just has enough and leaves and Anthony is heartbroken, and tries to find a way to get her back. The ending is happy. He gets her back, and they confess to each other.

I'm sorry this is very confusing. You can obviously add more things, so there is the miscommunication trope, and also, so the plot suits the song more. Thank you, you're amazing, I absolutely loved the I can see you fic, and it was everything I hoped for when I requested it.

False God - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: No worries, its not confusing at all! I'm really glad you liked the i can see you fic cuz its one of my favs too!! hope you like this one toooo :) 4k!

She groaned, shifting in her window seat, forehead fused against the window pane. It was too bright to be looking straight ahead at the glowing skyline, so she was staring down at the pavement baking in the sweltering heat. Summer was in full force, and today it took form by enveloping 35 Portland Row and every building in a five-mile radius with its heat. It was too hot to think straight, too hot to do anything but brood and stew in resentment. Even as she unseeingly looked out at the shimmering roads, all she felt was the same agony growing inside of her being reflected back into her eyes. Loving Lockwood truly was a special kind of hell.

It had been a funny sort of week. On Monday, Lockwood had used a napkin to wipe some sugar off her nose after she had bitten into one of Arif's doughnuts, and he looked just as confused as her when he realised what he was doing. On Wednesday's job, she tripped on a loose floorboard so badly that her knees buckled under her, leading to some very ungraceful stumbling in Lockwood's arms, and when she was finally able to find her feet she brushed past him, face beet red, mumbling an apology.

On Thursday, Lockwood was bandaging up a scrape on her wrist, and she had been so transfixed by his swift, confident movements that she hadn't even realised he was done until he snapped the first aid box close. Later that night, while they were scouting out a new location, his fingers drifted on the edge of her bandage occasionally, as if checking to see if it was alright. Part of her love-addled brain couldn't help but hope that he was checking if she was alright. He apologised profusely each time, stepping back in an attempt to at force at least some physical distance between them. She nodded absent-mindedly, trying to soothe the somersaults her stomach made when she felt his rapier-calloused fingers graze her palm.

So when they were dividing themselves up for Friday's case, a part of her knew it wasn't smart to team up with someone in front of whom she became a stuttering, vacant fool. It wasn't that she daydreamed about him or felt butterflies in her stomach, but there was something about him that short-circuited her systems when he got too close. But now, Lockwood looked so cool, so nonchalant. She couldn't avoid him forever. She had to work through whatever this was, and spending time with him was how she was going to do it.

"Yeah, sure, those teams sound great. Lockwood and I together works." But even as she raised her mug to take a sip, she briefly met Lockwood's gaze, and the look in his eyes triggered this sudden vision of the entire mission going up in flames. Her eyes darted away, and when she looked back, he was looking at something on the thinking cloth interestedly. She struggled to take a sip of her tea with the lump in her throat. Must have been a trick of the light. Not that it helped her get it out of her head.

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Lucy and George were starting on the first two floors, so Lockwood and her took the elevator up to the third floor. Two floors away, they could no longer hear George and Lucy's footsteps or voices, as if they were in an entirely different building. They split up, and she was relieved for the distance between them, the chance to finally think straight for a while.

However, they weren't having much luck. She ran her fingers over the walls for what felt like the hundredth time, frowning and straining her ears. Every time she felt like she had just gotten the right focus, Lockwood would shift somewhere behind her and break her concentration.

"Quit it."

"What?"

"The shifting. I can't hear."

"What shifting?"

She pulled her ear from the wall to look at Lockwood and immediately felt her spirits dry up. Lockwood was looking at her questioningly, not far from the position she had left him in, and right behind him was a Spectre a split second away from lunging at Lockwood.

It all happened so fast; even now she wasn't quite sure how she had managed to recover her wits so quickly. She barrelled towards the ghost, fingers closing over Lockwood's bicep as she closed her eyes and thrust her rapier in front of her, hoping her blade met the visitor before she did. There was a hissing sound, and then silence. She opened her eyes to see the Spectre gone, and Lockwood looking as pale and shaken as she felt. His lips quivered, forming amorphous words, and she feared she might break down if she looked at him being vulnerable for too long.

She turned detachedly, sheathing her rapier, considering the objects around them until she found one with overwhelming psychic charge. She pulled out her iron net and draped it over the source, and the temperature went up considerably. By then, Lockwood look mostly alright, if a little nervous.

They returned to the elevator, and as the doors shuddered to a close he tilted his head towards her, coughing awkwardly, though his eyes were still fixed to the floor. "You didn't need to...foolish t-to, what you did there...erm-"

"Lockwood, shut up. I'd die for you." She hadn't meant to sound so aggressive, but it made her heart stumble erratically when she saw him sprawled on the floor, moments away from certain death. It made her want to strangle him for being so stupid, then fling her arms around him and hold him close. For so much of her life she had felt like an island, alone and desolate, and she had so little, but Lockwood would forever be something for her to keep, even if it was only all in her head.

She looked up, startled by the dark look in his eyes, rushing to get the words out, but it was a bit too late. "And Lucy. And George." Even she could hear how flimsy that sounded, echoing in the starkly lit rattling elevator. Yes, she would lay her life on the ground for them, but with Lockwood, it was just...different. Anything to do with Lockwood just had to be complicated.

"I know. But still. Thank you."

She gasped, scrambling to her feet, hand clutching the sleeve of his coat before her brain caught up to what she was doing. It was almost comical, the way she had to blink at her hand and Lockwood's face before realising what she had done. She dropped her hand immediately, straightening, but Lockwood's expression didn't change. It was a weird mix of curiosity, contemplation and what looked to be worry. So it hadn't been a trick of the light.

She inhaled, raising her chin to meet his gaze. His eyebrows raised imperceptibly and she felt the air around them shift. She blinked hesitantly, much less confident than she was a few moments ago.

They silently boarded the elevator again, which was miraculously still working, and an uneasy feeling starting to grow in the pit of her stomach. For once, neither of them had made any effort to sweep the electricity between them under the rug, so now it hung in the open, the elephant in the room. It was pure insanity - no, idiocy, to acknowledge the charged air between them. She didn't know about Lockwood, but she was having a hard enough time dealing with the urges that compelled her to run to his side at the first sign of danger.

This was new territory, and these uncharted waters frightened her so. As soon as her attention drifted elsewhere and this tension between them took a backseat, she would look into Lockwood's eyes or feel him brush against her, and she would be certain that it was only a matter of time before she was pulled under. It made her head spin, and yet, she craved it.

Her hand trembled as she pushed her hair back from her eyes, and Lockwood reached out and interlocked her fingers with his own, still staring straight ahead at the dull metal doors. His stoic expression belied the intimacy of the action, and she felt the first strains of annoyance begin to bubble up. How could he just stand there so unaffected, as if he had every right to make her fight for her own breath?

