#universal testing machine specification

[hsmleindia]

Computerized Universal Testing Machine With Servo System

Universal Testing Machine made by HSMLE india Corporation with various models like single columns, double columns, floor model, table top, door frame type etc., is used to perform tension, compression, flexure/bending, shearing, peeling, tear, cyclic etc., test for metal and non-metal specimens. This Series Floor Model & Dual Column testing systems provide simplicity, performance and affordability for quality control (QC) labs and production testing. These models are robust, heavy-duty frames commonly used for testing high-strength metals and alloys, advanced composites, aerospace and automotive structures, bolts, fasteners, and plate steels. Frames are available in load capacities of 10Kn to 300Kn; and several variations are available to accommodate requirements for both extended travel and extra wide test space.

[heicodynamics]

A UTM machine, or Universal Testing Machine, is a crucial piece of equipment used to test the mechanical properties of materials. This versatile machine measures a material's tensile, compressive, and shear strength, making it essential in industries like construction, manufacturing, and research.

[liberalsarecool]

THE ERA OF VANISHING HAS BEGUN

They are not arresting people. They are vanishing them.

Rumeysa Ozturk wasn’t read her rights. She wasn’t told why she was being detained. She was walking to break her fast in Somerville, Massachusetts when masked men in an unmarked SUV pulled up, took her phone, slapped on handcuffs, and dragged her into a vehicle like she was some kind of national security threat.

She’s a doctoral student. A Fulbright scholar. A trauma researcher. But in Donald Trump’s America, she fit the profile: Muslim, foreign-born, sympathetic to Palestinians.

Now she’s locked in a for-profit detention center in Louisiana, hundreds of miles from her lawyer, after a federal judge specifically said she wasn’t to be moved.

They moved her anyway. Because rules no longer apply to those with badges — real or fake.

A MOVEMENT BUILT ON CHAINS AND COWARDS

Alireza Doroudi is gone too.

He’s a doctoral student at the University of Alabama, born in Iran, studying mechanical engineering. No criminal record. No warning. Just scooped off the grid.

ICE refuses to say where he’s being held. No public charge has been announced. His only crime appears to be existing in the wrong body, from the wrong country, in the wrong era.

Mahmoud Khalil was next — a Columbia student, arrested for leading pro-Palestinian protests. Trump labeled him a “radical foreign Hamas sympathizer” on Truth Social. Days later, he was gone.

Jeanette Vizguerra was taken from her Target shift in Colorado, chained at the waist.

Alfredo “Lelo” Juarez, a farmworker organizer, was dragged from his car at dawn in Washington. His window was smashed by federal agents. His voice silenced.

These aren’t isolated incidents. These are deliberate acts of political intimidation.

They are testing the system — testing us — to see how many people they can disappear before we stop calling it democracy.

WHEN ICE IS A BADGE — AND A COSTUME

While the real ICE disappears scholars, organizers, and mothers, the fakes are circling like vultures.

In South Carolina, Sean-Michael Johnson posed as an ICE officer. He pulled over a van of Latino men, screamed slurs, jiggled their keys, and knocked a phone out of someone’s hand. “You’re going back to Mexico!” he shouted. He wasn’t an agent — but he played one with conviction.

In North Carolina, Carl Thomas Bennett used a fake badge to sexually assault a woman at a motel. He told her if she didn’t comply, he’d have her deported. He held up a counterfeit ID and pretended to be the state.

And in Philadelphia, a Temple University student in an “ICE” shirt tried to storm a dorm building with two accomplices. They were dressed for the part, intoxicated by the illusion of authority, emboldened by the climate.

This is what happens when the state makes cruelty a brand. When a badge becomes a fetish object. When the line between enforcement and cosplay disappears altogether.

THE WHOLE SYSTEM IS THE CRIME

Let’s stop pretending this is a coincidence.

This is a unified strategy. The Trump administration is using ICE like a personal strike force — targeting international students, protest leaders, organizers, and mothers with surgical precision.

They invoke secret designations. They bypass due process. They manufacture pretexts out of thin air and rely on the fog of bureaucracy to hide the blood on the floor.

The point isn’t law enforcement. The point is deterrence. Spectacle. Control.

This is what political cleansing looks like when it’s dressed up in the language of national security.

They’re showing the world that resistance has a cost — and the cost is your freedom, your voice, your visibility, your future.

SILENCE IS CONSENT. AND WE ARE LOUD.

There is no middle ground here. No fence to sit on. No neutral position when people are being kidnapped in the name of the state.

ICE doesn’t need your applause. It needs your silence. Every time a student vanishes and the media shrugs, every time a woman is cuffed and the public looks away, the machine gets stronger.

They are daring us to ignore it. They are counting on our numbness. They are betting that we’ll keep scrolling.

We cannot let them win.

This is not border policy. This is not visa enforcement. This is not safety.This is authoritarianism with a PowerPoint presentation.This is fascism disguised as formality.

This is the state stripping people from the land and pretending it’s order.

Let the record show:

They took people.

And we did not look away.

We saw it.

We named it.

We raised hell.

And we did not stop.

(I didn’t write this. Credit goes to Fear and Loathing: Closer to the Edge)

[reasonsforhope]

"Canadian scientists have developed a blood test and portable device that can determine the onset of sepsis faster and more accurately than existing methods.

Published today [May 27, 2025] in Nature Communications, the test is more than 90 per cent accurate at identifying those at high risk of developing sepsis and represents a major milestone in the way doctors will evaluate and treat sepsis.

“Sepsis accounts for roughly 20 per cent of all global deaths,” said lead author Dr. Claudia dos Santos, a critical care physician and scientist at St. Michael’s Hospital. “Our test could be a powerful game changer, allowing physicians to quickly identify and treat patients before they begin to rapidly deteriorate.”

Sepsis is the body’s extreme reaction to an infection, causing the immune system to start attacking one’s own organs and tissues. It can lead to organ failure and death if not treated quickly. Predicting sepsis is difficult: early symptoms are non-specific, and current tests can take up to 18 hours and require specialized labs. This delay before treatment increases the chance of death by nearly eight per cent per hour.

[Note: The up to 18 hour testing window for sepsis is a huge cause of sepsis-related mortality, because septic shock can kill in as little as 12 hours, long before the tests are even done.]

[Analytical] AI helps predict sepsis

Examining blood samples from more than 3,000 hospital patients with suspected sepsis, researchers from UBC and Sepset, a UBC spin-off biotechnology company, used machine learning to identify a six-gene expression signature “Sepset” that predicted sepsis nine times out of 10, and well before a formal diagnosis. With 248 additional blood samples using RT-PCR, (Reverse Transcription Polymerase Chain Reaction), a common hospital laboratory technique, the test was 94 per cent accurate in detecting early-stage sepsis in patients whose condition was about to worsen.

“This demonstrates the immense value of AI in analyzing extremely complex data to identify the important genes for predicting sepsis and writing an algorithm that predicts sepsis risk with high accuracy,” said co-author Dr. Bob Hancock, UBC professor of microbiology and immunology and CEO of Sepset.

Bringing the test to point of care

To bring the test closer to the bedside, the National Research Council of Canada (NRC) developed a portable device they called PowerBlade that uses a drop of blood and an automated sequence of steps to efficiently detect sepsis. Tested with 30 patients, the device was 92 per cent accurate in identifying patients at high risk of sepsis and 89 per cent accurate in ruling out those not at risk.

“PowerBlade delivered results in under three hours. Such a device can make treatment possible wherever a patient may be, including in the emergency room or remote health care units,” said Dr. Hancock.

“By combining cutting-edge microfluidic research with interdisciplinary collaboration across engineering, biology, and medicine, the Centre for Research and Applications in Fluidic Technologies (CRAFT) enables rapid, portable, and accessible testing solutions,” said co-author Dr. Teodor Veres, of the NRC’s Medical Devices Research Centre and CRAFT co-director. CRAFT, a joint venture between the University of Toronto, Unity Health Toronto and the NRC, accelerates the development of innovative devices that can bring high-quality diagnostics to the point of care.

Dr. Hancock’s team, including UBC research associate and co-author Dr. Evan Haney, has also started commercial development of the Sepset signature. “These tests detect the early warnings of sepsis, allowing physicians to act quickly to treat the patient, rather than waiting until the damage is done,” said Dr. Haney."

-via University of British Columbia, May 27, 2025

[windyremedy]

⏾ time machine mishap +18

pairing: dinasour hybrid alpha bkg x cat hybrid omega reader

cw: dubcon, a/b/o, pheromones, breeding, knotting, scent marking, claiming, time travel

word count: 1.5k

notes: i’m just gonna leave this here and peace out thanks

you weren’t a scientist by any means, gods no.

honestly speaking you had terrible grades in both chemistry and physics combined—or actually any science related classes! but you somehow ended up in a laboratory anyway after volunteering to be a test subject in their newly manufactured invention.

more specifically a time machine you weren’t really informed much about. now that you’re thinking about it, maybe you should’ve asked additional questions to avoid getting into any future trouble. but you were already far too late and the reward money was very much blinding your common sense.

so the only thing you know about whatever it might do is take you through time. perhaps not even in your own universe but to another dimension distant from the era you currently reside in. now that sounds unbelievable and earlier you thought so too. because despite the massive technological advances done from before to now it still should be leaps above truly achieving teleportation, right?

well, no.

stepping out of the metallic structure you find yourself greeted with gigantic flowers and uniquely colored tree’s seemingly reaching the skies with its height. you were both fascinated and a little afraid of the unfamiliar environment but stood your ground and looked around a couple steps farther from the unexpectedly successful contraption.

though it seemed like you strayed a bit too far and now you can’t find that damned machine. everything looked too similar but also not at the same time with leaves larger than your entire body confusing you which one you already passed. then droplets of rain began to fall rather violently.

you really shouldn’t have offered to test it out. now you’re scrambling to find shelter in the unforgiving weather with the beats of water hitting harder than you were used to. finding shelter in a fallen log you sat drenched, like a wet cat. literally. the clothes you wore didn’t help either, already stained from all kinds of dirt and mud.

they must have expected you to head back soon or perhaps not at all. but there was no time to dwell on what could or couldn’t be the case. you had to focus on the present if you wanted any chance of surviving. shivering in your makeshift leaf blanket that you came across at some point in your treacherous journey. you tried to keep yourself warm, breathing into your palms repeatedly but alas it wasn’t helping and you slowly felt yourself drift in and out of consciousness. exhaustion almost consuming you until you heard a noise, loads of them.

a violent stampede cracking the sticks and stones beneath. you heard roars from outside echo throughout as if speaking in a language you couldn’t of course understand, being a hybrid human in the modern era after all.

taking a quick peek you saw a group of humongous men no more than four wearing rugged fur loincloths. in their hands were like baseball bats or to better describe it massive clubs that looked like it could really hurt with just one swing. they all looked mostly human aside from their sheer size incomparable to your own world’s standards, scaled skin on some areas like their arms, and thick tails attached behind.

to your horror one of them managed to pick up the small sound of a stick you accidentally stepped on from trying to move back and hide. yet another grave mistake done sincerely by you as red eyes zeroed in your form from the hollow log, gaze unshifting despite steering out of view.

shit.

SHIT.

what do you do?

from the looks of it they are way stronger and can no doubt outrun you. out of the whole time you’ve been here, this moment by far has been the most stressful. as thoughts after thoughts turn your brain haywire you failed to figure out a plan before getting harshly pulled from the open log.

upon your view upside down you were met with a massive erection sticking out from his loincloth. he turned you back up much gentler than you’d expect from the initial pull, as he aggressively leaned in your neck inhaling your scent. oh you didn’t know how much he wanted to breed you right then and there in the forest.

your smell was so sweet, a lot sweeter than what he was used to. in comparison to other omega’s he’s come across, it was a lot more potent piquing his interest like no other. unlike any other hybrids he’s seen, you were not only the most exotic looking but you were barely defiant either. not even fighting back for any ounce of dominance.

good thing he found you first or else you definitely wouldn’t have made it safe with your soft pointy ears and smaller than normal height. even the shortest of hybrids would dwarf over you like it’s nothing. plus your tail didn’t look like it could do much damage. oh how lost you must’ve been all alone but it’s okay, he’ll protect you. as an alpha it was only a given to take care of the weak.

taking off one arm from his strong hold on you, he pointed to himself uttering from what you could only presume was his name. you nodded meekly, half afraid, half unsure. maybe you should’ve been a hundred percent afraid but then again there was a reason you ended up here in the first place.

