#Volatility filter

[hailsatanacab]

a father's son

Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"

Word count 2.2k - ao3 link

Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.

Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.

“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”

The full name.

It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.

What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!

Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 

He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.

Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.

The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 

Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.

Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 

Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.

Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.

Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.

Underneath everything, the portal hums.

A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.

It scares him.

“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 

It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.

They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.

“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Danny laughs.

“Are you alright?”

“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”

“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 

Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.

“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”

“Oh? Do you need some help?”

Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.

But his curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”

So, he does.

Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.

“You’re trying to run it through here?”

Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.

“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”

Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.

“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”

“You want it to break down?”

“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”

Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.

It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.

Besides… It's interesting.

“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 

The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 

So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?

He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.

“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”

Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.

They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.

It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.

Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.

But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—

“Danny, just look at it!”

Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.

“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”

Danny freezes.

It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Poof! Up in smoke!”

The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.

He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!

Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—

“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”

For the second time, Danny stops.

Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.

It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”

“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”

A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.

His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.

“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”

And… And Danny does.

With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.

Danny does it all and he does it well.

He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.

He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:

“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”

And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.

It’s easy, really.

If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.

He can do it.

So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.

Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.

Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.

Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.

He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.

He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.

He’s happy.

They’re happy.

They’re proud of him.

And despite it all, he had fun today! 

When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.

He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 

Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 

Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 

It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

VULTURES (XVI)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XVII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, guns, plot progression, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Laswell found you after you’d finished your most recent fit of sickness, sitting in your room fiddling over the laptop with the USB password screen mocking you. Try as you might, you’d give yourself even more of a headache than you already had just by attempting to force the answer to appear through the pixels. Your father’s journal was kept in your lap—open to the dim light of the dying sun outside. 

It had been three days since the base had gotten attacked. Three calls with Gaz, where both of you were hiding things from the other all the while the pounding in your chests grew at the unique phonics of each other's speech. Three days of nothing but dust and echoes. 

The journal's spine crinkles as you slap it shut, growling under your breath like a dog as you push back the fatigued look behind your eyes. Your mother’s injury was better—the wound wasn’t bad—and even now your thigh is aching less than it was before; healing more and more by the day. 

But, here—now. 

You first see the woman as she enters the door after two swift knocks, not waiting for an answer before walking in with a call of her last name on her serious lips. Blinking in shock, your head perks up and you pause, taken aback. Besides Alex and your mother, no one else had bothered to visit you here. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, raising a brow stiffly. A sliver of tension seeps in, but you put a modicum of trust onto Kate’s title. At least while you’re under her oversight. 

Laswell sighs, closing the door behind her. She doesn’t respond right away, and the bags under her eyes are visible enough to a point where your lips thin. Without anything more than a huff, you wordlessly motion to the other chair at your table. 

Kate glances, but it isn’t a second later that she’s resting back across from you and offering a firm, yet somehow honest, ‘Thank you.’ 

“Don’t mention it,” you mutter under your breath, attention on the laptop screen but focus elsewhere. Fingers hover the keys—motionless beyond a small twitch. At least on your part, a small awkwardness filters past your expression. “So,” you utter in a low manner, drawing the word. 

The woman nods her head your way. “Any headway with the USB?”

“Working on it,” you state slowly. “With only one try left, you can’t not be too cautious.” 

“Ideas?” Is the next question. 

“Handful,” your voice responds, your eyes over the screen and settling on Laswell’s nose as you blink. “...Anything from Gaz?”

There’s a moment where you believe that Kate might be better left as a comedian than what she is. “Handful.” 

With a half-amused snort, you grapple with the fact that she’ll tell you nothing more than what you already know. The seconds draw longer, and those eyes of hers never leave until your feet are shifting under the table slowly. It’s during that break-away that your growing conscious comes out to play like a thief in the night. You weren’t so much the woman you were when this all started, the volatile and violent beast that stalked a forgotten home, but you’d always be a sliver of that. Yet, the leash around your neck was more firm. 

You open your mouth and only hesitate for a second. 

“I should apologize.” Laswell’s eyelids lightly pull back, a flash of surprise running over her face as the whispers of her pale hair brush her forehead. She says nothing, and you trail on with unsteady feet. “What I told you in the beginning—when we first met—about your wife. It was uncalled for.” 

A start, maybe, but any other words get choked out just as quickly as you’d thought them up. Your eyes slip around the laptop screen, fingers tapping the keys in unsteady intervals in the bare understanding of your nervousness. Gaz was so much better at this—at words. If he were here he would serve a better example; he’d know everything you were trying to say but couldn’t. 

That was just how he was.

Kate stares for a second, speechless. But the older woman isn’t one to stay in a stupor for long. 

“Accepted,” she says, blinking. “I don’t hold it against you, being taken in and told what you were on such short notice. It’s a common reaction.” 

“Good.” Your tongue darts out, licking your lips. It’s all you say, of course. Kate would never gain your full trust, the trauma was too deep, but you didn’t have to destroy yourself in the process of trying to understand. People do what they feel is right, and every pair of eyes is different. 

While you lean back into your chair with a sigh, your hand moves down to thumb over your journal—one that you were sure the woman had no idea was truly your father’s, though Laswell was too smart to say she one-hundred percent didn’t. Kate, in turn, glances over your tiny little table to look at your scribbled notes on a piece of napkin, and your stack of empty coffee cups, the plain white paper left in a neat tower of three to four cylinders. There are round stains in the woodgrain of the table, and blue eyes shift back to you. 

You don’t see it, but they soften at the edges. 

“Does it help?” She asks you, tilting her head. “The coffee? I’ve read studies.”

Your body seizes up, and your eyes dart to lock with Laswell’s in a moment of genuine panic. It’s only after a very long and tense break in sound that you find it appropriate to call yourself dumb. 

Of course she knew. She knew the entire time.

Your hand sneaks down into your pocket, and you fiddle with your coin until the indent is left printed into your skin as you bore down on it. 

“It lets me concentrate,” you breathe, vision slipping away as you clear your throat, skin tingling. “Keeps me alert.” 

It was a small victory when she didn’t push it further beyond her reply of a small nod. 

“But I’m here for more than a chat,” Kate gets to business with her hands going to interlock on the desk. “There wasn’t any recoverable footage of your mother’s attack. The footage was wiped, just like with Samson’s death.”

“I’m getting really tired of this, y’know?” The anger is swift, even as your shock mixes with it. “If I hit one more dead end, I’m going to lose my mind, Laswell. One after the other, after the other—what is going on?” Your words are slow and even, tone grating. 

Kate watches you. “And there won’t be any footage of this conversation, either. I’ve asked Alex to erase it after we’re done here.”

You straighten, head snapping back. “...What the hell?”

The woman motions with a hand. “There’s too much at stake to be reckless. I’m not taking any chances.” She blinks, face growing serious again; eyes like steel. “Spitfire, the only people who you can rely on are myself and Alex. Anyone outside of that is a possible breach of security. From now on, Keller is taking you on as his charge full-time and I’m telling him to place all of his resources into your protection.”

Not all of that is new—but the one person being left out of this is telling. 

“What about my mom?” Your flesh tightens, confusion leaking inside of your chest. “Alex is her guard, Gaz is mine.”

“Kyle isn’t here anymore, and he’s not going to be coming back anytime soon,” Kate relays, leaning closer as you grimace. “Your mother is getting moved to a larger base across the state where there are more trusted eyes to watch her.”

You have to snort at that, grabbing the top of your laptop and shutting it firmly. “What? Why?” 

Blue eyes only watch you silently. 

“Laswell,” your voice grows more stern. “Why?”

“Why was there a gun in your nightstand?” 

Face heating, your lips pull into a line. “I’m not playing word games with you.” With such stubborn and headstrong women in the same room, there was never going to be an impactful conversation. “I’m angry,” you grunt. “I’m tired, and I’m not going to be carted around anymore. I want answers.”

“I don’t have the answers you need, Spitfire,” Kate eases. “But I’m not going to let you die.”

“That’s the least of my worries,” you utter under your breath. 

The blonde is the epitome of a brick wall, yet there are moments when something nearer to guilt takes you by surprise. But at the mention of Gaz afterwards, your attention is taken back from where you play with your coin to a near-embarrassing degree. 

“He was adamant on staying,” Laswell began. “Kyle. It was unlike him—he was always willing to do what he had to in order to complete the job; if he felt he needed to leave, I trusted him.” You stare without a visible emotion on your face. “I didn’t expect him to try and take back his word. The Sergeant never does that.”

Perhaps there was really something wrong with you because the heat that infects your face is something of a mystery to your senses. You don’t answer Kate as her eyes narrow on you. 

“If it’s the time for apologies, then I think I need to offer my own,” your body flinches, fingers in your pocket jerking as the lamp across the room flickers. Laswell sighs again, and you find it’s something she does often. “I’m sorry I dragged you into your father’s faults. I’m not a mother, but to think if I was and my own child was put into that position is…troubling. I didn’t get into this job to intentionally leave others traumatized. If you need to blame anyone, then you can blame me for everything that happened to you: during and after.”

Your mind at this point is immune to mostly everything—gunshots and weapons to your head; blood and gore and pain. Then why did the softer things make your heart constrict like a vice? Staring at the woman’s nose, your legs shift with a strange unease before your hand goes to rub at your arm as you mutter. 

“Okay.” Your hair nearly stands on end, but Kate moves a hand to show you she’s not done.

“Just listen, you don’t have to speak.” Shoulders shrugging, you settle back, eyes slipping to the journal as you grasp at it and tap at the cover. 

“I had you under surveillance ever since your father was killed.” The blonde moves to push her hair back and glances at the door. You hum—not surprised. “I know what you went through during the first year, and I want to tell you that—”

“I appreciate it,” you interrupt, and you stand and grab your items in one motion. Laptop and journal in hand, your lips tighten as you hold back the snappy barks you want to let loose like an animal. The sentiment was enough, you didn’t need to hear the woman talk all about it right now. There were more important things than your shortcomings. 

