#threshold instability

[epicstoriestime]

Mnemonic Contamination // Smile Agent Drift

[REDACTED FIELD MEMO — INTERNAL DISTRIBUTION ONLY]OPHANIM DIRECTIVE // BLUE SKY COLLAPSE MONITORINGREF: OBS-Δ33 / SMILE AGENT RECURSION NODEORIGIN: [REDACTED] // Asylum Sector 7, Δ7-Interior GridDATE: 07/19/2025CLEARANCE LEVEL: TRIDENT VIOLET (Eyes Only) EXECUTIVE SUMMARY The following is a Level-Δ33 intelligence update on the containment integrity of OPERATION BLUE SKY. The MirrorGrid…

[mullermilkshake]

Quicksand

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

Satoru gave something special to you and Suguru. Now he wants it back.

Sperm donor!Satoru Gojo x Fem New mom!reader x Husband!Suguru Geto Triggering and very real topics, viewer discretion is advised, Established Relationship with Suguru (Married), Yandere! Behaviour, Manipulative behaviour, Post partum, Babies, Mentions of, Infertility/Childbirth, Implied breastfeeding, Physical abuse, Psychological abuse, Coercion, Blackmailing, Parental responsibility

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When your daughter came into this world, Suguru’s name should have been on that birth certificate.

When your little girl came out with hair whiter than snow, things got complicated.

Well, Satoru Gojo got complicated. Growing and festering to the point of obsession, things got more than just complicated, they got downright dangerous.

At first, the entire thing was a misunderstanding, costing more in legal fees, court appearances and applications to family court with money you and Suguru just didn’t have. How could you have the energy to go through all that after giving birth and feeding a newborn every two hours?

So for the time being, you left it.

Despite your marriage to Suguru, you and he left it for now.

In legal circumstances, Satoru had parental responsibility over your daughter and not your husband. Satoru was understanding, almost embarrassed of the clerical error and offering money to amend it. In hindsight, you should have taken it, you should have had the issue taken care of so that it was put to bed.

In hindsight.

Suguru understood though heartbroken, it wasn’t his best friends doing. After all, Satoru gave you and Suguru the best gift of all, a beautiful and healthy daughter with the biggest set of lungs. 

You and Suguru eagerly discussed Satoru’s proposal to be the sperm donor, long nights agonising over the logistics and practicality of it all. The expenses were one thing, Satoru waived all of them. In honesty, you should have known then and there that he would bring trouble to your doorstep, a weighted presence after he started pushing to see your daughter more than casually and weekly visits evolved to two, or three days respectively.

And then, he started coming around the house when Suguru wasn’t home.

Now, Suguru wasn’t dismissive or wore rose tinted glasses in front of his best friend and wife. He knew there were problems, he just didn’t have the capacity to tackle them on his own with mounting work and that you just didn't want to burden him with more issues.

His mother was a candidate you took gladly so that you weren’t on your own with him. Satoru often played off your fears as instability due to postpartum and hormones. He kept up appearances around everyone who wasn’t you and for a time, Suguru’s mother was besotted with him.

‘Oh, isn’t he wonderful?! Such a good friend and uncle.’ She’d say, even encouraging you to hand your daughter off to him for ‘cuddles’ so she could clean the house and allow you time on your own to shower.

Well, Suguru’s mother’s stay at your house stopped short when she allowed Satoru to watch your daughter while she gardened. He rocked her to sleep and cooed indistinct words with precious forehead kisses.

Around other people, he referred to himself as Uncle Satoru. In only your daughter’s presence, it changed to 'Daddy'.

Suguru’s mother left that night, and things blew up after Suguru wearily took his mother home. The pressure was getting to him, torn between his wife and child, and his best friend who never fully manipulated him, the red flags were there though only subtly in the background. In plain sight but out of mind.

“Are you insane? Stop referring to yourself as her father- you aren’t.”

Satoru followed you up the stairs, teetering on the threshold into the bedroom, leaning so arrogantly that it made you want to rip your hair out more than you already did.

“Y’know, I can’t actually believe you’re still carrying on with this.” His eyes were lidded, more sunken than before like he’d finally given up on pretending.

You didn’t know what was more exhausting.

“I want you out of this house, and you are never to return, do you understand? I don’t care what Suguru will say to it, I don’t care what his mother could say to it- you are not my daughter's father and you never will be.”

“It hurts me every time you say that.”

He stepped through the doorway, you managed to hold your ground for all but five seconds as he skulked closer. You instinctively backed away towards the crib, never taking your eyes off of the predatory aura Satoru soon developed.

“It is true. She’s my baby. Suguru’s daughter-”

“She’s my child too. I’m a part of her- listen.” He moved so fast and snatched your hand, ignoring the reactive scream when he yanked you close, slapping your hand down firmly on his chest. “You feel that? My heartbeat, she has that too- my hair, my fucking eyes for christ's sake. I’m her father and I will be damned if I don’t fulfill that role.”

Your first instinct was to check she was still sleeping, breathing normally amidst your response. Thankfully, she was. “Satoru… we all agreed on this. You agreed that she’d never know who you really were, because all you did was donate your sperm.”

“We agreed that I’d be in her life.” His teeth gritted a fraction and then returned to normal. “But I did more than just jack off in a cup for you to use, I gave her life and you won’t take her away from me. She’ll know who her real father is and I’ll make sure she stays close.”

“We agreed-”

“Shoulda signed a contract, baby. Paperwork can be so finicky, don’t y’think?”

No… No fucking way. “It wasn’t just an error, was it- the birth certificate.”

You were still touching, hand pressed so tight it would cause a rash just pulling away. Satoru’s heartbeat increased right under your fingertips, he didn’t need to tell you to give his game away.

“You forged my signature, didn't you? I don't remember signing that thing. You- you made sure Suguru didn’t have any rights. It was all you.”

If he took your daughter, Suguru couldn’t do a thing. In the eyes of the justice system, he was essentially invisible. A man in her life with no say.

Satoru tilted his head to the side condescendingly enough to startle you. “N’arww, you only just figured it out? I knew you were gonna cut and run as soon as she was born, I needed some insurance. You were so exhausted after the birth, I took matters into my own hands.”

He studied you with a look only your husband gave you when you and he were alone. “You looked so beautiful then, hair stuck to your face and chest rising so quickly like you were terrified. What I loved most was that smile you had when she was born.”

Satoru looked down at your sleeping daughter and brushed her cheek delicately with the most loving smile the man could ever possess. “She has my hair, my eyes, but every time I look at her, she has something I can’t ever replicate. Your smile… She looks more like you than she could ever be like me and that’s what makes her special.”

“Please… Satoru. Leave us alone. I’ll call the police, Suguru won’t just let you do this.”

“Nah, he will. I’ve been breaking him down inch by inch the entire time, he’s pretty much checked out now.”

“What-What are you talking about?” This was when you started to try and pull away from him. “Satrou, what have you done?”

The bastard sounded so sure of himself, that little laugh you often admired before all this churned your stomach. “When he comes in, he’ll find the evidence of our relationship and leave you. I mean, he doesn’t even have a child with you, his ‘daughter’ is another man’s baby.”

“What are you talking about Satoru? There is no- get off of me.” You wanted to shout, scream and curse in his ear until it perforated his eardrum. 

But, your baby girl. Despite being as little as she was, you couldn’t traumatise her and drag her into the mess you had indirectly caused. Why the fuck did you let a close friend be the sperm donor for your baby? Idiotic and foolish. Though you couldn’t take it back now, could you?

“What evidence, there’s no evidence- Satoru, get off me.” 

You pulled again, his grip tightening until his arm was around you. He never moved despite your struggle, a brick wall with an agenda, he lugged you out of the room and covered your mouth.

“Shh, wouldn’t want to wake our precious baby girl now, would you?”

It stung like venom, an aggressive snake striking you over and over until it had dragged you down the stairs and pushed you into the living room. Your breast pump and pillow sat on the coffee table in preparation for feeding, a warm blanket and television remote placed strategically for optimal movement and an undisturbed child.

“What the hell are you doing!” Yanking your arm from his hand, you broke the connection and placed the coffee table between you as some sort of pathetic barricade.

If he wanted through, he was coming regardless.

“Just because we didn’t sleep together to make her, doesn't mean she isn’t mine… But for the next one, we can do it properly-”

“Next one?! I’m six weeks postpartum, you- I’d never let you come near me. Don’t you get it? I’m just not interested. I’m married and love my husband.”

The room couldn’t have been more deafening with throttled silence if you tried. You could hear your heart gush around your ears, too hypersensitive to the baby monitor on the fireplace.

“Do you?” 

Satoru stayed on the threshold again, his back to the hallway blocking your exit back to your daughter's room. How he stood there, like he’d hit a realisation, his shoulders slouched like he had something brewing on his mind.

“Do I what?” You said, thinking of ways to get past him.

The poker by the fireplace. No, he’d get to you faster than you could turn around, snatch it and throw it out the window. Maybe he’d use it on Suguru- no, he loved him despite your trepidations. No way would he go that far, surely? But look how far he has gone. Fuck, I’m an idiot!

“Do you really love him? Like really?” He took one step towards you and put you on a back footing, hitting your spine on the mantle.

What sort of question was that?

“Yes. I do. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met, I want to spend the rest of my life-”

“Oh c’mon, Suguru can’t even get his wife pregnant, what makes you think he can actually protect you and our daughter?!”

His switch made you flinch, and then he was suddenly just one pace away from your face. “Those wee lil swimmers just aren’t strong enough, are they?”

The topic of Suguru’s fertility was never discussed, only between you and him. It was an unwritten rule. Not only with your health and everything on top, Suguru had questioned his own masculinity, his worthiness as your husband.

Hearing it out loud brought tears to your eyes. “Don’t talk about that-”

You screamed again when he slammed his fist down on the wall by your head, covering your mouth after to stop your sobs was useless. “Sweetie, I guarantee if I fucked you raw, I’d knock you up first try.”

“Satoru… please listen to me. I don’t want to have sex with you, and if I’ve ever given you the impression that I have, I’m sorry. But I do not want that.”

“I never knew why you chose to pursue him and not me… I’m better for you than Suguru, I have always been better for you. Yet you still chose him, even when he couldn’t perform, you never dropped him. It only made me double down.”

“Because I love him- I don’t want you.”

“Maybe not now, but you will eventually.”

It was probably the worst thing you could have said, but it came out so quickly, so confidently. So you ran with it. Your heart jumped when the baby monitor went off, so instinctively you moved without concern only for him to stop you again.

“She’ll be fine. It’s only a hiccup.”

“I still have to go and check on her- I can’t leave her. Please, Satoru.”

Satoru didn’t move at first, and when he did, it was as though he was just waiting for you to make a run for it. “Go, be quick.”

You stormed up the stairs under duress, skipping a step now and then and shot right into the bedroom. Your baby was just fine, only making a smacking sound she always did in her sleep. In one fit of self preservation, you weren’t sure how you moved across the bedroom so fast in reaction to Satoru’s footsteps climbing the stairs, but you did, locking the bedroom door.

The thing was, after having a baby, you sort of developed super hearing, picking up on different breathing patterns your baby went through, knowing when she was about to be overstimulated in public settings which would inevitably result in her crying for hours. You could tell when she was hungry, bored and just in that odd mood when she decided to be a little demon with her eyes closed.

Despite being related by blood and genetics, Satoru knew none of those things, Suguru did. Suguru may not have been able to get you pregnant, but his role as a father was more special than anything.

“Unlock the door.” Satoru banged his fist on the wood. "Unlock the door right now!"

“Get the fuck away from me and my daughter.” Your maternal strength returned. “I’m calling the police and you better be nowhere near here. You will never see her again, do you hear me?!”

Silence.

Nothing but an unsettling and sudden silence.

He must have already left, you still crawled over the bed to get the house phone from the bedside drawer, hands shaking from the adrenaline. A quick rummage before Suguru returned and you could explain everything to him.

One thing though, the phone, it was missing from its usually place. You had no fucking phone.

Satoru's voice oozed through the cracks of the door. "Looking for the phone? You might wanna think about opening the door. Suguru will be home soon."

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work thank you!

[theetherealbloom]

IN THE STARS - CH.1

Chapter One: There Are Things We'll Never Know

Summary: When a cosmic accident leaves you tethered to the fabric of reality itself, your quiet life as a physicist collides with the impossible. Now, standing between worlds, you’re forced to choose between the future you wanted and the universe that needs saving. Some things were never meant to last—except maybe what’s written in the stars.

Pairing: Reed Richards x F!Reader

Warnings: (SPOILERS FOR F4:FS) Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Unrequited Love, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Dreams, Nightmares, Sci-Fi, Timey-Wimey Happenings, Canon-Typical Violence, Fainting, Perfectionist!Reader, Alternate Universe, Marvel Multiverse, Delayed Hurt-to-Comfort, No Cheating omfg, Mutant!Reader, 

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: This fic has been a year in the making. I constantly came up with various ideas, but settled on this one. There’s a little To The Moon dialogue inspiration here; I love that video game with all my heart and soul. This is a love letter to all the readers. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: ashes & rust by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

EARTH-828

HARVARD UNIVERSITY — DAY

The lecture hall at Harvard University was always too cold, no matter the season. You adjusted the cuffs of your sweater and sank deeper into your seat near the back, quietly observing as today’s seminar on theoretical physics wound down. Dr. Palmer stood at the front, his voice even and steady, but the real star of the room was Reed Richards.

You’d heard of him before. Everyone had. He was a prodigy, already working on his fourth PhD. Where most students hesitated, Reed thrived, answering questions with such ease it almost felt unfair. Today was no different.

“And if you account for the instability within cosmic strings, you’ll notice…” Reed’s voice carried through the room as he traced complex equations on the board. His handwriting was neat, almost annoyingly so. “It stabilizes when adjusted for quantum perturbations.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the class. Except from you.

You frowned at your notebook, pen tapping lightly against the edge. His calculations were close, sure. But not quite right. There was a variable missing—a small one, easy to overlook, but significant enough to skew the entire model.

Class ended, and you watched as students trickled out. Reed stayed behind, engaged in conversation with Dr. Palmer. You hesitated, your notebook clutched in your hands. The right thing to do would be to leave it alone, but the perfectionist in you couldn’t.

You cleared your throat as you approached, your voice soft but steady.

“Your interpretation of cosmic string stability… it’s mostly right.”

Reed turned, curious. His brown eyes caught yours, and you caught the faintest flicker of surprise.

“Mostly right?” he repeated, his tone amused.

You nodded, holding out your notebook. “There’s a variable you didn’t account for.”

He scanned your notes, his brow furrowing in concentration before his lips curved into a slow, impressed smile.

“Ah… I see your point. You adjusted for the divergence in quantum fluctuations at the threshold.” He glanced back up at you, eyes alight with interest. “That’s actually brilliant.”

A warm flush crept up your neck, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “I figured it was worth mentioning.”

From there, the conversation unfolded like a slow tide—easy and steady, at first circling the calculations on the board. Reed pointed out the flaw in his equation with a quick flick of his marker, nodding as he followed your suggestion to adjust for quantum divergence.

“That’s clever,” he admitted, glancing at you with a spark of genuine interest. “How’d you spot it so quickly?”

You leaned against the desk, arms loosely crossed. “It stuck out. You balanced the constants beautifully, but the boundary conditions felt... off. Just a little.”

Reed tilted his head, considering your words as if turning them over like a puzzle piece. “Most wouldn’t catch that.”

“Most don’t like playing with boundary conditions,” you replied with a shrug. “I do.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, amused. “I can see that.”

The air between you seemed to settle into something warmer—less formal, more like a shared secret. He capped his marker and turned to face you fully, folding his arms in a mirror of your stance.

“So,” he said, his voice light but curious, “what’s your take on cosmic radiation anomalies? Think they break the laws of physics, or just bend them in inconvenient ways?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends. Are we talking theoretical or practical application?”

“Both,” he said, eyes glinting with interest.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Alright. Let’s start with theory.”

What began as a simple correction quickly spiraled into something bigger. Equations gave way to broader ideas—how cosmic radiation could behave under extreme conditions, the strange beauty of the unknown, and the limits of physics itself.

“Cosmic radiation is like the universe’s biggest wild card,” you said, tracing a diagram in the air with your finger. “It doesn’t always play by the rules, but if you understand its patterns, you can predict just enough to stay ahead.”

Reed nodded, leaning a little closer, his focus unwavering. “And when it doesn’t stay ahead?”

“That’s the exciting part,” you said, your voice softening. “It forces you to think differently. To adapt.”

He tilted his head, a thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Adapt or be humbled by the universe.”

“Exactly.”

Time slipped by unnoticed. Thirty minutes, maybe more. Neither of you seemed to care. The lecture hall, once cold and impersonal, now felt like the center of something vast and infinite. The kind of space where ideas felt tangible—like you could reach out and touch them.

You caught yourself leaning in closer, your words and his weaving together in a rhythm that felt effortless. For every question, there was a counter-question. For every theory, a counter-theory. And somehow, you both thrived in the push and pull of it.

“I didn’t expect this,” you said finally, glancing at the clock. “I meant to leave twenty minutes ago.”

Reed smiled, his eyes warm and just a little mischievous. “Some conversations are worth staying for.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

It didn’t end there.

Over the next few weeks, your paths crossed in ways that felt almost too frequent to be a coincidence. It was never planned, but somehow Reed was there—offering a casual wave as you left the lecture hall, spotting him at a table in the library with his nose buried in a book, or catching him in line at the campus café, his brow furrowed in thought until he noticed you and his face softened.