“in sargon territory, not safe without mark. to others stranger.” his deep voice rumbled in your ear sensitively.

carrying you on his shoulders he barked out to the others. although you couldn’t understand a single thing he said, you quickly connected the dots as they stepped closer to you and your captor with high interest in what their friend had found.

squirming you tried to escape with the little energy you had left. alas bakugou’s grip only secured you even more. to him, it only seemed like you were just eager to take his cock already.

“will scent you, don’t worry. safe with me.”

he spoke again, continuing to rub your back as if to calm you from your hissy behavior. whatever else they conversed about you had zero clue. but it sounded like they were agreeing on something before katsuki trudged in a direction.

you didn’t think he was gonna kill you. i mean if he really wanted to he would’ve already done so since he could easily snap you in two but he was careful in handling you. that had to mean something, at least you hoped it did.

by the time you woke up you found yourself in a dimly lit cave on top of a stone slab with thick layers of fairly soft fur. unable to move, you realize quickly that you were being embraced by the hulking man that had found you. sensing your nervousness from the anxious pheromones you were emitting he slowly grinded into you.

“you’re awake, will breed you all better.” he murmured from behind, practically covering you in his scent with his body.

flustered by his actions you tried breaking free from his hold as slick leaked out of you.

“what are you—“

“shhhh, it’s okay. gonna fuck you full. mother of my children.”

before plunging his abnormally huge dick in your hole. not even easing you to take that damned pole of a cock, girth just as wide as it is tall. luckily for you he didn’t ravage you immediately like you expected. slowly bouncing you himself as you were basically immobilized from the first thrust. you sat their pliant as he rubbed your stomach outlined with his enormous cock. sloppily kissing your neck then to your lips as he turned your head.

“nghhh, aghhmmmh. please— ah!”

katsuki thinks he just found his new favorite sound and it was you moaning as you took his cock obediently in your wet fucking pussy. grunting in pleasure he paced himself to go faster, heavy balls smacking loudly each time as his hips met your ass. despite wanting to just keep ramming into you full, he tried to restrain himself for a second as to not injure you but that love drunk look on your face said it all.

turning back at him with a pleading look and a voice he knew that was begging for him to continue. what kinda alpha would he be if he didn’t fulfill his omegas wishes and so he thrusted even harder. hands gripping from your waist to turn your neck as he kisses you all messy and wet. parting from each other’s mouths as strings of long saliva break from your lips. only the obscene sound of skin slapping together could be heard echoing and a mantra of.

“mate. mate. mate. mate. mate. mate. mate. my mate.” he muttered obsessively, knotting you full as your body convulses into climax before biting your neck and claiming you as his.

forever.

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[urhoneycombwitch]

heart like a hearth

roommate!Eddie x roommate!Reader it's the holidays, and goddamn everyone is home- you and Eddie haven't had a moment alone in weeks. good thing you know a boy with a van and an alibi...

foreword: Roommates!au cinematic universe expands: extended family unlocked! YES this was supposed to come out over the holidays NO I won’t be changing the setting but don’t worry it’s not overly/grossly Christmas-y. as one anon astutely pointed out, this Reader tends to be the most OCD of all my Reader iterations so I hope her actions/line of thinking reflects this disorder and not just due to being an ass, yanno? happy readin’ <3

cw: drinking, smoking, weed usage, R is related to Max (no specificity), R is referred to with a few fem nicknames (girl, princess etc.), van fucking (secluded spot!), fingering, oral (R receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected PiV, brief argument, angst (resolved), R plays feelings close to the chest 

wc: 8.1k

___

Eddie’s been shockingly well-behaved recently, and you’d almost think it’s due to the looming threat of a Naughty List if it weren’t for the simple fact that he hasn’t had time to behave otherwise. 

The last few weeks leading up to Christmas have been, so far, a whirlwind of constant noise and color. Your and Eddie’s apartment is conveniently central enough from various friends and family, and the two of you have been blindingly busy playing hosts. 

Your cousin, Max, came by train last week, along with her best friend, El, and a ragtag group of Eddie’s former D&D minions. Three whole days of cheesy holiday crafts, winter movies, and braiding the girls’ hair while Eddie ran a gripping oneshot campaign; giving way to late evenings, El and Max sharing the pullout couch while the boys took up what little was left of the floorspace like cozy little sardines.

No time after the kids were sent off, either- Robin was insistent on making you a proper boozy eggnog from her heirloom recipe, which had Nancy offering to bring her famous chocolate crinkles, and just like that, you were signing up to throw another party.

The Best Ever Eggnog Bash (Robin’s titling) has been raucous fun so far- Eddie paid all the neighbors off with various gifts of booze, weed, and/or Wheeler’s cookies, so last night, the karaoke machine got turned up to ten and much spiked (Best-Ever) eggnog was imbibed. 

Everyone was either too inebriated or too tired to drive afterwards, so an impromptu sleepover was called for- blankets tugged from all corners of the apartment again to make soft sleeping pallets for Robin and Nancy, while the rest of the boys (Jon, Argyle, and Steve) passed out like a pile of puppies on the couch.

In the morning, it only seemed natural to keep the party going- Robin had planned to stay through the weekend, anyways, and everyone else was loath to cut short their holiday break. 

Around lunchtime, Jeff and Gareth showed up with instruments in hand, expecting a rehearsal session but were instead greeted with plates of grilled cheese and a knotted ball of lights that no one had been able to untangle yet. 

They’re in the corner of the living room, now, bickering over the sound of a Crosby record as Jeff loops the string of lights around Gareth’s waiting hands. 

Jon and Steve are sharing a joint on the couch, giggling at a test pattern on the TV screen; Vicki, Robin, and Argyle are in various states of lap-sitting and stool sharing at the breakfast bar, a wasteland of cookie decorating ephemera spread across the counter.

“I think we did this backwards,” Nancy says, thoughtful and amused, passing you a freshly-cooled plate of gingerbread men. “Should’ve saved the alcohol for after the fine motor skill activities.”

“And deny the elves this simple joy?” You reply, sardonic and equally amused, setting the plate in front of your friends. Robin’s eyes light up, and Argyle nearly spills a whole flute of tequila in his haste to stake claim.

“The frosting will make you sick if you keep eating it,” Nancy cautions, but Robin’s already stuck the spoon in her mouth, pulling her choice of cookie in close and muttering with dogged determination to a blushing Vicki- “Gonna make you the best gingergirl ever. Seriously. It’s gonna blow your socks off.”

Longsuffering, Nancy sighs and leaves to check the oven. Eddie whirls into the living room hoisting a clear tub of board games above his head that rattles as he shakes it, truimphant- “Found it. I’m about to Dutch Blitz you into the next century, Harrington.”

“I wanted to play Boggle,” Steve whines, but his protests are quickly swallowed by the swarm of helping hands rearranging the living room; all the furniture gets pushed to the edges while Eddie deals in players on the carpet. 

Something about Eddie is particularly magnetic today- he’s wearing this maroon knit sweater gifted from his uncle, lean biceps flexing under soft fabric whenever he leans to place a card. The deep red is a great color on him, contrasting so nicely with his wild dark curls and glinting silver rings; so nicely, in fact, that you’re driven to distraction, ogling him openly from your spot mixing icing by the sink.

The thing about Eddie behaving himself? It’s kind of driving you crazy. 

You’re used to the bickering, the good-natured arguments, Eddie pushing your buttons until you snap or bend. You were expecting at least some skirting of the Rules- sneaking into your room after all your guests were asleep, maybe leaving a hickey that couldn’t be explained away- but he hasn’t progressed past fleeting, friendly touches and interactions.

(Well. Except the other night at the bar. But you’re sure everyone was too tipsy to see under the table, his hand inching up your skirt...)

And then, with stunning clarity- you realize you miss him. Like, you actually, truly, miss Eddie. He’s sat on a carpet just a few steps away, profile softly backlit from a nearby candle, and you’re aching to be closer.

As if tuned in to your frequency, Eddie looks up to catch your eye. Time and noise fade into the background of your thoughts; for a moment, it’s just you and him.

Just a few more days, you think, trying for telepathy. Then it’ll be just us again.

He gives you a wink from across two rooms, and the grin breaks on your face before you can think to stop it.  

___

Later in the afternoon, you’re using the only available sink in the bathroom to wash frosting from your hands when Eddie pokes his head around the partially-open door.

“Hey. We gotta go to PJ’s.”

He’s wearing his black leather jacket, your puffed winter coat folded over one arm, ringed hand curled around the doorframe as you finish drying your hands.

“I can do a snack run.” Agreeable, you take the proffered coat to put on. PJ’s Corner Store is less than two blocks away, but if you send Eddie out alone into the big world with a simple task there’s no telling when he’ll be back. “I’ll be quick, you stay and host.”

This last word ends on a tease as you zip the warm coat up to your chin, Eddie following your lead into the hallway even as he shakes his head. “Nah, that’s no good We’re out of cigarettes, too- stole Emerson’s last one.”

“Hey,” Gareth squawks from the kitchen, mouth full of gingerbread. 

“You shouldn’t be smoking ‘em, anyways, kid,” Eddie says, sagely, sticking the filter of a fresh cig between his teeth even as he lectures. 

“Well apparently we’re going to PJ’s,” you announce, hooking a thumb at Eddie behind you in a gesture of it can’t be helped, while inside you’re buzzing with the possibility of walking with just Eddie. Two blocks there and back, all that quiet snow…

There’s some protest at both hosts abandoning the party until everyone learns that the corner store has snacks, and then you’re fielding a barrage of requests and organizing spare change and crumpled bills into your pocket.

Eddie meets you by the front door, walking backwards while giving Nancy strict instructions for holding down the fort- “Don’t let those shitheads in my room, Wheeler, I’m counting on you to preserve state secrets-” -then he reaches past your head for the coat rack, pulling the length of Robin’s green scarf from its hook before wrapping it snug around your neck.

As he tucks the frayed ends into your coat, you notice the glint of van keys that he must’ve palmed silently from the other hook. 

“Thought we were going to PJ’s,” you whisper. 

Eddie pulls his hands away but not before trailing his fingers against the bare side of your neck, leaving a cascade of goosebumps in their wake, and replies in the same low, conspiratorial tone- “Who says we’re not?”

Finally, after scattered last requests you’re borne out into the cold on a wave of cheery goodbyes. The second the door shuts, Eddie’s tugging at your coat sleeve.

“Let’s go.” The order is gentle but weighty enough that your swirling questions are quelled, for the time being- you follow close on Eddie’s heels down the building stairs, boots crunching into the layer of fresh snow as he leads you across the parking lot.

At the van, Eddie carves ice from the windshield, strong arm moving the scraper in a solid arc. You hazard a glance at the apartment windows, an internal sigh of relief when you realize Eddie had parked on the west side out of view. 

“Not really sure what your angle is, here.” You’re not trying to poke the bear, this time, you’re just genuinely confused and a little on edge, unused to taking a backseat where planning is concerned. 

Eddie doesn’t answer, and you follow him to the other side of the windshield as he continues scraping, talking all the while. “I just mean- we can’t be gone long. Nancy’s responsible enough but if she starts drinking, too, then all bets are off. And it’ll probably look weird, you know, if it’s just you and me gone for so long. And we really should get snacks-”

“We will,” Eddie says, interrupting for the first time to open the passenger side door. “In you get.”

Eddie loads you into the van (rather like a dog, you think, petulantly clicking your seatbelt), then gets in himself, turning on the engine to blast vented heat throughout the van. 

The speakers crackle to life, and as Eddie turns onto the main road you fiddle with the radio dial until soft, instrumental Christmas music plays on low- a welcome respite from the weekend’s cacophony of noise.

You’re a little sad to be missing out on what would’ve been an extended walk; the roads are clear, and in less than two minutes, PJ’s appears down the street like a beacon, lights from the OPEN sign glowing against a backdrop of white.

Sad, that is, until Eddie drives past PJ’s.

“Eddie.”

A direct response to the note of warning in your voice, Eddie keeps his eye on the road but reaches for your hand (previously, tightened into a fist around your jeans). 

Once you allow his fingers to weave between yours, Eddie uses the stoplight as an opportunity to turn towards you, thumb brushing over the tops of your knuckles as he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The answer comes so easily- you didn’t even have to consider an alternate option. Your trust is not something simply given, and Eddie knows it; there is still this lingering part of you, though, that wants to push back.

As a sort of self-protection, a longing for the familiar, you ready an argument. “But-”

“Nope!” Eddie interrupts, tugging at your hand in his grasp, almost jolly in his denial. “No comebacks. No skirting. I wanna hear you say it.”