Coughing, you hide your mouth in your arm and blink away the weakness of your legs; spine hunching lightly as the sounds of violent hacking echo. Kate stands quickly, moving forward with a sheen of concern; you step back, swallowing down bile. 

Seconds later, you stand fully and wipe at a thick stream of fluid dripping from the side of your mouth. Looking at your hand, you find the red streak of blood less of a shock than it should have been, but nonetheless startling. You blink at it rapidly, a droplet slipping down your chin. 

“Spitfire,” Kate swiftly, face going grim. 

“No,” your word is so final it makes even yourself pause. 

Without another line written to your story, you move to the door and slip out with a soft limp, still coughing with every grated breath coming through your throat. The woman is left behind you as your legs bring you down the dark hall—items all carried precariously in one hand before the shakiness makes you hold them with both. 

You rub your mouth over the fabric of your shirt located on your shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment as your head goes light. Grunting in the back of your mouth, you taste blood before you swallow it all down, sagging into the wall as your back makes the stiff connection right when you turn the corner. 

“What the…” you lightly knock your skull back, eyelids moving as your pulse flies. Shaking your head, you stubbornly shove off and walk on, patting at your pocket trying to find your phone—you needed to call Gaz soon. 

Exiting the back of the building, the chilled night pushed in around you; your jacket giving you some protection as you extend your walk to nowhere and end up a small distance away near an outdoor metal table and chairs. There was no one else in this portion of the base anymore, besides Alex, Laswell, yourself, and your mother; it had been entirely vacated until an entire breakdown of the events prior could be processed. New soldiers were being cycled in and out on a daily basis, though they stayed far away. 

Your eyes looked upward every time you saw a new C-17 touch the skyline, dipping lower. A piece of you hoped everyone was carrying your Sergeant. 

The conversations you both had were more open by the day—perhaps being away from one another had allowed you the area to be free of possible embarrassment up-front. You shared stories more as well; in fact, it might have been your favorite part of the day when you could hear Gaz speak to you. No matter what time you called, he always answered.  

Dropping down into the chair, you cough once more, growling when you can feel the fluid slipping down the back of your throat. Your fingers flinch for a good sip of coffee, but there’s work to do, and you don’t want to go back inside right now. It was your own imagination, but there had to have been the sleek shadow of a black cat in the corner of your vision as you turned back on the laptop, moving open the journal with the same cracking spine. 

You frown, bending the thing as the noise grows before you put it on the table as well. 

Hands coming up, you rest your chin on them and glare when the password icon pops back up. Your head struggles to focus above the lack of your guard, the conversation with Laswell, and the nagging knowledge of something in the back of your mind. Something, something, something.

What were you missing—why was all of this stopping before it began? 

No footage? What was up with that? This was a damn military base; there was always surveillance going on. 

Who?

Who?

Who?

Your mother had been attacked—injured. A man had been shot under the bounds of an interrogation room seconds before spilling the truth.

“I’m missing something,” you hiss, scoffing to yourself as you grind out ragged words. “It’s something obvious; I have to know what it is. Why can’t I understand it?” 

It was like reading a story in a foreign language while knowing the base plotline. All of the elements were there, but the words were dots and dashes. 

With everything happening, college was all but forgotten—you hadn’t done any work, no projects, or even looked at your emails. Your degree was all but forgotten by now. Dust. 

“Goodbye future,” you grunt, sarcastic even now. 

Moving back from the laptop, you grab the journal again and flip through a few more pages, a chilled breeze going across the semi-open area. The answer was here—you knew that at the very least. Your father was a smart man; he’d leave you something to help you.

Hopefully.

The spine cracks again, and your eyes spark with annoyance as you flip the thing to the side. 

“Jesus,” you growl. “I know you’re old, but c’mon. Spare me the breaking bones unless you’re going to give me the password.” Out of half of an addled brain, you turn the journal and look down the open top of the threaded spine, peering between the gap of the material of the cover and the mesh of the pages. It wasn’t done with any intent or curiosity—it was a spur-of-the-moment reaction, and yet, that was what always led to some sort of revelation. 

Yet, you couldn’t have fathomed to see something stuffed down the back of that journal. Your father’s journal. The man who pleaded for your life with such fever before a bullet had caved his skull in; the man who worked and provided a life for you despite his hidden actions. 

The man you see haunting you every time you close your eyes.  

As your blood-stained lips part in utter shock, you grasp the spine and pull it back from the binds, hearing the faint pop of glue as if it were far away from your ears and not right in front of you. With something akin to shell shock in your eyes, you pull out a folded piece of paper as slowly as a newborn dear taking its first steps. 

When you slip the thing open, it’s not the picture that you first look at—it’s your father's handwriting of the ripped letter dated exactly three days before he died. Your eyes slip the torn edges, the pen script that was ingrained into your understanding of who your father was. 

It started as it always did. With you.

‘...I think I had some influence over her, and I’m a bit afraid of wondering if she actually enjoys the topic of history, or if it’s just because I do. I worry, I think, about that and her education. I want her to be happy—more than anything I want her to enjoy the future that I’ve tried to keep safe for her. 

Even if it all comes to a head, I’m afraid she’ll suffer for the things that have taken place, and that isn’t something I can forgive myself for. I tried so hard to get out of it, and I already knew none of it worked. 

But…I suppose that’s my cross, isn’t it? 

My daughter was never involved, and in that, there’s a small part of me that can say I did a good job, even if it’s as simple as that. If her future lies in History, in that museum, or in something so wild and fantastic I can’t even imagine it, I’m just proud to get to call her my own. There are worse things than saying that your child is a steel-headed girl. She’s going to do great things; be great at whatever she decides. 

I hope I get to make it to her graduation. I think that would make it all worth it.’

The exact date and year of your graduation are printed below the sentence, printed out until your tears smack the page, ink around it smearing a bit. Your broken breath is reduced to quivered inhalations, a certain kind of heartbreak in your chest that extends down your legs and up your arms; breeding in the very back of your brain until a sob is echoing over the darkened earth. But there isn’t time to cry—to address the agony spreading in your blood. 

‘With everything I’ve done, there isn’t a chance that if I die I’ll see her again. I just hope that she finds someone who can be the opposite of what I and her mother have been. Someone to make her laugh and smile. Hell, to feel giddy about. I want to see that from her—one of those smiles that I used to get when I first met my wife; innocent things.

She needs someone kind and smart. I’d approve of nothing less. But above all, they need to be loyal.’

The picture in your hands falls to the ground before you can catch it, sweaty fingers jerking as you read the last line in a flurry of emotions, not understanding the gravity of them.

‘Everything her mother isn’t.’

It shows your mother, your dad, and a male stranger in front of the mansion. All were dressed nicely, and a smile was on your mom’s face. Your father, who, for the first time you can remember since the abduction, looked…grim. The stranger as well, though his square face was devoid of any blood to be seen. 

Terrified.

Your tears smack the image sharply, quickly, free hand moving to grasp at your coin and twiddle the thing out in the light, slipping it between your fingers in practiced ease. It helps you focus when the coffee isn't able to. A reminder. A caution. 

Think.

You stare into the stranger's face, and something about the eyes of him is wrong to you; familiar in a way that makes you want to run. Your father’s hands are clenched. Your mother’s face is sharp. 

Flipping the image over, there are three names. 

Your father's.

Your mother’s.

And Samson Row’s

The moment the name registered, there was a small click from behind you. 

A chilled barrel is pressed into the back of your skull, and into the night the shot ricochets across the airwaves like an executioner's bell.

TAGS:

@merkitty49, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @babybooday, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld, @wasteland-babe, @330bpm-whiplash, @anna-banana27, @sunnynomoar, @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip @74478328, @blueoorchid, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @chestnutsandcurls, @vamqyr3, @lavalleon, @nebula67, @urfavsunkissedleo

[vague-humanoid]

When I stepped into John Roe’s apartment early last December, slipping off my boots at the elevator that opens into the home, it wasn’t immediately clear that people inhabited the space, let alone a child. The four-bedroom, four-and-a-half bath Manhattan residence looked like a showroom. In the living room, a white minimalist couch with no arms confronted two white bouclé chairs. White couch, white lamps, white walls. Even Roe’s wife, Cherry, wore white. Charlotte of the Upper West Side has no dust, she told me—unlike the couple’s previous home, on the sixty-second floor of the Four Seasons Private Residences. Above my head, gentle classical music issued from invisible speakers.

Roe, a ruddy Asian man who wore a pink polo shirt tucked into khaki pants, is the developer of this nine-story brick and terra-cotta building, named after his daughter. His goal, Roe said, was to create the most immaculate and sustainable indoor environment possible. He obtained a Passive House Institute certification, which recognizes when buildings minimize the energy used for heating and cooling with airtight seals and insulation. (Such measures can decrease energy consumption by up to 90 percent.) To reduce residents’ inhalation of volatile organic compounds, Roe employed nontoxic building materials. Indeed, the star of Charlotte is its air. Each unit sports its own Swiss-engineered ventilation system, called Zehnder. On an iPad, Roe showed me the app that gives residents control over what they breathe.

The building’s approach to filtration is undeniably sophisticated. The air in each unit isn’t shared with any other. Outside air is brought in, filtered, treated with an ultraviolet-C light that kills 99.9 percent of pathogens, and completely changed out once per hour. Circulation can be boosted or slowed. Most apartments with similar systems recycle the air every four to five hours a day. “We were thinking, if we’re already going to build a Ferrari, then why would we only give it a 200-horsepower engine?” Roe said. “Let’s put a 1,000-horsepower engine into it.” The quadruple-layer, triple-paned windows feature museum-quality glass and are generally opened only for cleaning. Otherwise, you’d let in air far dirtier than what’s circulating inside.