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and not a moment too soon. The thick floors had meant that the two groups had no idea what was going on with the other group, and Lucy and George were fighting by the skin of their teeth to stay alive among the hoard of ghosts surrounding them. Lucy was keeping the visitors back while George ducked and rolled around the lobby, frantically looking for sources. Lockwood and her joined Lucy, and soon enough they had the upper hand.

Once the final source was neutralised, they sat in silence, only the sound of them catching their breath filling the room. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lockwood tugging at his rapier that was somehow embedded in the wall, before he suddenly stilled. He was looking in her direction, a familiar fear clouding his eyes. Somehow, a part of her realised exactly what was happening.

She turned, hand on her rapier, stopping short. She certainly felt the chill, and there seemed to be a haze in the air, but she couldn't quite make out anything tangible. She reached out, almost as if in a trance, before she had the wind knocked out of her.

One minute she was standing, and the next she was lying on the floor, a figure crouching over her, blocking her vision, as if shielding her. A few moments passed before the figure looked up and straightened, kneeling now, light falling on the gaunt face of Lockwood. George was sheepishly holding up a musical box draped in a silver net. "Sorry, missed a source. They should all be gone now."

Lockwood turned back to her, offering a hand to pull her up, but there was this weird sort of static buzzing between her ears now. She propped herself up on her own, shoving him, and walked away fuming while he toppled over in an undignified manner.

Fucking Lockwood.

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The air of the group was fraught with tension on the way back. She signed the report with such force that she ripped a hole in one of them, and she kept rebuffing all of Lockwood's attempts to try to talk to her. Now, they were back at 35 Portland Row. She went straight to the kitchen and started making tea, slamming the drawers, uncommonly violent. Lockwood stood a few feet away from the table, closer to the door, as if furiously working out what exactly he wanted to say to the floor. She saved him the trouble.

"What the hell was that?"

"It was a Phantasm."

"Yeah, I guessed. I mean the part about you rushing in without any equipment."

"I was out of flares and my rapier was stuck. I didn't choose to do that."

"No Lockwood, you did choose. You made that choice when you decided to run in-"

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Watch you get ghost-touched?"

"-throw all caution to the wind, playing the hero-"

"I only play the hero because I have to. You're all my responsibility."

"-because never mind the three people who work in your agency, live in your house, and care so deeply about you that they wouldn't know what to do with themselves if you died-"

"So I'm just supposed to stand around and watch the rest of you die?!"

"-but no, the great Anthony Lockwood has bigger plans, like being an absolute - you won't even look at me!"

She sat down at the table, cradling her growing migraine, muttering to herself. "God, I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what?" Lockwood gripped the chair opposite hers aggressively.

"This! You get so-so distant, like you couldn't be more disinterested in other people. In me. You detach yourself and step away and I know it's all a lie." She felt her heart rate further destabilise. "I see it when you look at me, like I'm some fresh, exciting thing to marvel at. You can get mad at me, or hate me, or strangle me, but I never bore you, Lockwood."

He bent forward by two inches, angling her head in his hand, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. It couldn't have lasted longer than a second, but they were both breathless when they broke away, faces no further than a few inches apart. Her rage was barely quelled, if not aggravated. Her face was white with anger. Even now, all he wanted to do was distract her, as if he knew it wouldn't take much. In a brief flicker of panic, a part of her worried that he knew how she felt, that he knew all along, and all of this was some sick game to screw her over. She wanted to smash his facade, watch him come undone the way she was on the inside, goad him into feeling something. "Go on, then. Do it."

"Do what?" Her breathing was uneven. The past few weeks of fleeting stolen glances were bad enough, but with his face so close to hers, she could feel her brain turning into jelly. Part of her knew what she was about to do wasn't fair to him, but their relationship had gone too haywire for her to care. There was nothing fair about the way he consumed her anyways. Whoever said it hadn't loved anybody as hard as she loved Lockwood: nothing is fair in love.

"Get rid of me. Wake up to happier mornings where I'm not around, since I'm such a burden." She wasn't entirely aware of what she was saying, or if she meant it. She was grasping desperately for any respite from the brutal assault of her emotions, so all she could do was the one thing she did best - withdraw. She leaned back, welcoming cool, grounding air into her lungs as her tears threatened to spill over the ruins of their crumbling friendship. It was as though she had been struck for having the sin of hubris, for believing her and Lockwood were built to weather the storms of affection beyond platonic love. "Fire me, whatever. Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you? Being all official and important? Because all Anthony Lockwood cares about is being the biggest prat in the room, whether it be by throwing his precious life away-"

"So my life is 'precious', but yours is fair game?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't NEED TO!" Lockwood was gripping the chair so tightly he looked just about ready to smash it into bits. He took a few ragged breaths, as if physically trying to control his emotions. "Words only express so much-"

"But they express just enough for you, don't they?" she said bitterly. He set his jaw, hardening against the venom of her words. She placed a hand on her forehead weakly, stumbling out of the kitchen up to the attic. There she sat now, cynically judging the trees for being too green.

Over the next few days, she stayed in the attic, forcing down morsels of the food Lucy brought up to her, preferring to communicate non-verbally. After three days, she began to feel as cold and long-forgotten as that tea she was in the middle of making that day. She watched them gear up and lug their equipment into cabs from the window, but none did so as resolutely or with as much mechanical efficiency as Lockwood. She missed them, she missed working, but she wasn't about to go running down the stairs to Lockwood's room, begging for forgiveness. No; she had more pride than that.

Instead, she wiled away the hours staring at the clock and then staring out the window, until her eyes ached. It was so hot, time seemed to be slowing to a stop. The seconds hand ticked occasionally, when it felt like it, and her shirt plastered itself on her back. The heat was so oppressive and glued her eyelids shut, and it felt as though the whole room was submerged in molasses. It just wasn't the right kind of weather to reconcile.

Occasionally, her thoughts drifted to when she first joined the agency, and the words of advice Lucy had given her. "Lockwood, er, he's hard to read," she had said. "Best to leave him to it, most of the time. It takes a special kind of trust to really get to know him. You need a lot of blind faith, and it's certainly not easy terrain...but I think it's all worth it in the end."

Still, she couldn't live at the window forever. Which is why she went down to the kitchen after a fitful sleep on the third night, gingerly choking down some toast, when the rest returned from the job. Lucy hugged her from behind and George immediately set out four cups as he started to brew some tea. Despite all that, Lockwood still regarded her as stiffly as before, speaking into the distance rather than to her.

"I'm not going to fire you, if that's what you're waiting for."

In that moment, when Lockwood disowned any kind of feeling for her yet again, the last vestiges of her hope slipped away. She thought she knew him. Hell, she thought she loved him. But life was full of mistakes and disappointments, and this was yet another she had to contend with. "Fine. I quit."