The light turns green, but with no cars in at least a mile radius, Eddie’s foot stays firm on the brake, his bright, intense gaze fixed on you. 

You have a sudden urge to dash yourself against the passenger side window, or maybe to jerk the car door open and roll out onto the dirty snow of the sidewalk. A stifling, panicked feeling that would be overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is watching you so tenderly, even while the wheels of your mind work overtime.

A brief few seconds that feel like an age, and then, with a squeeze of his hand, words that take shape and form in a voice quiet but sure- “I trust you, Eddie.”

His grin is wide, even as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, dropping your hand in favor of the wheel as the van resumes its speed. “Atta girl. Wanna show you a place.”

The van cuts a smooth path up a sloping westward street, warm holiday lights from the row of houses reflecting colors in the snow. There’s another stop sign at the top of the hill, and Eddie turns left again, steadily climbing, until the road flattens out.

A road sign declaring DEAD END looms and then passes your window; at the same time, the paved road turns to gravel. Not for the first time, you’re grateful that Eddie learned to drive on the harsh backroads of his native Tennessee hometown- it means he’s adept at guiding the van through a wintered forest to get to the other side.

The other side turns out to be well worth the wait. The snowy boughs of thickened trees give way to a clearing, and Eddie parks a safe distance away from the edge of the hill while still close enough for you to take in the view.

You unbuckle, leaning into your forearms on the dash for a better look, a soft exhale of exclamation- “Wow.”

It’s a spectacular sight- the city sprawls in shining white, pinpricks of winking lights everywhere that make the whole thing look like a blanket of sequins.

You’re keenly aware of the fact that Eddie isn’t looking at the view, he’s watching you take it in for the first time; you throw him a bone, flopping back into your seat with a sweet smile just for him- “Killer spot. Almost worth the adrenaline of thinking you were gonna axe murder me the whole time.”

Eddie scoffs, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it into the depths behind his seat. “You know I prefer a sword as my murderous weapon of choice. Smoke?”

A hand-rolled joint sits between his fingers, your arched eyebrow in response, incredulous- “Seriously? How much time do you think we have?”

“At least three hours,” Eddie says, confidently, straightening his legs into the footwell to fish the lighter from his front jeans pocket. “I showed Nance where the weed brownies are and told her to go crazy.”

With the movement of his legs, the red sweater rides up, a strip of tantalizing milky stomach and smattered trail of dark hair immediately burning itself into your brain. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, questioning even as he lights up- “When the hell did you have time to bake?”

“I have my ways.” Eddie inhales. Smoke pours from his nostrils, the whites of his teeth when his head swivels to catch your eye. “Made a batch while you and the kids were out. Our dear guests will be blind to time, trust me.”

“I do,” you insist, hot shock of fluster in your chest, shedding your own jacket that joins Eddie’s with a harsh throw before deciding you actually can’t let this one go. “I just… did you forget El’s dad is a cop? Like, badge and everything.”

“So?” 

If Eddie wasn’t smoking, you’d be half as distracted- he’s in his natural element, knees spread, head lolling on the seatback, a hazy cloud around the loose black curls that settle and shift on his shoulders. 

“So, you should maybe be more careful. You’re really not worried about getting caught with contraband out on your- on our counters, for that matter?”

It’s an argument quickly losing steam as the air grows heady with weed; Eddie takes another drag before reaching to stick the end of the joint between your lips. “Why would I worry when you’ve clearly got that covered for the both of us?”

Your brows knit together, a thunderous expression fixed on its target as you take a drag, baring your teeth on the exhale. Eddie chuckles, eyes already lightly red-rimmed as he watches, coos, “My little dragon.”

“I’m serious.” The joint is pinched between your own fingers now, but when Eddie reaches for it, you move quicker, holding it out of reach. He pouts, draping himself with dramatics over his armrest as you shake your head- “Eddie.”

He acquiesces, a goofy, deep forward-tipped bow that sends tendrils of his hair swinging across the knees of your jeans, one of his big hands wrapping around your upper thigh to steady himself. “Sweetheart. Y’know I always kid-proof my shit. I solemnly swear my allegiance to your best judgement.”

Eddie knows just what to say and do to diffuse your temper- you can’t be mad or annoyed with the crown of his head practically in your lap, supplicative and good-natured. 

You take another lungful of smoke, this one traveling direct to the contours of your brain, dampening the stress and lighting up the sensation of Eddie’s hand on your leg.

“Bring me here just to smoke?” Your free hand lifts, sets itself on the top of Eddie’s head- you note the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, the way his fingers curl tighter into the doughy flesh of your thigh. “Or did you have other, more nefarious intentions?”

Eddie dips so low his lips touch just near his thumb, warm breath of his groan seeping into your skin even despite the layer of denim. His other hand grasps your hip, subtly pulling you closer to the edge of your seat. “Yeah. I intend to break Rule Two in a major way.”

Oh, right. The rules. ‘Apartment as neutral territory’ being one of them. 

The joint sputters when you take a final hit, a small hiss when you snuff the end into the ashtray tucked snugly in a cupholder, leaning over the expanse of Eddie’s stretched spine notched through his sweater. “The van counts in my book. As far as neutrality goes.”

Perking up like a kid at Christmas, Eddie lifts his head, still half in your lap but chocolate eyes shining with hope (and no small amount of lust)- “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

It’s all the encouragement Eddie needs to make his move, pulling with intention now until you’re out of your seat and in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, pelvis settling into the crook of his own where a familiar hardness can be felt.

Eddie attaches himself to your neck, kissing desperately down the column as you arch into him, hands roaming down your back, another breaching past the hem of your top to feel your ribs.

“Fuck.” Already breathy and it’s been ten seconds. It should be embarrassing but it simply isn’t, not with the way Eddie’s finding his way to your bra, cupping and squeezing over the soft fabric like it’s all he’s been thinking about. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Been weeks, princess.” His breath slides hot over the wet marks he’s leaving, teeth nipping at your collarbone, a soft groan when your hands find their way back to his hair, fisting around the soft anchor of his curls. 

Eddie’s other hand not busy with your breast slides to the front of your jeans, a deft maneuver as he pops the button and slides his fingers past the elastic of your underwear; a hoarse, choked moan when he feels the slick accumulated there.

In awe, he draws his hand up and out, leaning back just to hold it up for the both of you to see in the soft backlighting of the dash. As his ringed fingers separate, stickiness glistens and webs between the digits. 

Chest heaving, cheeks burning, you shrug, feigning casual even with fistfuls of his hair in your grasp- “Like you said. It’s been weeks.”

Eddie puts his hand back where it belongs, between the apex of your thighs that automatically try to snap closed as his fingers hit against your clit like a pulsing homing beacon, just for him. He works you up quickly, panting and wet noises the only companion to the wintry silence, like you’re the only two people in the whole city.

He slips two fingers past your entrance, curling them just right, hitting against that spongy spot that makes your legs tremble and pulls a warbled moan from the back of your throat. 

Your arms resting on his shoulders spasm with the mounting pleasure, unintentionally bringing Eddie’s face in line with your breasts (an angle he’s more than happy to take, giving your other breast some mouthy attention through the layers).

“I’m- oh, fuck me- fuck, Eddie. I’m close.” 

Your body responding far faster than normal (it really has been weeks, after all), the falling is fast approaching, heel of Eddie’s pumping hand hitting perfectly against that fizzing bundle of nerves. 

That tight resolve is worming its way in- you don’t want this to end. You want Eddie’s mouth on your chest, his fingers warmed to your core temperature, you want it always.

He can tell, because he always can, when you’re holding back; the small, subtle ways in which your body stiffens and tries to restrain itself. 

Eddie tries to play stern, even as his cock throbs painfully, pinned under your squirming thigh- “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. You know I’ll give you another one. C’mon. Let it go.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. The coiling tension snaps in a sparking, roiling heat, gushing around Eddie’s steady and quick tempo; hopefully this spot is as soundproof as it feels, out here at the edge of the world, a sharp, whining cry as you come and fall apart. 

The aftershocks cause full-body tremors, while Eddie soothes with hands and voice, murmuring praises and calling you names that make your head spin like “good girl” and “sweet thing”.

Panting, you manage to lift your forehead off Eddie’s while his hands drop to your hips again- he looks fucking wrecked. Hair sticking up at the back thanks to your handiwork, pupils blown so wide the black is swallowing the gentle brown, a blush of pink at his cheeks. With a crooked smile, he asks- “Gonna let me top this time?”

A call and response, one that shakes a giggle from your shivery lungs- “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie gasps in phony surprise. “Wow, it really is Christmas.”

Rolling your eyes, stamina returning, you pat the tops of Eddie’s shoulders before using them to push yourself from his lap. The cry of his protest is short lived once he realizes you’re just moving to the back of the van, arranging the two discarded jackets for extra padding.

You make quick work of your shirt and have just shoved the waist of your jeans down to mid-thigh when a loud thunk startles you into looking up- in his eagerness to get back here with you, Eddie’s foot got caught in his seatbelt.

He curses, lying flat on the floor of the van looking like a gangly marionette while trying to yank his foot free. Your laughter has him twisting to watch, head tilting back to try and catch your eyes until he lurches free with an oof. 

Disentangled on his hands and knees, Eddie frowns when he sees the kicked-aside pile of your jeans and top, and starts with whiny reproach- “Heyyy. I was supposed to do that part. You-”

In a single swift move, you twist the clasp of your bra and shove it off, revealing the full sight of your breasts to the end of Eddie's stopped sentence. He gets with the program after that, expeditious to the point of humor, stripping down to just boxer shorts as you lie back on your elbows, body molding to the comfort of padded flooring. 

“That sweater really does look insane on you,” you comment, the rich red a blur as it’s flung to the corner. “Couldn’t stop staring, earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s brows waggle a suggestive dance as he crawls forward, stretching out over your supine form, kissing between the valley of your breasts. “I’ll send Uncle Wayne my regards.”

“Maybe no blood relative talk right now,” you gasp out, his lips forming a suction over your left nipple.

A wet pop as he moves to the other, considering- “Probably a good call.”

In what is quickly becoming a familiar facet of sex with Eddie, he can’t seem to stay away from your pussy for long. Ever since the first time you fucked, Eddie’s been lightly obsessed with figuring out your body, all the ways in which it can tick and sing for him alone- and he’s proven to be a quick study. 

Drawn like a magnet, his lips leave damp patches as he kisses his way down your torso, across your stomach; you’re heaving with unsteady, anticipatory breaths as Eddie’s teeth catch at the band of your undies, as his hands pull-slip them down your thighs and off. 

You’ve never felt more well and truly fucked, in every sense of the word, than when Eddie’s mouth is on your cunt. 

It’s an art form, really- the particular attention he pays to all the small hotspots you didn’t even realize were a thing: the bony bridge between inner thigh and pelvis where your femoral artery whooshes in response to his canines; the tender skin just under your weeping hole that makes everything clench when his tongue deftly prods. 

Fucked, as in where the hell else am I ever gonna have it this good; conversely, fucked as in can’t possibly hold onto that thought with his tongue where it is.

His hands can never agree on a favorite place, usually taken to roaming about your body- this time, his right rests solid on the softness of your stomach, keeping the rolling wave of your body at the mercy of his lips while the other hand squeezes the fat of your upper thigh in a tight grip. 

It’s impossible to stop the cacophony of sounds that spill out, nearly drowning out the slick noises of Eddie familiarizing himself with the inside of your cunt; sharp gasps, moans, a cry as he dips back in, out again, thighs shaking, closing around the silver hoops that line the shell of Eddie’s ears. 

When his clever mouth moves up to pull the aching bead of your clit into a suction, the space between your ears goes white as the damn snowscape outside.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie. Oh, my god- don’t stop. Please don’t stop, that feels-”

In response, Eddie moans, sucking harder, taking his hand from your thigh to fit two fingers into you, wall of muscle swallowing him greedily. Your spine arches from the padded floor, heels digging in where your legs are slung over Eddie’s shoulders, hand burying itself in the soft crown of Eddie’s hair. 

“Oh- fuck, fuck, Eddie- Eddie, Eddie…”

There’s a distant awareness that you’re babbling but you know Eddie likes it, loves that he’s the one making you fall apart past the tight boundary of sound you usually keep; the pads of his fingers coast against the front wall of your cunt once, twice, and your second orgasm of the evening hits with the force of a freight train. 

The pleasure wracks through your frame, fevered flush sparking down to the tips of your toes as it moves through your seizing muscles. Your hips jolt upwards, a pleasant counter pressure when Eddie’s hand on your stomach stays firm, keeping your pelvis aligned so there’s not a moment away from his mouth. 