At night, when Roe’s family is sleeping, it “smells like you’re camping, because the fresh air is getting pumped in at such a rapid rate,” he said. You know the air is good, he told me, because the hydrangeas last. Typically, when cut at the stem and arranged in a vase, the delicate flowers wither and droop in a few days. In his apartment, the blooms will stay perky for nearly two weeks.

@karpad @ubernegro @redstarovermoundcity @socialistexan

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

Dp x Dc thoughts and stuff

New Dimension, Who's This?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

From Danny's short experience Jason was about as trusting as he first was when Fright Night joined him. He didn’t think Frighty’s method of accept my eternal loyalty or die would work very well here. The guy, despite looking like a brick wall and a fridge had a child, seemed to have a very gooey center. Now to hope that wasn’t just the contaminated ecto.

Contact was the easiest way to get the bad ecto (Becto?) out and he was NOT one for cuddling. Just mentioning it made the man squirm, well not outwardly, but his core shivered.

Danny didn't see a big deal in it, but maybe it had been the years in the ghost realm, where personal space wasn't really a thing when you can phase through people... his human half was also used to Tucker and Sam, whom he'd shared a bed with so many times Jazz ended up giving him a pamphlet on "healthy polyamory".

Alfred, the name of the butler, had convinced Jason to take him on a tour of the manor. There were about a million rooms, way too many living spaces (no one needed that many seating areas), a whole barn, and a really nice kitchen with food that didn't fight back.

As they walked Danny kept close, either a hand on his shoulder or floating close enough to be up against him.

Although Jason seemed stoic externally Danny could feel each and every emotion he had. He never seemed uncomfortable with Danny, but he was guarded. Some feelings, like nostalgia, became volatile from the corrupted ecto and quickly turned into anger.

One of these times was just seeing Tim, his brother, came out of his room with about 12 empty coffee cups in hand. The feeling, for just a second, started as care that switched to anger quicker than Danny had been expecting. There had been an emotion between the two, but Danny hadn't caught it. The anger seemed more ghostly than the first part, it was shaky and unstable.

With that shift came a surge of ecto that sounded like a screaming child, Danny placed a second hand on him to help filter it out. His eyes flickered green then went back to the light blue with a grayish outline that they had been before.

Tim had stopped in his tracks, frozen in place with his mountain of dirty cups. No one moved. Then, as if nothing happened, Jason continued walking, leading Danny to what he’d come to find was the library.

Danny loved to read as a kid, but he died, had to stop the ghost coming through his parent's portal, save the world, pass high school, become king, and give up a more human life to dedicate to ruling an entire dimension that he never got back into it. Especially once he'd established peace throughout most of the realm: a majority of his work consisted of paper work. Very boring paper work.

"You can grab a book if you want." Jason sat on a comfy looking chair, leaning into it and slouching down. He looked a lot less intimidating like this.

"Nah. I have to read a lot for work, but thanks for the offer." Danny floated above him, one hand anchoring him to the man.

"What do you do for work?" Jason asked, not putting the book down.

"Lot of people sell their soul." Danny watched his own hair flowing in the air like it was underwater, he's not sure when it started doing that, but it looked badass so he wasn't complaining. "It’s depressing paperwork when you have to define the worth of a soul in numbers."

Jason hummed and continued to read. They sat there like that for a while before Jason spoke up again.

"How did you know the pit rage was taking over, when we were in the hall."

"Ghost speak isn't translatable exactly, but your core kinda babbles like a baby." Danny looked down at the man, he'd closed his book. "It cries when it's angry and cries when it's sad, but your human emotions come first and are amplified by your core."

"So, what, you just heard a ghost crying?"

"More like I heard your human emotions through a megaphone and then ghostly crying right after."

Jason picked his book back up, but Danny had a feeling he wasn't actually reading it.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours to Danny. He didn't think it right to ask any questions. Besides, he was being vague about his own answers too.

Through the years he'd gotten the hang of being cryptic enough while still giving an answer from Clocky.

Clockwork!

Danny sat up, accidentally pulling Jason up with him a bit. "I need to get in contact with Clockwork!"

Jason grumbled and fixed his jacket, "Who's that?"

"The ancient of time, he'll know how to get me back and how to fix you... if he answers or wasn't behind this."

...

Jason did not seem happy about contacting the hellblazer/detective, but he was in town. What luck.

Danny no longer felt very lucky when the blonde detective with a strong English accent started yelling.

"This is the fucker wreaking havoc with the lazarus pits?"

Jason sighed, "Can you help us or not?"

The man breathed out a puff of smoke and mumbled to himself. "Yeah, yeah. I can help." He sat on the nearest chair and looked down at his PDA, or well, Jason said they were phones. This universe seemed a few years past his own. "The infinite realms aren't easy to get a hold of. You need to be pretty powerful to go in between the realms. How did you get stuck here anyway?"

"Was practicing with my dimension hopping dog, I went through a portal, he didn't. Now I'm stuck here." Technically that wasn't a lie, he was with Cujo when he himself had made the portal.

"Dimension hopping dog, right." He took another hit from his cigarette before grunting and standing up. Danny wasn't a fan of this type: arrogant bastards that believe you aren't worth their time. "Only thing I can think of is a summoning."

"Okay sure, how do we do that?" Danny asked floating behind Jason, a hand on his back. John looked at him skeptically, so Danny shot back. "I've never done a summoning that would be ridiculous! That's like standing in the same room with someone and calling them."

"Fine, let’s go down to the cave."

Once in fruit loop 3.0's basement the hellblazer pulled out a book and started drawing out patterns on the floor. Danny recognized a few words, which gave him confidence that the summoning would at least bring someone from the infinite realms.

The wording was very old, but from what he could read it was about summoning the most powerful being in the infinite realms.

Danny assumed it would be Clockwork, and just hoped its wasn’t some manifestation of Pariah Dark.

John finished, then turned to stand at the front as if he'd rather be anywhere else but here, and started to chant. The circle glowed a familiar homely green when he feels a pull in his gut.

"Fuck."

...

Jason watched as Constantine drew out the circle with strange hieroglyphs. He'd read that book when trying to find ways to remove the pit rage years ago. This summoning was meant for the strongest being in the entire realm. It could be any kind of monstrosity.

His stomach dropped when the sickly green glow filled the room. The shadows danced unnaturally and the room dropped a few degrees.

Behind him Danny made a blip of a noise and disappeared. For a moment he assumed the man was scared, making himself invisible to hide from the creature crawling out from a hell dimension.

Only he didn't feel Danny behind him anymore.

"Welp... didn't expect that. Definitely an ego boost I tell ya." Standing in the center of the circle was Danny. He didn't look anything like the man he'd spent all day with. He was a few feet taller, had pale green skin that shone almost white and six lanky arms with pointed nails. The fangs and slightly pointed ears he already had were pulled longer, his legs were just as unsettling as his arms, it almost looked like he'd been pulled through a black hole. Stretched through time and space.

His hair was longer as well, it floated above him like it wasn't experiencing gravity. Floating above that was a ring of a green aurora borealis. His face was hard to look at directly, it shifted. It was just the outlines, it was all eyes, it was empty, it was a black hole.

Around him shone little starts that twinkled occasionally, Jason had been part of the Justice League when a solar flare nearly killed half the planet. This being had the power of hundreds of those and was moving them around absentmindedly. one hand seemed to burn slightly, but it was too bright for him to focus on it.

He looked ethereal and terrifying.

Constantine broke the silence first, "State who you are!"

In a million voices that echoed through the cave and into Jason's chest Danny spoke.

"I am Phantom, King of the Infinite Realms, Champion of Pariah Dark, Bringer of Peace, Ancient of Space, The Great One." Da... Phantom looked down at the circle. There was amusement in his voice, "I see, the words I didn't recognize were a binding of truth, that means I can only communicate in ghost speak."

Constantine looked more fed up than scared, but he knew when the con-man bit off more than he could chew. He turned to Jason and whispered to him, "He's the bloody king. I'm not helping you fuck the king."

"I do not need help with that." Phantom said before shining brighter, a green tinge covering the edges of his body.

Constantine turned back, most likely expecting the creature couldn't hear them. "I met Pariah Dark, your magical essence is..."

"Ghosts have cores." Phantom corrected, crossing the central arms as the rest continued moving stars around.

"Yeah, yeah. Your core is different. Since when are you king?"

"Time moves differently between realms. On my earth it was about a decade ago, but by the zones standards it was nearly 50. When did you last hear about them?"

Constantine huffed, pocketing the cigarette that had gone out when Phantom appeared. “Three years ago, but I don’t delve into the infinite realms often.”

“Zatana helped me a bit with the whole being dead thing. Maybe she'll know?” Jason hadn’t talked to her much in the years that followed, she’d not been able to help him. Though now looking back he hadn’t given her much of a chance.

“Yeah, that might…” Once again Phantom interrupted Constantine.

“Wait, wait. I know this magical signature.” The two looked back at the being, “You're the bastard who keeps selling bits of his soul. Do you know how many disputes I've had to settle, how much fucking paper work I've had to do because of you!”

Constantine, ever the survivalist bolts. An act Jason hadn’t been expecting in the slightest. The hellblazer threw the book at him when he left, muttering something that changed the green color to something softer, less toxic.

Jason goes to stand in front of Phantom, the man he’d spent the entire day with was an eldritch being of unfathomable power. He excused the summoning with a wave of his hand, as the book showed.

Although he did shrink down to a more human size, only his face changed in appearance. The rest of him was still pale and lanky, the pointy ears looking cuter than they had before, whe they were as long as a sword.

Jason stayed silent. How was he meant to go about this. What had he promised to this being that it was willing to stay with him. What had he sold to the creature that dictates the value of a life.

 “Oh sweet!" Danny/Phanton did a strange squat and wiggle like he was trying his legs out for the first time in a while. "Wanna go for like a walk or something?”