Even Lockwood was momentarily stunned as she slipped past him up to the attic, blurrily throwing in anything that looked vaguely like hers into a her bags. Lucy had followed her, trying to talk some sense into her, but it all fell on deaf ears. Only George was in the kitchen by the time she was done packing, and he looked oddly forlorn as he waved at her distractedly. The door to the library was open as she shouldered past the memories of the life they had on her way to the front door. Lockwood was in his chair facing the fireplace, back to the door, glaring a hole into his book, looking as furious as she was just a few days ago.

She didn't have anything to say to him, which was just as well, because he clearly didn't have anything to say to her. She stepped out into the night, twisting sprigs of lavender in her hair, walking off into the night. George came up to the library, sighing loudly at the door, and Lockwood jerked up irritatedly.

"What?"

"Couldn't wait till after tea, could you?"

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

Three weeks later, her memories of the three of them were more diluted than she would have liked. With the little savings she had, she managed to rent a cramped apartment which didn't leave much room for decoration, which was just as well, as she didn't have many mementos. She wasn't the best at preserving memories, so all she had were some odd photos on the few times she remembered her camera.

Lockwood was in the pictures too. As hard as she tried, she couldn't just cut him and his presence out of her life; they were too irrevocably tied together. Some nights, before sleeping, she would trace the outline of his face on the one focused photograph she had of him, and wonder if she'd still recognise his voice. In spite of herself, she wondered if he ever thought about her the way she dreamt about him.

The summer heat faded, and these days rain drizzled from the sky like a leaky tap. In her case, that also meant a leaking roof, and the constant drip of the water into the bucket drove her nuts. It was the little things like the leaking roof and the refrigerator with a loud hum that never allowed her to truly rest, always kept her on the edge, that made her new life distinctly more uncomfortable than her old.

She heard a faint disjointed knock on her door. She opened the door to see a gaunt and wane Lockwood, significantly paler than she remembered. She was speechless, not quite sure what to do, and he just seemed relieved enough to see her in person. He still stood the same way he did when meeting new clients, with an air of formality, and she half-expected him to shake her hand. Instead, he pulled her into a hug; a proper one, where his arms went all the way around her. The kind of hug that made you want to cry.

She gripped the sleeve of his coat not unlike the way she did all those weeks ago, and she was suddenly aware of how little the weeks passed meant. Nothing had changed between them, except for this deep yearning tainting the fervour of their grip on each other. He still felt this need to protect her but sucked at communicating, she still reached out to him instinctively in danger but yelled at him for not putting himself first. Strife and misunderstandings were still rife in their relationship, but she had never missed fighting and loving someone the way she had missed Lockwood.

"I'm sorry," he was mumbling into her hair. "I don't know why it took me so long to realise you felt the same way I did. I guess we just express fear in different ways."

"You always were slow."

He pulled back, softly smiling in a way that erased some of his wrinkles. But the smile slipped away, and she felt the worry tugging down the corners of his mouth. "It's just...I've never felt this way about anyone before. I don't know how to express it all the time so sometimes it just feels easier to convince myself it's not there. But it Smooths things over, you know?" He inhaled shakily, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. She could feel how hard it was for him to admit all this. "I felt it most when you were gone. It...it weighed on my mind. Never let me be fully at peace." His lips quirked into a small smile. "Much like you. I'd do anything for you, and I think that scares me."

"It scares me too. I guess the only way I could think of handling it was proving you were more scared than me. As if that would somehow make me strong and not...weak. Or vulnerable." She sighed, as if all the exhaustion of the past few weeks had all caught up to her in this very moment. "You make me crumble, Lockwood, but I've never felt stronger."

His eyes unfocused as his hand on her cheekbone slipped. "What if I can't protect you? What if I can't drive away every single visitor in time? What if you get hurt? How do people live like this?"

She held his hands, stopping his spiral. "I think I have enough experience driving away people who are more than a little obsessed with me."

He laughed, pulling her into a hug. What once felt overstimulating was now oddly comforting. The beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breath, the vibrations of his laughter...she wanted to feel that every day for the rest of her life.

"What I did...it really was different. You do realise that, right?"

"Yes."

"I had my rapier with me."

"You did."

"You didn't have anything."

"Hmm, I panicked." He continued hastily under her stern gaze. "What I mean is, I will try to be more careful. Promise." He put on his most angelic expression. She rolled her eyes. She took his hand as they stepped out in the final drops of summer rain. Life together wasn't always going to be smooth-sailing, or even remotely manageable, but she had a feeling that they would be alright.

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #false god #lover #requested

[thefirstknife]

THOUGHTS

My thoughts are that I am insane right now!!!!!!!!

I was in a raid when this happened and then just like a few friends alerted us to come see the channel and we straight up did not believe them. TFS teaser THIS EARLY?? And then they also ofc said "Cayde is there" so we were convinced that they're messing with us.

But then we watched it and like, Cayde being there is the least of my concerns tbh. THE ENVIRONMENT???? It's the other side of the portal! It means we go through at some point in the next two seasons! This was expected of course, but I didn't think we would see anything about it until the actual campaign, definitely not this early. Like, seeing what it looks like on the other side is a huge teaser. I genuinely did not think we'll see a single glimpse before TFS, not even maybe during reveals and trailers later.

But Cayde being there is actually also important. He's not looking right! He has a weird glow on his eyes and other places, including the way Ace of Spades looks; some sort of weird gashes of light-ish tint, almost Taken in nature? But brighter. Kinda reminds me of the way time rifts look on Mars.

The fact that he has Ace in the first place is also suspect; we have Ace. Like, that was very much a huge plot. He can't have it back, not broken up like this, unless some truly WILD shit goes down in the next two seasons and YW like... dies or something. This, alongside the weird lights on him and the gun, seems to be indicating that he's not real. Like, he's obviously him and he is corporeal in some form and he speaks the same and knows who he is, but I think he's a memory that Ikora can access. (more under for length)

Which ties into the place they're at. Me and others have speculated before that what lies on the other side of the portal is the original garden from Unveiling, or some sort of a similar place outside of space and time. This can be neatly tied in with what we know about the Darkness and what has been the most important plot thread since Lightfall: Darkness is memory, emotions, psychic. It's history and time. I've spoken a lot about this recently. Lore has been focusing on it as well, most notably with Inspiral lore book from the raid that showed us two different ancient species that were capable of using the Darkness to access the collective consciousness and the memory of their civilisation, but this has also been brought up before, for example with the Psions who communicate in a psychic way and have an ancient religion that allowed them to contact their ancestors.

This is also heavily reiterated this season with Ahsa who has a similar power, as well as the Pyramid ships, the portal and the Veil who can all affect people's consciousness and give them access to their memories. One particular interesting bit is the ship from this season called Akashic Revelation. In it, we see the Titan, Joxer, making an attempt to pass through the portal. As he gets near, he goes through a massive whiplash of spacetime distortion and ends up having flashes of memories of his life before being a Guardian. The memories continue as he passes through, but we know what happens to him later. He is found outside, bent and broken, fused with his ship and dead. But the portal triggered a flash of memories of his past. Not only that, but the name of the ship is important as well: it refers to something called akashic records, an occult concept of there existing a compendium of everything that ever happened in the universe: all of past, present, future, all memories, events, emotions and people. Joxer seemingly accessed it as he touched and passed through the portal. This is absolutely a wild word to use here, given what we know of the Veil being the "mind and memory of the universe" and everything else I've mentioned.