Eddie’s tongue draws out the feeling on your pulsing clit while his fingers stay at that perfect angle, driving into you with the same fast-patterned stroking that keeps your rapture spiraling. The pleasure starts to ebb but still he laps at you, head shaking back and forth like a dog, pinning your wrist to the floor when you squirm and seize up, foggy and helpless to the flow of euphoria. 

He pauses, finally, your body going lax the instant his mouth leaves to start kissing his way back up your stomach. In the waning light from the back van windows, Eddie’s chin is shimmering with your slick.

You have a sudden, desperate need to kiss it off him. Rule Number Four be fucking damned, you want to kiss this boy, full on the mouth. Unbelievable you’ve both stuck to it for so long- the desire welling within is something two orgasms can't begin to touch.

Would it be so bad… your heart pounds, blood chorus singing through your veins as Eddie gets closer, crawling up your body. Your better judgement is not at play here, dizzy and sick with affection, reaching up to touch the black-inked wyvern on his bicep, tangling the fingers of your other hand into the chain of the swinging guitar pick necklace.

The interior of the van has warmed with the heat of your combined bodily movements, but when Eddie shoves his boxers down and off you could swear the temperature spikes three degrees at least.

Eddie’s mostly focused on both of your lower halves, a ringed hand at the ditch of your knee pushing it towards your chest, spreading you open that much further to line up at your entrance- so he doesn’t see the way you’re looking at him. The way your eyes are drinking in every bead of sweat, every contour of his bowed head and tight shoulders.

With his other hand planted on the floor of the van just by your ear, Eddie uses the extra stability to drag his cock through your soaked folds, using your spend to coat the heavy tip and generous length. 

The hand under your knee cinches tight, Eddie hissing through his teeth- “Shit. So wet. S’all for me, sweet thing? Hm?”

“Yeah.” You’re struck dumb with wanting, unable to play coy, urging Eddie in closer with a heel at the small of his back. “All yours. Please-”

A sharper tug than you intend shortens the silver lead, hauls Eddie’s face shockingly close to your own, his breath puffing out tantalizingly close to your lips, lashes blinking rapidly in surprise against your cheek. 

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, voice husked, sheathing himself into your cunt with achingly slow precision. “Okay, sweetheart. All mine.”

His forehead bumps gently into yours with each small thrust as he tests the waters, holding back even still, making sure your body is ready (a moot point as you feel wet enough to fill an inflatable pool by now). 

The thick head of his cock slides against that innermost spot, your knees rising to cage in the sides of Eddie’s torso; he lifts his head from yours just far enough to be able to see your face when his thrusts pick up intensity. 

Somewhere, there’s a loose hinge in the van that squeaks with each movement, grounding you with each rock of Eddie’s hips, each push and pull and delicious drag of his throbbing cock. Other noises, too: like your open-mouthed moaning, and the short ones Eddie makes each time he slams into you, exhale of breath halfway between a grunt and a sigh, his dark eyes still dancing over your face.

The pleasure is building again, everything mounting and climbing up to that peak. Eddie chokes out a “fuck” as the channel of your cunt squeezes him vice-like, hips faltering, rhythm skipping beats. 

It’s impossible to hold on to any one thought, fragments swirling along with all those firing synapses- the fresh layer of snow on the roads, coating the pine trees, the slatted roofs. Eddie’s chipped Garfield mug next to yours on the counter at home. 

Eddie’s fringed bangs, stuck to his forehead with sweat; the mole on his left peck, the freckle above his second rib; Eddie’s lips, the bottom one plush and dark from being bitten and abused by his own front teeth; Eddie’s lips-

In the end, you’re not sure if it’s the pull of your hand in the chain, or the fact that Eddie was already ducking down towards you again. 

What you do know is that it feels a whole lot better coming on Eddie’s cock when his mouth is on yours. 

As far as first kisses go, this one is sloppy, wet with spit and tasting of your cum, Eddie’s noise of shock quickly turning into a vibrating groan as he kisses you back. His tongue is still coated in a layer of your slick but once you suck that away you finally get a pure taste, for the first time, of him. Of Eddie. 

It’s this thought that freefalls you headlong into orgasm, taking Eddie with you, bottom lip taking the pinch of Eddie’s teeth as he comes, too, warmth blooming as his cock spits out weeks’ worth of pent-up release. 

“Fucking hell,” Eddie says against your lips, enjoying the novel feeling while trying to regain his breath. “Jesus christ. You okay? Was that- I mean, it was good?”

In the honeyed afterglow, you press a palm into Eddie’s cheek, relishing in the fact that you can feel his smile when you reply, honest, “Very good. The best.”

As if unsure he’s allowed to now that the moment has passed, Eddie doesn’t kiss you on the lips again, instead planting a chaste but no less adoring one on your cheek. Carefully, he sits up, then helps disentangle your body from the weave of his own. 

Your head swims as you take the proffered hand to sit up, arms automatically crossing over your chest; Eddie digs through the clothes pile and offers you things one at a time; underwear, bra, a sock, then the other, quiet and attentive until you’re fully dressed.

The dampness between your thighs is vaguely uncomfortable but nothing can be done about it until you’re back at the apartment. You sit cross-legged on the padding of Eddie’s coat, blinking at the boy gathering his clothes until he catches you and grins back, softly. 

Eddie asks, like he can read your mind, “Still okay?” 

At the base of your throat, something stings. “Um. I don’t know.”

Eddie’s mass of black curls pops through the opening of his sweater, which he shifts to jam his arms into. “Don’t know if you’re okay? Or…”

The sentence hangs in the air as Eddie looks at you, partially dressed in his boxers and Christmas sweater, looking flushed and curious and adorable. The stinging moves to the corners of your eyes, fingers tangling into each other with nerves and plummeting hormones. 

“I’m okay, I’m just- I’m just sorry.”

Eddie snorts, like the idea is ridiculous, shaking the wrinkles out of his jeans- “For what? Being crazy hot? Can’t fault you for that, babe, kind of the whole point.”

The tears that are threatening to spill aren’t allowing you to join in on the jokes, not yet. Same as earlier, your voice quavers, brows drawing together as you stare at your twisting hands- “Sorry for kissing you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie’s tone is faux chipper, like kissing you is a totally normal occurrence that didn’t just blow his world open, doing an awkward crunch-wiggle forward to get his jeans on. “The day I accept an apology for one of your kisses is the day I should be sent to the guillotine. Without trial.”

The brand of his lips hasn’t left yet, your tongue poking out without permission to swipe over your bottom lip, skin buzzing and still tasting like him. “We- I should at least try to stick to the rules.”

Was the kiss your doing, though? The way he was looking at you, just before you pulled him in- almost like he was waiting for it. Waiting to kiss you- 

Still in a jovial post-sex mood, Eddie buttons his pants and perches on a spare amp box in the corner, boots sitting between his socked feet. “Sure thing. Just, ah, running the stats here- I don’t think the evidence stacked against our very epic but very secret dalliance is bound to be hidden for long.”

“Right.” This, at least, is a normal topic of conversation, hearkening back to the times of ten minutes ago before a kiss fucked everything sideways. 

You lift a hip to pull Eddie’s coat out from underneath, folding it over an arm just to have something to do.  “Well, there’s always an alternate explanation. I’m getting good at those, y’know- borrow a tasteful scarf to hide hickeys. ‘I was late because of the dentist, the vet, the traffic-’”

“Always one for excuses.”

There’s not an ounce of joking in Eddie’s tone this time, enough derision to make you look up, sharp and sudden- “Excuse me?”

This time, Eddie is the first to drop his gaze first, hair falling over his face as he bends forward to fit his foot in the mouth of his boot. “Nothing.”

A hollow thunk as his heel makes contact, then he reaches for the other boot with a weary, flat laugh, shaking his head under your tense gaze. “You just- you don’t think they’ll see it? Smell it on us? All the l- the- y’know, the affection? The intimacy?”

The Word he swallowed sits in your own throat, just behind the sting. The cool tips of your fingers slot over your eyelids, Eddie’s coat in the crook of your elbow smothering your senses with spiced cologne and nicotine. Maddening. 

In the dark behind your fingers, the tears gather. The Rules, once a lifeline to your structured self, now seem childish and hurtful. You say the one thing you’re able- “I’m sorry.”

Another dull thunk for his second boot, and then you hear Eddie rise, feel the soothing brush of his touch on the crown of your head as he passes- he doesn’t even sound mad. “Don’t be. S’okay.”

The handle on one of the back van doors pops, preceding a metallic creak and a rush of cool air. You drop your hands from your eyes, watching the profile of Eddie’s face against the backdrop of wintry woods as he crouches at the van’s edge, drawing in lungfuls of crisp air. 

The cold leeches in, bringing with it a sense of exposure, taking all the smells and heat of sex from the coziness of the enclosure and lifting it all out to be scattered on the wind. You have a strange feeling of wanting to reach out and hold onto the last of it, as if it were tangible. 

Eddie’s boots crunch into the snow, but he doesn’t go far, just steps a yard or so away. Through the single open door his back is turned, shoulders rolling, neck stretching from side to side, working out the kinks. 

Longing aches through your bones; you want to bury your face into the space between his shoulder blades and breathe in that musky, rich red fabric. You don’t feel as though you’ve earned that right, somehow. 

Instead, you snag your own boots and coat to jam on, joining Eddie under a sky paled with early evening light. He stands silently, eyes fixed on the trees, breath a floating cloud around his head.

You stand just as silent, shoulder to shoulder, Eddie’s black jacket still tucked in your crossed arms. Silent until you can’t bear it, bouncing on the balls of your feet against the icy wind that cools the sweat under your arms and back with a chill.

“I know you don’t want me to be, but I am. Sorry, that is. I don’t-”

The tears are back. You swallow them down, determined to loose the words from your lips, however clunky, because Eddie deserves to hear them at the very least. “I don’t know how to function without rules. Without some sort of- cage, or, like, something to hold me in, ‘cuz otherwise I-”

In answer, Eddie breaks his deer-like stillness to turn, pulling you into himself, arms wrapping you up in a solid hug. The warmth starts to creep back in as he rocks you gently, dropping  kiss to the top of your head before saying- “I know. I know, honey, because I know you.”

Tears make wet tracks down your cheeks, dampening the front of Eddie’s sweater, even as you make a watery attempt at humor- “No, you don’t. Don’t even know my middle name.”

“Sure I do. Guessed it ages ago. Obviously Albert.” 

His hug tightens when you sob a laugh, clinging to him, words still fighting to the surface- “I’m just, sorry, that I’m the way that I am and I can’t change it, not right now, at least, but it’s hurting you and I just am so s-”

“Honey, honey,” Eddie’s mumbling over your stream of consciousness, pressing in closer to rest his cheek on your crown. “Don’t have to be sorry. ‘M not hurting. Not from you, never from you. I like you so much-”

“I like you so much,” you sniff, pulling your head up to look at him even through the tears so he knows you mean it. 

You’re met with a wide smile, a winner, the kind that shows all his teeth, bright enough to rival the snow- “Oh my god. You have a crush on me?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing at his chest but weak enough that he chuckles at the effort, basking in the extra touches.

There’s an unfortunate lack of time but you take what little aftercare is afforded, hearing the thump of Eddie’s heart under your ear, relishing the feeling of his hold. Though the winter air is bitter with cold, it helps to clear your mind from the sex-weed-shame loop. 

Spoken into the fibers of Eddie’s sweater- “I just… don’t want to share you yet. It’s stupid and complicated but I want it to be our thing, for a little while longer. Just us.”

“Just us,” Eddie repeats, kissing the parts of you he can reach- forehead, temple, line of scalp. “I can swing that. Not too different from now, hm?”

“It will be, though.” It’s a promise that scares you, but one you’re confident you can make in good faith. You just need some time. “Promise.”

With one last squeeze, Eddie lets you go, taking his coat from your arm to slip into, patting around for his keys and jingling them with a wink- “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

___

As it turns out, Eddie wasn’t, in fact, lying about going to PJ’s, which is why you now find yourself under the harsh fluorescents of a corner store aisle with your roommate’s cum drying in your undies. 

“Snakes.”

Zoning out on the racks of candy, Eddie’s sudden word from just behind your right shoulder makes you jump.

“What?” You cast a glance backwards. 

In response, Eddie’s jacketed arm brushes yours when he leans past you for a bag of gummy snakes. He’s already got an armful of various chips and a 6-pack of beers, the bottles clinking as he shifts. 

“Robs won’t eat the bear kind. Said the shape makes her too sad to eat.”