Jason’s brain seemed to skip a grove when he heard Danny’s voice coming out of the blueish creature.

“A walk sounds nice.” Jason said, ignoring how his mind was racing with the possibilities of this being really curing him… and of what he’ll ask in return.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

@bjurnberg, @skulld3mort-1fan, @akikkobara @undead-bi-dinosaur, @amyheart19, @phoenixdemonqueen, @not-your-average-url, @seraphinedemort, @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant,  @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @kyrianclawraith, @i-always-say-yea, @gin2212

(sorry this took forever, im certain being a fanfic writter curses you or something. So many fucking things were happening at once gah. I've had this plotted out since i posted part 2, but never got around to turn it into a realish fic)

[pink-onyx-au]

[Jump to the Episode Master List]

Nap time! Thank you everyone for your continued support and interaction! I adore it and it adds so much more to the AU than you could know. This is a heads up on some minor down-time for the blog while I rest up and prepare the next episode.

Notes and asks are still open and encouraged during this time! Bored and want to chat? Send me a message!

To see some WIP, storyboard previews, doodles, shitposts, and other projects I’m working on, along with a healthy amount of 3am memes, head over to my trash fire blog, Ceephor’s Shit Show. The "pink onyx au" tag will filter everything for you, along with showing you fabulous fan art made by others that I just love to pieces.

Speculation and theories are encouraged! The comic is designed as close to the show’s logic as I could muster, which means many secrets are staring right at you, provided you know what to look for! Just be kind to one another.

Comic FAQ:

What is this? Pink Onyx AU is a Steven Universe AU focused on interactions between Steven and Jasper and is intended to be read after you have finished Steven Universe Future, as it contains many many spoilers for the series. If you have watched it already, great! Welcome! The goal is to bring you a Jasper redemption arc that we couldn’t get due to time and cooperate restraints on the Crewniverse. I hope you enjoy!

I do not own these characters or their likenesses except for the single fluffy thembo fusion I created for the story. This is just a fan comic.

Comic is PG-13 for some angsty themes, minor blood, violence, and gem-cussing.

When do you post? Typically when you see this post pinned, I’m on a bit of a break, but when Nyx wakes up (this post goes away) the comic is due to be released 1 page at a time at 7am EST most days. I try for a daily release. Sometimes I skip a day if I’m behind. Episode release dates are always announced ahead of time by a few weeks.

Is this a romantic ship AU between Jasper and Steven? Nope, more like an aunt and her nephew trying to figure it all out. No romance between these two here.

Is your Tapas updated at the same time? Nope, tumblr comes first, and the tumblr will always have bonus content which Tapas will not. The Tapas for this updates after the tumblr version is completed. Usually same day or within a day.

Curious about the characters? Check below the cut for more a detailed FAQ about the inner workings of the story. Love you all! See you soon! 🧡💕❤️

FAQ’s about the characters generated via interactive asks:

What kind of fusion is Pink Onyx? Are they good or bad? Pink Onyx is a fusion of a protagonist and an antagonist, so their alliance is yet unknown, but they have Steven’s good heart and Jasper’s loyal nature. They also have Steven and Jasper’s flaws, so they can be volatile and emotionally explosive at times, too.

What are Pink Onyx’s pronouns? Onyx likes they/them, but also answers to he/him and she/her, especially when Steven or Jasper is dominant over one another. They also seem to take on a fluid role and prefer a she/her when in a caretaker status. They dislike it/its.

What does Pink Onyx sound like? Personally, I hear them as a youthful, masculine tone. Like Steven if a little older. But I also enjoy when people say they hear them as a gruff, Amazonian-type feminine. I enjoy and endorse both.

Do Jasper and Steven enjoy being fused to one another? For now, it is a struggle, but they enjoy what the other brings to the fusion even if they won’t say it.

Does Pink Onyx need to eat and do human things? If so, do they enjoy it? They don’t need to do them, but they do feel the discomfort without them. Things like breathing, eating, and sleeping are optional for Onyx, but they will become quite irritable if not allowed to do them. They greatly enjoy sleeping and trying new foods.

What does Jasper think about having human organs when fused? She’s pretty grossed out by the idea of organic matter going into her mouth and coming out of other places. The heart beating and lungs breathing she can feel for the first time, and it is highly strange for her to experience.

What is Pink Onyx’s favorite food? They adore anything watermelon flavored and Cookie-cat ice cream products

Does Pink Onyx have any special fusion powers? They do, and as they learn about themselves, more powers seem to come out. Each of their base component appears to be enhanced in a unique way. They have Pink Diamond at their core, so the destructive potential is also there.

Why is Steven hiding Pink Onyx from others? This AU occurs directly after the events of "I Am My Monster", so Steven is very emotionally, and mentally, raw. He fears judgement for running back to Jasper, who in the past, was part of so much trauma he already endured.

Pink Onyx seems to know nothing about human culture and gem culture despite being a fusion. What’s going on? Jasper and Steven agreed to fuse, but they have yet to open up to one another about much else. The fusion exists because they agree to do so, but Jasper won’t open up about her emotions, and Steven is so sensitive yet that he is not sharing because he knows Jasper won’t want to hear it. This causes Onyx to be unable to access both of their memories easily, but they can bring it out with enough effort.

[angelsarecomputers]

I know it’s been said but I find it so weird when people demonise Dora. The one interaction that we get with her- the REAL her- in the whole game, she is extremely patient, despite the fact that Harry is calling her in the middle of the night and asking creepo shit like ‘are you sleeping naked’. We can infer through context clues that this has probably happened multiple times before, and yet she still knows no signs of ill-will towards Harry- she just seems tired and concerned.

And it would be completely within her right to be angry at him for harassing her, as well! Knowing how volatile Harry can be, perhaps she even learned through fear not to confront him. And yet, there still seems to be this perception that, out of the both of them, DORA was the abusive one, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary! It’s not even that I don’t think she wasn’t at least slightly abusive, given Harry’s disabilities and their class differences, but what I am saying is that it was likely mutual, and that, out of the two of them, Harry was worse.

Their relationship probably got horrible and toxic towards the end, of that I have no doubt. What I don’t get is why the fandom seems to believe that Harry, as he currently is, is in any way capable of viewing the relationship objectively. There’s ample evidence that he was violent, frequently misogynistic, and that the experience gap between him and Dora was significant, and yet people still take his worst thoughts at face value. That she’s a ‘war criminal’, that’s she’s a goddess- people seem to think Harry’s deification of her is the main issue, and not the opposite; his virulent hatred towards Dora, towards ‘Revacholian women’.

It just boggles me that people are so willing to believe that Harry was the only one truly hurt- that Dora’s decision to leave was made lightly. We don’t know exactly what happened, and what glimpses we do get are filtered horribly through Harry’s grief, but they were in a relationship for more than a decade! They were planning to get married! I don’t think Dora just up and left for Mirova one day- the way the dream conversation goes seems to suggest they hadn’t been together for a while.

There are so, so many things said during the final dream that are probably just Harry’s self-hatred masquerading as Dora/Dolores- and while I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of it did come from Dora, at other points in their relationship, I think it’s pretty obvious that the final dream is meant to be a confused muddle of Harry’s memories and grief. Why else would she appear as Dolores Dei? But, while no one ever explicitly says it, I feel like a lot of people want to believe that the way things are during the last dream is how they were in real life. That Dora really was cold and cruel to Harry- when in real life she appears as just the opposite, despite what he puts her through.

[candycandy00]

Corruption kink with shiggy, innocent fem reader pls?

Smut. 18+. Voyeurism. Masturbation. Probably some other stuff. I hope you like this, anon!

Note: Just assume this happens post-War Arc, but that AFO fucked off and was never heard from again.

Oh no. This could NOT be happening. It’s your first day on the job as a sidekick, your very first day, and you stumble upon the world’s most dangerous villain: Shigaraki Tomura. Five minutes ago you were just doing boring patrols around the city. Now you’re looking down an alleyway at a monster in red sneakers. It’s too late to run away, he’s already spotted you peeking your head around the corner of the nearby building, and you’re not dumb enough to think you could take him on alone. Even several pro heroes teaming up couldn’t handle him!

He’s looking at you, red eyes shining in the dim light of dusk. You look back at him, wondering how fast he’ll murder you.

“Come on out, hero,” he says.

You sigh and step around the corner. “Um, actually, I’m a sidekick, not a hero.”

He doesn’t reply to that, just stares at you as if sizing up what sort of threat you could be. Little does he know you pose less of a threat to him than a baby deer would.

You slowly approach him, not wanting to upset him in any way. You’ve heard he could be volatile. You watch him as you walk, looking for any signs that he’s going to attack. Unfortunately, this means you’re not looking at the ground, so you don’t see the discarded beer bottle right in your path. The high heel of your ridiculously impractical boots gets caught on the bottle, and you faceplant spectacularly in the alley, almost landing at Shigaraki’s feet.

For a moment, you’re so embarrassed that you can’t move. Then you gradually get up, being extra careful with the heels. When you look up at Shigaraki, he has a strange expression on his face, as if he wants to laugh but is keeping his composure.

“Sorry, this is my first time wearing this costume. I’ve never worn heels this high,” you say, reaching down to rub your sore ankle.

Shigaraki folds his arms over his chest. “This is your first day as a hero?” he asks skeptically.

Now that you’re up close, you can see his face clearly. You’re surprised by how good looking he is. In fact, he’s totally your type! You find yourself staring at his lips, instinctively wetting your own. “Uh, sidekick, not hero,” you say again, distracted by how toned his arms look in his black shirt.

“So? What are you going to do?”

What does he mean? Does he really think you’re going to try to fight him? When you can barely walk on pavement? “Well, if you’re not actively committing any crimes, I don’t think I have to try to stop you.”