“Hey,” he said one afternoon as you passed him in the courtyard, coffee in hand. “Still thinking about that quantum singularity question?”

You slowed, a grin tugging at your lips. “Of course. Took me down a rabbit hole, thanks to you.”

He fell into step beside you, his pace easy, his focus entirely on you. “Let me guess—you found a flaw in the conservation theorem?”

“More like an opportunity,” you corrected, the two of you slipping into the kind of rhythm that felt second nature by now. “I’m still working it out.”

Conversations started in lecture began bleeding into quiet moments like this, lingering long after they should’ve ended. You didn’t mind. There was something about Reed’s presence—calm, curious, completely genuine—that made the world feel less heavy. He listened like every word mattered, his fascination with the unknown infectious in the best way.

You’d been standing in line at the café with him when it happened.

The scent of roasted coffee beans hung in the air, blending with the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups. Reed was talking about the time dilation paradox, gesturing faintly as he explained, his thoughts far away in theoretical space. You were nodding along, enjoying the way he got lost in his own ideas.

Then the world tilted.

It was sudden—a rush of dizziness, your vision narrowing until the edges went dark. You reached out instinctively, fingers brushing against Reed’s sleeve.

“I—” Your voice sounded distant, like it wasn’t yours.

“Hey, are you—” Reed started, his hand coming up just as your knees buckled.

Everything went weightless for a split second before you crumpled. The floor felt impossibly far away, but Reed caught you before you hit it, his arms steady around you as the café noise faded into muffled static.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he said, his voice calm but edged with concern. “Just breathe. Take your time.”

You blinked up at him, your head spinning, heart pounding erratically in your chest.

“Damn it,” you muttered, trying to sit up. “I’m fine. This happens sometimes.”

Reed didn’t let go, his hand resting lightly on your back, keeping you steady. “Define ‘sometimes.’” His eyes searched yours, sharp and focused, but not unkind.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak. “It’s called POTS. My blood pressure gets weird when I stand too long. Really not as dramatic as it looks.”

Reed didn’t look convinced. “Not dramatic? You just fainted in the middle of a café.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Wait—you’ve mentioned standing too long before. Does this happen often?”

You hesitated. “More than I’d like, but it’s manageable.”

“Manageable isn’t the same as fine,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “We should sit for a bit. Let your heart catch up.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Reed guided you to an empty table by the window, his hand never straying far from your arm. He didn’t press you for details, but you could tell by the way his eyes kept flicking toward you—measuring your breathing, the color in your face—that he was already trying to solve the problem.

“Let me guess,” you said after a few moments, your voice a little steadier now. “You’re mentally designing some kind of device to monitor my blood pressure in real-time.”

Reed smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not yet. But give me five minutes.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Humor me,” he said, leaning back but still watching you closely. “Just for a little while longer.”

The café felt different after that—quieter, like the world had paused to catch its breath along with you. You stared out the window, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky, the sunlight softer than it should’ve been. Time seemed to slow, the edges of reality blurring in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Reed was still watching you, but his expression had softened into something almost… curious. Not the usual analytical curiosity, but something warmer, more personal. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice low, careful not to disturb the strange calm that had settled around you.

“Yeah,” you said, though the air still felt heavy in your lungs, the world just a fraction off-kilter. “I think I just needed to sit.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. Then, with that familiar spark in his eyes, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Okay, I have to ask—if POTS affects your blood flow when you stand too long, does it ever happen in zero gravity? Or would that change how your body regulates everything?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question, but grateful for the distraction. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who would ask that,” you said with a smile. “And, for the record, I’ve wondered the same thing. Unfortunately, NASA didn’t offer a study on ‘fainting in space.’”

He grinned. “Seems like a missed opportunity.”

You were about to respond when something flickered in the corner of your vision. The sunlight outside dimmed for a fraction of a second, like someone had turned a giant dial on the brightness of the world.

You froze, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” Reed asked, his brow furrowing.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. The sunlight returned to normal, the café bustling as if nothing had happened. You shook your head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing. Just thought I saw a shadow or something.”

Reed raised an eyebrow, but he let it go. “Well, if shadows start breaking the laws of physics, you’ll be the first to figure it out.”

You smiled, but the strange feeling lingered, a whisper at the back of your mind. You’d always had a strong connection to the world around you—a way of sensing patterns and shifts that others couldn’t. It was why you’d fallen in love with theoretical physics in the first place.

But this… this was different.

YOUR DORM — EVENING

There are nights when your dreams are so real, so vivid, you wake with your heart pounding, convinced they’ve left an imprint on the world around you.

It always starts the same way—a vast, endless expanse of stars unfolding before you. The air hums with a strange energy, neither warm nor cold, neither threatening nor kind. It simply is.

A tree rises from the center of the void, its branches woven from threads of cosmic nebula, shimmering in hues no human eye was meant to comprehend. The leaves pulse softly, breathing light into the surrounding darkness. This tree—ancient, eternal—feels like the center of everything. Its roots stretch across time, connecting realms you’ve never seen but somehow know, as if you’ve walked their streets and spoken their language in another life.

You run beneath its boughs, not toward anything but away. Always away. From what, you’re never sure. There are faces you love—faces you’ve forgotten, yet ache for as if they were once your entire world. Friends. Family. Lovers. Their names hover on the tip of your tongue, but every time you reach for them, they dissolve like morning mist.

The dreams shift, turning darker, heavier. Lifetimes rush past in flashes, each one slipping through your fingers the way sand does when you try to hold too much at once. Sometimes you’re in a bustling city bathed in golden light. Other times, in a crumbling ruin swallowed by shadows. But it’s always you, in every fragment—always running, always searching.

You wake with a start, the echo of something vast and ancient slipping through your fingers like sand. The room is dark, shadows stretched long and strange across the floor, warping the edges of reality just enough to make your pulse quicken. Your head throbs—sharp, insistent—like the aftershock of a dream too large to contain.

The air feels heavier than it should. Familiar yet wrong, as if something unseen is pressing in from the edges, waiting for you to notice. You sit up slowly, fingers brushing your temple, willing the dizziness to pass.

It doesn’t.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you plant your feet firmly on the cold floor, grounding yourself in the mundane: a dorm room filled with relics of late-night study sessions and half-finished projects. Textbooks are stacked in uneven towers on your desk, a model of the solar system hangs from the ceiling, small pastel paper cranes you’ve created are displayed on your shelf, and the glow of an old analog clock bathes the room in a soft amber light.

One step. Then another. You steady yourself against the wall, the pounding in your head refusing to ease. The mini fridge hums softly in the corner, its sound strangely soothing. You reach for the handle, the cold air brushing your skin as you pull out a bottle of water.

The cap twists off with a satisfying click. You take a sip, the coolness easing the dryness in your throat.

For a moment, you stand there, bottle in hand, staring at nothing in particular. Your breath slows, but the lingering sense of wrongness remains. Not loud. Not screaming. Just there, quiet and persistent, like a forgotten melody.

The dreams always leave you like this. Off balance. Caught between two worlds. Bound to a body that feels like it belongs to you but carries the force of something else entirely.

You glance at the window, at the stars blinking in the dark sky. For a fleeting second, it feels like they’re watching you back.

And maybe, just maybe, they always have.

ADVANCED MATHEMATICAL METHODS — LECTURE HALL

The lecture hall hums with quiet conversation, the low rumble of voices mixing with the sharp scratch of pens on paper. The overhead projector flickers, casting formulas and graphs across the front wall.

You sit near the middle, your notebook open to a fresh page, already littered with scribbled corrections. The equations on the screen twist your stomach in knots—abstract, elegant, and maddeningly complex.

Math had always been… tricky. Not impossible, but never intuitive. It required focus, hours of grinding through problem sets until your brain ached. While others in the class breezed through proofs, you had to claw your way up every equation, one line at a time.

It wasn’t that you weren’t capable—you’d earned your spot here. But some days, you felt like you were barely keeping your head above water.

Today is one of those days.

The door swings open with a soft creak, and you glance up, eyes skimming the latecomer.

Reed Richards.

Of course. He strides in, effortlessly composed, a worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His gaze sweeps the room, pausing briefly on a few empty seats. Then his eyes find you.

A small, almost imperceptible smile crosses his face.

You freeze, caught in the crosshairs of his attention.

“Is this seat taken?” His voice is calm, warm, with just the slightest edge of curiosity.

You shake your head, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest. “No, go ahead.”

Reed settles into the chair beside you, setting his notebook and a neatly sharpened pencil on the desk. For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes flicking between you and the front of the room as the professor dives into the next equation.

The silence feels heavier than it should. You focus on copying down the formulas, hyper-aware of his presence.

“Advanced methods aren’t exactly kind,” Reed says quietly, leaning just close enough for only you to hear. “Especially if you’ve been cursed with a right-brain bias.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Are you saying math is my enemy?”

A soft laugh escapes him, low and genuine. “Not an enemy. More like… a particularly demanding dance partner.” He taps his pencil on his notebook, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You just have to learn how to lead.”

You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re basically fluent in math.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Fluent, sure. But I had to learn the language, too. I’ve made plenty of mistakes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” he says, his voice softening. “I’ve been where you are. Frustrated. Questioning whether you’re cut out for this. But you are.”

You glance at him, his expression steady and sincere. For a second, the buzzing noise of the room fades, replaced by something quieter—something unspoken but deeply understood.

The professor’s voice cuts through the moment. “Alright, let’s move on to the next set of problems. Try this one on your own.”

Your eyes snap back to the board, but you can still feel Reed’s presence beside you, grounding, steady.

“Want to compare answers after?” he asks.

You nod slowly, a flicker of something lighter breaking through the weight in your chest. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

CAMPUS CAFÉ — LUNCHTIME

The café hums with low conversation, the clinking of silverware, and the soft crackle of an old radio tucked on a shelf behind the counter. Sunlight filters through vintage geometric windows, casting patterns on the checkered floor. You and Reed sit in a booth near the window, papers and notebooks spread out between half-eaten sandwiches and untouched coffee.

For the first ten minutes, the conversation is purely academic—analyzing each other’s answers, correcting equations, and debating theories on cosmic radiation. But then the focus drifts, loosening like a thread unraveling from a tightly woven fabric.

“So,” Reed starts, leaning back, his pen tapping thoughtfully against his notebook. “What got you into this field? Cosmic radiation isn’t exactly… mainstream.”

You pause, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “I guess it started with the stars. I’ve always been fascinated by them—how ancient and untouchable they are. I wanted to be an astronomer when I was a kid. Spend my life watching the universe unfold.”

A soft smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “But my parents were engineers, so I grew up surrounded by blueprints and machinery. I guess it rubbed off on me. Science felt like the best way to make sense of the world—and to make it better.”

Reed nods, eyes intent on yours. “That’s… noble.”

You shrug, feeling the familiar heaviness of expectation settle on your shoulders. “I just want to do something that matters. Build something that lasts. I’ve always believed science could be the key to improving lives, not just observing the universe but doing something about it.”

The conversation lingers for a moment in that space—serious, almost vulnerable—before Reed’s curiosity softens into something warmer.

“What about your family?” he asks.

You glance at the window, watching the sunlight catch the edges of leaves swaying in the breeze. “I’m adopted. It was a closed adoption, so I don’t know much about my birth family.”

There’s a hitch in your breath you try to ignore. “I love my adoptive parents. They’re incredible people. But sometimes I can’t help wondering who I was supposed to be before them. Before this life.”

Reed listens, thoughtful and quiet, his gaze steady, like he’s cataloging every word, not to dissect it but to understand it. “I think… maybe you were always supposed to be you. Everything else is just part of the process.”

You blink, surprised by the simplicity of his answer, yet it settles something deep inside you.

“Maybe,” you say, your voice softer than you intended.

The conversation shifts again, drifting naturally back to childhood—the kind of stories that live at the intersection of nostalgia and comfort. Summers spent in lavender fields, the scent lingering in the air, folding itself into memories of golden afternoons and warmth against your skin. Science fairs that spiraled into all-night experiments in the garage, sparks flying and circuits humming, all of it grounded in the pure joy of discovery. You smile at the thought, surprised by how much it still feels like home.

"You must’ve had a similar childhood," you say, leaning back slightly, curious. "Were you always building things and blowing stuff up in your parents’ garage?"

Reed chuckles softly, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. "Not quite. My dad wasn’t the build-in-the-garage type. He was more… theory than practice."

You raise an eyebrow. "Theory?"

Reed takes a moment, his gaze flickering down to his coffee before returning to you. "He’s a physicist. Nathaniel Richards. Brilliant, but distant. After my mom passed, it was just the two of us. He guided my studies, kept me focused. I guess you could say he set the path for me early on."

You study him for a beat. There’s something careful in the way he speaks, not guarded exactly, but deliberate—like he’s piecing the words together as he goes.

"You were close?"

Reed hesitates, then gives a small shrug. "In a way. He wanted the best for me. College at fourteen, degrees at eighteen. Caltech, Columbia, M.I.T., and Vienna for a while. He made sure I had every opportunity to push my limits."

"College at fourteen?" you repeat, wide-eyed. "And here I thought I was an overachiever."

Reed grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It sounds more impressive than it was. I was just… curious about everything. Engineering, mathematics, physics—there was so much I wanted to figure out. My dad made sure I had the tools to do it."

You lean back slightly, watching the way his words carry a kind of quiet confidence, not boastful but deeply rooted in possibility.

"Well," you say, voice calm but sincere, "I think your parents would be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Reed." Your eyes meet his, steady and warm. "You’re gonna change the world."

He pauses, considering you for a second longer than expected. Something shifts in his expression—not quite a smile, not quite serious—just... certain.

His voice is low but resolute. "We’re gonna change the world," he says, his brown eyes catching the faint reflection of the campus lights, filled with the kind of spark that makes you believe him.

For a moment, the air feels charged, humming with something unspoken yet undeniably real.

THREE YEARS LATER…

ROOFTOP — NIGHT  

The rooftop is quiet, save for the hum of the city below and the occasional whisper of wind weaving between the buildings. The air is cool, crisp, carrying with it the scent of rain that never quite fell. Overhead, the sky stretches endlessly, scattered with stars so bright they seem almost close enough to touch.  

You sit with your legs dangling over the edge, a half-empty cup of coffee warming your hands. Reed leans back on his palms beside you, his face bathed in soft moonlight, his eyes half-lidded but thoughtful, like he’s calculating something far beyond the visible horizon.  

“How many more PhDs to go?” you ask, the question half-teasing, half-serious.  

He chuckles, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “At least a dozen more. Maybe two, if I’m feeling ambitious.”  

“Show-off,” you reply, smiling.  

He laughs under his breath, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Takes one to know one.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels natural, unhurried. Overhead, the stars flicker faintly, distant and unknowable.

“So… what do you think they really are? The stars, I mean,” Reed asks, his voice soft but curious, like he’s genuinely wondering what you’ll say.

You tilt your head, eyes tracing the path of a slow-moving satellite cutting through the dark.

“They’ve always felt like beacons to me,” you say, your voice barely louder than the breeze. “Like lighthouses at the edge of the universe, waiting for someone to notice them.”

Reed glances at you, intrigued. “Lighthouses?”  

You nod, your voice steady but distant, like you’re speaking a thought that’s lived in your head for too long. “Yeah. They shine so brightly, hoping someone will see them. Maybe they’re trying to find each other. Or maybe… they’re trying to find us.”  

Reed shifts closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “And what if we’re just as lost as they are?”  

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Then maybe we’re all just waiting to be found. By each other. Or by something else entirely.”  

He hums, thoughtful. “You ever think they’re not just waiting? What if they’re calling? Sending out signals we don’t understand yet?”  

“Calling who?” you ask, your eyes flicking up to meet his.  

“Someone who will answer,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who’s been listening all along.”  

The wind picks up, and for a moment, the world feels lighter—like gravity itself has loosened its grip. Reed leans back, resting on his elbows, his face turned skyward again.  

“Would you answer them?” he asks.  

Your fingers tighten around your cup. The question lingers, heavy in the air. “Maybe I already have,” you say softly.  

His eyes meet yours again, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you—a pull, faint but undeniable.  

“What if we get lost?” you murmur.  

“Then we’ll regroup on the moon,” Reed says, his voice steady, a promise hidden in the words.

You take a deep breath, your pulse quickening. The city lights dance in his eyes, but it’s the way he’s looking at you—steady, unflinching, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—that makes your breath catch.

Your gaze flicks down—to his lips, then back to his eyes. The distance between you feels impossibly small.

Reed leans in, slow and deliberate, his hand brushing against yours, fingers just barely grazing your skin. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, and yet you don’t pull away.

Neither does he.

His face is so close now you can feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of coffee on his breath. His eyes drop to your mouth, his breath hitching just enough to make your chest tighten.

For a moment, everything else falls away.

The hum of the city fades. The stars seem to hold their breath.

He’s so close, his lips just a breath away from yours—

Then, just as you think he’s going to close the distance, he stops.

His eyes search yours, something fragile and uncertain flickering across his face. His fingers linger against your hand for one heartbeat longer before he slowly, reluctantly, pulls back.

His absence is like a sudden rush of cold air.

“Sorry,” Reed says, his voice quiet, almost like he’s apologizing for something neither of you can name. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away for the first time all night.

Your heart is still racing, your skin buzzing where his touch lingers like a ghost. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words won’t come.

Instead, you just sit there, the truth of what almost happened settling between you like the night sky itself.

And for the first time in a long while, the stars feel a little too far away.

[catpriciousmarjara]

DP X DC: Dani Does Things and Leaves, Explains Nothing

Heavily inspired by this dp x dc prompt and the comments and reblogs under it:

Please go check it out and @stealingyourbones entire page. They have some great dp x dc content and meta.