What I'm trying to say is that the best way to tease about us gaining access to the source of the history of the universe is by showing Ikora speaking to a dead character who only exists as an imprint in the history of the universe. The potential here, if we're on the right track is huge. Not only is this super exciting on its own (a connection to everything that ever happened!), but it also brings the potential that other dead characters might also appear in some shape or form, to help us or tell us more.

It's also wild that this is a teaser. Meaning this is the least spoilery they could get and it's already so wild that it's making me lose my mind. I would definitely advise people not to expect Cayde (or other dead characters) to suddenly "come back" in the sense they expect them to. I don't think he or anyone else will be properly "alive." So in that sense, I don't think he's "back" the way people may think. He'll obviously have a presence in the story, and that makes sense if the story is focused on Ikora. Ikora has never truly recovered from his death and if there was a memory she would access (consciously or not), it would probably be his. She has already involuntarily accessed him as a nightmare.

But given how much we're focusing on the psychic aspects of the Darkness, including right now in this season which is pretty much all about the psychic bond between an ancient creature that has the power to show people visions of the past and the future and Sloane, a bond we have to strengthen to learn more about what's coming and what our enemy really is... The fact that the whole campaign and post-campaign and all lore and quests were focused on explaining the metaphysical properties of Darkness and its connection to the mind, the psychic, the consciousness, the emotions and the mind of the entire universe... Well. It's building up to something. And us being able to communicate with people long dead is not only useful, but might be necessary to understand how to defeat our enemy.

All of this is ofc purely wild speculation. It's way too early to say anything conclusive, outside of just trying to gauge which aspects of the lore Bungie wants us to pay attention to and which aspects of the lore are being focused on. The Veil and the memory of the universe seems to be this year's theme leading us into the Final Shape so for now, that's the direction to go into.

Full reveal will be on 22nd of August, which is the start of the next season. We'll definitely know more then, especially since Deep will be done and most of the new Ligthfall quest audio logs will likely be done too. Until then, I know people will go into wild directions and speculation, mostly because it's Cayde. In the same way that I advise people not to think that he'll suddenly be alive, I'd also ask people not to be too negative about what may happen because we literally don't know. Cayde's presence is not an indicator of either good or bad. I'd also like for people to focus more on the actual important background stuff rather than zero in on a single character, but I know that won't happen lmao.

In a way, I wish Cayde didn't overshadow the completely insane scene of Ikora sitting in a garden-like place on the other side of the portal that nobody has been able to go through before (and those that tried suffered violent deaths after being having visions of everything that ever happened). Because to me, that's the true teaser here. I can't wait to find out more and I'll definitely be looking at the upcoming lore from Deep in a different light. Things are building up and I hope people will pay attention to the background stuff that's been going on about the Veil, memory, history and consciousness.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the deep #season of the deep spoilers #the final shape #cayde-6 #ikora #the veil #lore vibing #long post #long ass ramble about 50 seconds of a teaser #but i know what the major takeaway will be and i want to mention some of this stuff before people hype themselves into oblivion #about cayde being alive somehow. which is like. i'm 99% sure he's a memory in the fabric of the universe as everyone else is #if that's wrong then it's wrong in such a spectacular plot twist way that i am genuinely at the edge of my seat to find out #i definitely would've loved if ikora was more of a focus though. she should be #i feel like this is such a huge tease to drop this early but then again they KNOW what hype it will generate #ask

[derangedhyena-zoids]

Hello, back with more disturbing, fucked up Zi biology facts re: Organoids. I'M SURE EVERYONE IS VERY EXCITED (or running away, idk) It always has bothered me I didn't have a solid behavioral bead on how Organoids went from hunting Zoids to teleporting/fusing with cores. Apparently my brain has been thinking about it on some secret extra backburner because I just thought of this all suddenly the other day:

Zoids in general have something like this as a "nervous system" of sorts as relates to their cores. wild and zoidian zoids were more organic-ish while modern zoids' are basically purpose-built

this is sort of how the conduit stuff grows (top) vs is is "populated" (bottom), but the end result is basically the same. You have a core "nerve" suspended in matter in a tube. this blueprint of internal conduit is true for all Zoids, including, Organoids. Except with Organoids the concept just went utterly batshit. so while a huge amount of Organoids' evolutionbeing so conduit-heavy had to do with reproduction (re: adding a whole new step to encase core buds in protective eggs) it also had to do with a heavily-utilised feeding strategy. As I've talked about before, Organoid colonies are hypersocial - they maintain individuality but are all attached to their colony's hivemind. This made them really distressing predators - because while they were smaller than much of the Zoid megafauna they hunted, they did so in groups ranging from a pack to a swarm. One that could perfectly coordinate at all times.

If you're familiar with how wild dogs/hyenas/etc tend to go after their prey you might see where this is headed. I'd post a picture but that'd be kinda rude on random folks' timelines, so if you really don't know google youtube videos of african wild dogs killing large herbivores. basically pack carnivores usually go for weak points like orifices to start ripping into things. which works great when the whole prey is made of food... but Zoids are encased in a lot of armor and the best parts are very difficult to get to. which would actually lead to extremely protracted and dangerous hunts because it takes so long to destroy enough of the Zoid to actually immobilize it

SO the genesis of the whole fusion concept actually lies in the strategy Organoids as a species tried to solve this with - attacks that could directly target the core. Basically a swarm of Organoids overwhelming something, chewing holes in it to access the "conduit" - then, while the Zoid is being overwhelmed by a bunch of Organoids still attacking it, a number of them cling on and shove their own, much smaller cablings up through these 'conduit veins', damaging things and eventually getting access to the core chamber. refresher from my organoid anatomy bullshit - there's three types of this cabling:

one of these is GI - these type usually connect to the craw/stomach but they don't have to (I realized in writing this last night/today that there's some function "rules"/descriptions for these cables I've never articulated, but I've had those in mind for a long time, I'll write them down sometime soon I guess) but re: everything above, In what's basically a starfish move Organoids shove their own fucking guts up directly into a Core to start feeding on it. It's very miniscule individually, but multiplied it'll rapidly damage and collapse the Zoid's core, stopping (and killing) the prey for Everyone

When Organoids became more benign, and Zoids weren't hostile to their presence, they found they could accomplish this same basic thing individually without, yanno, all the Horrifying and Death, so. everyone was happier the end

thanks for coming to my fucked up ted talk. that's why you follow this blog right? lmao

#headcanon

[ghostbeam]

OZZIE FOR YOUR ASK GAME BAROU AND WEREWOLVES PLEASE AND THANK YOU I LOVE U SO MUCH MY ANGELIC TUMBLERINA

Lamb my angel this is my first time writing for him or any bllk boy so I hope I did him justice!! Sorry that this is so late!!!<3

Barou Shoei + werewolves

Warnings: u chain barou up, brief mentions of bones breaking and shedding skin (it doesn’t happen u just think abt it), some of this is sort of suggestive, it turns u on that ur boyfriend is a werewolf

Words: 600

“I feel like this is sort of inhumane.” You point out, dragging a chain down the stairs, following after your boyfriend. “Doesn’t it go against your instincts to be chained up?”