He’s still looking at your suspiciously. “Let’s say I’m not committing any crimes.”

“You’re not? That’s great! I’ll just be going then…” You start to turn around, thankful that you’re still alive, when his voice stops you.

“You’re just going to believe me?”

You look back at him. “Shouldn’t I?”

He shakes his head. “Are you for real? No hero can be this naive.”

“Sidekick,” you say, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He seems to be in deep thought.

“I think I have a quirk that’s perfect for this,” he says.

“Huh?”

Before you can do anything else, Shigaraki raises one hand and a pink mist spreads out from it.

“It’s called ‘Truth Serum’,” he tells you as the mist drifts over you and you have no choice but to breathe it in. You cough and try to expel it from your lungs, but it’s too late. Whatever effect this quirk has, it’s going to work on you.

For a few seconds, you just stand there, waiting to feel something. When nothing seems to happen, you look at him questioningly.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

“I just glanced down this alley as I walked by and spotted you.” You blink, surprised by how fast and automatically you answered.

“Were you looking for me?”

“No. It was a total coincidence.” There it was again, that answer that seemed to come straight from your mind, with no filter.

He seems to be thinking for a moment, and then asks, “How long have you been a hero?”

“I’m not a hero. I’m a sidekick. And this is my first day.”

“So you were telling the truth,” he says, looking slightly more relaxed.

“Yes,” you reply absently, your voice working but your mind distracted as you enjoy watching his face make subtly different expressions. Those eyes…. that hair… You just want to run your hands through it.

Shigaraki narrows his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I think you’re incredibly sexy.” Wait. What did you just say? Out loud? To Shigaraki Tomura? You clasp your hands over your mouth with a gasp. This “truth serum” quirk is dangerous! Not to mention embarrassing.

Shigaraki’s eyes are wide as he looks at you. Evidently he got a little more than he bargained for when he asked that question. “Really?” he asks, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You have your hands clamped over your mouth, but the second he finished the question, you move them and say, “Yes. You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

You blush crimson and cover your mouth again. How dare it betray you this way!

Shigaraki is grinning. “So that’s what you think of me?”

“Yes. Also, I’m terrified of you.”

He holds up his hands in front of him, one of them missing several fingers. “Because I could kill you so easily?”

“Yeah, that’s one reason.”

“What’s the other?”

You try not to answer. You fight it really hard, but the words spill out anyway. “You make me think impure thoughts.”

Shigaraki blinks, then suddenly laughs. “Seriously? What kind of impure thoughts?”

Oh no. Please don’t say it. Please just keep your mouth shut. Please just shut- “That I want you to kiss me. That I want to touch your hair. That I want to know what your hands would feel like all over me.”

The laugher dies in his throat. He seems genuinely surprised by your answer. Actually, it looks like his face is slightly pink. An awkward silence falls over the alley, then Shigaraki steps closer to you, within touching distance, and looks down at your face. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you answer, your voice cracking slightly on the word. You do want him to touch you, but admitting it to him? It’s mortifying. It’s also scary. You know what those hands can do. He’s your enemy. And it’s also scary for another reason…

Shigaraki turns you around to face away from him, then places his hands on your shoulders from behind. He’s so close that you can feel his chest brushing against your back. He slowly moves his hands down your arms, then moves them to your waist, then slides them up. You suck in a nervous breath as his hands reach your breasts then grope gently at them through your clothes.

His hands then move down to your hips, one of them sliding over to your inner thigh and moving up toward your groin. It stops just before it reaches your most private spot. Shigaraki leans his face forward, right beside your ear, and asks, “Want me to keep going?”

You slam a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to hide the truth. Shigaraki reaches up with the hand that’s missing fingers and pulls your hand away from your face.

“Yes!” you blurt out.As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Shigaraki’s hand glides up between your legs and squeezes. The thin spandex of your ridiculous costume is the only thing separating his skin from yours. You can feel his fingers pressing against the soft mound, and you let out a small moan.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice low.

“Y-yes,” you say, abandoning your attempts to stop yourself from answering. You realize you’re trembling.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid of other things too…”

His lips grazed your ear as he asked, “What other things?”

“No one has ever touched me there before, so feeling like this scares me.”

Shigaraki looks you in the face, his hand still groping at you. “No one? Really?”

“Yes, no one,” you confirm, blushing again. So you’ve just admitted you’re a virgin.

He grins. “I bet you touch yourself there a lot, huh?”

“Not a lot,” you say, shuddering as he gives a slightly harder squeeze, “Just a couple of times, just a little bit. It felt too intense so I stopped right after I started.”

Shigaraki withdrew his hand and stepped away from you. You almost collapsed right there. Your knees were wobbly, and it felt like your costume was damp between your legs.

“You mean you never finished? So you’ve never…” he trailed off, looking surprised.

You’re completely red at this point. You’ve just explained your entire sexual history to him, what little there was of it. You had a sheltered childhood, and as a teenager you spent most of your time at home reading or playing games. So you ended up being somewhat clueless about sex.

“No, I never finished,” you answer, assuming he’s referring to having an orgasm. You’ve never had one before, but they sound amazing. You’re just too nervous to go that far, even alone. You’re incredibly sensitive, and the couple of times you tried masturbating, you chickened out and stopped when the sensations became too much.

“Maybe I can help you out sometime,” he says with a grin.

A noise behind you at the entrance to the alley draws your attention and you turn around, afraid some poor civilian might get mixed up in this. There’s a drunken man in a suit stumbling around, nearly falling before catching himself on a wall. When you look back to Shigaraki, he’s gone without a trace.

Thankful to have escaped the encounter with your life, but also completely humiliated, you limp out of the alley on your sore ankle and finish your patrols.

Over the next few weeks, you find yourself running into Shigaraki “by coincidence” many times. You’ve heard he has a quirk that lets him search out specific people, and you wonder if he’s using it on you. He always appears when you’re alone, always hits you with that damned “Truth Serum” quirk, and always asks you embarrassing questions. Have you been thinking about him? (Yes) Did you ever try touching yourself again? (No) Have you told any of the heroes about meeting him? (No)

He even made you admit that you’ve been having dreams about him, though thankfully you were interrupted before he could ask you what the dreams were about. If you had to describe such filthy things, you’d absolutely die of shame. Once he asked you what you’ve been thinking about and you said you’ve been wondering what he looks like naked. He paused for a minute then asked if you wanted to see his dick. You said yes, of course, and he pulled it out right there in front of you.

You immediate reaction was to cover your eyes. You’d never seen a naked man in person before this, so it was a bit of a shock. But then you actually looked. For some reason, you always thought you’d be mildly grossed out the first time you were faced with a penis, but you didn’t feel that way at all. In fact, you liked the way it looked. You didn’t touch him, and he left soon after.

Some of the encounters resulted in him groping you again. He always asked if you wanted him to, and you always did, even if you wished you could hide it. Those meetings left you feeling dirty, like a pervert. You’ve never felt like this before, about anyone. And now you can’t stop thinking about Shigaraki, can’t stop imagining him doing all sorts of filthy things to you.

Finally, one day, he appears at the door to your apartment. You’re shocked when you open the door, but you invite him in. He follows you into your tiny living room, but he doesn’t sit down, even after you take a seat on the couch. He’s standing there in black pants and a black hoodie, soft white hair framing his face. He raises one hand, and the pink mist comes out. You don’t even struggle against it anymore.

“Are you happy to see me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He grins. “I came to help you finish for once.”

For a moment, you don’t understand what he means. Then it dawns on you, and two feelings simultaneously erupt within you: panic at the thought that things are about to get more embarrassing, and arousal at the very idea of him ‘helping you’, whatever that means.

“Wait,” you say, “I’m not sure I-”

“Do you want to have an orgasm?” he asks you, interrupting.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. Damn this truth serum quirk!

“Do you want me to help you?”

“Yes,” you say again, your voice breathless. You’ve never been this scared, or this excited, in your life.

He reaches down and places his hand on your thigh. Within seconds, your shorts and panties crumble away, leaving you exposed. You shriek and try to cover yourself with the end of your tshirt, but Shigaraki stops you. “I want to watch you,” he says, eyes staring into yours.

You let go of your shirt, and Shigaraki gently lifts one of your legs up, so that one foot is on the seat of the couch beside you. This pose leaves you spread open, all of you on display for him. He backs up a few steps and takes in the view. Your face feels hot, and you know you must be absolutely scarlet.

“Touch yourself,” he says, his voice low.

You hesitate. You were embarrassed and scared to do this by yourself. How could you possibly do it in front of him? But you can already feel it. You’re wet. This is turning you on! You reach down a shaky hand and lightly rub the outer flesh of your pussy. It already feels sticky. You glance up and see his red eyes fixed on you, on your hand making its first timid movements.

“Spread it open,” he says, still standing a couple of feet away. His face looks transfixed as he watches you do as he commanded, using your fingers to open the folds. Cool air hits the sensitive skin, and you shudder in response. You use one finger to circle your clit, almost afraid to touch it directly. But you can see it in his eyes. He’s hungry to see you go for it. So you do. You rub your clit, slowly and gently at first, and then apply a little more pressure.

It feels so good, you think you might cum in seconds. “Slow down,” Shigaraki says, drawing your eyes up to him, making sure you don’t forget he’s there. You follow his instruction, slowing your pace. You moan as a wave of pleasure hits you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

Your voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to you when you groan out, “You!”

You look at his face, and his eyes flash with desire and excitement. “What about me?”

“How much I want you… how much I want…”

He’s watching you so intently, it’s like the two of you are the only things that exist in the whole world. “How much you want what?” he asks.

You’re still under the effects of the truth serum. You can’t avoid answering, even if you wanted to. “How much I want your cock!” you scream, your fingers now stroking your clit furiously.

He comes closer and kneels down in front of you, so close he could kiss your thighs if he wanted to. “Tell me every dirty thought you’re having about me.”