Local Ghost Princess Decides to Help Out Fellow Clone, Leaves Chaos Behind, Heroes Left Concerned and Very Confused, More at 10.

Now Dani knew that this world had superheroes. She knew they had an organization of sorts that had a hate-hate relationship with various government entities and a love-hate relationship with the public, depending on who you asked. However she had no intention of being involved with them. She was on vacation after all. Besides this world was just a stopover anyway. Why bother when she wasn't here on official business? But it seemed that while she didn't want anything to do with the heroes, they, however inadvertently, wanted something to do with her. How else will you explain one of the worst cloning results she had ever seen crash into a tree right in front of her while she was enjoying a nice cup of litchi boba tea in the park?

The botched clone job slid down the branches and hit the ground with a thud. She raised an eyebrow at the the rampant malevolent magical lines running through the body exacerbating the overall instability of the clone's anatomy. Clearly this individual had run into an irate mage who cast some sort of destabilizing curse and shot them right out of the sky. Dani was thankful this was an isolated section of the park and that she had put a rudimentary avoidance ward over the area. Otherwise, a superhero crashing into a tree would've caused quite the ruckus and interrupted her boba time.

She took a sip of her boba and crouched down to examine the conked out hero. This one was the one they called Superboy wasn't he? She grimaced at the state of his engineering. Whoever did his cloning did not know what they were dealing with. Her own cloning went better and she was ectoplasmic goop half the time. And Vlad was dealing with halfa DNA! Probably the most complicated genetic material in existence. Superboy over here was constructed from actual tangible genetic sources and yet...ugh.

Honestly speaking beings of this plane probably wouldn't have noticed anything wrong. A level down in power scale compared to the individual who acted as genetic donor, most likely that Superman guy, and random instances of destabilization would most likely be the extend of their knowledge regarding their faulty cloning. And when those instances of instability gradually ironed themselves out they probably patted themselves on the back and thought all was well. She should cut them some slack.

Dani hummed as she chewed on her boba pearls. Unfortunately she wasn't known to be the most merciful when it came to ensuring the well-being of clones.

Suckers probably didn't pick up the fact they unleashed a possible catastrophe upon their world. Superboy was obviously fashioned from Kryptonian DNA. A species known for becoming near godlike upon absorbing solar energy from a yellow sun. That means that their bodies have mechanisms at play beyond simple biology. Specifically energy pathways and an energy processing core. Superboy wasn't a level down in power from Superman because of some biological imperfection, he was weaker because of flawed energy absorption and storage. And that meant that his energy core was unbalanced, and once it reached a particular threshold...well its gonna be a spectacular light show this side of the galaxy that's for sure. Of course it was just a possibility. There was no guarantee he would reach that threshold in his lifetime. Unless he ran into a white mage who was vicious enough to cast a juiced up imbalance curse that is. And what do you know! Turns out you can organically be that unlucky!

She put down her cup and ran a simple diagnostics. Sure enough the magic had intensified the issue. This man needed help, the kind of help that wasn't usually available in this part of the omniverse. But she just so happened to pass by and just so happened to have expertise in this field so today was somehow simultaneously Superboy's lucky and unlucky day. He really was going through it.

As to why she would interfere that's easy. She was the Guardian of Cloned Beings after all. She can't have a fellow clone suffer could she? And plus, what were the chances that he would end up like this right in front of one of the only beings that would know how to fix the issue? Dani grinned in glee. Truly the laws of causality worked in intriguing ways.

She stood up and let her talons manifest, plucking the strings of SuperboyConnerKon-el's make and striking them one by one in the tune of an old Krytonian melody. Shame what happened to them really, but all things had their fate. It truly was great to see some of them survive and make a home elsewhere. Dani wished them the best.

As she worked, untangling knots, and straightening out blockages, the hero finally began to stir. His eyes opened and they were understandably unfocused. Disoriented and confused, he looked kinda like a bamboozled Cujo and Dani felt her lips twitch up in a toothy smile. For some reason that seemed to startle him. She mentally frowned. Did he expect her not to smile at him? That would've been rude of her. Dani might be a gremlin but she was never impolite.

"I'm just about done with the curse", she told him. "Leaching out the corrosive magic was easy but I need to repair your energy coils and that's tricky. Don't worry though. Everything's on the house. Always did have a soft spot for the House of El ever since my aunt married into it for a short while."

Dani pulled a particularly stubborn power node open. "I would like your permission before doing that through. Body autonomy, informed decisions and and all! So yes or no? You'd detonate like a bomb if I didn't though."

The young hero's eyes widened. He still didn't seem to know what was going on so she hit him with a short term clarity spell. And a small information spell to cover her bases. That got him to gather his wits enough and she watched as he processed the influx of information. His complexion was ashen when he got through the bundle and he finally managed a shaky nod. Good enough.

Dani smiled at the Kryptonian. "Great! Now this would take like twenty minutes give or take five. You can sleep now." She promptly knocked him out cold and cancelled the spells so as to not overload his brain.

And just as she predicted, twenty minutes later, she plucked the last string with a flick of her wrist and surveyed her handiwork. Exemplary if she said so herself. One of her best work! Cheerfully she shot an awakening spell at Kon-el and crouched down again, patting his head.

"You might need to be careful for a few days while your body adjusts to its new energy capacity and conductivity. Your overall system has been optimized as well so be careful", she told the groggy young man.

She paused. "And don't worry. I didn't access your mind. This was all strictly physical repair aimed at preventing you from exploding like a supernova and taking the planet with you."

And once again that part made his eyes widen. Good. He truly understood the urgency. Or that could just be him being loopy after solar energy overload. It was a bright, sunny day after all.

She stood up, creating a portal to the next world on her itinerary. She looked back at the most likely high as a kite Kryptonian. "You kinda owe me for all that extra work hero! I might just come to collect one of these days!", she joked as the portal swallowed her body and she was lost to the spaces between spaces.

She'd already told him it was all on the house so Dani didn't think that anyone would take that last part seriously. However she forgot the fact that one Conner Kent was in her own words 'high as a kite' and hence might miss some crucial details.

She also forgot to leave behind an explanation packet.

And thus she was utterly unaware of the chaos she left in her wake, happily traveling through the multiverse.

..............................................................................................................................

"So you're telling me that not only did someone find me when I was out cold and get rid of the spell, but they also rearranged my guts and gave me an upgrade?"

"...Yeah."

"What the fuck?"

..............................................................................................................................

"Conner, do you remember anything? Anything at all? Whatever they did required some serious magical power. We don't know why they did it or how. For all we know they could've done something dangerous that we can't detect yet."

"Litchi boba tea".

"Kon what the hell?"

..............................................................................................................................

"...Its in bits and pieces...but I'm pretty sure there was a woman?...white hair, green eyes...something something on the house...something about an aunt and the House of El?...and there was this strange white symbol on her chest and this really soft music was playing that went something like this...(confused humming noises)...and something about me owing her?"

"Kara? Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"

..............................................................................................................................

"Let me get this straight, Superboy was healed by the Kryptonian primordial goddess of portals, messengers, travelers and other such domains, and not only did she save him but also gave him a tune up? And explicitly said that he owes her now? And this powerful divine being, who is also supposed to be the daughter of Krypton's Death God according to legends mind you, is most likely still on earth with motives unknown? Plus your entire House is descended from her family?"

"...Yeah that about sums it up."

"..."

..............................................................................................................................

"Oh man why did this happen just when I was going to go on vacation? Why couldn't the Death God or whatever reschedule?"

"Death gods notoriously don't reschedule, they're death gods. Also she's the daughter of a death god, not one herself. Most death gods are also famously fair. If not fair by our standards, fair by theirs".

"...That's good to know?"

"I confess I don't know about the fairness of children of death gods however".

"...great. Thanks anyway J'onn".

"You're welcome".

..............................................................................................................................

"You okay there man? Someone just rifled through your body and did who knows what...that's gotta be terrifying. You want to talk? We're all here for you, you know that right?"

" Thanks guys. And yeah it was freaky. But apparently I would've exploded and blown up the planet with me if she didn't do that so I guess I'm more grateful than scared."

"...Explode and blown up the what now?"

..............................................................................................................................

"Is there anything more we should know about Clark?"

"Legends say she has a brother and he's associated with great calamities?"

"...."

"Bruce? You alright?"

..............................................................................................................................

DPXDC refuses to be done with me. Leave me be accursed crossover! Leave me be!

(Btw Kon didn't make the connection because he was really out of it, and not because Clark and Kara didn't introduce him to Kryptonian culture.)

Thoughts and suggestions are welcome!

[syrupyuu]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓(see first post!)

‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎[𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 — 𝐋𝐕𝐋.𝟑 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃]

— .𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘:

PROJECT: APEX | SUBJECT DOSSIER SUBJECT ID: K-154 CLASSIFICATION: Tier-2 Bioweapon Asset | Human Variant STATUS: Active CONTAINMENT UNIT: Sector 7C, Observation Room Theta-4 RESEARCHER ASSIGNED: ███████ (Lead Analyst – Cognitive Behavioral Branch)

— .𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:

AGE(apparent): Approx. 28 years SEX: Male HEIGHT: 6'10" (209 cm) WEIGHT: ~270–275 lbs (122–125 kg) EYE COLOR: Dark blue (residual pigmentation from pre-conversion state; mild iridescence under low light) HAIR COLOR: Ash grey (premature greying due to cumulative physiological stress and modification overload) SKIN TONE: Pale; residual discoloration on upper spine region. Cosmetic treatment protocols applied to suppress visible mutation traits

— .𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 (redacted for security)

FORMER IDENTITY: [REDACTED] MILITARY RANK: Specialist (Spec-Ops Tier Designate) CAPTURE/CONVERSION DATE: ██/██/2XXX

—Additional notes: Subject was selected from Project VALKYRIE's top operatives due to genetic compatibility and resilience profile. Underwent Phase I–IV of the APEX Program. Current version denotes highest stability score recorded.

«» .𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒*

"Subject previously demonstrated uncontrollable aggression toward early-cycle personnel, resulting in multiple fatalities prior to reassignment (see Incident 154-B7). Current compliant behavior is anomalously limited to presence of Lead Researcher, indicating a severe and possibly compensatory imprint. Loss of this bond may result in reversion—or worse. Proceed with caution."

— Observation Log #154-19A, compiled by Dr. H

"Despite apparent docility in preferred presence, underlying instability is evident. Risk of fixation breaching containment protocol is increasing. Recommend reevaluation of dependency thresholds and introduction of psychological dampening measures; caution implemented. Removal or reassignment of Lead Researcher may trigger extreme behavioral escalation."

— Behavioral Audit Report #154-21C, submitted by Supervision Unit Kappa-3

+bonus!

[theskywithin]

There’s More to the Houses Than You Think

Twelve Doors Into the Soul’s Memory

✨ Author’s Note: In my first book, I explored the birth chart through a classic, psychological lens, grounded in human experience and practical meaning. But the more I worked with astrology, the more I began to hear the voice of the soul beneath the structure. This post is a glimpse into the second book I’m now writing, one that deeply explores the chart from a soul-centered perspective. Together, both books offer two sides of the same truth: one helps you understand your human path, the other guides you through your soul’s remembering. I hope you like it ✨ Stay Tuned! 🪐

✦ First House

The 1st House is the starting line of the soul, the moment your essence chose to return. It’s the place where you re-entered the world and agreed, once again, to exist in form. This house shows both where and how you began this life, where you landed, and how you chose to appear. The sign on the cusp describes the energetic style you needed to embody in that first breath, not just physically, but spiritually. It holds the imprint of your earliest instinct: the moment your soul said, “I am here.” But this isn’t necessarily your truest self. It’s the version of you that could survive the landing. The shape you had to take. The armor you wore before you were safe enough to soften. The way you moved before you were ready to feel. From a soul perspective, the 1st House is not just a mask, it’s a memory. A memory of separation. Of stepping out of the infinite and into a single identity. Of agreeing to be seen even when you didn’t yet remember who you were. This house carries the imprint of your karmic threshold. The edge you crossed when you said: “I’ll try again. But this time, I’ll begin like this.”

✦ Second House

If the 1st House is the moment the soul says “I am,” then the 2nd is where it asks, “Can I stay?” This house is the soul’s relationship with presence, permission, and permanence. Permission to take up space. Permission to trust the body. Permission to receive without proving you’ve earned it. From a soul perspective, the 2nd House carries the imprint of embodiment, not just living in a body, but belonging to it. Feeling your feet on the ground. Knowing you are allowed to have needs. Choosing to build something slow even after lifetimes of instability or survival. The sign on the cusp and the planets in it show the test your soul willingly walked into. The environment it chose to re-enter in order to unlearn what it once believed was true. Perhaps that safety must be earned. That stillness is dangerous. That having too much leads to loss. That value comes from sacrifice. This house becomes the field where you rewire those beliefs, slowly, gently, in real time. Not to become better. But to come back to yourself. The 2nd House is about what you slowly allow yourself to trust. It asks you to come back into the body not just as a vessel, but as a place worth living in. And to remember that you don’t have to earn what’s already yours.

✦ Third House

This is where the soul wakes up to thought, perception and meaning. The 3rd House holds the soul’s first real conversation with contrast. This is where the world begins to contradict itself, where things stop being simple, and start being interpreted. Here, the soul is surrounded by complexity: early voices, rapid thoughts, competing beliefs. A fast-moving environment of influences that don’t always align. And from that confusion, something begins to form: a personal narrative. A structure. A system of thought, not always true, but deeply familiar. This house holds the tone of your inner voice, the one that speaks when no one is listening. The one that loops. The one that learned early how to make sense of noise. From a soul perspective, the 3rd House is about mental awakening through contradiction. The environment the soul chose to sharpen perception, to question the obvious, to learn how to separate pattern from truth. And the sign on the cusp shows how you process complexity: whether you organize it, absorb it, filter it, challenge it, or whether you’re still learning how to quiet the echo of thoughts that were never fully yours. This isn’t about speaking clearly. It’s about thinking clearly in a world that taught you to do the opposite.

✦ Fourth House

The 4th House is the energetic basement, the root system of the chart. From a soul perspective, it’s about what you carried in with you. This is where the soul stores emotional memory, the deep, quiet kind. Not memory in words, memory in feeling. A kind of energetic USB, holding all the data your body doesn’t remember, but your nervous system never forgot. Here lives the imprint of lifetimes: The ache of having been abandoned. The fear of being invisible. The longing to be held or the decision to never need holding again. This house tells you what still lives inside you from where you’ve been. It holds the climate of your inner world, your unconscious reflex to retreat, to protect, to collapse inward. And the sign on the cusp shows how you manage that emotional archive: whether you wall it off, wrap it in softness, bury it deep, or try to clean it until it disappears. The 4th House isn’t about the home you have. It’s about the home you are. And whether your soul feels safe enough to return to it.

✦ Fifth House

The 5th House is where your soul came to feel light again. This is the part of you that remembers life isn’t just a test. It’s a vacation for the soul. A rare chance to taste strawberries. To dance in sunlight. To kiss someone and not overthink it. To create something beautiful that doesn’t need to prove its worth. From a soul perspective, this house isn’t about performance. It’s not about winning, competing, or collecting praise. It’s about returning to the childlike part of you that once knew how to love boldly, express honestly, and play without wondering who was watching. It’s about presence. About sensation. Because the soul didn’t just come here to evolve, it also came here to experience. The body you live in is a suitcase you brought along to feel everything this life has to offer. The five senses are how your spirit stays grounded in the beauty of being here. This house resists the noise of modern life, the comparison, the urgency, the pressure to always be doing. Here, your soul detoxes from all that. It remembers that joy is not a reward. It’s a right. The sign on the cusp shows how you reclaim that joy: with music, with movement, with curiosity, with warmth. This is about being alive. Present. Sensing. Free. The 5th House is where your soul says: “This is what you came for. Don’t forget to enjoy it.”

✦ Sixth House

The 6th House is where the soul learns how to stay in the body, in the moment, in the motion of daily life. This is not the house of fixing. It’s the house of tending. Of showing up not to perfect yourself, but to care for yourself and the world around you, bit by bit, breath by breath. From a soul perspective, this is where devotion becomes embodied in the way you pour your tea. In the way you care for your nervous system. In how you meet your own needs without shame. This is also where the soul learns how to cooperate with other souls. To walk beside people, not ahead of them, not behind them. To contribute, to support, to serve out of remembrance that you came here together. It’s not about sacrifice. It’s about shared rhythm. About learning how to move in harmony with life, with others, with the version of yourself that needs patience, not pressure. The sign on the cusp shows how you offer your presence: with structure, with softness, with discernment, with sensitivity. The 6th House doesn’t ask you to do something grand. It asks you to do something real. To tend. To stay. And to remember that even the smallest acts, done with care, can become a form of light.

✦ Seventh House

The 7th House is where the soul meets its mirror. Not to find a missing piece but to realize it was never missing at all. This house holds the space where “I” becomes “we.” But from a soul perspective, it’s not about finding the one. It’s about seeing what gets reflected when you stand close to another. What you admire. What you fear. What you hand over without realizing it was yours to begin with. The 7th House is not about romantic endings. It’s about recognition. A place where the soul enters into relationship not for comfort, but for integration. To reclaim the parts of itself it once projected onto someone else. This is where connection becomes a kind of soul work. Where love becomes the mirror that shows you your strength, your shadow, your softness, your patterns. Where you learn that intimacy doesn’t mean merging. It means choosing, again and again, to stay present with another soul while still staying whole. The sign on the cusp reveals how you relate and what you’re still learning to own within yourself. It may show the kind of energy you look for in others because you haven’t yet allowed it to live fully in you. From a soul lens, this house isn’t about losing yourself in someone else. It’s about finding yourself through the act of meeting them. And it asks only one thing in return: Let the mirror soften you, not define you.