You consider this, sliding a bag of peach rings off the metal line for Nancy. “But biting a snake’s head off, that’s all good and fine for a tree hugger?”

“She’s an odd duck,” Eddie agrees, wistful, plastic crinkling under those big palms that were mapping the shape of your body not twenty minutes ago. 

“Well, you’d know all about that, huh?” You knock a shoulder playfully into Eddie’s side.

The look he gives you is mischievous, sparkling through the frame of long, dark lashes. “If it quacks…”

Earlier, you’d used the payphone to call home while Eddie hunted for vittles- a short drive back, but nonetheless you were anxious to know the situation you’d both be walking into. 

Annoyingly, Eddie was right again- Nance sounded unusually giggly, telling you all about the epic blanket fort the boys had built under Robin’s orders, the background filled with drunken and otherwise intoxicated chatter. Not even eagle-eyed Nancy noticed the time you and Eddie spent away- all she asked about was the food supplies. 

At the counter, a lone employee bags the snack fest with disinterest, retrieving Eddie’s requested pack of smokes and sorting the crumpled bills you provide with barely a word.

Eddie’s eyes keep darting to yours, nostrils flaring, hamming up the humor, and it’s getting harder not to laugh each time, corners of your mouth twisting to keep the noise from bursting out. 

If there’s something funny, Eddie wants to share it with you. He’s always been generous. 

In the glittering snowscape of PJ’s parking lot, Eddie plucks at your sleeve before you can open the passenger door. 

“Got somethin’ for ya.”

You turn with a frown, eyeing him suspiciously- “If you just spent real money on a pack of those skeezy ‘sex pills’ from the front counter I’m actually not interested.”

“No, no, it’s-” Eddie slings the grocery bag handles to his other arm, rustling in his coat pocket to procure a small, flat parcel of brown butcher paper. “Your Christmas present. Didn’t wanna give it in front of all those other weirdos.”

There’s a loop of white string tied in a knotted bow; you smile softly, taking the gift from Eddie’s proffered hand and plucking at the string. “But- I didn’t bring yours, it’s sitting under the tree-”

“I know. It’s cool, I’ll open it day-of if you want, I just… wanted you to have this now.”

You think about the shiny new record waiting at home for Eddie as you unwrap the present with burgeoning glee- in the middle of the paper lies a circlet of weaved fabric, in varying shades of forest green and cerulean blue. 

It’s not until you lift the loop into the air that you realize what it is- a friendship bracelet. 

“Max and El helped,” Eddie explains, in the nervous, self-conscious way of a gift-giver. “Had a whole craft sesh while you and the boys were out ice skating. Don’t think they quite believed I was makin’ it for Jeff, but…”

He trails off. You’ve just noticed the tiny silver pendant dangling from the center of the bracelet, about the size of your pinky nail- it dances with movement, casting glints of light from its surface, the engraved E flipping in and out of sight. 

“Couldn’t craft that one. Need a little more real-world metal working practice under my belt for that.” Eddie hooks a thumb in his belt loop for emphasis, rocking back on his heels. “Got it when I went to the big city last month.”

You run the pad of your finger over the engraving, feeling the grooves of the letter press up against your skin, shocked into silence. 

“And- uhm, I mean, if you hate it, or if it’s, like, totally weird that I just gave you something with my initial on it-” Eddie is full of fidgety nerves, making a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate general whateverness- “I didn’t mean it like an I own you sorta thing, you’re your own woman- person- obviously, and you can totally just throw it to the birds-”

The parking lot and nearby street is empty, but even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have stopped you from pulling Eddie in by the jacket collar and kissing him breathless. 

He makes a little mmph of surprise, then gets with it, kissing back, letting you direct the show with a fistful of his lapel. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, a lovely pink flush in his cheeks as he chases your mouth for one last kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuine, lifting your right wrist for Eddie to take- “Will you put it on me?”

With gentle dedication, Eddie fits the bracelet around your wrist and ties the ends together, silver pendant sitting perfectly at the base of your hand. 

“You’re comin’ for Christmas, right?” Eddie’s taking his time with microadjustments of the fit, using the excuse to trail his long fingers around your upper arm while he’s at it. “Don’t think I officially asked you yet, just sort of assumed.”

He’s petting the inside of your forearm, almost to distraction. 

“Wayne won’t mind?”

Eddie snorts, a double-squeeze to your wrist as he fiddles with the ends of the bracelet. “You kidding? Pretty sure that spiteful old man would lock me out of the damn trailer if I showed up without you.”

Despite the cold, warmth blooms through your limbs, a holiday spent with hot chocolate on the Munson couch a fortifying future indeed. 

Eddie pulls your wrist to his face, meeting it halfway for a kiss before giving your hand back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go see what damage those holiday hooligans have wrought on our apartment.”

[ratatoastwrites]

It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to

Spencer Reid x reader

Synopsis: Your birthday is definitely not a joyous occasion for you. Luckily, your cute neighbour might just make it a little better.

wc: 825

cw: kind of hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic, no gendered pronouns (if i remember correctly) but reader own a skirt, pretty short, open ending-ish, reader is straight up not having a good time, but nothing extra happens, oh and reader is in college/uni

a/n: guess who’s turning 22 in less than half an hour!! 🧌 this is mostly a vent fic, but i just made up some parts to make it less personal lol. um but yea, I wish I had Spencer Reid to cheer me up on my not-so-good bday (even though it’s not technically my bday yet)

also!!! i realised that i’m not the best at writing fluff, but if you guys want a smutty continuation to this, feel free to yell at me in my inbox 🧚‍♀️ oh and my wips are still cooking, it’s just busy season at uni for me #businessmajor

Arriving back at your apartment, you all but slammed your bag down next to the shoe rack, before kicking off your converse like a fussy toddler. Tears were already clouding your vision, hot, angry, frustrated, making your vision blurry as you trudged deeper into your home.

You flopped down onto your couch, face down, tears silently pouring out of your eyes. You stayed like that for approximately thirty seconds, before springing up with a gasp, realising that your wet, runny makeup was soaking into the throw pillow’s fabric — a fuzzy, dusty pink, because of course it had to be a light colour.

You stood up from your couch, beginning to pace the carpeted floor of your living room, while your hands rubbed your face, further smudging your already murky makeup. Your fingers slid into your hair, grasping at your messy strands, before you finally sank down into a sitting position, on the edge of the couch.

And then you just lost it. Your sobs filled your otherwise quiet apartment, the sound so broken and pitiful, that if someone overheard, they’d think you just received the worst news of your life. Your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs, your body trembling from the sheer sadness and irritation you were experiencing.

It was your birthday. Something that was supposed to be a joyous occasion, and yet, it always ended up being the most cursed part of your year. You woke up with sore joints, the kind that even your morning yoga routine couldn’t quite fix. Then, you burnt your scrambled eggs, and fixing that mess made you late for class —a lecture that you already really didn’t want to attend. It was nearing final’s season, which was a constant, added layer of stress as well, and you were up to your ears with studying and assignments and deadlines.

Your mood was already sour, and it seemed like the universe was only trying to test your limits further. The barista got your order wrong, and then acted all pissy when you dared to complain. You had a fight with one of your friends, then another altercation with another one of your friends.

And the very worst thing, that ruined your mood whenever it crossed your mind: your skirt. Specifically, your vintage Gerry Weber skirt, that was used to be in perfect condition, despite the fact that you had found it at a thrift store for one (1!) dollar, on sale. It was your pride and your joy. Until yesterday, when you put it into the washing machine, and it came out five sizes smaller, and with the underskirt hanging out on the bottom. Ruined. Just like your life.

You were considering ordering some unhealthy takeout and a bottle – or two – of wine, just to dull your sorrows a little, when you heard a knock on your door. You raised your head from your hands, sniffling in confusion. You weren’t expecting anyone —if you had, you wouldn’t have let yourself end up looking like a pitiful mess.

You were considering ignoring it, but then whoever was on the other side decided to knock again. You stood up with a shaky sigh, trying to wipe your face with the sleeves of your sweater, in the hopes of looking less ghastly when you opened the door.

Whoever you were – or weren’t – expecting, it definitely wasn’t your very pretty, very awkward looking neighbour, who was shifting from one foot to the other in front of your doorway.

“Spencer?” You asked, like you couldn’t quite believe your eyes. Your voice was rough, hoarse and wet from all the crying and the force of your sobs.

“Yeah, hi. Uhm, I was just stopping by to say happy birthday, but… Are you okay?”

He sounded so sweet, so genuine in his concern, that it tugged on your heartstrings. But what really did it was the fact that he remembered your birthday. He remembered, and he cared enough to show up at your door, to wish you a happy birthday, despite his hectic schedule. Despite the fact that the two of you have only spoken a handful of times before, in the past three months that you’ve been living next to him.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, the words leaving your mouth before your brain could even register them. “I mean, you don’t have to, of course. I know that you’re super busy, I just–“

“Sure,” he cut off your rambling with a small, charmingly awkward smile. “I have a feeling that we could both use some company.”

And so you stepped to the side with a small, but genuine smile, letting him enter your apartment.

Sure, you didn’t particularly like your birthday. It somehow always ended up being the shittiest part of your year. But if it ended with your sweet, endearingly nerdy neighbour in your living room, well… Maybe it wasn’t the worst day of your life, after all.

[aventurineswife]

hi! can i request for herta with a reader who's a fellow genius society member that's absolutely smitten over her? they compliment her achievements from time to time and even volunteers as her lab parter or assistant sometimes but herta is like no you're my lover!! you have to stay safe!! at first but if they really are willing to be then... she just lets them do whatever they want lol

she also finds it cute if both of them are working in the same place together... nothing but comfortable silence with each other's presence while busy with their own works.

thank you!! i really love your writing!

Love is the Ultimate Equation

Summary: In the quiet heart of the cosmos, Herta finds herself growing accustomed—perhaps even fond—of a fellow Genius Society member who seems utterly smitten with her. Despite her usual insistence on working alone (and delegating via her many puppets), she allows them into her lab, into her routine, and eventually, into her heart. Between teasing banter, protective instincts, and soft silences shared over experiments, their relationship blooms in the most scientific of settings.

Tags: The Herta x Reader, Genius Society!Reader, Mutual Pining, Established Relationship Vibes, Protective Herta, Lab Partner Romance, Soft Sci-Fi Fluff, Banter & Wit, Domestic Science Energy, Slow Burn Feelings Turned Soft Love.

Warnings: Light mentions of lab-related danger (non-graphic), Mild possessiveness (playful/protective tone), Excessive scientific flirting, May induce yearning for someone to share equations and eye contact with in a sterile lab setting.

A/N: You're welcome and thank you!! 🤭💖

In the far edge of the cosmos, beneath the ever-turning hands of the Clock Tower, a quiet hum of machines filled the air—a rhythm only broken by the rustle of data scrolls and the occasional amused sigh of one very specific genius.

“Again?” Herta tilted her head, hair swaying with the motion. “You’re here again.”

You didn’t look up from the console. “Is it that surprising? This is, after all, the most fascinating lab in the entire universe.”

“No. It’s not.” Herta’s voice was smooth and dry. “It’s just mine. And you should be using your brainpower to, I don’t know, revolutionize biology or collapse a quantum paradox. Not fetching beakers for me.”

“I like being your assistant,” you replied, offering her a sheepish grin. “Besides, you said yourself—‘there are only two competent people in this society, and I am both of them.’ I figured being nearby might raise the average.”

Her lips quirked, a rare and dangerous smile. “You’re flattering me.”

You did that a lot. It was hard not to.

Ever since joining the Genius Society, you’d been enchanted—not just by Herta’s achievements, though those were spectacular—but by her presence. There was something magnetic about the way she moved through a room like it belonged to her, the way her thoughts danced between formulas and impossibilities, the way her puppets reflected a mind too busy to be in just one place.

And yet, lately, she'd been... present. With you.

“You don’t have to risk your life in here,” she said one day, arms crossed as she eyed the test chamber. “You know I can handle it all. You’re my lover, not my lab tech.”

The title made your heart stutter. “Lover?”

“You kiss me behind the quantum stacks, bring me tea I don’t ask for, and volunteer to work in rooms where the variables might literally scream. What else would you call it?”

Your throat tightened. “I thought I was just annoying.”

“You are.” Her expression softened. “But annoyingly sweet. Like a protocol that insists on double-checking even when it’s right.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“And yet, I let you stay.” She turned back to the projection screen, feigning indifference. “You win. You can assist. But only under one condition.”

You perked up. “Name it.”