“I want you to kiss me! I want you inside me! I want you to cum in my mouth! I want you to take my virginity! I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk! I want you to wreck me! I want to be your personal slut!” The words spill out, dirty, shameful thoughts you never had until you met him. You’ve always been the innocent, naive one who blushes over a slightly naughty joke. Now you’re masturbating and screaming out your every desire in front of the king of villains. What’s happening to you?

Shigaraki gives you a teeth-baring grin. “Good girl,” he says, and that pushes you over the edge. You feel a rush of unbridled pleasure wash over your entire body. You arch your back, toss your head back, and scream out in ecstasy. You just experienced your first orgasm, and it felt incredible. You pant and tremble as your body relaxes and your head clears. That’s when you realize: Shigaraki just watched you have your first orgasm. The rush of euphoria you felt is replaced by a rush of embarrassment.

You close your legs and pull your shirt down in an effort to cover yourself, lowering your eyes to avoid looking at him. You can’t believe you said all those things, did all those things, in front of him. He must think you’re a total slut.

To your surprise, he sits down on the couch beside you and pulls you closer to him. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m gonna make all your wishes come true tonight. Starting with…” He tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours, then slips his tongue into your mouth. It’s a soft, passionate kiss. “What do you think of me now?” he asks,

“I think I’m in love with you.” The answer comes freely, of course. Stupid truth serum.

It’s as if he can read your mind. He grins. “Truth Serum wore off just after you finished,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “You tricked me!”

He laughs, then kisses you again. “Ready for me to wreck you?”

You blush at your words being thrown back at you, but you nod and answer, “Yes.”

[sapphic-agent]

I was going to ignore this because it really isn't worth the effort, but OP's tone kinda pissed me off and I'm petty.

1. You can take the action to filter out the tag. Therefore, you won't see a blog that's Anti Bakugou. You're choosing to subject yourself to our content and then whining about it. You're doing the same thing you're talking down on us for, hypocrite.

2. It's funny how you aren't saying a damn word about his stans. His stans who have at every turn been some of the most toxic and volatile people in the fandom. On every single forum- here, Instagram, Reddit, AO3, FF, etc- I've had a problem with Bakugou stans instigating conflict with me. I've been called literal slurs by Bakugou stans. Why is their behavior tolerated, but us creating a space to talk about why we dislike a fictional character a problem?

3. Having intellectual conversations with people who have the same or similar thoughts as you doesn't indicate a lack of hobby. And you know that, you're not dumb. You're attempting to act superior by shaming us because you don't like what we have to say. Cry more.

[signode-blog]

Mastering Trading with the True Range Indicator: A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction In the vast and dynamic world of trading, having the right tools and indicators at your disposal can make all the difference between success and failure. One such powerful tool that has gained prominence among traders is the True Range Indicator. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into what the True Range Indicator is, how it works, and how traders can leverage it to make…

[dragonsdendoodles]

similar vein to that other ask but opposite, what do you think enoch and horace would argue about non trivially, like the worst disagreement theyve had

Oh good lord angst time. Buckle up kids today we’re going over why my friends yell at me. Fair warning this one’s also gonna be long

So there are two scenarios. One where Horace is the one hurt, and one where Enoch is.

I think whatever it is either way, it started small. I think generally they’d be good at communication, having picked that up from Hugh and Fiona, but it was, at the time, a small issue. It was not a stupid issue, because if it were a stupid issue it would turn into an argument about the argument itself.

The two things that made the first scenario significantly worse:

1. We have seen how Enoch is just in general. He has zero filter and he’s a jerk and sometimes it’s funny and sometimes he takes it a bit too far. I think, very similarly to myself, he can’t actually tell. He can tell when he’s hurt someone, but he doesn’t actually know what it was that hurt them. We’ve also seen him argue with people quite a lot, which leads me to believe he can be pretty volatile.

2. My headcanon for Horace being upset is that whenever he is, he gets in his head until he’s convinced himself that if he voices his concerns with whoever upset him (especially Enoch) he’s either going to be yelled at again and it’ll go nowhere or he’ll bother them more by bringing it back up and that combined with blaming himself for the whole thing means that eventually he just kind of shuts down. Stops talking. Waits for it to go away.

Normally, if I were writing them in this fashion (surprise surprise, I have a fic draft where I am,) Enoch would pester Horace about whatever he’s upset about until he fesses up, they talk it out, kiss a little, after an hour of trying to get this out of him it’s over in ten minutes.

However, if they were to get into a Big Actual Fight about whatever it was, I think Enoch would not have the patience to sit and deflect Horace’s “I’m fine/nothing’s wrong/you didn’t do anything/I’m just being stupid”s for as long as he usually has to. If Horace’s stubbornness wins out instead of Enoch’s and Enoch is both upset that Horace won’t ever fucking talk to him and doesn’t have near enough patience to keep pushing the issue to be able to have the information to resolve it, Enoch decides fine. If you’re going to be like this, then I’ll let you fucking be like this until you can be a fucking adult and actually fucking talk to me. Except that doesn’t come out like that, it’s Enoch, so it comes out as insults. Horace snaps back because the insults were uncalled for, Enoch snaps back because oh we’re doing this now, and neither knows who raised their voice first but now they’re both yelling. It gets messy. Someone gets called unreasonable, the other asks why he’s even still with him if he’s so horrible, the first asks why the hell he’d even say that when he knows why (the answer is he’s not, they’re both just pissed off and throwing words at each other to see what sticks,) it goes on for maybe twenty minutes tops. They get tired of crying and screaming at each other so depending on how bad they need one, one of them hugs the other and they actually talk about it or one of them goes away to calm himself down and process everything and then they hug and talk about it. Things are a little shaky for a while, but for the most part they’re just relieved it’s over and for some reason the other is still here and still loves them and isn’t leaving anytime soon. They apologized, they solved the issue by sitting down and talking about it, so for the most part everything’s okay now. There might be a day or so of walking on eggshells for fear of it happening again, but for all the hurt and all the shouting, chances are they don’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place.

The important canon point and headcanon for the second option: Horace is shown in (at least my reading of) the books to be a bit of a people-pleaser. He does not like confrontation, he does not like upsetting people, he is too anxious and would much rather just Not Deal With That. Because of this, I am of the opinion that when he is in a particularly anxious mood or if he can sense that something is going wrong and he needs to fix it, he’ll make something up to hopefully dissipate the situation. (Think Dear Evan Hansen but on a lesser scale. It would not go farther than one person in this instance.) He knows it’s a terrible habit to have, and he is genuinely trying to fix it, but occasionally something slips out involuntarily and he feels horrible about it.

The biggest problem with that, other than the habit of being a compulsive liar: it doesn’t work. It works on people he doesn’t know, because they don’t know what his face means when he says something and then immediately gets even more nervous, but his friends and Miss Peregrine absolutely do. He knows they can tell and he is genuinely trying to fix it, so he just as quickly apologizes and corrects himself. It still hurts the other person, but it’s better than doubling down, which used to be how that would go because this all started to get himself out of trouble.

It hurts everyone involved and Horace absolutely hates that he does it, but the worst person he could do it to is Enoch. Because now his own boyfriend can’t fucking trust him and if there is one thing that pisses off Enoch more than pretty much anything else, it’s being lied to. And Enoch can and will call him on it. Immediately. Horace is doing his best to stop that from happening and chooses his words very carefully when he’s nervous in an effort to prevent it, but occasionally he gets paranoid that he’s done something Enoch won’t like and then he gets careless and forgets and then it’s just about getting out of this and uh oh.

When that happens, Enoch stops talking to him for a while. If Horace tries to say something, they fight about it and it’s an argument Horace cannot win because Enoch’s right. He should be able to trust and be honest with him, but for some reason he was scared enough to convince himself he couldn’t, and now Enoch can’t trust him. Once Enoch comes back from processing everything, they have a serious talk about why he said what he did and the thought process behind it and why Horace thought lying to him about whatever the completely innocent thing was would be a good idea and this cannot happen again. Horace understands and apologizes and tries to make up for it because that’s all he can do, and Enoch’s still upset about it for a while, but eventually he trusts Horace again and the issue is resolved. Neither of them feel good about the situation until it’s all but forgotten in a few weeks, after they’ve built that trust back up.

In writing this I realized that one can very easily lead into the other, so for all intents and purposes if we start with one and it becomes two, the argument stays two and two cannot turn back into one. It’s no longer about whatever actually caused it, it’s about the fact that now one of us is just saying things to appease the other and that habit happens to be the one thing that had it been literally anyone else that relationship of any kind would have been over.