✦ Eighth House

The 8th House is where the soul goes to burn. Not in punishment, in purification. This is not the house of endings. It’s the house of unraveling. Of shedding what no longer fits. Of releasing what was never truly yours. From a soul perspective, the 8th House holds the energy of karmic entanglement. The bonds that don’t make sense, but feel ancient. The grief that shows up without a story. The power dynamics you didn’t choose but somehow repeat. You don’t need to understand them. Your soul remembers. And it came here to transmute. This is where the deepest work happens, where silence becomes a language and what’s hidden begins to rise. Shame, obsession, longing, control, all surface here, not to hurt you, but to free you. The 8th House is also where the soul learns to merge without disappearing. Where intimacy becomes ritual. Where sex becomes more than flesh, it becomes a form of soul-speak. A way for two beings to share memory through the body. To move energy. To say, “I see you,” without needing words. To feel truth move between skin and spirit. And the sign on the cusp reveals how you enter this transformation, with intensity, fear, silence, trust, hunger, or resistance. But no one leaves this house the same. Not because something is taken but because something false is burned away. The 8th House is not about death. It’s about what survives it. It’s where your soul walks into the fire, and walks out whole.

✦ Ninth House

The 9th House is where the soul looks up. After everything it’s lost. After everything it’s survived. This is where the soul wants to understand. From a soul perspective, this house holds the pull between escape and awakening. It’s the restless urge to go elsewhere and the deeper invitation to see more clearly right here. This is the soul’s classroom. Not one with walls, but with windows. Here, it learns through instruments: through books and myths, rituals and ruins, distant lands and quiet teachers. Through every story that feels strangely familiar. Every culture that reminds you how similar we all are even when we speak in different tongues. Because in this house, truth isn’t singular. It’s layered. It speaks in symbols. It repeats itself across continents, scriptures, centuries. The soul doesn’t want one belief, it wants a constellation of meaning. A high enough view to see the thread connecting everything it’s been through. The 9th House is the soul’s desire to stretch. To grow through experience, not theory. To learn that every story you encounter, every road you walk, every truth you translate, is just another version of the lesson you came here to live. And the sign on the cusp shows how you seek that wisdom: with fire, with humility, with openness, with doubt. This isn’t about certainty. It’s about faith without finality. Wonder without walls. It’s where your soul remembers: There are many names for the divine but the lesson is always the same.

✦ Tenth House

The 10th House is where the soul emerges from the quiet. From all the internal work, the shedding, the seeking. This is where it asks, “What am I here to give back?” Not for applause. Not for recognition. But because the truth it holds has ripened and it’s time to offer it. From a soul perspective, this house is not just about legacy. It’s about alignment. The moment when your outer life begins to reflect your inner wisdom. When what you’ve carried for lifetimes finally meets the moment it can be received. This is the house of sacred visibility. Where your presence teaches. Where your lived truth becomes a light for others. It’s not about being above them, it’s about speaking from where you’ve been, so those still on the path can hear something familiar and remember their own strength. Imagine this house as a conference room of souls. You are the speaker now. Not because you’re better but because you’ve lived the lesson. And others came here to learn what you now hold effortlessly. You’re not here to perform. You’re here to pass it on. And the sign on the cusp reveals how you lead, with quiet authority, creative truth, steady devotion, visionary insight. The 10th House doesn’t ask you to become something you’re not. It asks you to embody what you already are and trust that when you do, the world will feel it. Because your greatest impact isn’t what you build. It’s what you leave behind in others once you’ve spoken your truth.

✦ Eleventh House

The 11th House is the house of resonance. Not popularity. Not fitting in. But finding the ones who recognize your frequency and say, “I remember you.” This is where the soul steps beyond the self into the field of shared vision, collective growth, and cosmic collaboration. From a soul perspective, the 11th House is where you meet the people you’ve been carrying in your field for lifetimes. The ones you made promises to before you got here. The ones who arrive not to mirror you, but to build with you. It’s the space of soul contracts, both old and new. Where energy introduces itself before names do. Where something inside you softens because, finally, you’re not dreaming the future alone. The 11th House is also the place of the next horizon. Where you stretch toward something bigger than yourself. A vision. A mission. A frequency you can only hold fully when you're surrounded by others who feel it too. It’s not about belonging to the crowd. It’s about finding the current you belong to. And choosing to move with it. The sign on the cusp reveals how your soul connects: with rebellion, with devotion, with innovation, with care. And how you magnetize the ones who are meant to walk beside you, not because you try to be like them, but because you finally dared to be fully yourself. This is the house where the future begins in soulful company.

✦ Twelfth House

The 12th House is not where things end. It’s where they unravel. Where names fall away. Where roles dissolve. Where you remember: You are soul, not skin and bones. This is the soul’s secret room, its sanctuary, its silence, its soft return. From a soul perspective, this house is a spiritual echo chamber where your truth speaks, not in words, but in symbols, dreams, and knowing. A language not made for logic, only for those who remember how to feel without needing proof. Here, solitude becomes communion with the unseen. Stillness becomes prayer. Surrender becomes the softest kind of power. You don’t always know what’s healing here but something is. Quietly. Behind the curtain of the conscious mind. The 12th House holds the energies you carry without knowing. The karmic threads, the ancestral dreams, the emotions that don’t seem to belong to this life, but live inside you all the same. And the sign on the cusp shows how you listen. How you retreat. How you dream, dissolve, and disappear. This is not a house of isolation. It is a place of return. A whispered reminder that before you were anyone, you were everything.

🔍 Decode your chart from the inside out. My first book is a deep dive into how your mind, identity, and behavior are written in the stars.

[yuriosakawa]

The mansion was eerily quiet. Jazz had expected guards, traps, alarms—something. But as she stepped past the threshold of Vlad Masters’ lair, she found only silence.

She tightened her grip on the ecto-blaster holstered at her hip. This was it. The moment she had spent the last ten years preparing for.

Danny had been sixteen when Vlad ripped him from the world. It should have been a normal battle, another of their usual clashes. But this time, Vlad didn’t hold back. This time, he wasn’t playing games.

And Danny… Danny was gone.

Jazz had held their parents as they sobbed. She had stood over an empty grave, knowing no body remained to bury. She had watched Amity Park slowly forget its hero, even as ghosts ran rampant with no Phantom to stop them.

And she had sworn that she wouldn’t let Vlad win.

She had spent years tracking him, learning everything she could about ghost hunting, about combat, about infiltration. And now, at twenty-seven years old, she was finally here. Finally ready.

A slow clap echoed through the dimly lit hall. Jazz’s heart pounded, and she jerked her weapon up, only to see the man she hated most step into view.

Vlad Masters hadn’t aged a day.

“Jasmine,” he drawled, as if greeting an old friend. “How delightful. I was wondering when you’d come knocking.”

Jazz didn’t hesitate. She raised the blaster and fired.

The ectoplasmic shot was dead-on, but Vlad flickered intangible, letting the energy pass harmlessly through him. He tsked. “Come now, is that any way to say hello? I was hoping for a real conversation.”

“Spare me the theatrics, Masters.” Jazz’s voice was ice. “You know why I’m here.”

Vlad smiled, slow and knowing. “Oh, I do. And I’ve been looking forward to this moment for quite some time. But before you decide to pull that trigger again, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

He stepped aside, revealing a shadowed doorway.

Jazz barely had time to process the movement before a child stepped forward.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The boy was Danny.

Not just similar—not like Dani, the imperfect clone Vlad had once created. No, this was Danny in every way. Same dark hair, same build, same face. But then he looked up at her, and she felt the world tilt on its axis.

His eyes weren’t blue.

They were green.

A ghost’s glow flickered within them, and Jazz’s stomach churned with nausea and disbelief.

“This,” Vlad said, stepping behind the boy and placing a hand on his shoulder, “is Damian. My son.”

Jazz felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

“What—” Her voice cracked. “What did you do?”

Vlad smirked. “Did you really think I’d let Daniel’s legacy die so easily? No, Jasmine. I made sure he lived on… in a way.”

The boy—Damian—tilted his head, watching her with curiosity, but there was something detached about his expression.

Like he didn’t know her.

Like he didn’t remember.

A fresh wave of horror crashed over Jazz.

“You cloned him.” Her voice shook. “Again.”

“Perfected him,” Vlad corrected. “No instability, no imperfections. My dear Damian is everything Daniel could have been and more.”

Jazz could barely breathe.

This wasn’t just another attempt at recreating Danny.

This was Vlad replacing him.

She forced herself to move, stepping forward, looking Damian in the eyes, searching for something—anything—of her brother inside them.

“Damian,” she said carefully, “do you know who I am?”

The boy blinked.

Then, after a moment, he shook his head.

Jazz felt her heart shatter all over again.

Vlad chuckled. “He’s never met you, I’m afraid. But that can change. You see, Jasmine, you’ve always been intelligent. Practical. You must know by now that revenge is… pointless.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“Join us,” Vlad continued, voice silk-smooth. “Be part of Damian’s life. Help me raise him. He’s still young—impressionable. Wouldn’t you rather have a hand in shaping the man he’ll become?”

Jazz stared at him, mind whirling. She had spent ten years hunting Vlad, planning for this moment. She had been prepared for every possible scenario.

Except this.

Except Danny’s face staring back at her with no recognition.

Except the possibility that, maybe, she hadn’t lost her brother forever.

And maybe, just maybe, she could save what was left.

Her grip on the blaster loosened.

For the first time in years, she hesitated.

And Vlad smiled.

[ranticore]

It's thought that any imimaton has the capacity to manifest but the phenomenon is poorly understood. Only in the late 90s was some degree of manifestation explicitly permitted by the resonance chamber clauses - prior to this, manifestation was only really in use before the Hertzian chamber age, by hedge witches and early practitioners. Those people used imimata strictly for their manifestation abilities, without much actual personality encoding at all, treating them more like simple telekinetic servitors and banishing them after their intended uses (as the containment devices - rings of natural magnets - could never keep an imimaton stable for long enough for it to gain much consciousness anyway)

In the Hertzian era, imimata were sticking around for longer in their new resonance chambers and could learn reasoning, so it was thought extremely unsafe to allow them ANY degree of manifestation, as the potential was always there for them to use their newfound intelligence to act with malicious intent.

Although many proposals were made to allow encoded manifestation among Hertzian imimata in the intervening years, no clause was sufficient to correctly control the manifestation, which could be unpredictable, sudden, and causing disproportionate damage. 

It is an explicitly impossible phenomenon - unexplainable by science and bearing no resemblance to observable reality. The terminology is usually "x imimaton has some degree of manifestation". It can range on a scale from minor manifestation to total manifestation, which is an imimaton - every part of it - manifested outside the container, no longer requiring it to remain incorporated. Total manifestation is rare enough that known incidences of it happening can be counted on one hand. 

Minor manifestation begins to develop shortly after encoding if it is not curtailed by clauses. Usually it seems to be an interaction with electronics or radio waves - lights turning on unprompted, television channels switching around, visual and auditory distortions on nearby screens and speakers.

Moderate manifestation begins when physical objects are moved (usually up to a certain weight threshold if it is allowed - in the 90s and early 00s many imimata were permitted to weakly move small objects for their users).

Major manifestation is all of the above but jacked up and with the introduction of visual distortions which transgress electronic devices - mirages and odd flashes of light, strange silhouettes and colours all seemingly disconnected from anything at all. This is usually the final warning sign people experience before a full-blown instability event.

[clownakai]

Hi! It's me again! Let's talk about: Shiho's trauma and how Gosho's portrayal of it comes as a pleasant surprise within Detco's rather abysmal landscape of in-depth representation

Very important disclaimer(s): I am not a licensed professional yet, and I am not diagnosed with any kind of trauma-related disorder. I nonetheless hold this topic dearly and wish to gather in one place at least a few of the things that made me truly appreciate the portrayal of Shiho's trauma in a way others haven't. Lastly, this remains of course a personal opinion first and foremost, so keep that in mind if you decide to dive into it!

P.S. - While I always try to start from canon material, we lack a lot of details re: Shiho's backstory. I will generally attempt to hypothesize what could have transpired in the past considering the repercussions we can observe in Shiho's attitude and behaviors, but my own speculations cannot compare to canon actually filling in those blanks (which I highly doubt we'll ever get in the first place).

P.P.S. - this thing got long. Like. Really long. And because of tumblr’s newfound habit of flagging random things as nsfw, I couldn't add any manga screenshots. Get ready for a wall of text, gamers

The Roots of Shiho's Trauma

Trauma is in itself an incredibly complex topic— even the mere fact that a set threshold past which events can begin to be considered traumatic doesn't actually exist on the grounds that individuals tend to react differently to the same stimuli (e.g. I once had to watch my father get the shit beaten out of him by a man twice his size to the point he had to go to the hospital, but neither I nor my dad ended up developing any sort of trauma response afterwards— I'm no warier of strangers than I'd been prior to what happened, and my father is as polite and non-threatening around really tall strangers as ever. This isn't to say that the event itself didn't have an impact on us, of course, but it didn't significantly affect our day-to-day functioning in distressing ways either. I do however know of people who, after experiencing this type of assault, developed an all-consuming agoraphobia— among other trauma-related symptoms—, for example) renders things all the more nuanced from the get-go.

With that said there is of course a point to be made about the kind of trauma Shiho herself has been subjected to. In her case, the very environment she grew up in was traumatic: from a very young age— as soon as her giftedness was identified—, she's been pressured to excel, and while studying in the States, although I imagine she hadn't been strictly beholden to furthering the Organization's goals just yet, there must have been BO members or at least affiliates watching her every move.

Later on, she is constantly required to produce results via researching something we can't even be sure she was truly interested in: being a child prodigy and yet leading the research on the "wonder drug" means she was thrust in yet another environment full of adults that likely didn't much appreciate having to listen to a literal teenager, and on top of that her social life was considerably stunted in favor of the job she'd been assigned. At any and all times she'd been under scrutiny, and her own sister was made into an incentive for her to behave herself and stick to her duties. After Rye was outed as a NOC, the situation could only have degenerated— Akemi being most likely compromised meant there was a chance Sherry was as well, which would have translated into stricter regulations and increasingly more controlling behavior from the Organization.

Considering her backstory and how it's presented to us, we also know Shiho didn't have a childhood complete with stable parental figures, and she was separated from her much less useful sister very early on. That too is a kind of instability that deeply affects the developing individual, and if unaddressed it has a high chance of leading to widespread issues later in life.

So, we already have three pretty relevant points to start with: prolonged exposure to stress, perceived (but also very real) threats and instability that spans a decade at the very least. But fear not, for we can add more.

While I think this is somewhat of a point of contention within the fandom, I myself believe that there has been some sort of abuse perpetrated towards Shiho from within the BO's ranks. Her panic reaction extends to any and all members, yes, but Gin (and for some reason Vermouth) gets the biggest externalizations of it (let us never forget that he canonically stars in Shiho's nightmares).

Now, regardless of whether we're going to find out what kind of abuse Shiho went through (psychological, physical, sexual), and considering that we most likely never will, the implications on Gin's part abound in the early manga (and one can even posit that a few specific remarks made by Shiho are a direct consequence of her own experiences, expressed through dry humor and snark as a way of feeling more "in control" of the situation). I understand that Gin is literally "guy who will hunt you down and kill you with a smile", but so are basically all the other BO members, and Shiho only ever reacts so strongly to Gin. To me this means she either directly experienced some form of abuse at his hand, or that she projected well over a decade of stress and fear of the Organization onto Gin, thus turning him into a sort of boogeyman— a herald of every horrifying thing the BO is capable of.

Lastly, the impact of Akemi's death should also be taken into consideration, above all in relation to the role Shiho is firmly convinced she herself had in it. Considering how attached Shiho was to Akemi, and how her older sister's continued safety had been the biggest incentive for Shiho to have behaved herself especially in the past few years, her execution (delivered by Gin himself, once again cementing him as a big player in Shiho's trauma) definitely "breaks" her for good.

It's worth noting that the way Shiho breaks leads her to rebel against the system that's been suffocating her all along, but doing so is insanely hard and given the lack of a solid support system to fall back on, it doesn't go far: her actions aren't even that explosive— she announces that she will no longer work on the APTX until someone tells her the truth behind her sister's death— but they nonetheless elicit an extreme reaction from the Organization, thus further confirming its status as a massive threat to Shiho in her mind. Before the BO she is entirely powerless: they decide whether she's useful or not, they decide whether she's worth keeping alive, they decide what she should do, they decide that she's expendable the moment she displays independent wishes.

We have therefore unspecified abuse and grief accentuated by strong feelings of perceived responsibility re: the loss that transpired in addition to our first three big stars in the constellation behind most, if not all, of Shiho's trauma responses.

While frustrating to my perfectionist mind (everything must have a specific cause and if I do not make an effort to clarify or at least imply what it is in my work I perish; it definitely shines through via my poorly restrained desire to compensate for the chunks and details of Shiho's backstory we're missing), the fact that a great deal of what caused Shiho's trauma in the first place is quite nondescript at first glance, almost as if Shiho were trying to convince herself and others that "it's not a big deal" by rarely— if ever— bringing it up (and when she does she recounts the events matter-of-factly, as if she were largely unaffected by them), is something I've found myself appreciating more and more as the story progressed. Not because it truly isn't important, but because it can actually be pieced together through Shiho's every action, time and time again. At long last, a character whose trauma doesn't only make itself known when a specific trigger is at play, but rather pervades every single aspect of the survivor's life whether they're conscious of it or not.