“We work in silence. Comfortable silence. None of that praising nonsense while I’m calculating whether the Simulated Universe can experience recursive self-awareness.”

You raised a hand solemnly. “I vow to only admire you quietly.”

Herta rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved just so.

And so, it became routine.

You worked beside her, sometimes fiddling with equations, sometimes running tests she’d deemed "too boring to exist." The Clock Tower became your shared cathedral of science and soft glances, filled with the glow of simulations and the light tap of keys.

Some days, neither of you spoke for hours. And yet, those were the warmest moments of all.

You'd glance over and find her already looking at you.

"You know," she said once, fingers tapping a rhythm on the glass surface of the lab table, "I could have built another puppet for this."

You leaned closer. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” she said, voice quieter than usual. “I didn’t.”

There were galaxies exploding in her mind, experiments spiraling into the unknown—but somehow, she always made room for you.

Not as a test subject.

Not as a variable.

But as her constant.

[hsmleindia]

SERVO COMPUTERISED UNIVERSAL TESTING MACHINE

The base has a hydraulic cylinder center at its center and two main screws at both ends. The middle cross head is mounted on screws through the main nuts. The middle cross head can be moved up or down through chain transmission and geared motor to adjust the initial tensile/compression clearance. Inside the base of the machine, a hydraulic cylinder is tested in which a piston is placed on the piston, rests an assembly of upper, lower cross head, and two columns. The individually lapped cylinder piston assembly ensures smooth axial force with minimum friction. Hydraulic circuit – it consists of a hydraulic power pact which has a directly driven radial plunger pump that gives a continuous nonpulsating flow of oil pressure up to 250 bar a pressure compensated needle type flow control valve is obtained with help of valves. Optionally this can be controlled from an electronic system.

testing machine, universal testing machine, computerized universal testing machine, universal testing machine with servo, servo computerized universal testing machine, universal testing machine with hydraulic, universal testing machine with servo system

[cosmicalily]

ʚɞ 'love (and caffeine) on the brain' - a 𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒎𝒊𝒏 mini series by @cosmicalily ★ view series 𝓷𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ʚɞ

୨ৎ 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝟏𝟖: 'more than memory' with barista!kim seungmin ♡ 1kw

ʚɞ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: i just needed to create another fic within my procedural memory universe (and be a psychology nerd). also i finally started a taglist !! please send me an ask if you'd like to be added xx

The windowpane you sat by was frosted and cold, but the cafe was warm, especially the particularly cosy corner you’d always sneak yourself into. It was right by the heater, a soft blue coloured sofa with a low mahogany table in front of you. The cafe walls were dark green, and the space was dimly lit, inviting and familiar. For the past few months, you’d brought in a book to read, and would lounge on the sofa as if it was your own apartment, sporadically receiving honey chai in miniature teapots and oat matcha lattes from your sweet boyfriend, Seungmin. Other days, you’d sit yourself at a table near the barista counter, and he would test out new coffee blends and teas, giving you little samples and asking for your advice.

However, today was not a day for reading or tea-tasting. Your university had started back up a few weeks ago, and somehow you had been lucky enough to receive an assignment due by the end of the week. Which, you’d just realised upon waking up, was tonight. 

Throwing on a navy cable knit sweater and knotting a pale pink scarf around your neck, you’d sprinted, or rather stumbled, out of your apartment in your uggs after Seungmin, who was heading out to open up the cafe.

“It’s 7:30,” Seungmin had said to you, quickly reaching forward to catch your laptop before it slipped out of your grasp as you locked the door.

“I know. I have to get an essay done by tonight, so I’m heading into the office with you,” you replied, tucking your hair behind your ears and taking a quick breath to regain your composure.

Seungmin smiled. “And by office, you mean the blue sofa in my cafe?”

“You know I do, baby.”

The two of you walked along the route he always took to the cafe, fingers entwined. As per usual, Seungmin paused to pet every dog you met along the way, asking for names, ages, breed types and temperaments as he scratched ear after furry ear. As per usual, you would take a moment to glance into the little vintage store adjacent to the cafe, seeing if there was anything new in the window. 

As Seungmin began setting up the coffee machine for the day, you set up chairs, wiped tables and turned on lights. Felix, Seungmin’s best friend, stopped by to drop off the day’s delivery of pastries and cakes, and you helped him set them up in the little glass cabinet on the benchtop. Once everything was done, you and Seungmin took turns taking bites of an almond croissant, and you left him to serve his first customer with a kiss on the lips and a mug of hot chocolate.

With a stretch of your wrists and a deep breath, you put on your glasses and sat yourself down, periodically taking sips from your hot chocolate as you formulated research, cited sources and structured paragraphs. At ten-forty-five, he made you an iced latte with the vanilla flavoured oat milk he kept specifically for you, leaning down to meet your eyes and giving you a smile. At half past twelve, Seungmin brought you a sandwich from the deli next door and a chamomile tea, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead and rubbing your shoulders. At quarter past two, he swapped your plate and empty cup for a strawberry matcha latte, and you wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning into his chest for a moment as you took a breather. 

“Don’t work yourself too hard, yeah?” he said, more like a statement than a question.

“I promise,” you replied, kissing him lightly on the lips before resuming your work.

At three, when he shut off the coffee machine, he heard you sigh in relief and close your laptop, and turned around to see you stretch your shoulders and slide down the sofa. He approached you slowly, then threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms around your waist and shoving his face in your shoulder as you giggled.

“You big baby,” you chuckled, running a hand through his hair and sitting up, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. 

“Since when is it illegal for a guy to be proud of his girlfriend for smashing out an essay in a day?” he huffed, but leaned in closer. “What was it about?”

“A comparative analysis of two contemporary studies on the psychological process of memory,” you replied. “A lot of work, but it was really interesting. The whole concept is so fascinating.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” The same way you loved watching Seungmin make coffee, the love in his eyes and the subtle confidence in his work, he loved to listen to you talk about your study; there was something captivating about you in your element, so passionate about what you were learning and writing about. 

“Basically, the whole point I covered was implicit memory. The kind of stuff that we don’t consciously retrieve, it just comes back involuntarily. Like muscle memory and emotions. It’s so cool, and it’s so interesting when I can see it in real life. Like how now, you don’t even have to do the measurements properly when you make me a strawberry matcha, because it’s just natural. And like how I still get butterflies when I come here, because it’s where we first met. It’s honestly so beautiful.”

You loved the explanation behind normal human nature; learning why and how we did things, what made us who we are. How this complex little process occurring deep within your brains made up your love for each other.

“That really is.”

“Yeah. I really hope my amygdala keeps encoding the feelings I have when I’m around you,” you smiled up at him.

“I sure as fuck hope my basal ganglia doesn’t let me down someday and I forget how to make your strawberry matchas. I don’t think you’d forgive me.”

“It’s okay, because if my neocortex somehow loses the information, I won’t remember it even happened,” you giggled. “And how did you know that?”

“I know you. You think I don’t read your notes and your essays? It’s so interesting, especially seeing it all from your eyes and reading all of your raw thoughts.” he replied casually, although his cheeks tinged pink. “I hope that’s not like, an invasion of your privacy. But whenever I see your notebooks out with all your little diagrams and comments, I just want to see what’s going on in your head. And know what you’re talking about half the time.”

You squealed and stood up, shifting yourself onto his lap and pressing your forehead to his. “Kim Seungmin, you are the love of my life.”

“Even when your hippocampus starts to deteriorate with age and you forget our old memories together?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

“Even when,” you confirmed. “Although I hope it never does.”

“Me neither.”

You brought your lips to his.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @zelinkcrossing @velvetmoonlght - send an ask to be added :)

[mindblowingscience]

Researchers have developed a new method for intercepting neural signals from the brain of a person with paralysis and translating them into audible speech—all in near real-time. The result is a brain-computer interface (BCI) system similar to an advanced version of Google Translate, but instead of converting one language to another, it deciphers neural data and transforms it into spoken sentences.  Recent advancements in machine learning have enabled researchers to train AI voice synthesizers using recordings of the individual’s own voice, making the generated speech more natural and personalized. Patients with paralysis have already used BCI to improve physical motor control function by controlling computer mice and prosthetic limbs. This particular system addresses a more specific subsection of patients who have also lost their capacity to speak. In testing, the paralyzed patient was able to silently read full text sentences, which were then converted into speech by the AI voice with a delay of less than 80 milliseconds. Results of the study were published this week in the journal Nature Neuroscience by a team of researchers from the University of California, Berkeley and the University of California, San Francisco. 

Continue Reading.

[katszumi]

Part Two

“We won.” The words left Iwaizumi’s mouth. It was the second time he said it that week. Another win for Seijoh, leaving the other team completely defenseless. It was another easy win for them.

Another win, yet another loss in his book.

He promised himself that he’d confess to you after the game. Everyday, the words repeat in his head like a mantra. Everytime he sees you, he waits for the words to leave his mouth, but they don’t. They never do.

He hates himself for it. He wished that he could just grow up and say it. Iwaizumi knew there wasn’t much time before you both graduated, and you both knew that you’d separate after.

He wanted nothing more than to cherish this time with you.

He watched as your usual bright smile stretched across your face, eyes dancing and bleeding with pride. God, he never got tired of seeing that.

“I knew you could.” It was something he heard many times before, but he didn’t have a problem with it. No. He loved it. Loved that he had your support.

There were tons of people that supported him. He was in a powerhouse school so it wasn’t odd that there were lines of people cheering his name. Yet, he only heard you. Everytime you’d scream his name, your voice would echo in his head, telling himself to play even harder to guarantee the win that day.

He remembered you wearing his jersey once. Technically, it was ‘wear your favorite player’s jersey’ at Aoba Johsai. Mostly, it was Oikawa’s jersey that was spread throughout the school. Iwaizumi truly didn’t care that he didn’t see anyone wearing his, until he saw you.

There you were standing in the crowd alongside your two friends dressed in his jersey. He remembered how fast the heat crept up his neck, blooming across his face without warning. How rapid his heart was racing, causing him to stop in place and stare at you with a tilted head. He was shocked.

He remembered how Oikawa wrapped his shoulder around him with a crooked grin. They said nothing but from his posture Iwaizumi knew Oikawa was teasing him. Though, he didn’t care in that moment. He was too happy. Happy that you were there for him. Happy you even wore his jersey.

He remembered how Oikawa faked him into going on a date with you. Well, more of a study session. All of the third years made plans to study at the library, but it was only you and him that came. While you only saw this as ditching, Iwaizumi knew that they did this so he could confess.

He was such a blushy mess being alone and close to you. Especially when you asked for help on a specific problem, his hand lightly brushed against yours as he grabbed the pencil from you, his hand immediately recoiling back as he stuttered for words. You looked up at him and grinned muttering sorry. He didn’t know why you said it, but he nodded. That day he didn’t confess either.

He remembered finding you between two vending machines, crouched down and head into your knees. Your body was shaking as choked sobs parted your lips. Immediately, he kneeled down and asked you what was wrong but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even look up at him. Iwaizumi was unsure of what to do since he’s never been in a situation like this before. Besides, it was you. You were headstrong, it was strange to see you break down in school.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the feeling of two arms wrapping around his stomach and a head pressing into the crook of his neck ceased him from doing so. You cried into his neck, holding him tightly like he would slip away from your grasp. He thought it was selfish to be enjoying her touch like this, but only pure bliss filled his heart.

Turns out, your grades were slipping and it wasn’t guaranteed you were going to make it into university.

He remembered the wide smile that spread across your face when you aced a test that he helped you study. You took no time to engulf him into another tight hug. Iwaizumi stiffened at your touch. Unlike last time, your arms were around his neck. Your hand placed slightly below his nape. Hesitantly but surely, he placed his fit arms on your waist. For a moment he could’ve swore that you moved in closer, but he wasn’t so sure since he was focusing on not breaking down right there and then.

He remembered the first time he went inside your home. You were down with a fever, and your parents were at work. He took the day off to aid you, hoping for a quick recovery to get back at school. Your room was nothing like he expected. It was nice, and had a sweet scent.

You were embarrassed for having him see you so sick like, but he didn’t mind. You asked him how could he not be disgusted by your looks, he responded by saying you looked exactly like he always saw you. Disgusting, is what you replied with jokingly. Iwaizumi laughed with you, his heart aching with the familiar feeling he’s experienced before. More than ever, he wanted to tell you. But he just couldn’t.