Neither of these happens often. They are very good at communication generally, having been friends and best friends long before they were boyfriends, so 99.9% of the time if something happens that would cause an argument, they sit down and actually talk it out and it’s fine. This is just that .1% where it gets pretty bad. They understand each other better than even they think they do sometimes, so they come out okay, if not for a couple bad memories. They do talk about those bad memories sometimes as well, especially if it started with an insecurity of one of them, and they make sure that whatever it was all is forgiven and nothing is permanently damaged. If there’s damage left over, they talk about it immediately and do whatever needs to be done to resolve it. Neither holds grudges against the other.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

i wish there was a way to avoid seeing romantic 3zun art/fic in the tags without also filtering out any and all discussion of non-romantic 3zun dynamics. and it's not just because i don't ship it.

like, i am extremely here for the hot mess that is the dissolution of the sworn brotherhood! i have lost hours of sleep turning the incompatibility of nmj and jgy's worldviews over and over in my head like a grim thought-pancake! i am bewitched by the narrative spectre of nmj and lxc's friendship-that-once-was, which casts a long and complex shadow over lxc's inability (or refusal) to recognize the real and present danger that nmj was to jgy's life, up until it was too late for him to meaningfully intervene. and i am of course never going to shut up about the relationship between jgy and lxc, which was something that managed to grow and thrive and bring them both real strength and joy, against all odds. like these two men would not have been friends, and would never have become friends, let alone each other's closest confidantes, had the war not thrown them into each other's paths outside the normal strictures of cultivation world society. i'm still insane about precious that emotional intimacy remains between them, however one chooses to interpret that relationship, because for the two of them, there really is nothing comparable to it in the rest of the book. love that shit.

fanon 3zun as a dysfunctional polycule is a thing that floats many a shipper's boat, which is fine, whatever works for you etc., but it is frustrating trying to sift the fanon out of the search results when there is no canon non-romantic 3zun tag. because canon 3zun isn't a polycule, just like the individual ships that can be derived from it aren't canon either. canon 3zun is unbalanced and volatile and unfair to each different member of the sworn brotherhood for different reasons. canon 3zun is not three different men with three different-but-equal levels of romantic investment in each other. lxc is biased in jgy's favour and chooses his company and perspective over nmj's. yet lxc is nmj's only real friend, and the only person who seems capable of extracting reason or compassion from him, other than nhs. and while nmj was the first person to recognize meng yao's worth and promote him to a position of authority during the sunshot campaign, whatever respect and admiration they once held for each other was irreparably damaged by 1) what happened at nightless city, and 2) the jinlintai steps confrontation.

maybe i can just draw this hold on--

okay i tried drawing two separate diagrams to help illustrate my thought process here, and i think?? this one gets at the heart of my thoughts better, even if it isn't perfect. here's the key to unlocking the above quagmire of colours and lines and my chicken scratch:

green = nmj; gold = jgy; blue = lxc (simple enough)

type of relationship (solid line = friendship; dotted line = ??? professional?)

gradients = an attempt at visualizing the level of investment each party has in their respective relationships with each other. this one was extremely difficult to render and i'm not 100% happy with what i've settled on, but it's the closest approximation to the idea in my brain.

arrows = indicates my clumsy effort at showing who is "moving towards" whom, strictly in terms of the longer term trajectory of the characters' relationships with each other in the text.

prints this out to stick it on my wall and stare at it for a while. hmmm. hmmmm.

[mcyt-cfwf]

Storm season is about to start! (MCC29)

Any big storm is preceded by very active tropical winds (Team announcement) clashing against temperate winds (fans during periods of rest between MCCs) And even if some stronger than usual tropical storms approach the shore there is no need to panic. You can fare this storms better by heeding the following advice:

Team announcement and pre-championship guidelines

Teams will be announced on the MCC official Twitter account, you can wait for the information to be replicated in the MCC subreddit as well as the @mcc-updates updates account here on tumblr. So choose the option you feel the most comfortable!

Some recommendations for each site

Twitter:

Continues to be one of the most volatile storms so tread carefully! If you do not have any experience or confidence to face this storm it is advised you remain away for your own safety!

Open the app and head directly to the MCChampionship account, do not linger on your feed or the tags you may see trending if you aren't sure you've effectively filtered out any potential discourse

Wait for the team announcements and express your excitement over your favorite team on your own profile, that way you may avoid looking at the comments that can get out of hand very quick

⚠️DO NOT OPEN THE QUOTE RETWEETS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ⚠️

Leave Twitter and do not open it again.

The nature of Twitter discussions is mostly based on perceived moral uprightness as well as the popularity of the contestants which is why the winds of this storm can reach such high speeds since the starting point of discussion is one deeply personal and biased. Arguing may not accomplish much aside from creating more arguments, so be careful if you face that storm it may impact your emotional well-being almost immediately in many cases.

Tumblr:

It is a misconception that the site is immune to spikes in toxicity so be aware some caution will still be needed, once more if you do not feel comfortable faring this storm, avoid it for your own safety!

Go to @/mcc-updates or wait for the post to make the rounds until it reaches your blog

If you don't feel confident you have blocked and filtered tags and users that may upset you avoid going through the tags

In case you encounter something that slightly or greatly upsets you, back off slowly and block whoever is needed. The block button is a powerful tool at your disposal at all times.

Harassing other users is not advised as it will result in a cyclical increase of toxicity. REFRAIN AT ALL TIMES OF DOING SO

If you feel in any way nervous or scared of the possibility the storm may impact you directly, remember options to turn off anons and even close your inbox are options!

Tumblr discussions stem from a more meta perspective as it focuses immediately on the effects the event will have or is having on the fandom. Traditionally Tumblr's storm system would only react after harsh winds coming from Twitter, but lately, the storm system has become unstable in itself. As the reaction of Twitter, Reddit, and Tumblr itself are evaluated alongside the exchange of thoughts about teams, lengthy discussions can start and as calm as they can be they can turn insidious too, in a less immediate upsetting way than Twitter, or just as upsetting in some rare occasions so employ your filters and be cautious.

Reddit:

Reddit is a very cyclical storm system that has allowed us to identify a clear pattern, and even if its winds may not be as fast as Tumblr's or twitter's it is much more constant and long-lived. Take this into account while traversing it. If you do not feel confident you can navigate the storm safely, avoid it for your own safety!

Go to the subreddit and wait for the team posts

Do not go indepth into the comments as the terms "nerf" and others may be thrown around

Once you've seen the team, leave the site for the rest of the storm cycle!

Why? you may ask.

Reddit's long-term discussion focuses above all on possible performance and the meta scene of the championships. Thus the forum will spend the next two weeks predicting the upcoming event by using tools like tiers and statistics to classify the performance of a team or players. This discussion can vary from very rational and cordial, to very upsetting and heated, and the nature itself of evaluating a player or team solely on statistics may be upsetting to some. So be cautious!

General recommendation:

Taking refuge in a private discord server with friends where you can exchange thoughts opinions, illusions, and grievances in a safe place is beneficial to everyone! as it allows you to get any upset out of your system and receive feedback in a safe environment and in such way other people who are going through their own experience won't be affected.

You deserve to be excited and have fun over this event!

And building hype over the teams and the prospect of seeing them compete! Don't let anyone take that from you! You are allowed to protect your fun and experience from discourse and are not obligated to partake on it!

If you need to take a step back be sure to do so!

Take care <3

[xamaxenta]

SNORTING AND PANTING LIKE A WILD BOAR THIBKING ABOUT ROBOT SEXO!!!!!!!!!! the inherent homoerotic tension of gently sinkingbyour fingers into the pumping humming insides of your cyborg homie. the toe curling horniness of sabo straddling marcos waist bc hes so huge its really the best way for sabo to get in his chest cavity, honest, no other reason , and in order to clean the old filters of marcos not-lungs sabo has to bow over and get his arms inside marcos body down to the elbow like hes nearly crawling into the space beneath his core .. marco doesnt have the same accurate touch sensors as ace so while he can tell when hes being touched, he cant FEEL it, and there was not a place on his body designed to be touched for pleasure BUT his synthetic organs are filled with nerves and sensors to inform him of any damage and so sabo opens him up and plays him like an instrument while ace holds marco down and it would look macabe or violent if you didnt know how much Trust there was in it. marco Trusting ace not to let him hurt sabo. ace Trusting sabo not to damage marco. sabo Trusting marco and ace, literal war machines, with no fear as he tests the most volatile dangerous parts of marcos circuitry and tempts death for the sole purpose of bringing marco pleasure and service. marco recovering from the psychological weight of knowing hes cannon fodder to be scrapped or replaced. ace recovering from the thought he is only capable of violence. sabo recovering from the craziest robot sex known to man. your MIND dr xenta

anon wtf i have to give u my phd in robotfuckery bc this is beyond anything i couldve said

I wanted to say Sabo climbs inside them and fucks their circuitry but i wasnt sure if that would be received well or if anyone felt the same way but i cant take credit for any of those thoughts bc you came here with them first AND IM SO HAPPY THE BRAINCELL CESSPOOL I HAVE IS SHARED WITH FELLOW ROBOFUCKERS…

Pls the last part about marco recovering from knowing he was cannon fodder or destined for scrapping and Ace recovering from thinking he can only be violent <- this is so tender im going INSANE

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Open When...

FEBRUARY FICLETS #1

A/N: Happy February, everyone! (Yes, it' true, January is finally over!) For me, has historically been a month of writing slumps and creative blocks. In an effort to try to fight that this year, I am choosing a few prompts from this list and writing something short for them. I have no idea how many I’ll get to, but for now here’s a little Ezra to get things started. This is part of the Angelfish universe.

Prompt: love letter

Warnings: brief mention of accident and injury

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Long distance relationships are always tough, especially when the distance spans different planetary systems. But you still find a way to be there for Ezra without ever leaving your post on Lau.

The relentless hum and buzz of life at Bahkroma base was silenced as Ezra reached his bunk and slid the door shut.

What a day. He sighed, bringing his right hand up to the back of his neck. The smallest tilt of his head released an audible pop of tension that he felt beneath his fingers. What a Kevva-fucked day.

Though the potential for danger on the Green Moon was always high, most dig shifts went smoothly. Trek out to the site, fill the day’s aurelac quota, secure the gems and trek back to base. The terrain was rough, the chemicals used to coax the gems from the fleshy roots was caustic, and without a filter the air would kill a person in just a handful of cycles. But when protocol was followed and equipment maintained - as it always was when Ezra was leading an expedition - the job could be done with relative safety.

Of course, there were still plenty of ways that a dig could go awry.

That day, it happened to be an expired vial of chem left behind by some drifter whose body had long since been consumed by the mossy forest floor. Flesh decays, and the Green is always hungry for carrion. But inorganic material remains for far longer - roto scalpels and extraction forceps left to rust, containers of phaser becoming covered by growth, laying in wait like landmines to be struck open by a drill head or pickaxe. Unlike some of the substances used in filtration and cleaning that lost potency over time, phaser solution only became more volatile. More dangerous.