“It’s not inhumane. You wanted to see me all wolfed out.” He tells you, looking over his shoulder. “You could get hurt if I lost control. This is just a precaution. I’m not risking it.”

“I still feel like this isn’t fair to you, though. I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.” And it’s true. You do trust him. In all your years of knowing Shoei, he’s never once made you feel like you couldn’t. Besides, he’s been through tons of full moons while you were dating, and he’s never come after you then. What’s so different now?

Granted you’d never been in the same place as him, let alone the same room, but what was stopping him from ripping through your apartment door all those other times?

To say that you hadn’t thought about it would be a lie. It’s part of the reason you asked to see him tonight.

“And that’s very sweet, but it’s not about that. It’s primal—instinctual—I won’t know until it happens. And I don’t want to chance it.” He explains. The word ‘primal’ has a bit of an effect on you, stopping you in your tracks as you watch him attach the chains to a metal hook fused to the wall of his basement. Barou turns back, smirking at your reaction before waving a hand over so you can give him the other chain in your hand.

It’s interesting, chaining him up like this, watching him pull on the restraints to make sure he can’t get out of them. He thanks you, but it feels strange to be thanked for something like this.

“Here, take this.” He hands you the key from his pocket, his chains rattling as he hands it over. “It’ll be a little scary at first. I’ll growl and struggle, maybe even yell. But I should calm down after a while. It would probably be best to keep your distance until then.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like you aren’t endlessly curious about the transformation, what he looks like afterwards, if you being here would change anything about how he acts. You’ve seen it many times in different pieces of media. Sometimes it’s all broken bones. Sometimes it’s the shedding of flesh. You don’t know why would want to be here for that, but you do.

As the night progresses, you can tell Barou is becoming more and more effected by the rising of the moon. His breath becomes heavier, and you can hear the chains jingle against each other as he fidgets in his place on the ground. It’s enough to keep your attention of the book in your lap, eyes finding your boyfriend across the room, already looking at you.

“You should probably go upstairs for a while.” He tells you, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. The stare he’s fixed you with is hungry, longing. You don’t think you can leave him.

“I want to watch it.” You breathe. Something in him snaps, his body struggling against the bars before he’s even had the chance to transform. His hands flex by his side like he needs to grab ahold of something.

You watch him blink his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, you swear they glow.

#omg I’m NERVOUS what if he’s so ooc ajsjsjsjsjsjsj #werewolves are fun….perhaps I will write more next year #barou x reader #barou shoei x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[enigmatist17]

Part 1 and Part 2 of my Fox not killing Fives and instead killing Palps <3

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

Fives' breathing as he slept was all that could be heard in what used to be Palpatine's office.

Good, that's exactly what he needed to be doing.

He's asleep against General Skywalker, head in his lap while his legs are draped across Kix, who was currently sorting through some paperwork while contacting every medic he can reach. Cody and Rex had left some time ago to clear out the natborn Guard officers with most of Fox's men, with the promise they would all return to have their chips removed. The medic, once he had been alerted with the rest of the 501st as to what transpired, had become Fives' guard dog while their senior officers were gone, scaring away anyone with his glare save for a frighteningly few specific people. The Corries working in other parts of the Chancellor's former office have been spared his grumpiness, although Fox suspects it's because of the caf he's been bribed with, along with the pity he's kept to himself.

The city moved, unaware that the Sith is dead.

Fox looked down at the weapon in his hand again, and ignites the blade. The red is gone, instead, it has changed into a light blue, reminding him of the kind Senator Chuchi, and he smiles for a moment. She was always checking in on the Guard, bringing them little pastries and caf that his men often tried to keep as long as possible, and one time stole him away to her embassy.

He remembers sitting among the trees that shimmered like glass, and loses himself in the memory before there's a cough behind him, and his mask slams back up, blade vanishing with a click. Skywalker is looking at him with an expression of genuine shock, and he can see Thorn and the others stiffen from where they were all around the room.

Kriff.

"Fox? What were you thinking of just now?" He doesn't sound angry, but Fox had heard a lot of the Jetti were very kind. "I wasn't prying, but I saw some sort of tree?"

"It was nothing, sir." Fox winces at the slight pitch in his voice, but does his best to get the general to focus on himself. "Won't happen again."

"Well, it's not your fault you don't know how to shield your thoughts...I didn't know you had the Force."

Oh no

"He what?" Kix has abandoned his work, and Fox hates the way he can feel the medic just staring. "I've not seen reports of a Corrie with it."

"There are others?" Someone asks from behind Fox, and the man isn't sure if he's supposed to react or not, so he remains passive.

"Of course, did you not know this?" The medic is now wriggling his way free, and Fives stirs for a moment before settling.

"We don't know a lot of things." Fox squared his shoulders, and shifts to put himself between his men and the medic. Kix doesn't have to curse out loud, just circling Fox a few times before glaring at the spot where Palpatine's corpse had been hours ago.

"I can't wait to tell Master Plo, he's going to be excited." Anakin has gotten the message no one speaks aloud and snaps his fingers. "Kix?"

"Yes sir?"

"Could you come and be Fives' pillow? I'd like to take a walk with Fox." The Jetti hums, and with a slight grumble Kix moves to do as such, Anakin pressing his fingers against Fives' forehead for a moment. "This will keep him asleep for a little bit longer." The medic nodded, and both he and Anakin miss the look Fox shared with his fellow brothers before dutifully following the Jetti out of the room and down the hallway. He despised being up on this level, but he and his men had full control of the building from Palpatine's office, and once everything was done, they'd burn it down for him.

Fox wishes he could see it happen.

"You can light the fuse if you'd like." Fox blinks, and sees that Anakin is grinning.

"Sir?" He wouldn't be able to, right? He's a liability and is grateful they're going to do this somewhere out of sight. Anakin jerks to a stop, and Fox nearly runs into him as the Jetti whirls around to properly face him.

"I am not walking with you to kill you." The Jetti sounds upset, which is just more confusing.

"I'm a liability, with no training in regards to the Force," Fox looks at the lightsaber in his hand, and holds it out. "I'm not afraid to die.

Sad? Yes.

Afraid? No.

The explosion of Huttese from the Jetti Knight is...impressive, but lost on the Guard commander, and he watches Anakin begin to pace back and forth.

I will not kill my men, they're all mine, ours, they are OURS.