He remembered the train ride home you two took that one day, not walking since it was pouring. Iwaizumi stood, holding onto the bar to keep himself balanced while you sat. You insisted for him to sit down with you since it was still a long way to go till you both got off, but he declined. He didn’t want to invade your privacy. The seat was mildly close to yours, it was definite that he’d accidentally touch you in a matter of time. He didn’t want to go through that embarrassment, nor the apologies.

After minutes of pestering, he finally sat down beside you, his legs relishing the relief he felt from standing all day. That day he learned more and more about you: your favorite animal, favorite food, favorite place, your plans after highschool, he learned it all. From the corner of his eye he noticed your head drooping, eyelids falling. In the nick of time, he caught your head from toppling over. Unsure of what to do with it, Iwaizumi did the most selfish thing he could— He placed it onto his shoulder.

Moments after, your hand found it’s way onto his. So much for ‘invading privacy’.

Finally, he remembered the solace in his heart when he heard you reject the rumors about you and Oikawa dating. You two were growing closer, leaving Iwaizumi as a grumpy, insecure mess. The practices were more tense than they usually were, all of the 1st and 2nd years confused as to who shifted the mood. The 3rd hears already knew, and they were sure why. The rumors had been going around for about a week so it wasn’t surprising that they heard of it.

Iwaizumi didn’t want to believe it, but Oikawa was the golden boy at the school, everyone fell for him. And Iwaizumi was just him. He knew there wasn’t much of a competition, he knew that you were going to pick him, and that’s why it hurt so much. He cried almost every night, refusing to speak to anyone at school or home. He also avoided you, making sure to take the longer routes to his classes and staying ten minutes after school just so you’d miss him and walk home by yourself.

But one day, there you were, waiting for him at the gates. You demanded for him to tell you why he was avoiding you, but he wouldn’t share. You kept hassling him hoping for something to slip out, and it did. In the most snarkiest way he replied with, “Why are you bothering me? Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?” He pronounced boyfriend in the most mocking way, that it made you sneer. You laughed in his face, causing his heart to break even more. Iwaizumi turned around aiming to get as far away from you as he could, but you grabbed onto his hand before he could take a step. You instantly shot down his assumption, claiming that it was only a rumor, that you and Oikawa were friends and nothing more.

That day Iwaizumi felt like an idiot. He should’ve asked instead of recklessly jumping to conclusions and leaving you in the dust. It was unfair. Mentally, he cursed at himself for being so inconsiderate towards you. Only one thought entered his mind for the rest of the day: I should just confess already.

And here you are, shining your toothy smile at him, eyes ablaze with exhilaration nearly lighting the night sky itself. You were just so alluring. There was never a day where his heart stopped beating for you, where that same crimson blush stopped occuring, where he would try to find open spots in his day to spend with you. The feeling inside of him was overwhelming, the feeling coursed through his veins like it was his blood, like a drug he couldn’t live without. He wanted you. He needed you.

And like he was starved, his mouth opened before he could process anything.

“I love you.”

-

IWAIZUMI BRAINROT OH MY GOSH😫

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay, so, for the longest time the Tallests’ behavior toward Zim in ‘Battle of the Planets’ has always struck me as… odd.

 I mean, of course the idea that they mock him publicly behind his back makes sense in general. That is a very Tallests Thing to Do. But the specific ways they mock him…

I dunno...maybe the intention is supposed to be like 'haha you're saying 'unstoppable death machine like it's a good thing but it's not!!' or something but... with the delivery and the general characterization of the Irken army it comes off as more of 'haha! it's funny because he's NOT an unstoppable death machine hahaha" and...

Like, yes. Zim is correct. He is, in fact, an ‘unstoppable death machine’. That is absolutely an accurate statement to be taken seriously. The only problem was that he’s an unstoppable death machine that’s too uncontrollable to prevent him from Death Machining his own people as well. That’s literally why you banished him, remember?

But then I took a moment to think about that.... It does actually makes sense that the Tallests, despite getting literal first-class seats to his rampage of destruction - might still have a problem with actually internalizing why Zim is so Bad.

Because Zim is basically the Irkenest Irken to ever Irk. He might be considered ‘Defective’, yes, but all of his defects manifest as the logical extremes of Irken ideology. He has, on paper, all of the skills and personality traits and ideals that the Irken Empire value - just exaggerated and twisted in a way that makes him the biggest milestone around the Empire's neck.

Zim is a pretty good fighter, infiltrator, pilot and scientist. Remember, he’s a Fast-Food Drone Play-Acting Alien Invasion to get him out of the Armada’s antennas now, but he was a legitimate actual Invader back during ‘Impending Doom 1’. And that’s with all the social barriers and prejudice that a short Irken like him is going to face. I’m guessing a lot of the selection process for Invaders is done by automated systems or extremely-detached Control Brains. And only looking at, like, Zim’s practice or test results - he should be an exceptional Invader on-par with Skoodge.

But we all know the truth is more complicated then that. Zim’s talents and training are hampered by his own massive ego, absolute inability to accurately assess threats and his impulsive desires for destruction and death. He’s unable to judge when he’s punching above his weight or tackling an endeavor beyond his abilities. He cannot admit when he has made an error, even just to fix or improve an invention/plan. And he always allocates his resources in the dumbest way possible. 

And that’s all, like, emergent from Irken Ideology - or at least from Zim’s logical extreme of it. Confidence and selfishness are rewarded on Irk - Zim is mostly unusual in terms of sheer volume (or maybe he’s too Short to be allowed to have such a high opinion of himself.) 

His inability to proportionally handle threats is emergent from the Empire’s ideals of Irken Supremacy. Zim is supposed to see all other species in the universe as stupid and inferior and worthy only of servitude and so logically they can’t be a serious threat to him, an Elite Irken Soldier. But he also needs to internally justify why all of these Clearly Inferior Beings are even a problem to the Irken Empire in general and for him in specific. Especially when he fails to conquer them as easily as a ‘Superior Being’ is supposed to. And so his ego and his insistence on Irkens being Superior has to elevate them into fearsome enemies. 

That Speciesism is also why his disguise is so bad! We directly see it in the first episode. He had the option of picking a more realistic human disguises but he just found it too gross. And that actually seems to be a trend, considering every Actual Invader we see on the show has a disguise that is just as bad if not worse.

And Zim’s tendency towards delusions is also born, at least partially, from his devotion to Irken Ideology. Not just from the obvious insistence of the superiority of himself and his Empire despite his constant failures. But also… how do you balance out the Irken values of selfishness with the also-Irken values of loyalty and absolute obedience to the Empire and the Tallests? For Zim, the obvious answer seems to be ‘delude himself into believing whatever selfish personal whim he has is actually for the good of the Empire and the true will of the Tallest’. That’s how he can break All of the Rules All of the Time and still act like he’s just another obedient and loyal vessel of the Tallest. 

And then there’s the value of destruction and cruelty. This is absolutely not a Zim-only thing - that is a value he got from Irken society in general. After all, it’s pretty clear they don’t even have, like, a token excuse for their universe-conquering aspirations. They’re just doing this shit because destroying and subjecting the universe seems Fun and Cool. I mean, ‘Battle of the Planets’ demonstrates that better than anything. 

The Tallests have no idea of what to do with the planets they conquer. They don’t need them for anything. They decided Blorch's new purpose as a spur-of-the-moment decision and it was a Parking Structure Planet. Most of Irk’s single-use planets are pretty silly but this one especially so. Parking Structures only have value based on them being near a Place People Want to Go To, so a whole planet of them really defeats the whole idea. The Tallests only conquered Blorch and wiped out the Rat People because they want to conquer planets and wipe out sapient species.

And that is… exactly the same sort of meaningless cruelty Zim demonstrates. I mean… What Zim did with Prisoner 777 is literally just a smaller-scale recreation of what the whole Irken Empire did to the Vortians. And honestly, Zim actually has a slightly-better track record of actually getting ‘his’ Vortian to do what he wants. While the Irken Empire in general has basically shot themselves in the foot and assured all of their best technology is going to come with some sort of Stupid Hidden Flaw and all because they wanted to be the Conquerors rather than ‘just’ allies. 

The difference is really just that Zim values destruction so much he has problem processing that directing the destruction at his own people is still a very bad thing in the eyes of the empire.

And that’s… kind of the ideological blind spot the Tallests fall into during ‘Battle of the Planets’, I think. They should know that Zim is very much an Unstoppable Death Machine, just one that they can’t control and thus should be kept as far away from the Empire and Operation Impending Doom 2 as possible. But in their little Irken-Ideology-Poisoned minds - being an “Unstoppable Death Machine” is a Good Thing and Zim is obviously Bad - so, obviously logically he cannot be an Unstoppable Death Machine. 

And throughout this entire episode, the Tallest mock the idea that Zim is even capable of… not just achieving his and the Empire’s goals (obviously, yeah, he is incapable of doing that), but that he's even capable of properly causing destruction? Which they should know he is very capable of. And this is probably the closest he ever came in the show to legitimately destroying the human race. Only being foiled due to a huge stroke of luck on Dib’s part that nobody saw coming. And yet the Tallests were so certain that Zim, of all the Irkens in the galaxy, is somehow incapable of destroying a planet???

And at the end, Zim does prove himself as an Unstoppable Death Machine by, once again, managing to kill a fuckload of his own people while the Tallests laugh about how inaccurate that descriptor is for him. 

This is extra ironic with the Tallests throwing that one guy out of the airlock at the start of the episode

They punish others just for not remembering Zim’s rampage, but they clearly have not internalized what it Means themselves.

The fact that a guy like that even managed to reach the most prestigious not-height-based position in the Irken military in the first place should be a cause of some serious introspection of how Irken Military training and evaluation is handled. Especially when you consider much more competent would-be-Invaders like Tak got dismissed and punished for things totally outside of their control.

But… It seems like the only lesson anyone in the Irken Empire learned was just “Zim is awful”. Which is true, but isn’t really getting to the root of the matter. 

You can see another example of that mindset from the Tallests in ‘Hobo 13’. Because those two were so sure Zim was going to lose, and lose painfully. Because he is Incompetent, obviously that means he can’t do it. Totally forgetting that Zim actually totally has the athletic, combat and - most importantly, technological skills and out-of-the-box thinking that allowed him to survive and thrive. 

I mean, yeah, that means he cheated and threw his entire squad to the dogs for his own personal gain and petty sadistic amusement but… that is absolutely not something the Irken Empire frowns upon. The Tallests especially love to torment and even kill off their subordinates for the pettiest of reasons. Skoodge, featured in both of these episodes, is a great example.

And like, ‘being bad leaders and tormenting their own underlings’ is basically what the Tallests spend the entirety of that episode doing.

That Sergeant had ideological problems with Zim being such a horrible and callous leader, but that’s clearly not a representation of the Irken Empire’s stance. Quite the opposite really. Zim might be a disgrace to Hobo 13, but he was an exemplary Irken. The only reason why him winning was a problem is because he’s Zim and they all hate him.

And speaking of the Tallests’ own behavior reflecting Zim’s… let’s talk a bit about ‘Enter the Florpus’.

Because the downfall of the Irken Armada in that story is not just Zim’s fault. I mean, it is partly Zim’s fault. Without him there wouldn’t be a Florpus in the first place. But the narrative makes it constantly very very clear that this is Not Actually a Threat for the Armada… if not for the Tallests adamantly and childishly refusing to change course. 

The Tallests hate Zim, and they make it clear at every possible opportunity. And they hate him because he’s so damn incompetent and such a threat to the Empire’s safety. And yet they constantly demonstrate they possess the exact same core personality issues as Zim - they’re just slightly better having, like, a veneer of reasonability and being able to perceive reality (and also they are tall, which helps them get away with more.) And nowhere is it more obvious than ‘Enter the Florpus’...

Where the Tallests prove that they can be just as childish and single-minded -

And just as destruction-hungry - 

And just as quick to deny reality -

And just as disrespectful of their underlings. 

This recurring bit with the navigator is especially striking to me, because more than anything it makes me remember… Operation Impending Doom 1.

Two times the Irken Empire has been brought to the brink of collapse. And both of these times it is because a powerful high-ranking Irken (one time an Invader, the other time the Tallests themselves), refused to listen to the warnings and concerns of a lower-ranking expert Navigator - continuing with a course of destruction for their own people. 

You could say the Irken Empire was doomed from the start because of their own philosophy of cruelty and selfishness. Eventually, it was bound to create someone like Zim - who takes the Irken Ideology to its logical extreme in the most destructive way possible. Or you can say the Irken Empire was doomed from the start because of their asinine height-based class system. Which basically inevitably assures that at some point the reigns of the Empire will be at the hands of someone buffoonish and incompetent enough to drag the whole Empire down with them. And both of these viewpoints are true in their own way but also…

The Irken Empire was also doomed from the start cause, whatever this is a result of a culture that highly values obedience to your superiors over common sense, or because punishments for disobedience are just so terribly severe - these two Navigators continued to push those knobs and drive that ship even as they knew their commanders were mad and their actions were just driving their own Empire towards oblivion. 