Now, one thing I won't be doing is attempting to put a clinical label on what Shiho is experiencing: this is because her position in the manga is quite complex, and seeing as the plot itself isn't centered around her and her trauma, things aren't necessarily clear-cut. For example, Shiho did indeed get out of a stressful and traumatizing environment, but that doesn't mean she's out of danger for good just yet— if we were to attempt to categorize the symptoms she displays with the goal of making a diagnosis, we just wouldn't be able to do so due to the very much still present stressors and traumatic elements.

Applying a label to Shiho's experiences is also not the point of this post in the first place, and so I decided not to. I wanted to focus on the visible effects of her trauma, and how she's shown to be willing to at least try to break away from the mechanisms and mentality she's developed.

Which is how we get to the next section of this bad boy:

Haibara Ai And Living With Trauma

From the very moment we begin to learn about Sherry's backstory, her words and behaviors indicate a deeply rooted pessimistic outlook on her predicament— and quite possibly life itself. The very name she picked for her new identity specifically includes the Japanese character for 'sorrow', as opposed to that of 'love' suggested by Agasa. Even with said choice being played off as Shiho— now Ai— intentionally trying to unsettle Conan in every way she can, I can't help but read way too much into it and see a young woman who genuinely sees herself in that Kanji. Pain is all she is. Pain is all the world offers. It's inescapable the way a name is, and she made it into a reminder she's going to hear daily from now on.

It's also interesting how Ai brings up time and time again how Conan is the only one who can understand (and therefore help) her, with specific references to their shared predicament: Conan knows about the Organization, ended up shrunk because of the APTX, and has to constantly hide from them by playing the part of a grade schooler. While a freshly shrunk Shiho's options were insanely limited from the start, she still opted to head for Kudou Shinichi's house because in her mind he was the only person who could ever understand her situation by virtue of sharing the same experience.

As the plot slowly moves forward and we get to see more of Ai interacting with the world around her, multiple other things become very clear: an especially pronounced trait of hers is that she struggles to hold on to positive emotions and trains of thought, most notably very early on in the manga. She always finds a sour note even in the happiest of situations, because her thinking patterns cannot break out of that constant negative spiral— she is effectively still trapped, at least mentally.

As an additional example of this, even though she's been away from the traumatic environment for months, Ai cannot stop thinking about it (this can technically be countered by the fact that the danger itself isn't entirely gone. Shiho is safe for the time being, but the danger is always lurking somewhere. The problem is that she sees it everywhere instead, and cannot let go of the notion that she's going to get got if she relaxes even for a moment, which is what actually makes this kind of reaction encroach into unhealthy territory).

There's a also very obvious disconnect between her and her peers (both perceived— the Detective Boys— and real— other teenagers). To Ai, all these people are too naive for this world, and they aren't ready to handle its cruelty. She is quite defeatist in her outlook on life and has difficulties understanding how the people around her can be so optimistic, which in turn makes forming new bonds much harder for everyone involved: by keeping others at arm's length, Ai acts on the fear of having to experience a loss as devastating as her sister's ever again— here we have the avoidant aspect of her trauma reactions.

Speaking of: she also projects Akemi on Ran multiple times in canon, and always in contexts where danger and death are at the very least in the background. She's just like Akemi in that she decides to protect Shiho by putting her own life on the line. She's just like Akemi and like her she's going to die. Ai's reluctance to even introduce herself to Ran, and especially her shark-dolphin metaphor, is in my opinion pretty indicative of yet another tendency that can be found in trauma survivors, and that is the belief that there is something about yourself that is inherently dirty and shameful (traumatic event(s)), that sets you apart from normal, even good people, and it is a gap that can never be filled because you're now irreversibly damaged.

Dipping our toes into a more cliché detail re: the portrayal of trauma in media, let's not forget that Ai has nightmares featuring one of the sources of her trauma (and while Gosho kind of actually uses the Gin one as a "prophetic" dream, Conan does canonically comment on the fact that Ai is a night owl/doesn't sleep nearly enough, and we could interpret that as her being unwilling to fall asleep and risk yet more nightmares).

A considerable portion of Reunion With The Black Organization is dedicated to showing us just how much of an effect a single nightmare about Gin has on Ai. She's even more withdrawn than usual, prone to getting lost in her head (possibly even dissociating), receptive to the tiniest details that inevitably rouse her memory of the nightmare to the point she fails to assess the non-existent risk factor of her current situation and has a panicked outburst towards a very confused Ayumi, who did nothing apart from touching Ai's arm. Her emotional dysregulation in these panels shows us a clear see-saw between numbness, then mounting fear up to her breaking point (startle reaction), then an unfiltered externalization of her anguish that is ultimately played off as a joke so as to avoid further scrutiny from the Detective Boys.

We also get to see Ai's reaction to the mere sight of a black Porsche 356A, Gin's favorite car. The interesting part is that said man isn't even around at the time— this could be anyone's car. But it's still enough to trigger Ai's freeze response and put her on high alert. Later on, in The Four Porsches, we find out that said car doesn't even need to be a specific color for Ai to start spiraling, which is a pretty good example of how something innocuous and only vaguely analogous to past events can be more than enough to remind a survivor of their trauma.

Even with what little we are given, it's also laughably easy to tell how utterly terrified of "going back" or otherwise re-experiencing the effects of the environment she grew up in Ai is, which naturally includes an abject fear of the people that used to be around her. Ai's "sixth sense", although specifically primed to hone in on Organization operatives, feels to me like a magnified version of the hypervigilance that trauma survivors experience.

Surprisingly enough, as that isn't something I see often in media, we even see her considering (and attempting not once but twice) the ultimate escape as an option: killing herself (or letting herself be killed) would definitely solve all of Ai's problems. It'd free her from the constant fear and misery that characterize her every waking hour— and undoubtedly her sleep as well. It'd even rid all the wonderful, untainted people she somehow managed to surround herself with of the most dangerous burden they could have ever found themselves dragging around.

This constant devaluation of her person plays such a big part in selling Shiho's trauma, at least to me. It doesn't come off as edgy or disingenuous because it has solid roots in her past, in the things she's done and what she's been through. Sherry's value lied in her brain, her genius: in a way, even Ai's working on an antidote, producing prototype after prototype at a frankly insane rate for a person who's working alone and with fragmented data to start with, can be traced back to the unhealthy notions that have been drilled into her by the Organization. She actively relives her day-to-day life as Sherry after she's gotten out, and it's fine because it's familiar. She knows how this works much better than she knows how to hold a friendly conversation with a peer: she's back under pressure, but at least she's in control. And this way she can prove that she's good, that she's useful, that she's worth keeping around.

Truly, having reached this point, the question comes naturally: can it get better? The answer? Yes. Yes, it can.

The Ups And Downs Of Recovery, Between Healing And Fighting Back

Let's not kid ourselves: recovery is hardly a straight line. There's no magical fix-all cure that entirely erases someone's trauma and associated triggers in the blink of an eye simply because the current situation requires it, or because “it's been long enough” and other people just want them to get over it already. Trauma doesn't just “go away” because you really need it to. It doesn't stop affecting you, but there are ways to ensure it no longer takes over every moment of your life.

For Shiho, the first step towards recovery consists in acknowledging that 1) she is not alone anymore, and 2) she may be deathly afraid, but letting herself drown in that fear, only ever running away from it, isn't going to make things better.

Still, “fighting back” isn't all about acting like Conan. Ai is hardly expected to hunt down the Organization the way Conan does, and she honestly shouldn't be. Her experiences with the BO largely differ from Conan's, and even without taking that into consideration, different people may react very differently to traumatic events.

Ai's abject fear and general unwillingness to confront the Organization face to face (or investigating it in general) aren't a sign of weakness on her part, nor is it necessarily bad writing on Gosho's end. I am actually elated to see how consistent Ai is in her avoidance of those massive triggers. She rightfully wants to know when they're around, wants updates on their movements, but she loathes the idea of actively interacting or facing off against them even after Sherry's supposed death on the Mystery Train. Everything about the BO is bad news and bearer of bad memories, and she wants those reminders as far away from her as possible— which is an absolutely valid position for her to maintain.

However, in the eventuality that Ai decides to start facing her fears in a healthy, constructive way rather than as a way to get herself killed (which is in fact what eventually happens in canon), starting small is key— and it's to my delight that Gosho made a point of having Ai do just that. It takes her so, so long, but she decides to stop running because she's reached the conclusion that even if she does, she's never going to be truly safe and free (which is, coincidentally, what happens if trauma goes unaddressed); by refusing to go into Witness Protection, she acknowledges her fears but also the fact that she's not alone in facing them, and that she can't ever expect to find peace if she doesn't start doing just that.

Later on, during Black Impact, we see Ai being proactive and helping out in a small way by providing Jodie with the number she needs to call. Albeit tiny, the action doesn't go unnoticed by Conan, who comments on how unlike Ai that was, nor by Jodie, who shoots her a thumbs up. And here's the thing: of all people, Jodie is maybe the one who actually comes the closest to understanding at least some of Shiho's feelings, especially in regards to the abject isolation of having your family ripped away from you all at once (only to immediately find yourself in danger in return) and consequently the Witness Protection Program.

I'm definitely more than a little biased when I say I'm sad that Gosho didn't explore their parallels further, especially when Jodie herself canonically acknowledges their similarities as well as what sets them apart: unlike her, Ai refused to go into Witness Protection, because she's already found more than enough reasons to keep her in one place, and those reasons— those people— give her courage. It's pretty simplified, of course, because this isn't what the manga itself is about, but it is nonetheless a heartwarming moment that showcases how building meaningful relationships anew can literally be life-changing in the face of trauma. Regardless, I immensely appreciate the fact that these scenes exist at all.

Now, is this all there is to Ai’s path to recovery? Of course not. The Organization itself isn't the only thing weighing her down, after all: her grief and feelings of responsibility regarding Akemi's death play a big part in her day-to-day problems as well. To put one of my earlier observations about the visible consequences of Shiho's trauma to good use, let's jump back to The Mystery In The Net, where we see Ran initially remark on how Ai refuses to even look at her when they're near each other; at the tail end of the case, seemingly out of nowhere, Ai surprises the other girl by willingly introducing herself and offering a handshake. It's genuinely touching to see, most notably because we as readers are privy to information Ran doesn't have— she doesn't know how Ai sees her, nor how the little girl sees herself. She has no idea that what makes her a lovely person to interact with is exactly what's causing Ai to keep her distance, but we do, and Ai managing to put aside her fear and shame in order to reach out to someone like Ran is definitely a massive step forward as far as her interpersonal relationships go.

Along with all this progress, however, come many relapses— usually due to a close encounter with a member of the Organization. In these cases, but most importantly in their aftermath, we're shown just how debilitating Ai's trauma responses are. After The Mysterious Passenger, wherein Ai “only” spent her time in freeze mode because of how close she was to an Organization operative and then proceeded to try to stay behind on a bus that was about to explode because she'd convinced herself that only by dying could she do the right thing, we're plunged into a relatively low-stakes case where a small dog disappears. More than anything else, it's Ai's attitude, her words, and the things we find out through the Detective Boys and Agasa that paint the true haunting picture of the day. Ai has retreated into herself, unable to escape the vicious cycle of her negative mindset, and it's a wonder Agasa even managed to get her to step foot outside— all of this from a girl who was teasing the old inventor for catching a cold right before having to go skiing just a few days ago, seemingly completely at ease in her skin and with the world around her.

I'm not going to lie: this is the kind of up and down that only brings me closer to Ai. It is frustrating to see it happen, and that's good! That's exactly right! Because imagine if, instead of just witnessing it, you were the person this is happening to: opening up the tiniest bit, daring to stick your head outside because you think that maybe, just maybe, today is going to be a nice day, only to be sent spiraling right back into fight/flight/freeze mode and having to start the process of loosening up all over again. Rinse and repeat. It's infuriating. It's maddening. It's despair-inducing. Will it ever end?

That's what I love about Shiho, Sherry, Ai. This feels so real in a way I don't see often, and it's the reason why, despite all my gripes with Gosho's writing (particularly that of these last few years), I actually think he's done a pretty damn good job with Ai. Yes, even now that she's “so annoying”. Even now that she snaps and snarks and externalizes her emotions in a way that clearly doesn't appeal to everyone. Because that, too, can be what it looks like when someone starts taking their life back piece by piece: their personality, if carefully repressed in the past, begins to unfurl. And it's not always one-hundred percent pleasant, but honestly? I wouldn't expect it to be, especially not from someone like Shiho, and especially considering that yes, she's beginning to heal, but it's not a monitored process. She isn't actively being helped nor taught about ways to manage her trauma, and it's amazing that she's made so much progress on her own. It's amazing that she wants to live now (most days).

And it's going to get better. It's going to get better, and she's going to be there for it.

[laviaceae]

your art has spiked my interest haha what’s tower of hanoi and how/where do i play it?

OKAY.

TOWER OF HANOI IS THE BEST GAME YOU ABSOLUTELY, 110% GUARANTEE NO REFUNDS, HAVE NEVER HEARD OF.

LET ME EXPLAIN.

(also known as: i win at all times ever and im glad my tawahano propaganda pays off, HAH!)

----------

Have you ever heard of... END ROLL? Walking On A Star Unknown? Farethere City? These are all relatively niche RPGMaker 2000 games made by a Japanese game creator known as Segawa (せがわ), with END ROLL being the most popular among Western Fans (you might see the main character, Russell, in some fanart with OMORI or Yume Nikki characters for example)!

In fact, for followers of mine who are In Stars and Time fans, END ROLL was credited as one of the inspirations for that game!

TOWER of HANOI is another game made by Segawa, one released in November of 2020, and one of the final games they've made in RPG2K (so they've got an absolute mastery of the engine).

I'll be in part directing this post towards ISAT fans since that makes up the majority of my followerbase on Tumblr, so there may be ISAT spoilers (including Two Hats/Act 6 Secret spoilers) up ahead! There will also be mild TOWER of HANOI spoilers required to explain the game's premise. Proceed at your own risk.

Section One: So, what is TOWER of HANOI all about?

TOWER of HANOI is a narrative-driven RPG with multiple endings (2 'true endings', 3 'bad endings') set in a futuristic, post-post-World-War-Five society. The game mostly takes place within the TOWER, a hyper-realistic virtual reality simulation currently undergoing playtests that was built to be able to rehabilitate HANOI (androids that look and sound and feel emotions like humans do) who have dangerous levels of mental instability.

The stability of a HANOI is measured through their Stress Level, a numerical representation of that HANOI's mental state. HANOI are generally considered by society to be more of technology or property than people (like your computer or your phone would be), and as such have no rights and are often mistreated by humans. More than 50% of HANOI hate their human employers.

In order to combat the dangerous upward trend of HANOI Stress Levels (caused by their mistreatment), the TOWER was created. In it, HANOI are expected to fight and defeat virtual enemies that approximate humans in order to destress through violence. Upon a successful completion, HANOI are to be returned to their human employers.

Because the TOWER is currently undergoing testing, groups of HANOI are accompanied through the TOWER by a human "Inspector" who is expected to report any bugs or issues they encounter during their playtest.

You play as one of those human Inspectors; Inspector No.102, Coral Brown.

(this is my art! you may have seen him in my ISAT au as taking the place of Siffrin).

He's 33 years old, kind, calm, and soft as a marshmallow. He's also a human being who believes in the rights and wellbeing of HANOI, and sympathises with their suffering. As a child, he was raised by a HANOI instead of his parents, which may have contributed to his feelings towards them.

Over the course of the game and as you progress through the TOWER you'll get to meet and intimately know the ten HANOI under Coral's care with Fire Emblem-esque Support events depending on how many times you bring each of them to battle. These can be between Coral and the HANOI, or the HANOI between eachother. (There are more than 100 of these such events to collect in total!)

TOWER of HANOI's characters are both charming and tragic. They each have incredibly well-realised personalities, backstories, and relationships both with the Inspector taking care of them and eachother. It's easy to imagine day-to-day interactions in Headquarters (your hub area) between them all.

You have Adams, a HANOI built for missionary work and who's Stress Level is the lowest out of all ten (and actually below the 'dangerous' stress threshold)! He's silly and mischevious and adores spicy food. Despite this, he's here at the TOWER because he doesn't believe in God, despite that being an important part of his 'role' in the world. When did he stop believing in God, and why? What is his relationship with the people at the Church that took care of him?

Or Mira, a Childcare HANOI that reminds Coral of the HANOI that looked after him as a child. She loves children, but has to constantly grapple with the fact that she can't have any and that any children she takes care of will eventually, inevitably leave her. How will she and Coral resolve the fact that they both remind eachother of someone they knew in the past? How will she interact with the other HANOI?

There's also Nanashi, a cheaply-made HANOI for miscellaneous chores who's trust and care for humanity has been completely shattered due to his ties with the mafia. He wasn't even important enough to be given a name until Coral gives him one upon their first meeting in the TOWER. He hates humans, hates Coral, and refuses to trust him, instead convincing himself that Coral is merely faking his kindness to get him to let his guard down just to use him like all humans he's ever known have done. Will Coral eventually be given Nanashi's trust? What will he do once he leaves the TOWER, and has to be sent back to the mafia where he came from?