Fox drops the lightsaber as the raw emotions seem to just come from nowhere, and he reaches out for the feeling.

He wants to be loved, to be cared for, to be happy like all their other brothers.

He's clinging to Anakin's robes when he comes back to himself, throat dry and head aching as the rage seems to have died down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push that on you." The Jetti looks worried, and Fox has to struggle to calm his racing heart. "You're not dying, I just wanted to see how strong your connection was to the Force."

Fox just jerks his head in a weak attempt at a nod, and realizes it's almost morning now. He can hear the Jetti rambling on about training and Kamino, but he's not registering the words as he stares out at Coruscant in a daze.

He wants to see Chuchi's trees and share them with all of his brothers.

Anakin catches the commander when he drops like a stone, knowing that dipping into the Force with enough power to probably reach the Jedi Temple was exhausting to someone who didn't know how to reign their minds in.

"Kix? Could you send some of Commander Fox's men to my location? He's really heavy."

"Right away sir."

The Jedi sighs, and wonders how he was so blind to everything, while in the same breath, stealing himself for what was coming next.

The Council was going to lose its mind.

#personal #star wars #star wars clone wars #fox kills palpatine au #commander fox #clone medic kix #commander thire #anakin skywalker #arc trooper fives #feral for my big guy #and exploring some force sensitive fox #who was 100% tortured for it

[cosmerelists]

What will happen to Kaladin in Stormlight 5?

[Major spoilers for The Lost Metal, oddly enough. Minor spoilers for preview chapters of Secret Project 4]

I previously made some suggestions about who Odium’s champion might be. There was even a poll! Now I want to think about Kaladin. Stormlight 5 is the end of Arc 1. After that, there will be about a 10-year gap before Stormlight 6. Let me lay out some guesses as to what might happen to Kaladin at the end of Arc 1. 

1. Kaladin dies.

Let’s get this out of the way first. My deepest fear--and motivation for this list--is that Kaladin might die in Stormlight 5. I remember when The Lost Metal was coming out, and everyone seemed convince that either Wax or Wayne would die, and, well, we weren’t wrong. And I’m getting a similar vibe about Kaladin in Stormlight 5.

Evidence in favor: Sanderson isn’t shy about killing off main characters. Kaladin is the one who always survives when nobody else does...and that feels like something that an author might want to subvert.

Evidence against: Kaladin is only, what? 22? After a 10-year time skip, he’d still be a baby! Plus Moash said Kaladin can’t be killed, and would Moash ever lie to us?

2. Kaladin “dies” (but remains as a Cognitive Shadow)

Roshar has its fair share of Cognitive Shadows--the Fused, the Heralds, the Stormfather apparently, to say nothing of world-hopping Returned like Vasher. I don’t know what mechanism might cause Kaladin to anchor himself (or be anchored) to the Physical Realm after death--but it would be an option that allows him to die (but not really).

Evidence in favor: Kaladin did have that long conversation with Zahel about different types of Invested Entities and how souls could stay around after death. Including this quote from ROW: “And if you let a man die with too Invested a soul—or Invest him right as he’s dying—he’ll leave behind a shadow you can nail back onto a body.” Foreshadowing? 

Plus, in Secret Project 4, we do have the moment where Sigzil sees a person-shape and says, “Kal?” Almost like he thinks Kal might still be around somehow. 

Evidence against: We already had this happen to Szeth, and also a major theme of Arc 1 seems to be breaking the cycle--letting the Fused and/or the Heralds actually die. So I don’t know if Kaladin turning into a Cognitive Shadow makes narrative or character sense as an ending.

3. Kaladin lives and retires.

But maybe I’m scared for no reason. Maybe Kaladin will not only live...but get out. Retire. Become Roshar’s best therapist while also getting therapy himself. Maybe he’ll get full nights of sleep and good food and experience some joy.

Evidence in favor: Sanderson already had a nice deconstruction of the hero archetype by having Kaladin retire from the army and invent therapy, even turning down the Odium fight. It would be nice if that arc could continue to its happiest logical end. Also - HE DESERVES IT

Evidence against: Does Kaladin ever get to be happy? His life is suffering.

4. Kaladin lives and will simply be in Arc 2

There is another arc coming up, and Kaladin is only 22 right now. Maybe there won’t be any sort of “Kaladin end” at all--maybe he’ll just a 30-something Windrunner in Arc 2, still doing his Kaladin Routine (aka, saving the day).

Evidence in favor: Surely we need to see all of the Windrunner oaths, right? Unless Kaladin speedruns them, I don’t see them all getting finished in just one more book.

Evidence against: I just...I haven’t seen Kaladin mentioned in Arc 2 stuff unless I’ve missed something. And I dunno. Sanderson seems to like at least one major character death per series. 

5. Kaladin becomes a Worldhopper

I don’t know why this would be the case--but this would just be another way for Kaladin either to leave the story without dying, or for Stormlight to expand to the wider Cosmere. 

Evidence in favor: Honestly, this is again based on Secret Project 4 and Sigzil’s “Kal?” line. And my faint hope that Kaladin will continue to live.

Evidence against: Honestly, I just haven’t really seen this foreshadowed or anything. Seems kind of random.

5. Kaladin ascends

Listen, I know Honor is dead and all. So this is probably impossible. But Kaladin becoming Honor feels somehow...right to me. I think this mainly tickles my brain because Kaladin is called the “son of Tanavast” and Sanderson said that would be meaningful. And although Honor is shattered, his Cognitive Shadow is merged with the Stormfather, and some portion of his power seems to remain--could Kaladin take that up somehow? Become the new Honor?

Evidence in favor: There is definite precedent for main characters ending up in possession of Shards. And we still don’t know why the Stormfather calls Kaladin the “Son of Tanavast” and why Sanderson said that’s meaningful.

Evidence against: Honor is dead. (But we’ll see what Kaladin can do?)

Opinions? Take the poll!

#cosmerelists #cosmere #Kaladin #Stormlight Archive

[sunny-mercya]

False Brother

Heiji Hattori x Male Reader

Fandom -> Detective Conan/Case Closed

Masterlist

»What do you mean, he isn't Shinichi?«

The question you spoke with a whispering volume in your voice, filled with doubt and hesitation, hung above through the upcoming silence like a loose threat—ready to fall and causing havoc disaster.

Without really noticing it, the three Soda cans of cold Cola—which you had eagerly volunteered to get for your brother, Heiji and yourself as a form of thank you treatment for the hard work they had done these past few days of solving yet another crime and bringing justice once again—slipped from your hands, which had now a visible shake in them—and onto the ground below with a thud, rolling away.

Heiji captured his lower lip between his teeth's, gnawing at skin in slight anxiousness. Observing you, Heiji raced his mind of ways to distract you—bringing you away from the scene, from something of a sort of false truth you wished, longed, to be true again—and calm you down before your anger could rise.