Perhaps the Irken Military could use some sort of protocol of what to do when your superior is being clearly unreasonable and endangering not only the mission but literally the fate of your entire civilization? No, of course not. Yet another lesson not learned from Zim’s actions in ‘Impending Doom 1’. The only important lesson Irk needed to learn from that was just ‘Fuck This One Guy in Particular’.

Zim’s whole existence is like a twisted parody of the Irken Empire and all of its values. It’s really no wonder that the Tallest never got the joke. 

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Eighteen: want to want you)

Jason Todd x Reader

fanfic type: angst, fluff, comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Heyyyyyy, long time no see. I fear I pulled a Jason and disappeared for a bit but hey whatever I’m back now. I lowkey like how this part came out so I hope you enjoy!

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, Arkham Knight, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw. Of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief, violence, panic attacks, PTSD

Part Nineteen: want to want you

It had been two hours since you found out Jason was alive. He’s currently, passed out, handcuffed to a medical bed in the batcave. You’re sitting beside him and beside you is Alfred. Bruce and Dick are standing across the room. Everyone is quiet aside from the whispers between Gar and Rachel. The DNA test has a few more minutes on it. Bruce and Dick finished digging up the coffin, inside was a dummy. Gar, Rachel and Kori are in the batcave. Every few minutes you look up to see Dick staring at you with anger. Under his scowl though you see something deeper, fear. You knew he was afraid of losing you and losing himself to his old habits. That moment back in titans tower after Jason went missing you saw a switch flip in Dick. He lost his Nightwing, titans leader persona and fell back into the violent tendencies he’d become numb to as Robin. The DNA testing machine buzzes and Alfred gets up to check it. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone holds their breath and finally Alfred says, “it’s Jason.” Dicks facial expression changes, he knows he’s fucked up, it’s just a question of if he’ll try to defend himself or accept defeat.

Gar pokes his head in the room, “we heard the ring, what’s it say?” He asks, looking at Dick. Dick gives him no response instead just staring at Jason.

“It’s Jason,” Bruce says.

Gar smiles widely and then goes and yells to Kori and Rachel, “it’s him!”

“The cuffs can come off now,” you say. Dick and Bruce look at each other. “You two are impossible!” You say angrily.

“Y/N,” Bruce says. “We still don’t know how much the pit has affected him.” Dick is silent.

“And you!” You yell at Dick. “Are you gonna say anything!” You hear something and turn to see that while you, Bruce, and Dick were arguing Alfred had undone Jason’s cuffs and woken him up. He quickly sits up straight, fully alert. He rips the iv Alfred had previously put in out and jumps up. It’s like an eternity passes before anyone speaks.

“Jason,” Bruce says.

“You…” Jason begins to say angrily. “You let that evil death worshipping piece of trash live!” He yells at Bruce. He walks over to Bruce so he’s just inches away from his face, nobody dares to stop him. “He beat me, electrocuted me, starved, cut and mentally tortured me for days till I died and when I wake up I find he’s still breathing,” “you are no better than the joker, you claim to be working to stop him but you never actually do.” He says. You walk over to Jason. You gently place a hand on his shoulder and he flinches. Dick takes a step forward but you shoot him a glare.

“Let’s go,” you whisper. “We can leave,” you say. He stares at Bruce for another moment then you feel him take your hand. As you follow Jason’s lead out of the room, you and Dick lock eyes.

You and Jason race upstairs to his old room. He begins using a pocket knife to rip up a couple floor boards. “Before you follow me to the ends of the Earth and leave all your friends you should know I killed him,” Jason says.

“Who?” You ask.

“Riley Larson,” he says. The guy who stalked you.

“Why?” You ask. “I thought he wasn’t gonna be a problem anymore.”

“All those years ago I broke his leg to teach him a lesson but when we moved out of the tower I noticed he started keeping tabs on you again. I had planned to frame him for murder or something but then…everything happened. And so when I…when I…” he paused. “When I got back I took care of him for good,” he says.

“Do you regret it?” You ask.

Jason reaches into the floor and grabs a black backpack. He looks you dead in the eyes and says, “no.” “Sure I’m not happy about it but I’d do it again,” he says. He freezes till you finally exhale, processing his answer. He walks over to the desk and throws a couple things into the bag. You think about what he said and the look on his face. Dick and Bruce were partially right, Jason had changed. Though maybe he hadn’t maybe this was the real him finally revealed. You grabbed your bag and waited, set on your plan to go with him. Jason began to walk over to you but he paused. He looked around the room. All your clothes everywhere, his clothes everywhere, dirty cups and places, miscellaneous tissues, he saw everything you’d went through after his death. He ran his hand over his face as if he was trying to wipe the thoughts away, he put his tough persona back on. Jason wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close and softly said, “let’s go.”

You and Jason made it outside without running into anyone. Then you two saw Dick quickly walking over. “The back of the pool house. Go get the bike,” Jason says as he hands you the keys. You take them and head off to the pool house.

“Jason you know this is a bad idea,” Dick says.

“Says who? You?” He says. “You don’t know shit about resurrection. There is no “pit madness” that’s bullshit, I killed those dealers and that guy cause they’re monsters.”

“Then what does that make you,” Dick snaps.

Jason brushes it off, “you’re just pissed because after everything she still wants to be with me, not you. And it’s crazy cause according to her you don’t even love her romantically who knows if that’s true but romantic or not you like the control. You need people to need you. You did it with me, Y/N, Rachel, Kori, Jericho, Gar, hell even Bruce and the list goes on,” he says.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dick says.

“No I think I do, and the fact that you asked me to not let her come with me instead of asking her to stay with you yourself proves it,” Jason says. “If you want her to stay, ask her yourself.”

“Every fucking time I look at you I remember I failed,” Dick spits out.

“I’m sorry,” is all Jason says. Though it’s a simple sentence it holds much meaning.

You drove over on Jason’s red motorcycle. You got off and said, “everything good?” Jason got on the bike.

“Y/N you can’t be serious about leaving with him,” Dick says as he pulls you to the side.

“Watch it!” Jason yells to Dick who flips him off in response.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious,” you say.

“Look at what he’s done…the people he’s killed,” Dick says.

“You mean the people dealing to kids? The guy who stalked me for years?” You ask.

“You don’t know if he’s the same Jason. We don’t know what he’s capable of,” Dick says.

“Capable of?” You say with sadness in your eyes. “The only and I mean only time he’s ever done anything against me was when he went after Joker and that was in attempt to keep me safe. All he’s ever cared about was me being safe and happy,” you say.

“Maybe the safest place to be isn’t with a guy who just took a swim in the Lazarus pit,” Dick argues.

“You’re impossible,” you say. “Thea’s been in the pit, Sara, Roy, Oliver and the list goes on, you’re only saying this because it’s Jason,” you say.

“I’m saying this cause I can’t see you get hurt,” he says.

“Jason wouldn’t hurt me,” you say.

“He might not even mean to…the pit can mess people up,” Dick says.

“Dick I’ll be fine, I’m leaving with him and…and you can’t stop me,” you say.

“Y/N,” he says desperately.

“Goodbye Dick,” you say quietly.

“You’re just gonna walk away! After everything we’ve been through,” he yells.

“I have to,” you say with tears in your eyes.

“For him,” he says with resentment.

“For myself,” you correct.

“Please,” he said in defeat.

“We’ve had this conversation before Dick, when I left the titans. My answers the same as it was back then, I’m going with Jason,” you say. Dick watched as you walked away. You weren’t his dream girl. Hell he didn’t even love you romantically, but it wasn’t exactly platonic either. You were a flame and he was a moth. The past few years you’d been a constant in his life even when you were being assholes to each other or messing with each others emotions at least you were there; at least he had you and at least you had him. Now things would be different. He knew that for a fact. There would be no more secrets kept just between you two. No more wondering if real feelings of romance or attraction would ever develop. No more angry glances or three am phone calls. He knew Jason was right, he needed you to need him and you didn’t, not anymore. He knew that’s one of the reasons you loved Jason sure he protected you like Dick but Jason also taught you how to fight for yourself. Dick let you depend on him but Jason taught you how to stand on your own two feet with the knowledge that he’d be there if you needed him. Dick had lost you for good, and he believed it was his own doing. The feeling you two would turn into strangers lingered in his mind. He wanted to go back to that night on the rooftop in Chicago when you two forgave each other. It seems like every decision he makes regarding you is the wrong one. Convincing each other you had feelings, always putting his baggage on you, how he treated you like a stranger at titans tower, how he wished he stopped you when you left with Jason, how he regretted not saving him after he’d promised you to, and how he couldn’t save you from yourself after Jason died.

You and Jason drove for at least an hour and a half. You two left Gotham. You stopped at a run down gas station right outside the city. Being out of Gotham felt good, it was almost like the feeling you got when you first left Gotham to join the Titans. It wasn’t quite the same though, this one was bittersweet. New chapters are always bittersweet. You’d finally burned your tether to the titans, to Dick.

“When I woke up at the league I was completely lost,” Jason begins to say. “I didn’t know where I was or how I got there all I could remember was the sheer pain and terror of death. But then I found the Polaroids you buried me with, and my bracelets,” he says. You remembered, the Polaroids of you and Jason and Rachel and Gar. When you’d tucked those in his jacket at the funeral you’d never imagined he’d get the chance to actually look at them again. But now here he was. It was just you, him, and the possibilities of what was next. “I love you, Y/N” he says.

“I love you too Jason,” you say.

Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this part. If you did remember to check out my Masterlist for the other parts. Any feedback really helps and keeps me motivated, it’s always appreciated! This might be the last part to this fic for a bit we’ll see I might have more ideas tho. But for now I’m gonna focus on FINALLY starting the “The Other Titan” fic. It will also be Jason Todd x Reader with some Dick Grayson angst and such as well. It’s a backstory for this fic so maybe check it out if you enjoyed this one. Thanks for reading!

Masterlist

[the-collector-blog]

on honkai, ether, souls, hollows, and entropy/chaos.

in the honkaiverse, there is a distinction between entities with and without a "soul". in ZZZ, there is a test to determine whether a machine can be considered having one. logic cores allow for this possibility, and the logic cores of AI-enabled machinary pass the test.

the honkai is a corruption of the soul, and souls are the driving force of the universe. without corruption, they would stagnate and merge into something erasing individuality; with corruption, they are tested and pushed to improve and evolve. the more advanced a civilization becomes, the more honkai it will...have(?). it's how the very basis of the universe is maintained— by trimming and maintaining the Imaginary Tree and neither allowing it to overgrow nor wither and fall into the Sea of Quanta.

in ZZZ, analogue technology is safe from corruption (by ether) because it inherently lacks sentience. therefore, to preserve...anything, it must be recorded onto tapes and such. a film reel can be rewinded, but a digital file cannot be retrieved once it's deleted or corrupted.

there is a reason that the size of a hollow is directly correlated to the number and power level of ethereals within it. after all, ethereals are formed from corrupted souls. the more corruption, the bigger the hollow. the more the honkai spreads, destroys, and corrupts.

every soul has a specific resonance, and certain things have similar resonances, such as tiger thirens. this is ether resonance, and it is also what determines ether aptitude. it's why sound waves can affect and ward off corruption, and why phaethon/yixuan shifu can "resonate" with ether and manipulate it.

the higher one's ether aptitude, aka the stronger the soul, the more resistant they are to becoming an ethereal. it's like with a dying star— the ratio of {the energy within it} to {the external pressure containing said energy} determines whether it will collapse in on itself & become a black hole... or shine.

every being with a soul that enters a hollow or is exposed to ether for extended period of time will eventually become an ethereal. if this were not possible, it wouldn't count as having a soul.

the Will of the Honkai, which is what i believe The Creator to be in ZZZ, wants to embrace humanity and bring the universe closer to finality. the nature of reality is an increase in entropy, aka the amount of disorder and uncertainty in a system. more chaos means More Stuff Can Happen.

those with souls have free will and the ability to choose between good and evil. therefore, the more Possibility, the more chaos... souls increase entropy. however, because of this free will and desire to choose their fates, they always fight against increasing levels of uncertainty and disorder. it is this very fight that drives the universe forward.

the honkai wants to increase it, and those will souls will always inherently struggle against it. otherwise, all would stagnate.