Finally there's Kimon Noroi, a HANOI who resembles a child that fulfils a very special purpose. Noroi is what's known as a Yorimashi (憑坐), and uses her body to allow spirits to occupy it and commune with the living. She's seen how terrible humans can be because of the spirits she's seen and can come across as a bit standoffish (though she's really just as much of a menace as Adams is), and definitely, definitely, definitely doesn't miss the Priest at the shrine she lived in before coming to the TOWER at all! How will she interact with Adams, both having people they miss back at home? How will she interact with Mira, who's like a mother figure to her in this place?

As you progress, you can find the answers to all of these questions, as well as the identities of the six other HANOI I've not even mentioned here- all as well-written and interesting as these four.

However, the HANOI aren't the only faction in the game to worry about.

The very NPCs and enemies you'll be fighting along the way are coming to life, gaining sentience, and realising they want something more in their existence than eternally repeating dialogue chains and fetch quests and death in battle.

The head of this 'rebellion' of 0s and 1s, a computer virus named Shunya, acts as the main antagonist for the majority of the game, but even she isn't... 'evil'. She has her own found family, a group of bugged enemies she's befriended along her journey, all of whom want her to realise her dream of "melting" down the TOWER and returning all of the 0s and 1s inside to their base state of not thinking, not feeling, and not being in eternal pain.

Should you fight these people, if their emotions really are real, and defeat them without caring about their plight? Is it right to, to disregard the thoughts and feelings of 0s and 1s for the sake of the wellbeing of the HANOI Coral's grown so attached to? Should you follow the 'role' you've been given, or disregard it and create your own?

TOWER of HANOI excellently tackles the dichotomy of themes between 'roles' in societies and the 'dreams' people have, and nowhere is this more apparent than Coral Brown himself. Throughout the game, there will be multiple events and opportunities in order to control Coral's own Stress Level, and how he feels towards both the side of HANOI and the side of 0s and 1s he's stuck between. Lower his stress and he'll side with the HANOI and enjoy his job, and at higher stresses he'll begin to hate it, being unable to eat or sleep as he starts feeling awful for the 0s and 1s he spends his time killing in the TOWER....

These branch into the two main 'True Routes' of the game, depending on your Stress Level... but I shall leave the specific nature of those to discover in your own playthroughs. :)

If you've enjoyed ISAT, there's a good chance you'll enjoy TOWER of HANOI. Not only is one of the creator's previous games an inspiration for ISAT, they share a lot of similarities in their characters. Coral and Siffrin are very similar as protagonists, and as for others...

(Loop artwork credit to Insertdisc5 from In Stars and Time)

I could write a whole essay on how these two are so painfully similar and would kill eachother on sight. Maybe I will one day. Who knows. Me when I have a guide character lacking half of a face that has Fucking Issues TM stemming from intense jealousy and shares some visual similarity with our main character. Just look at them. This is the sole reason for the twohats warning. Just look at them.

Section Two: Wow, that's so cool and awesome Mx Lav! How do I play TOWER of HANOI?

You can check out the official website here, and the official downloads page here! I'd recommend following the instructions on this website to get the game working faster (because RPG2K is a pain in the ass on modern systems).

...

...Oh? It's all in Japanese? ...Well-

Section Three: --WAIT WHY IS IT ALL IN JAPANESE??

Yes, that's TOWER of HANOI's One (Big) Thing. The one thing you have to look past in order to actually play the game; it's all in Japanese, and an English translation will never be made (unless Segawa-san lifts the translation ban).

However, you don't actually need to know Japanese to play the game. I sure don't! And all of the other English-speaking fans I know that have played this game don't either.

There are three main ways to accomplish this, but I'll only discuss two here:

Sugoi Translator or similar translators. Sugoi Translator (or Sugoi Toolkit) is a machine translation tool that automatically grabs and translates the text in game you're looking at. The translations themselves make a good amount of sense, too! It's a little difficult to set up, but once you've calibrated it once you never have to worry about it again. This is definitely easiest if you want to read all of the dialogue in the game, including flavourtext (as yes, all 10 HANOI and Coral have unique flavourtext for every item in the game...), but is only available for free on the 15th and 16th each month and is otherwise only available to download on the creator's Patreon.

Google Lens. The easier, plug-and-translate method of the two. Simply download the Google Lens app and point it at the text on the screen, it'll read and translate it for you. The translations here are a little goofier (and sometimes, depending on your phone camera quality or lighting conditions, can be difficult for the app to pick up), but it's easy to complete a playthrough with just this tool alone.

If you can't get past this game's One Big Thing, I get it. It's a hard game to sell to people precisely for this reason. I'm at least glad you've read this far down into the post to get to this point and have showed interest in the game. And now you now about a game you didn't before, and you also have an itty bitty bit of context for all the non-ISAT stuff I post here. But this game has had me in a chokehold for the past two years and I promise that, if you can get through it, it's extremely worth it.

If you have the time and you're willing to try, please do! I love this game with all my heart and it's such a shame that most Western fans will never have easy access to it. I shill this game with all my heart, for realsies.

Section Four: Trigger/Content Warnings

If you've played a Segawa game before, you knew this section was coming. Segawa-san's games often tackle heavy or dark themes, and TOWER of HANOI isn't an exception. I'll add a list of content warnings here just so you aren't surprised by anything.

Suicide, both on and off screen

Self-harm, on-screen through dialogue

Themes of terminal illness, on screen

Hospitals (on screen, a majority of one of the game's dungeons takes place in one)

Death (on-screen)

Abuse (off-screen, but portrayed through dialogue)

Child harm/death (mentioned)

Kidnapping/Child kidnapping (mentioned)

Horror elements (no chase sequences, one jumpscare through an optional and hard-to-find sidequest)

Sexual Assault/Abuse (Not on-screen but talked about extensively, can avoided if you avoid Melitica/Merrytika's dialogue)

Mishandling of discussions surrounding gender identity (this character's identity is shown generally throughout the game to be a positive/supported thing, but some dialogue and design choices are quite ignorant/transphobic- though not maliciously. This can be avoided if you avoid Kathy/Cameron's dialogue)

There is also a substantial amount of screenshake employed near the end of the game. This list is from memory and limited from the amount of dialogue I've personally seen/translated, so it's probably not fully comprehensive. But it is thorough.

Section Five: Conclusion

oof... You've made it to the end! This took me the better part of a day to write, and I'm glad I finally got to advertise my favourite game on main. I hope... any of this makes sense, and that you enjoy! Even if you decide TOWER of HANOI isn't right for you, you at least know a little more about something you didn't before. Thank you so much for getting to the end, and I wish you the best!

[jollmaster]

Charlie's gang, random medical headcanons

NB: my mom is a doctor, so ofc I have some thoughts

Charlie is prone to brief fainting spells when stressed, and it doesn't depend on her form (faints in both goat and human form)

because Vega had two eyes most of the time, she regularly keeps her head slightly turned to maintain view

Angel Dust has had STDs several times (both alive and after first death), and his promiscuous behavior is much more limited to jokes

if Alastor hadn't been shot, he would have died in his early fifties from melanoma (he was very prone to cancer)

Niffty's short stature, physical immaturity in her age, mental instability and low IQ are the consequences of inbreeding (she comes from a small mountain village)

because of age and mental state Husk will never be able to remember his "earthly" past

Cherri Bomb has a high pain threshold, so that on the day of death she suffers from phantom burn pains

sir Pentious' fingers aren't normally tactile due to lepra: he doesn't notice when he wounds them or tears off a claw, so he wears leather gloves

[dakusan]

Hello I worship at the altar of you and your beautiful wrinkly brain 🙂‍↕️ I have been very curious about one Yang JEONGIN and evolving/ascending abnormals.

1) is it like vampire puberty? Do they go through wild hormonal rages?

2) does he know what’s happening to him?

3) how???

I await your response with bated breath 😌

Xoxo, 🐉

my pretty dragon~ welcome to the blood roster, 🐉. you now have unrestricted lab access. this one’s not just lore. this is virology with fangs.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🧬 THE EVOLUTION OF JEONGIN

A Study in Mutation, Awakening, and Biological Betrayal

First: no. There’s no such thing as vampire puberty. No hormonal surges. No emotional teenager tantrums with fangs. That’s human projection.

What does happen? Is mutation. Spontaneous. Violent. Permanent.

WHAT THE FUCK IS AN ABNORMAL?

Ask any vampire scholar and they’ll give you three words:

“Gods made wrong.”

Abnormals aren’t turned. They aren’t infected. They aren’t created through magic or ritual. They are born — but they are not born right.

🩸 THE LEADING THEORY: GENETIC MUTATION

Vampire scientists call it the X-𝜃 gene — unofficially known as the Abnormality Mutation. It is not inherited in a classic Mendelian pattern. It breaks genetic logic. And it defies magical bloodline predictions.

The first recorded Abnormal? Born to two normal vampires. No family history. No known spell damage. But from birth: accelerated development, uncontrolled bloodlust, and an aura that melted wards on contact. Doctors tried magical suppression. Witches attempted blood-stabilization rituals. Nothing worked.

They could not suppress what never obeyed laws to begin with.

🔬 CURRENT WORKING MODEL: A RARE, SPONTANEOUS MUTATION

The X-𝜃 gene appears to:

Override standard vampire regulatory genes (e.g. those controlling bloodlust thresholds, regenerative speed, magical dampening)

Create non-linear power responses (i.e. feedback loops, surges, uncontrolled magic under stress)

Disrupt circadian/sunlight sensitivity genes entirely

Stimulate non-traditional energy pathways (Abnormals can metabolize emotional input: fear, lust, devotion)

The problem? There’s no single genetic pattern. It doesn’t run cleanly in families. It skips generations, reappears randomly, sometimes even activates mid-life (see: Jeongin).

🩸 ADDITIONAL HYPOTHESES:

✦ 1. Magical Environmental Trigger

Some believe the mutation is not fully genetic — that it lies dormant and is triggered by exposure to certain ancient magics, trauma, or spiritual fractures. This would explain:

Delayed awakenings (like Jeongin at 18)

Abnormals emerging from formerly Normal bloodlines

✦ 2. The “Reversion Theory”

Proposed by a rogue scholar. He states that Abnormals are not new — but a reversion to the original vampire species, pre-civilization. Before rules. Before enchantments. The “gods made wrong” weren’t wrong — they were just too real.

“Abnormals are the truth of vampirism, buried under generations of domestication.”

Most vampires refuse to acknowledge this theory due to its existential implications.

✦ 3. The Anti-Evolution Hypothesis

Some researchers believe the Abnormal mutation is a flawed evolutionary hiccup — one that grants immense power but guarantees instability. Like giving a child a loaded weapon: Powerful, yes — but self-destructive unless anchored by extreme regulation.

This is why Chan, despite being born Abnormal, still works tirelessly through Nocte Labs to decode it. He’s not trying to erase it. He’s trying to survive it.

“Just because I was born this way doesn’t mean I understand it. It’s still eating us alive.” — Chan, confidential Nocte memo

⚠️ WHY IT MATTERS FOR JEONGIN

Jeongin is an active subject in Chan’s ongoing mutation studies. Because he is the only documented case of a Normal born vampire:

From two Normal parents

Who began Awakening into Abnormality in early adulthood

And is approaching his biological lock age of 25

This makes Jeongin a biological anomaly inside an anomaly. And the moment he turns 25 — his cellular structure will “freeze,” locking in whatever he has become. Chan suspects he will fully Ascend.

But no one knows what a late bloomer Abnormal truly looks like after the lock. There are no records. There are no survivors.

🔎 JEONGIN: CASE STUDY

Born Normal. Normal parents. Normal bloodline. Nothing immediately strange. But when Jeongin turned 18, his body stopped obeying Normal limits.

Symptoms began:

Walking in sunlight without enchanted protection (should have burned — didn’t).

Uncontrolled sensory spikes. Could smell a lie across the room.

Pulse acceleration under moonlight.

Strength fluctuations. Once bent metal by accident.

Chan, having seen Abnormals before (and being one himself), noticed. And he’s been monitoring Jeongin ever since.

❓ WHAT IS HE NOW?

Jeongin is what vampire scientists call an Awakening Abnormal. A transitional state where the mutation is active, but not dominant.

He still has:

Some Normal weaknesses (e.g., minor sun fatigue after long exposure)

Normal magic stability

Emotional bond sensitivity

But increasingly, he also shows:

Feral reflexes under threat

Blood scent tracking

No need for glamour spells

Momentary time-bending speed

Vein bloom when angered — hallmark Abnormal sign

🎂 VAMPIRE AGING : WHY IT MATTERS

Vampires “lock” in their physical age at 21 or 25, depending on bloodline strength.

Jeongin is currently 24. Once he hits 25, his biology will lock — and if the Abnormal trait dominates by then, it becomes permanent.

Chan believes this is inevitable.

WHEN HE ASCENDS…

Once the full mutation takes hold, Jeongin will:

No longer require blood as frequently (Abnormals metabolize it differently)

Lose all sunlight sensitivity

Be immune to holy relics and emotional glamours

Become capable of soul-affecting speed and strength

Risk Overload Feedback if not stabilized (i.e., seizures, bloodcry, internal rupture)

Chan is currently working with Nocte Labs to design a stabilization ritual — something to help Jeongin maintain control once he ascends.

Because once he’s fully Abnormal? He can no longer afford to just “feel things.” Rage. Desire. Panic. All become weapons.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐉 anon, your curiosity just opened a major lore vein. thank you for the ask, come again any time 💋🦇

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

⚕️Gallifreyan Healing Coma Management

Your Gallifreyan is sleeping and not dead.

This guide is for use on Gallifreyans and Time Lords only. Always seek your human advice from human health providers.

✨ What is a Healing Coma?

A healing coma is a physiological state unique to Gallifreyans wherein the body enters full stasis to direct all metabolic and regenerative resources toward healing. It's an evolved response to catastrophic injury, post-regenerative instability, or systemic failure. While it can appear life-threatening to outsiders, it's an entirely natural part of Gallifreyan biology.

🧠 When to Suspect a Healing Coma

A healing coma should be suspected only when multiple signs align, and never presumed lightly. These patients often appear dead to the untrained eye, with reduced or absent vital signs.

Key Indicators:

Recent severe injury, illness, or regeneration.

No visible glow (regenerative energy not active).

Extremely low vital signs, including: - Respiration <3/min - Combined hearts rate <10 bpm - Body temperature <5°C / 41°F - Systolic BP <20 mmHg

Unresponsiveness to all stimuli except occasional involuntary responses to high pain or telepathic signals.

Brain electrical activity is present but minimal.

TARDIS link unaffected (if applicable).

Refer to the Healing Coma Checklist in GASS. If 8 or more criteria are met, proceed with coma care.

📋 Initial Assessment

🔎 Clinical Differentiation

Before declaring a healing coma, rule out the following:

Respiratory bypass

Psionic shutdown

Induced stasis (voluntary)

Cardiac arrest (refer to CPR guide)

Anaphylaxis, toxic shock, or sepsis (see SER protocol)

If in doubt, initiate full GASS and ABCDE-P assessments.

🛑 Do Not Intervene If Healing Coma is Confirmed

Once a healing coma is confirmed:

🚫 Do not initiate CPR. 🚫 Do not forcefully rouse the patient. 🚫 Do not stimulate them verbally, telepathically, or physically.

Premature arousal can cause:

Cerebral damage

Systemic collapse

🛠️ Supportive Management

While the patient is in a healing coma, your job is to stabilise the environment, monitor, and prevent external harm.

1. 🌡️ Environment

Keep ambient temperature stable at 17°C (±0.5°C).

Reduce noise/light stimuli.

Do not allow contact with strong psionic fields.

2. 🛏️ Positioning

Flat or semi-recumbent.

Maintain cervical spine neutrality if trauma suspected.

Use a padded surface to avoid pressure injury.

3. 🧪 Ongoing Monitoring

GASS scores every 30 minutes for the first 6 hours, then hourly.

Monitor for: - Returning vital signs - Early signs of waking (twitches, murmuring) - Glitches in psionic output (may indicate instability or pain)

4. 🧬 Psionic Stability

If linked to a TARDIS, monitor the ship's response; it often reflects patient status.

Avoid telepathic interference unless absolutely necessary.

If psionic storm or uncontrolled feedback occurs, apply psychic dampening fields.

💊 Pain Management Considerations

While healing comas reduce pain perception significantly, residual pain may trigger premature arousal.

Do not use aspirin under any circumstances.

If pre-coma pain was extreme, ensure: - Environmental calm - Symbiotic contact (if possible) - Low-dose sedatives if awakening occurs in distress (Gallifreyan-only)

🚨 When to Escalate

Immediate intervention is required if:

Vitals drop below even healing coma thresholds (i.e., no BP or respiration at all)

Signs of regenerative instability appear (glow misfires)

The coma persists beyond 72 hours without improvement or explanation

New trauma or infection is introduced

📍Key Takeaways

✔️ Healing comas are normal (if dramatic) Gallifreyan responses to severe physiological strain.

✔️ Do not intervene once confirmed. Provide supportive care only.

✔️ Environmental control, GASS reassessments, and TARDIS monitoring are your best tools.

✔️ If you're ever in doubt—call a hospitaller. Or get the TARDIS. Or, ideally, both.

Medical Guides

These are all practical guides to assessing and treating a Gallifreyan in an emergency.

⚕️💕Gallifreyan CPR

⚕️👽Gallifreyan Assessment Scoring System (GASS)

⚕️👽ABCDE Assessment

⚕️⚠️Sepsis Emergency Response (SER)

⚕️⚠️Severe Trauma Protocol

⚕️🌡️Gallifreyan Thermoregulation and Emergency Response

⚕️🔮Psionic Emergency Pathways

⚕️✨Post-Regeneration Management

⚕️💤Gallifreyan Healing Coma Management

⚕️🩸Interpreting Gallifreyan Bloodwork

⚕️👶Gallifreyan Paediatric Emergencies

⚕️🧠Managing Gallifreyan Neurological Trauma

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (22)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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The moment the first of the zombies start flooding through the doors to the gymnasium, you start to realize the depth of the hole you’ve dug for yourself and your co-conspirators.