You rarely got angry as you're a more peaceful person with sincere attitude of positive and genuine love energy. Only a handful, be it people or things, could make your fuse go into an explosion.

Though when you got angry, when the fuse start to spark and make the anger bubbling inside you—till it bursts into flames of fury—oh lord, than you weren't a pleasant person to be around.

»Are you telling me, that he–he isn't–isn't.....Shin–Shini......« your voice faltered, died out in uncertainty of unbelievable.

Heiji knew—from the way you first narrowed your eyes at Okuda, the person who fooled you into thinking that he was your dear brother—who disappeared once without a word and now reappears again—how your hands are clenched into fists, so hard that your knuckles turned white and how your narrowed stare turned into a angry sneer—that your about to strike Okuda down with every possibility of your strength in Qing Mado. After all, you weren't in the top 5 of ranks for nothing.

Heiji was able to catch you when you leapt forward with a raised fist. Okuda did a fearful step back.

»This fucker! I will smash him into the ground! He had now fucking right to imposante as Shinichi! NO RIGHT! I–fucking let me go Heiji or I swear to god I will fucking smash you into the ground too!«

And in the next seconds, you grabbed Heiji's arms and judo flipped him over your shoulder and onto the ground. Leaving him breathless for a moment.

While Heiji regained his breath, he glanced towards Ran and Shinichi—the actual one, who tried his best to take cover behind Ran—and Heiji, for once, felt absolutely angry at his best friend—who couldn't dare to give you one fucking simple call, because if he had it wouldn't be like this today.

You had charged at the false Shinichi, punching him across the face and pummel him into the ground. Sitting on top of him, you grabbed his shirt collar and shook him anger.

They all watched in shock how you, the oh so sweet and kind [Name] they all knew, shouted threatening profanity at Okuda—and how you gave him a punch after another, letting your fury completely free.

The audacity—you sneered in visibly barging anger—to imposante as your brother, is something unforgivable to do and wouldn't be forgiven, not when you waited all those damned months—almost a year had passed—without any news, signs and calls from Shinichi.

»HOW DARE YOU TO IMPOSE AS MY BROTHER AND FRAMING HIM FOR A CRIME, JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKER COULDN'T ACCEPT THE TRUTH!«

Because how low must be someone's morals, their values of integrity and beliefs, dropping to do such horrendous acts of so called "self-justification"

How desperate someone could become, to impose—undergo surgery even—as another person and commit murder in their name, to make them into a killer and frame them for such inhumane actions.

And that's all because, a truth of justice and evidence couldn't be accepted.

Heiji pulled you off from Okuda, taking every hit from your trashing around in his arms—as you tried to free yourself from his hold, wanting to beat the asshole all bloody more—and brought you to one at the benches, near the vending machines.

~~~

Heiji didn't say anything, when you cried in his arms, knowing well from first hand experience that sometimes silence comforts more than the mere words of actual comforting meaning.

It wasn't the first time you've cried over Shinichi's absence. There had been many nights where you bawled your eyes out, thinking of gruesome possibilities of what could happen to your brother to make him as of what he is now—gone and nothing but a mere fading memory.

But this was different—as you really had thought that Shinichi had finally returned and even when it seemed that your brother had lost his memories—you could live with this as long as he was back—your crumbling hope was rising like a flame, believing naive and dumbly that everything was turning good again.

Though once again it felt too good to be true, because in the end, it was nothing but a fraud—ripping the fragile hope in your broken—but ever so mending—heart apart and leaving behind a mess of piercing pain.

Maybe you should just accept the possibility of reality, that Shinichi perhaps was dead—all along from the day he disappeared to the here and now of present.

Perhaps you also shouldn't have fought for your life back then—when Daiki had kidnapped you and all you wanted was to die as well, having willingly accepted your fate as you hadn't any goal or ounce of hope left in you—but when Conan told you such blatant lie, that Shinichi had called and would be back home soon, you thought—living once more to see Shinichi's smile was enough to keep going against your wishes of death.

»I really–I thought, that–I thought, that it was–was Shinichi.....« you choked out, hiding your face more in Heiji's neck.

»I know, I know, sunshine. C'mon deep breaths, in and out, just like we practiced. Yeah, just like that, ya doing good« whispered Heiji, rubbing your back and praising you when you did the breathing patterns.

If Heiji could, he would've told you in a heartbeat that Shinichi is here and alive—freeing you from the painful pressure of heartache you living through ever since with the loss of your brother—but he couldn't, have promised—vowed—to never tell the secret of who Conan actually is.

The amount of times Heiji had to bite his tongue to not say anything to you—because if you would knew the actual truth, you would cause havoc and unleash a fury at them—and he never felt any remorse guilt about it nor anger about it before, to tell you minimal lies—but now Heiji does and for once he wanted to punch his best friend for being so absolutely stupid.

»Come, Officer Kogawa said she's gonna drive us back to the City and then we could take a nap in our hotelroom and afterwards we can go and have a nice dinner, watcha think, sounds splendid doesn't it?« said Heiji, prepping your face with kisses, before standing up.

You wiped the remaining tears from your eyes, rubbing your face and—besides the upcoming migraine you felt pounding in your head—managed a small smile at Heiji.

»Yeah, that sounds real good« you agreed, leaning against Heiji as he placed his Cap onto your head and slung his arm around you—pulling you close.

For a moment you felt bold; cradling Heiji's face in your hands, pulling him down and gave him the biggest kiss on the cheek.

»Not that I don't appreciate it, but what for sunshine?« asked Heiji, grinning at you—have been taken by surprise with your action.

»No reasons, except for you being the best in my humble life and do you wanna know how much I love you Heiji?«

»How much?«

»Endless, like the universe«

#male reader #x male reader #anime #manga #fanfiction #malereader #oneshot #xmalereader #detective conan/case closed #detective conan #heiji hattori #heiji x male reader #heiji hattori x male reader #fluff #dcmk #case closed

[silverfoxstole]

NotD coat progress report, after three days and a lot of backache! My body likes to remind me sometimes that though I generally feel like an overgrown teenager I’m actually middle-aged; the mind is willing but the flesh is at times very definitely weak! I could barely straighten up first thing this morning. 🫤

After being happy with the toile I got everything cut out on Sunday and started putting it together. I didn’t have any seam tape for the roll lines so had to use ribbon instead which works just as well; as you can see above, the front is falling where it should. I interfaced the front pieces as per the instructions but I’m sort of wishing I’d used something softer as it’s a little bit stiff. They actually said to interface all of the shell pieces but that wasn’t going to happen; I don’t know about anyone else but unless your fabric was a very loose weave why on earth would you interface sleeves? I want to move my arms, thank you! I also ended up skipping the interfacing on the front facing as that would have made everything completely inflexible, but which unfortunately meant I had to cut another couple of pieces as I’d already fused the stuff before I changed my mind.

That, however, actually turned out to be a good thing as I had a brainwave and realised I could copy the seam lines on the front of the original coat by splitting the facing piece in two:

Result! I finally got the collar the right length and shape, too.

I was complaining on Sunday about having bought too much fabric yet again only to find out that it was just as well I did when I ruined another set of facings by spending ages making bound buttonholes that I didn’t keep. That meant I had to cut out a third lot, and after that unsurprisingly there’s very little material left! It was also a good job I had a lot of lining spare as I decided to completely recut all of the top half after the sleeves refused to go in properly because I’d had to enlarge the armscye so much. My seam ripper is getting a hell of a workout this week; I battled with those sleeves for ages yesterday, trying to get them to sit in the right place. Got there in the end, but I’m not convinced I won’t have to add a bit extra at the cuffs as they don’t look long enough. We shall see.

I’ve not been able to get very far with the coat shell because I’m waiting for some velvet ribbon I ordered to trim the sleeves. It’s going to be much easier to put that on flat so I’ve had to leave them for the moment and work on the lining instead. You can see it above with the shell on top (please excuse the horrible wrinkles in the back; coats and jackets made to fit me always do that when Stella models them), and below once I’d attached the lining skirts:

In the top photos I’d tucked the shoulder pads underneath to check how they sat; I didn’t do it again, hence the coat hanging slightly differently in the ones underneath.

It does actually often make sense to put the lining together first because you can iron out any further fit issues. For instance, there was too much fullness in the armhole at the back so I had to take some extra in the curved seams to remove it. I also extended the waist darts to make it a bit more shaped at the front ; being female I need that. I don’t see myself ever buttoning it up as it’s not worn that way but there’s plenty of room should I want to at any point; I tried it with my shirt and waistcoat underneath this morning just to make sure.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned the fabric but it’s a heavy cotton drill; I can’t work out what the original is made from and it was hard to find something suitable that was the right colour within my limited budget. It was my intention to use self-cover buttons but as we were going up to our local fabric shop to check out curtains just out of curiosity I had look at what they had to offer and found these:

They’re not identical but are sort of reminiscent of those used on the original coat:

Well, vaguely. I’ll try both and see what looks best!

Now, let’s see whether my ribbon comes tomorrow…

#sfs’s adventures in sewing #night of the doctor coat #doctor who #eighth doctor #8th doctor #costume making

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

🦋 (Butterfly) - Does your OC ‘fear the reaper’, so to speak? If they fused with Morpho Knight, what sort of form would they take on?

For Celestine, Uther, Icarus, and Morgan

Fair warning the answers are a little spoilers... (but still enough room for some mystery)

Uther: Yes, for Uther... he did not want his name and legacy to die... using his apprentices as an extension of himself.

This is why he was extremely upset with Arthur (the one he tried so hard to mold), who had gone off and abandoned his privileged station as his right hand (as his pawn). Disobeying him and choosing Meta Knight over him.

And he feared death even more when he got ahold of Celestine's prophecy (A series of events I plan to explain later). Which predicted the end of Uther & the Ancient's reign over the galaxy... A prophecy she tried so hard to make into a reality.

Celestine tried her best to stop Uther from peering into it (so he could not stop it) ... destroying it before he even got a chance to see all of it...

All he saw were a few vivid images and colors... but the only thing he could see was an astral with a pink-hued warrior... (wait a minute GALACTA'S PINK...)

Uther has always believed the one who'd destroy and usurp his throne was Galacta Knight... but in reality, it was Kirby... he got the wrong star warrior. (he realized it too late)

Before taking his life Morpho gave him a small glimpse of the future, which was the greatest punishment of all for him.

He saw the child that he had forsaken & despised (Meta Knight) become the future leader of the GSA. And Kirby succeeded in destroying the era he created... ushering in the era of peace.

And the one whose legacy that was remembered and beloved by all was not his... but Arthur's. :3

Icarus: He feared death while astrals have a long life the concept of death always freighted him... he hoped to remove his "organic shell of a body" and create an immoral body... which he played around with creating life so much... got him in trouble with big time.

Once he triggered the creation of Kirby from Void... Morpho immediately came for his life. And made sure he felt the weight of his crimes... coming for his wings and burning them slowly & painfully.

Morpho despised Icraus' lack of respect for organic life and destroyed his soul... crushing it to never be reincarnated. (He did this with Uther's soul as well.)

He'd flown too close to the sun...

Morgan: She doesn't fear death... she's actually looking to dethrone Morpho... Respectless... (that's all I can say without spoilers)

And my (HC) voice for her Velvet from Hazbin Hotel.

Morpho doesn't know whether or not to sympathize, despise, fear her, or be impressed by her... the actions she's doing are practically punishing herself.

She's sunken so deep that... he can't even call her soul a soul anymore... and no longer has any jurisdiction to collect... she's practically a walking corpse.

Celestine:

I can't spoil anything but Morpho has great respect for Celestine... she is one of the few lucky souls he can say had outwitted him... and will go as far as to say congratulations to her without any hint of resentment.

#kirby oc #lady celestine #sir uther #sir icarus #dame morgan #answered #this one text for now am planning to answer a few in pictures

[doodlesolar]

ok i cant get this shit off my mind, thisll be word soup

someone made a post and i forgot who it was but many more people than them hold the opinion:

they said to stop saying "having DID is like having a built-in friend group" and "having DID is having a bunch of aesthetics" because they said those sorts of statements make it trendy. they said somehting like "its not trendy its debilitating" and i just wanted to explain/defend myself cause i cant get the fuckin post off my mind &im gonna lose it (lighthearted)

i'm professionally diagnosed, have every symptom. it is fucking awful, but i hear that my system has better communication (that is thanks to therapy though). alters in my system treat eachother like best friends, we love eachother, we dont use family-words like a lot of systems. just saying all that for context: the system itself is not harmful to me, and if i didn't have DID id prolly still have a fucked-up memory.

I sometimes say that this disorder is like having a built-in friend group but that's mostly either as a joke in very closed-off circles of people who all have the disorder OR its in response to people suggesting fusion. it's my way of saying "hey this system is a good thing for me". I had a whole fakeclaiming fiasco turn into forced fusion in 2021, it was very traumatising, it included a "crisis stabilisation facility" (i hate those places sm ive gone to the same one 5 different times) but we've tried fusing numerous times as a result of fakeclaiming. Now that i have a professional diagnosis (i got it last year), ive been told ffusion is a good option for me. im done being told that this disorder is such a limit for me. I don't want to fuse, so i tell people its like having a built-in friend group to just hammer home how much i dislike being given medical advice from layman. That's probably not how others say it, i know others probably mean it in a genuinely offensive way, but i couldn't get the post off my mind and im explaining the way I personally mean that statement so that i can just forget i ever saw that fucking post (i hold no bad feelings against the post in particular, its just sticking in my brain and im upset at the fact im still thinking about it more than anything else)

#syscourse #word soup #not doodle #i promise theres no ill will #i just genuinely couldnt get that post out of my head