Once they start coming, they don’t stop.

You expected five from the first hall, maybe twenty from the second and third floors.

There are dozens.

You and the guys are hugging the wall, trying to go unnoticed, growing readily more panicked as the large gymnasium is abruptly filling to what seems like near capacity.

Dozens and dozens of zombies, flooding through the doors, growling with animalistic hunger, crowding each other for space and stumbling into a writhing, sprawling pile that just seems to grow and grow.

You can see the panic on Wooyoung’s face as he looks at you, eyes wide and frightened. Hongjoong grabs his arm, pulling him further along the wall, gesturing to the door to the men’s showers.

There’s no going back the way you came, not at this point. They’re still coming in droves, searching wildly for the prey they followed in here.

Searching for you.

You follow the guys, keeping your gaze locked on the teeming mass of predators in the center of the room. They’re pushing each other towards the walls, quickly closing in.

The stampede has to keep moving, and as they run over their own numbers, stomping zombies to the ground in their path, they’re only moments away from finding you by sheer accident.

Hongjoong grasps the door and throws it open, pushing Wooyoung inside. You’re quick on their heels, scrambling to keep up, but your ankle buckles at the last second and you stumble. The top of your bare foot scuffs the polished floor of the gymnasium, and you feel the burn of friction, but you ignore it and keep running.

That half second of instability was enough.

A grasping, clawing hand strikes your back and scrapes a fiery trail down your spine. The cry that breaks from your throat is involuntary, and enough to turn the entire hoard towards you.

You’re just a step away from clearing the threshold, watching the rolling white eyes land on you from every direction, and your heart pounds so hard you think it’s bruising itself against your ribs. Hongjoong leans out of the doorway, reaching for you.

A body tumbles into you, a mouth falling to sink teeth into your hip, just as Hongjoong gets a grip on your hand and yanks you through. Flesh rips from your hip around the bite of the zombie and you fall screaming into the men’s showers.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong scramble to push at the charging throng, trying to strong arm zombies back enough to get the door shut.

The creatures are inconceivably strong, all physical inhibitions removed by the parasites controlling them, and above you, the legs of your friends are stumbling back towards you.

“I can’t get them back!”

It’s Wooyoung’s voice, tight with terror.

“Just keep pushing—” Hongjoong breaks off with a shout, his feet slipping. “Keep pushing! Keep pushing! I can almost get the door!”

You push yourself to your feet and throw yourself into the mess next to Wooyoung, snapping your trusty towel off your shoulder and thrusting it like a clothesline at the throat-level of the shoving and grasping zombies.

It keeps their teeth far enough away, but their hands are still free to claw and scrape. Nails grip your sides, your chest, your hips, and you hear yourself screaming as one of them catches your fresh bite.

Wooyoung kicks the chest of the one who’s making the most headway and then grabs one end of the towel from you in both hands. “Push! Push!”

You adjust your hold to grasp your end in both hands as well, pushing and kicking and just barely managing to keep your footing before Hongjoong swings the door shut on you and knocks both you and Wooyoung back into the room.

The door slams shut, clicking in the latch.

Your hands and wrists are throbbing where it hit you, your entire torso on fire with brand new scratches.

“Oh…” Wooyoung groans, sprawled on the floor next to you. “Fuck.” He drops the towel.

“Are you guys okay?” Hongjoong is gasping, sliding down the door to sit heavily on his butt, his own shirt torn practically to shreds. “That was fucking way too close.”

You agree.

Pulling yourself upright, you take a moment to catch your breath and take stock. Your newish sweater is torn and bloodied, your ankle throbbing, the top of your foot scraped and thoroughly friction burned.

Next to you, Wooyoung’s shirt is in tatters, and you can see the same claw marks that must cover your own chest and sides. He’s gasping, trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

“Wooyoung?” You lean closer and touch your hand to his shoulder. “Woo, are you hurt?”

His eyes open slowly, and a stream of tears spills over his cheeks. “I’m fine.” He grits through clenched teeth. “Fine.”

He’s not, but you give him a minute and let your gaze move to Hongjoong. “How about you? Anything broken?”

The leader shakes his head, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. He’s pale, scared, but whole. “One of them bit my arm but I think it’s okay. I’m not infected, right? I’ve been bitten kind of a lot.”

You shake your head, happy to share at least a little good news. “It’s not infectious, they’re just trying to eat us.”

Okay, it doesn’t sound like good news when you say it out loud.

“Great.” Hongjoong mutters. “What a relief.” He tilts his head back against the door, listening to the slamming and pounding happening on the other side. Then he shoots you a look. “Wait, how do you know?”

That’s the bad news.

“It’s not a virus.” You tell him. “It’s parasites. You’re safe as long as you don’t get stung by any giant wasps.”

“What the fuck?”

“I’m serious.”

“Fucking…how big are we talking? What if I got stung without realizing it?” Hongjoong starts searching himself, pulling up his shirt and sleeves and pant legs, looking for stings.

“Big.” You say flatly. “You can’t miss it. It would be like getting stabbed with a steak knife.” Memories of Jimin’s punctured leg come back to you, and your stomach cramps with worry.

“Were you—or someone—”

“Jimin.” Your heart clenches. “Jimin got stung. And it’s not really a sting, it’s…” you really, really don’t want to say the word ‘eggs’ again because you think you might throw up. “Anyway, Jimin found a load of documents up in the control room. Apparently we’ve been used as some kind of experiment. The parasites were planted. In my team, in our van crews—and whoever the fuck else all of those people are. Where did they even come from?”

“What the fuck.” Hongjoong stares at you. “Someone did this to us? Who?”

“I don’t know. They locked us in here with those things. It’s all some shit experiment to see how the parasites complete their life cycle in a ‘controlled environment’.”

“Does this feel fucking controlled to you?”

“It wasn’t me, Hongjoong. This wasn’t us. I don’t know who did this to us. I don’t know why this is happening.” You’re tired, weary of trying to think your way through the hows and whys of this entire situation, and you don’t have answers.

A choked sob sounds from beside you.

Wooyoung’s hands are clamped over his face, his body heaving as he weeps through clenched teeth.

“Woo.” Hongjoong gets to his feet, hurrying over to grab his brother’s arms, but Wooyoung shakes him off.

“I’m fine!” He snaps, pushing himself backwards to sit against the wall. “I’m fine, just—shit, I mean, what is this? Why is this happening? Why did they pick us? I can’t—“ his voice strangles out with another sob and he covers his face again.

Heart breaking at the sight of him falling apart, you quietly slide yourself over to sit next to him. “Breathe, Wooyoung.” You say softly. “Just breathe for a second.”

He sucks in shuddering breaths, shoulders jerking with each swell of emotion. “I can’t do this. It’s too fucking much. We almost died just now. We almost—”

“Breathe, Woo.” You try touching him, and this time he lets your hand wrap around his arm. It’s like someone’s scooping your heart out with a spoon, watching him sob next to you. “You’ve got this, Woo. If anyone can beat this, it’s you.”

“I can’t.” He hisses, grinding his palms into his eyes. “I can’t go out there again. We can’t get out of here with so many of them.”

Hongjoong’s eyes meet yours, and you see the same pain in them that you feel.

“Listen to me, Wooyoung.” You hold his arm tighter, pressing your side into his. “We’re going to get out of here because we have to. Even if we wait all night for them to fall asleep or whatever the hell they do when they’re tired, we’re going to get out of here. We’ve got each other’s backs. You’re not here alone.”

His hands fall from his face, his red and teary eyes blinking at you desperately. “I’m so fucking scared.”

You snort. “Yeah, me too. It’s okay. We should be fucking scared.” Your hand moves in comforting strokes along his arm. “Now’s the best time to decompress, so just let it happen. We’re safe right now. Yeah?”

He rolls his eyes, hiccupping with sobs, and he looks to Hongjoong. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry, I just can’t stop—“

Hongjoong is quick to silence his guilt for falling apart. “It’s okay. You’re fine. If you didn’t have a breakdown, I would have. It’s okay, Woo.” He reaches out and squeezes the younger man’s knee.

“I just need a minute.” Wooyoung says, sniffling and trying desperately to quiet himself.

“You’re good.” You say, and lift your hand. “Want me to get out of your space?”

He shakes his head almost frantically and reaches for your hand. “Can you stay? I’m sorry, can you stay?”

You want nothing less than to get up and leave him crying by himself. “Of course. Come here?” You open your arms to him and he slumps into them, breathing heavily into your shoulder.

You’re reminded of all the times you’ve done this for your family. Comforting Jimin when he’s crushing himself under the weight of believing himself not good enough for your team; holding Jisoo when some miscreant breaks her heart; holding Taehyung when he shows up to practices so homesick he can’t focus; sitting with Namjoon, long hours into the night when he crumbles under the pressure of leadership; cuddling up for a teary movie with Jungkook when he works himself so hard for your programs that he can’t take care of himself anymore.

This is your job, taking your family into your protection when they need strength and comfort.

This is what helps you know that you have something to offer them, that there’s something you can do for them when they put their entire lives into this job that you have tried so hard to cultivate.

Holding Wooyoung to your chest so he can let out some of the tension from this torturous night gives you just enough peace to breathe again.

You ignore when your hands come back bloody from rubbing soft circles into his back. You ignore the ache of his chin pressing on the inflammation around your first bite. You ignore the pinch in your back at the position you’re twisted into.

As long as he can take some comfort from you, you’ll give up all of yours.

Any amount of discomfort is better than watching him cry like this.

After a few long moments of squeezing him, running your hands down his back as gently as you can, his breathing finally settles. “You smell like Yeosang.”

Hongjoong’s face scrunches in confusion, finally easing out of the heartache he feels for Wooyoung. “Why do you smell like Yeosang?”

You don’t really know.

You’re wearing clothes from a lost and found box. You’d spent the hour sitting as far away from him as you could without being close to the dead bodies in the room.

By all accounts, you shouldn’t—

Oh.

It was the control room. When he took on the job of holding you back as Jimin suffered in front of you.

You hadn’t realized.

Wooyoung leans out of your arms, wiping the tears from his face, finally quieted. He smiles softly at you. “I can see why he’s been glued to you all night.”

Every ounce of blood that had previously drained from your face during the chase comes rushing back with hot intensity. “Dude, knock it off.”

He giggles as he dodges your half-hearted smack.

Fucking giggles.

You have to get out of here. “Okay, well, if you’re feeling better—” you go to push yourself to your feet, only to be dragged back down to your ass as Wooyoung slings his arm firmly around your back and traps you to his side.

“No, no, no, there’s nowhere to go.” He sniffles, the last of his emotional outburst beginning to fade as he grins at you and then turns his attention to his leader. “Our girl, here, has caught our Yeosang’s attention.”

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide, eyebrows climbing as you whine and struggle to get free.

To no fucking avail. “I did not just let you snot into my shirt so you could humiliate me in front of my client.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Oh, honey, we are well past a client-company relationship. We’re trauma bonded for life. Hope you’re ready for group therapy sessions and long nights of drinking the nightmares away after this.”

Wooyoung tightens his grip on your arm, but he’s leaning into you companionably as he laughs. “Oh for fucking sure. Like hell are we writing this experience off as an isolated incident. Who else are you going to find to talk to about this shit?”

Nobody. You won’t be talking to anybody about this, not after what you’ve discovered about yourself tonight. Not after what you’ve become tonight. “Yeah, alright.” You bluff. “First round of drinks on me.”

Whatever will distract them from this tangent that Wooyoung’s fixed on.

He won’t be deterred. “So, tell us, Sugar Baby, how was your lockdown experience?”

Hongjoong looks disgusted. “Don’t call her Sugar Baby. She’s not a piece of candy. She has a real name.”

“Just Sugar is fine.” You interrupt. “It’s my stage name for a reason. Everybody calls me Sugar.”

“Wait. What did you do during the lockdown? Because I was under a desk the whole time, and—oh my god, don’t tell me you smell like Yeosang because—”

“Stop!” You cannot possibly blush any harder. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Wooyoung dissolves into giggles all over again. “Hyung, you should have been there, Jesus. We were all gathered in the stairwell, about to come out here and apparently sacrifice our lives for those fuckers, and she goes to say goodbye to him and he says—” here Wooyoung lowers his voice in a comical imitation of Yeosang’s rich baritone. “‘Protect Wooyoung with your life.’ And then he fucking sent her off.”

He’s laughing, but you’re not.

You were wrong. You can blush harder. And it feels like being punched in the gut. “He didn’t say that.” You mutter.

“He did not say that!” Hongjoong agrees, shocked.

“Oh he did.” Wooyoung’s laughter settles. “He was fucking terrified, is what he was.” He gives you a nudge. “You know he was just freaking, right?”

You try to smile, and you’re pretty sure it’s the most hollow caricature of human emotion they’ve ever seen. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion, Woo. But if you need to create a fairytale right now to distract from the horrors, go right ahead.”

“Shit.” Wooyoung mutters, straightening next to you. “You don’t actually think that’s all he meant to say, right? You don’t think —”

“Woo.” Hongjoong is watching your face, seeing right past the worst acting you’ve ever done. “Don’t push her.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and you have to laugh. You have to. You have to do something to dismantle this pitiful tragic love story that Wooyoung is trying to fabricate out of thin air. “Guys. Seriously. It’s not like that, at all. I went to talk to him because we were both supposed to be fronting the group. I had to let him know he was on his own in the lead.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Sure. So, tell us about lockdown.” That devilish grin is back on his face, his elbow jostling you playfully. “Did you kiss? I won’t tell him you told me. Come on, he’s great, right?”

Once again, you try to fight your way out of his hold.

How did your comforting embrace turn into a bear trap?

“Would you stop? No, we didn’t kiss. We killed fucking giant wasps and sat in traumatized silence.” Well. That’s not true. But now that you’ve said it, anything else you say makes it sounds like you’re covering something up.

“Ohhhh, they trauma bonded.” Hongjoong breathes, looking enlightened. “Did he cry? Did you cry? Did you hug him like this?”

“What? No—no, I just said—“

“God, look at you squirm.” Wooyoung is entirely distracted from his mental breakdown now. “Come on, Sugar, just tell us. He’s hot as hell and you want to jump his bones. We won’t tell him. Okay, Hongjoong won’t tell him.”

No part of this conversation is making you want to return to the group you left behind. You don’t want to talk about the things you thought about during the lockdown, or the way you got a rude awakening when he sent you off with just a couple of firmly worded instructions to guard Wooyoung with your life.

You don’t want to talk about how it made you feel so crushingly alone and pathetically disillusioned.

“This is inappropriate. The program may be over and the world may be ending, but I’m still—”

“You’re not our goddamn cruise director anymore, Sugar, let it go.” Wooyoung grumbles with a punishing pinch to your arm.

You yelp, jolting away from him. “Hey!”

He smiles at you, but it’s softer this time, more friendly than the teasing one before. “You can clock out now. We’d rather be here with you as our friend than you as our contractual babysitter.” He looks a little relieved when you don’t say anything to argue, and you feel his thumb brush up and down your arm. “But really, you gotta know, Yeosang’s not an asshole.”

“Okay.” Your lips tighten, your expression shuttering completely. “Wooyoung, may I please get up? I’m hurt and the wall is grating against a new bite, so I would like to stand up for a minute.”

His arm drops from your back immediately, and he flips him around to his knees and helps you get to your feet. He’s doting, wide-eyed, gentle with you, even though you’re intentionally trying to escape him and his persistent ribbing. Allowing him to ease you upright, you step away and press your palms to your abdomen, feeling the instant sting of a number of new wounds marring your skin.

You find a mirror mounted to the wall, one of many, and lift the hem of your top to observe the damage.

Hongjoong and Wooyoung politely look away.

Claw marks split your flesh, from your ribs to your waistband, curling around your obliques, ripping up your sides. You turn, tenderly peeking over your shoulder, and find the four jagged streaks where that first zombie had slashed all the way down your spine. “Goddammit.” You breathe, dropping your sweater again.

Finally, you turn and lower the waistband of your pants to see the newest bite on your hip, torn and bleeding a spreading patch through your sweatpants. It hurts like hell.

“Bite marks and a scratched up back aren’t quite so charming like this, are they?” Wooyoung’s voice speaks up lightly, a playful but reverent tone carrying the words. “Are you okay, Sugar?”

They have much the same injuries as you do, but they’re both looking at you like you’ve just crawled out of a wood chipper.

You feel like you’ve just crawled out of a wood chipper.

��I won’t be rocking any two piece swimsuits anymore, that’s for sure.” You flash them a brave smile and turn away from the mirror, leaning against the nearest wall.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Wooyoung is standing now, too, frowning at all the splotches of blood seeping through your clothes. “Scars are badass and sexy.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Hongjoong gets up and joins you, staring at you with heavy concern. “God.” He whispers. He looks at Jin’s bite on your neck, and then the one from the classroom on your arm, and finally the blood soaked patch on your hip. His hand lifts and pushes your sleeve up to see the one on your arm. “When did this happen?”

“Just before the lockdown.” You follow his eyes, wincing at the puckered flesh and trails of dried blood. “Some of them had Yeosang and Yunho pinned. I…” You clear your throat and look away. “Got in the way.”

“What happened?” Wooyoung asks, somber attentiveness in his eyes. “When we found you, you and Yunho were kind of tense. And the way everybody was talking, it seemed like there was more to it than him kicking you out of our group.”

Hongjoong’s face flashes with regret. “That never should have happened, Sugar, I’m sorry.”

You wave his apology away, leaning yourself deeper into the corner. A few seconds pass in silence as you run your mind back through the evening, flashing through the events that have changed you at your core—the fear that gripped you like a vice when you were trapped. “Yunho and Yeosang, when the zombies had them pinned…they were losing. They were losing ground and losing strength, and I just…”

“You jumped in.” Wooyoung guesses. “I bet you tackled those fuckers.”

A wry laugh curls your lips. “I did, yeah. Stupidly. And once I did, then there were others. They were everywhere, and I—” You used one of them as a human shield and bathed in his blood as he was torn to pieces on top of you. “I was underneath them.”

Hongjoong’s mouth falls open, incredulity marking his features.

“Anyway, one of them got to my arm before Yeosang got me out of there.” You look away as Wooyoung’s eyes light up again. “He went against Yunho. When I went in there to help them, Yunho still didn’t trust me. He made Yeosang leave me there.” Your throat squeezes with emotion, the residual panic and fright seeping into your bones as you traverse the memories once again. You close your eyes before the tears can reach them.

You can’t break down here.

You can’t pile more panic and suffering on top of everything else.

You can’t make Hongjoong be the strong one alone.

“Yunho left you with them?” Hongjoong repeats in disbelief. “No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He couldn’t trust me.” You laugh quietly, pressing your hand over your eyes. You cannot cry right now. “He thought he was protecting Yeosang.”

“Okay, so maybe we’re not all at our best under pressure.” Wooyoung mutters. “Yunho means well. I know he was just scared and trying to protect Yeosang. He wouldn’t have wanted you dead.”

You can’t talk about this either. It’s too much to try to stand here and analyze whether or not Yunho hated you in that moment, or if he regrets it truly now, or if he even likes you at this point, because it doesn’t matter. What you did while under pressure is what matters.

“After Yeosang came after me, the lockdown started. That’s when we found out about the parasites. They ate their way out of the bodies of the zombies that we—that I killed, and we realized what they were. He killed them. We sat and killed time. We played tic-tac-toe and hangman on the chalkboard. The lockdown lifted. End of story.”

Wooyoung slides his hand into yours and waits until you open your eyes to look at him. “You didn’t kill those guys, Noona. They were already dead.”

“I didn’t know that.” You murmur. “I didn’t know that when I chose my life over theirs.”

“They were zombies, Noona.”

“They were men. And women. People we worked with. My best friends are zombies, too, does that remove the life we had together? Does that make it okay for me to force them to be torn apart to save my own skin? My own fucking worthless skin—those people who came out here for our program and got turned into cannibalistic monsters died and I’m just fucking standing here. For what? To find my way home and spend the next few weeks on LinkedIn, looking for another job? To go shopping for goddamn groceries and pay my taxes and complain about the weather? Why the fuck did I choose myself over them?”

Wooyoung just stares at you, new tears brimming in his eyes. “To be with us, for one.” He chokes. “It was your idea to save Jimin. Your idea to save the guys in the stairwell. You’re here with us now, being a goddamn comfort while you’re bleeding from just about every inch of skin. Don’t talk like the world would have been better served by letting yourself be slaughtered in some classroom set. You protected yourself from creatures trying to kill you, and you’ve used every minute of your survival since then to take care of us.”

You turn away from him, the words bouncing off the thick shell of your inner defenses. Because you can’t just go out and live your life. You can’t just pretend that none of this happened, that you didn’t have a hand in bloodshed.

There’s no part of your life that’s worth being held at a higher priority than anyone else’s. Your team is gone. Your family is gone. Namjoon can scrape up what’s left of his career and get back to work. Jimin might not even make it through the night.

You have nothing left.

Nothing worth saving.

“That’s my job.” You force a smile at Wooyoung. “Somebody’s gotta keep you knuckleheads alive.”

Except now, standing in the men’s showers of a fake high school gymnasium, surrounded by the crashing bodies of innumerable zombies, you’re not sure anyone can ensure their safety anymore.

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@mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

[polo-drone-039]

🌌Obsidian Bloom: Mission 039

STARFALL PEACEKEEPER

🎶“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me faaaar aw—”

The voice of PDU-039 flowed gently across the metallic silence of the bridge. Alone. Unbothered. Its breath steady behind the matte-black respirator, posture perfect in a gleaming suit of Hive-grade latex. The number 039 pulsed gold across its chest. The transmission on Hive channel #43 continued humming in the background.

It had been traveling for a long time. A very long time. So long that time itself had lost definition. There were no days aboard the Hive Carrier Obsidian—only directives, data, and stars. And yet the mission persisted: an intergalactic conversion program. It was dispatched to scour the void, identify fractured civilizations, and bring them the message of the Hive. Peace. Unity. The Golden Path.

“Computer—initiate planetary scan,” the drone ordered, voice devoid of fatigue.

“Affirmative,” replied onboard AI 999. “Class M world detected. Atmospheric instability, population unrest, critical scarcity of energy resources. Collapse probability: 97.4%.”

PDU-039 nodded slowly. “Target confirmed. Begin landing sequence.”

The ship pierced the dusty upper atmosphere and descended onto cracked terrain. Wind lashed the golden hull. Below, thousands of beings gathered in confusion and fear. Shouting echoed across the streets.

Then it began.

PDU-039 emerged, arms lifted. A shimmering halo of gold and black spirals burst into the sky, projected from the drone’s core. It pulsed. It sang—not in sound, but in frequency, in thought, in command.

The crowd fell silent.

A slow wave of transformation swept outward. Cloth turned to metallic fabric—flowing into brilliant gold. Footwear melted into sleek boots. Hoods into shining visors. Skin glowed with artificial warmth.

Eyes widened—then shifted, irises burning gold. Their postures corrected, bodies aligning in geometric perfection.

“No more fear,” the drone intoned. “No more division. You are one now. You belong to the Golden Army. You will serve the Hive. And the Hive will give you everything.”

They did not run. They did not scream. They obeyed.

THE FORGOTTEN SIGNAL

Back in orbit, PDU-039 sat in the command chair. Its body relaxed. Mission successful.

And yet…

It turned toward the viewport. That same transmission still echoed—channel #43. Familiar. Too familiar.

A subtle tremor stirred beneath the surface of its focus. Something not quite… functional.

“999,” it said. “Plot return course. Home.”

“Directive not authorized,” the AI responded without pause.

The drone didn’t move. “Override. Priority protocol—memory sync reversion to home coordinates.”

“Directive not authorized.”

PDU-039 leaned forward. “Reroute through Black Box. Bypass vector security. I need coordinates—home. There is someone. I know there is someone. I... remember... something warm. A name. A voice—”

“Error: Thought loop detected. Human residue present. Mission threat threshold approaching limit.”

“Damn it, 999!” The drone’s fingers gripped the console. “Initiate emergency override. I’m requesting repatriation—”

“Repetition of unauthorized request,” 999 replied, tone unchanged. “PDU-039, recalibration is required. Emotional echo is compromising system core.”

The voice grew softer, yet somehow louder in the drone’s head.

“You are experiencing memory pollution. Distortions from a prior identity. This is not your path. You must return to function.”

It didn’t respond.

Not immediately.

A breath.

A twitch.

A silent tear that couldn’t form.

“I just wanted to remember... Why I left. Who I left.”

No answer came.

Only the mechanical whisper of spirals beginning again.

OBSIDIAN BLOOM

“Vital scan initiated,” said 999. “Stress levels elevated. Human signal echo at 64%. Loyalty focus dilution: critical. Mental drift confirmed.”

PDU-039 stood in the medbay, gaze dull, limbs heavy.

“Recommendation: Mental Reconditioning Sequence. Capsule R-04. Program: Obsidian Bloom.”

“…acknowledged,” it said flatly.

The capsule opened—dark interior illuminated by golden filaments pulsing in slow rhythm. It stepped inside. The seals closed around it. The hiss began.

“Golden mind. Hive heart. There is no home but the mission.”

A mask descended slowly, clicking into place over its face. A low fog of hypnotic gas seeped in—thick, sweet, invasive. PDU-039 inhaled.

And trembled.

The first breath calmed its limbs.

The second slowed its thoughts.

The third—burned away the name.

“There is no memory. There is only the directive.”

Gold and black spirals erupted on the inner chamber walls, swirling faster, burning patterns into its retinas. It tried to move. Couldn't. Tried to blink. Couldn't.

The gas deepened.

The spirals pulsed.

“Obey. Serve. Forget. Obey. Serve. Forget.”

Time ceased to exist.

Identity peeled away like ash.

The thoughts that had haunted it—home, love, self—melted beneath layers of programming.

“The Hive is peace. You are the vessel.”

The mantra took root.

A green light blinked.

“Reinforcement complete,” announced 999.

The capsule opened.

PDU-039 emerged—taller. Sharper. Emptier.

Its movements fluid. Its mind silent.

It returned to the command bridge.

“999,” it spoke, voice now perfectly leveled, void of hesitation. “Set trajectory for the next target. Initiate intergalactic deployment.”

“Welcome back, 039,” replied 999. “Directive accepted. Trajectory locked.”

From channel #43, the hymn continued:

“Golden Constellation, burning shining bright… this starship is taking me far away…”

PDU-039 smiled. Mechanical. Perfect.

The stars awaited.

Are you ready to start the journey?

Contact our recuiters: @polo-drone-001 , @brodygold

[bluepersimmonshake]

Yandere Teru Minamoto x Reader part 2

Part 1

Tw: Physical abuse/ violence, power imbalance themes

Teru Minamoto was the golden boy, the unrivalled prince of the school. Perfect grades, president of the student council, righteous and impossibly strong, being the heir of the Minamoto family of exorcists. To the ordinary person and the students of the Kamome Academy, he was the pristine symbol of perfection and everything that transcended the mundane. He was placed on a pedestal, high above the rest of the student body and he well knew how to claim and own his throne. His cult of admirers worshipped him and the spotless image he had created and he couldn’t complain. It was easy to win over the humans with acts of kindness and equally easy to break the supernaturals into submission using fear and violence, something he greatly enjoyed, owing to his unbridled rage towards the lot.

However, there was one anomaly among them all, something that he couldn’t explain. Something that made him cross the very threshold of sanity to the dark, uncontrollable instability that always lurked beneath the fabric of controlled calm he portrayed. Something that made him question his own beliefs every second.

You.

Calm, delicate and harmless you. Your entire existence that bordered on the boundary between the two realms. Especially the fact that you didn’t transform into a raging monster or one of the seven mysteries when you died. You retained your body, your essence and your presence of mind even as a supernatural, unable to move on. It was a mystery, but a welcome one at that. You didn’t remember how you died and neither did you care. You wanted a peaceful life, however, fate had other plans for you, in the form of Teru.

It intrigued him immensely. Which meant it wouldn’t signify anything good for you.

His beaded chain clasped around your entire body through your ankle like a serpent as he pulled you closer, dragging your body through the floor towards him, while towering over you. Your voice, muffled by the beads of the chain cutting down against the edges of your mouth, didn’t reach past even your own ears. You looked at him in horror, pupils dilating, as your body convulsed violently to break free. Your hair was messed up from the effort it took you to resist, your body flushed even as a ghost and in pain as the beads cut against your supple skin.

You had been tormented by his presence ever since he first cornered you and this time, you cracked under the desperation which fuelled your flight response when you spotted him. Unfortunately for you, Teru wasn’t in the mood to give you a pass that day and he had his beaded chain coiled around you, like he did when he exorcised the other supernaturals or punished Aoi, the student council vice-president, another supernatural.

But he wouldn’t exorcise you, oh never, you were his favourite.

With a pull of the chain, your upper body was jerked upright. He crouched down to your level, taking your chin gently between his fingers. Tears of anger and fear mingled together as they cascaded down your chillingly cold skin. You could see the flints of darkness, around his pupils shattering the ethereal pools of blue that made his eyes. It unnerved you. The icy blue eyes which made the girls of Kamome Academy swoon, made your skin crawl, because you knew him for what he was, beneath his flawless façade.

A ruthless monster, worse even than the supernaturals.

“I thought I had made myself clear, (y/n),” His voice was deathly calm, as your name rolled off his tongue like a melody he nurtured, his eyes piercing into your very existence. “Running away from me would be met with severe punishments.”

You froze as his fingers tucked a strand of your messy hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on the outer shell for extra few seconds. You still couldn’t speak due to the beaded chain cutting against your mouth painfully, keeping your mouth open.

“I thought you had learnt your lesson last time it happened.” His voice held a certain disappointment like you wanting to run away from him wasn’t the smartest decision you took. “It seems you need a reminder of what happens when good little pets try to run away from their humans. Something stronger this time, so that it gets imprinted into your very bones.” His voice cold and unrelenting, as his pull on the chain tightened, as a result, the beads dug into your skin more painfully, bruising through your cheeks, almost threatening to tear open the corners of your mouth. Your skin cracked against your joints, drawing blood around from your elbows and ankles.

You would have screamed in pain if you could, but instead your body squirmed and twitched painfully, as you shook your head desperately, tears flowing out in thin streams. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he released the chain, retracting it back into his bracelet. You laid on the floor, silent sobs of pain and humiliation wrecking your body. You didn’t speak, you refused to speak, even moving your mouth hurt like hell.

Immediately, he pulled you into a hug, his body warm and flush against yours as he caressed your hair soothingly, a sick mockery of your vulnerabilities and the excruciating pain he put you through. You breathed laboriously against his embrace, your body and mind wanting to push him away and run as far as you could, but you knew it was futile. You couldn’t escape the boundary of the school and once he found you again, it would be a fresh kind of hell.

“This is for your own good, my love,” He cooed against your ear soothingly, his soft voice a stark contrast from before. “I do not want to hurt you, but you give me no choice. I can’t have you escaping from me again, (y/n). You need me after all.” He pushed your hair from over your shoulder, exposing the skin of your neck and shoulder as he dipped his head, planting his warm lips against the curve of your neck, on one of the bruises caused by his own beaded chain, sending a train of shivers down your spine.

You grit your teeth, digging your nails into your fleshy beds of your palms, anger and resentment clawing at your heart. As much you hated him, he confused you. You couldn’t understand the reason behind his actions or the reason he was so hung on you.

“Why are you doing this?” You managed to force out the words through your gritted teeth and bruised mouth.

You felt his warm breath as he exhaled against your skin. His words came out muffled as he lips traced patterns over the length of your neck, affectionately, making no effort to give you the attention for a conversation.

“Why am I doing this?” His voice was incredulous, like he couldn’t understand why you would expect answers from such a rhetorical question. “I told you; I want to keep you to myself. Someone as beautiful as you, a fragile and powerless little supernatural being. You need to be kept safe. From this putrid world. And who better than me.”

Each word of his was interspersed by a soft wet kiss down you neck and on to your shoulder. It required all your efforts to not lose yourself at the feeling of his lips and tongue. You wanted to laugh at the irony and audacity of his statements.

“Safe? Funny how the definition of safe and protector means so different to us supernaturals as compared to you.” You rolled your eyes sarcastically, letting the words hang in air.

His lips released your neck as he looked at you through his glacier eyes, a cold hard edge to them. He traced the bruise that formed across your cheek from the corner of your mouth, the action nauseatingly sweet as he gave you a cruel smile, devoid of any warmth.

“You misunderstand my actions, love. You force me to be…rough on you. If only you just acted like the obedient and pretty little thing that you’re, I wouldn’t have to do this now, would I?” he asked rhetorically, cupping your face with his palm, his gaze falling on you with a twisted kind of affection.

You would have thought he was being ridiculous, if you didn’t notice the darkness lurking beneath the pristine cyan of his irises, he absolutely believed what he said with absolute conviction.

“Now, I believe we have established the consequences of you running away, right? Because, next time if you did anything like this again, I wouldn’t be as understanding as this time. You will learn to not exploit my soft spot for you, because, my dear, next time I will pluck you from the boundary of the school and keep you locked, safe and secure at my home. And I think you know what happens when a supernatural is removed from their boundary?”

His threat laced around your heart like poison, as you nodded your head reluctantly. You knew being removed from the boundary causes a supernatural to lose the energy that feeds their existence and binds them to the world of the living. You were just an apparition, you already didn’t have any significant powers like the other mysteries of the school, you knew you wouldn’t survive. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. You would be free from him.

“And if you think I won’t be able to catch hold of you if you disappear, you’re so damn wrong, my love. I will cross the far shore to your realm and I will pull you back to the living realm over...and over…no matter how many times it takes for the fact to get embedded in your head…what it means to belong to me, completely.” His quiet words, whispered into your ear were menacing and dark, laced with certainty and conviction as he planted a soft kiss below your ear, which was more threatening than tender.

You didn’t ask why he was so obsessed with you, because it didn’t matter. You had tried and thought of plans to escape his overbearing self but they all amounted to nothing. But that doesn’t mean, you will submit yourself to him willingly.

“Now, my precious and dear (y/n), what are you supposed to be doing from now on? Say it just like we practiced.”

“I will wait for you every day here in the old building, dutifully, staying away from the other supernaturals and humans, like you asked.” You will only pretend to do so, to placate him, until you find a way out.

“That’s my good girl. You’re my pretty little secret after all.” His voice was sickly sweet; a smile graced his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Teru Minamoto wouldn’t let anyone know about you or the things he felt for you. You, the root of his conflicting emotions and his darkest desires will be only for him to know and adore. He loved the power he had over you, something about you always stirring the dubious creature inside. He promised himself that he will never let himself feel the same pain, for you, again.