Which was why Frontier Mining Company had invested in top of the line scanning equipment that checked the ground for evidence of abandoned dig sites before crews were cleared to begin.

The scans came up clean, though. Ezra stepped away from the door and crossed the small space that somehow felt smaller since you’d left for your posting on Big Blue. Choosing what had always been your side, he sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the mattress. They were clean. We were cleared, and then-

He screwed his eyes shut against the memory of what happened next - the distinct sound of metal finding glass, the hiss and bubble of the leaked fluid reacting to the water in the plantlife it spilled onto, the stillness in the half second before the explosion, and the anguished screams that came through the comms in his helmet.

In the end, it could have been worse. No one was killed. Everyone had been knocked to the ground, a few people had been banged up a bit. But Danelo, one of the crewmen Ezra had known for as long as he’d known you, had been the unlucky bastard whose ax had hit the vial. He lost a hand to the blast. Ezra had responded quickly, grabbing a field kit and loading the foam gun to cream up the wound as best as he could until the team was able to get the injured man back to base for proper medical treatment, and that had likely saved him from the worst of the infection.

It was still a grizzly sight. He opened his eyes and they landed on the photo he kept tacked up on the wall - one of you in his arms on the covered porch of your floating apartment out on the Skiffs, the shockingly blue water shimmering in the sunlight and your smile directed at him and not the camera. The picture instantly helped to put him at ease if only just a little. I’m glad you weren’t here for that, Angelfish.

He was glad, even though his missing you ran deeper than the ocean you were stationed beneath, that you were no longer at risk of falling prey to any of the Green Moon’s hidden perils. Glad that what happened to Danelo would never happen to you. Glad that your day to day operations on The Dive were far more stable than the wild nature of Aurelac mining. Even though he ached to hold you, especially on days when just a tiny shift in circumstance could have made it impossible for him to hold you ever again, Ezra was beyond relieved that your days on the Green were through. And that my own up here are numbered.

But days like that - and several others - were exactly what you had prepared for the last time you were both on leave together. Because you think of everything, don’t you?

Reaching up to the shelf that was built into the wall above the bed, Ezra pulled down a string-wrapped bundle of letters. There were fifteen in total, each of them meant for different occasions. You’d sealed each letter with a drop of wax and labeled them with their intended purposes. Open when you score a big pull. Open when your stand is halfway through. Open when it’s your birthday. Some of them were still sealed, awaiting the right time as per your instructions. Others were already opened, their pages folded and refolded along creases made by your hands so he could read and reread them as needed. Open when you can’t sleep. Open when you need a laugh. He thumbed through the semi-wrinkled paper, fingers finding the one he was looking for and pulling it from the stack.

Open when it’s been a hard day.

That one was still crisp and unopened. Slipping the shoes from his feet, Ezra swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, and then he slipped his finger between the edges and tore them apart. So far, every single one of your letters had perfectly matched whatever reason he’d had for opening them. Each one was a reminder of exactly what he needed to hear, as though you were right there. And each one only proved what he’d known for years - that you loved him just as much as he loved you. Let’s see what you’ve got to say this time.

Like always, as he read he could hear the words in your voice, as close and clear as though you were there tucked against his chest.

Oh, my Ezra,

A hard day, prospector? I’m sorry, love. These are the days that I wish I was with you the most. Even if just to put my arms around you to give you a few minutes of relief. You make all my worst days more bearable and the fact that I'm so far away on one of yours is something that I would change in a heartbeat if I could. But since I can’t, this will have to do.

Do you remember that day on H4, back at the training facility, when you asked me to partner up with you for the Vezna excursion? I’m sure you do. It was our first experience on a fire planet and we were both nervous about it. What I never told you, though, was that earlier that day I was very seriously considering leaving the Frontier program altogether. I’d blown my Sector Six practice exam that morning and even though the field assessment was still a week away, I could already hear the gossip. I knew most of the other trainees didn’t want me there, didn’t think I could hack it. None of them were eager to be put on a crew with me, and I was really starting to doubt myself. Doubt my dreams. It was my hardest day of the 582 that we spent there.

But then you came along and you had that smile on your face and you said “Angelfish, there’s no one I’d rather walk through the flames with.” And even though you didn’t know it, that was exactly what I needed to hear. That you saw me as someone who was strong enough to do hard things, even things that made you nervous, too. You saw me as someone to depend on, even when I couldn’t see it for myself.

Ezra, I don’t know what happened today to make you open this letter in particular. But I do know that what you said to me that day? I feel the same. There is no one in this or any universe that I would rather walk through flames with, because I know that you can. I know that whatever struggles the day brought you won’t keep you down, because you’re stronger than anything that might try to stop you.

And do you remember what happened after the Vezna excursion? After we got back to H4 and passed Sector Six? Those ten days we spent in The Ephrate during semester break? I do. And I know you do, too.

I love you, Ezra. You’ll get through this hard time, and we’ll be together again soon. So soon.

He read your letter three times that night, running his fingers over the indentations made by your pen, tracing the lines and curves of the letters where you signed your name. You always ended each letter the same way - Your Angelfish - and each time he read those two words they filled him with a warmth he’d only ever felt when you were there beside him. You were his, and he was more yours than his own.

Flattening the letter over the center of his chest, Ezra turned his head to glance at the photo again. “You always know what to say, Angelfish.”

The reassurance that you believed in him - believed that he was capable of doing what was necessary to get through the hard days, whatever they bring - was the reason he was able to fall asleep that night.

But your mention of that long ago trip to The Ephrate? That was the reason for the things he dreamed about. And he couldn’t wait to be back on the Skiffs with you to tell you and show you that yes, he absolutely remembered those ten days.

.

.

.

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[k1ngk41ro]

Whump #2

Inspo: https://www.tumblr.com/rookthebird/725457986577940480?source=share

"I will never reveal my trauma to anyone..." Whumpee repeated to themselves. It was almost a chant, a mantra. But when they found themselves suddenly weakened, feverish, and overwhelmed, they found no comfort in those words.

Their delirium began to speak louder than their mind, and things began to spill out of their lips unprompted. The words spilled out of their mouth, unasked for, unplanned. The feverish delirium allowed the words to flow with no filter, and they began to cry and speak and confess.

The fever took over and allowed Whumpee to be vulnerable in a way they'd never been before. "You won't leave me after this, right?" Whumpee choked out, tears on their cheeks. Their body was wracked with cold, the feverish chill gripping them tighter. "I know I'm being ridiculous, but I just... I just need to know that... that I..." they trailed off, unable to form a true sentence.

The fever was sapping ther mind as well as their body. Their eyes were pleading, though the tears made it difficult to see. It was only then that it became apparent how much they were suffering.

Whumpee was usually so stoic about everything, always a shield against any emotion. But the fever had caused them to be vulnerable in a way they'd never been before. They needed reassurance, something they'd never admit to on a normal day.

"I won't leave you..." Caretaker voice soft with concern. Their brows furrowed with worry, as they could see exactly how much pain their loved one was in. They gently placed a hand on Whumpee's forehead, comforting them despite not knowing what else to do. The concern was palpable, and it made the sick Whumpee feel just a bit safer as they began to speak even more.

"But how do I know you mean it?" Whumpee asked, the feverish questioning coming quickly. Their voice was weak and raspy, the words hoarse. "What if you change your mind?" they asked, the paranoia clear in their voice.

Despite being sick and exhausted, the stress of the situation was getting to them. They needed the reassurance once more. "I do mean it," Caretaker saix, reassuring the first. "I promise I mean it..."

"I just..." Whumpee took a shaky breath, trying to calm their nerves. No matter how many reassurances they received, their mind kept playing tricks. And it was always one thought, the same one over and over again. "What if I'm..." Whumpee said, hesitating. The fear of being unwanted, of being discarded, was too real to ignore.

"What if I'm too much to deal with?" Whumpee finally asked, voice breaking. "What if I'm just too much? Too emotional, too volatile..." they paused, hesitating to say the rest. They were afraid to admit their greatest fear, their deepest trauma.

So many times they had felt unwanted for who they were, for the traits that made them who they were. The risk of rejection was always lingering.

"You're never too much for me," the Caretaker said, voice gentle and calm. "You can be as emotional or as volatile as you want. I can handle it..." they paused for a moment, realizing how their words might sound. But they meant them honestly. "I want you to be as much of yourself as you want to be around me," they added, hoping that would provide some more reassurance.

Whumpee had been told countless times that they were too much, too emotional, too much to handle. It had started as just a single comment, maybe an offhanded remark.

But it stuck. The comments were always there, nagging at them, telling them to hide their emotions. They couldn't let anyone know, lest the emotions they were shamed for come flooding out. So they kept them inside, they kept them hidden. But the fever brought those old feelings to the surface, and they flooded out unbidden.

The Caretaker realized what was happening all too clearly. They were able to piece together where this stemmed from, and their heart went out to Whumpee

"You're not too much for me," they said again, voice as kind as ever. "I want you to always feel comfortable showing your emotions, no matter how much... I want you to know that you have a safe space with me." Caretaker spoke firmly, but gently.

Their voice was kind, and it offered a sense of solace that Whumpee so desperately needed. The Whumpee let out a shky breath, trying to fight against the fever's effects. But in their weakened state, even the simplest of emotions felt like a storm of emotions.

"I know," they said, voice rough and hoarse. But the truth was that a part of them didn't believe the words being said. Their mind kept repeating the same thing over and over again: "too much". But the feverish delirium was helping them to let those words go for now, and they began to feel calmer. Whumpee tried to force themselves to stay awake, to not let the fever consume them completely, but it seems they couldn't fight it any longer.

But the last coherent thought before they slipped into unconsciousness was one of comfort. The person standing over them, holding them, comforting them with every word and touch. The storm of emotions began to simmer down, and they felt just a little bit more peaceful.

The exhaustion claimed them soon after, and they faded away into the restful sleep their body so desperately needed.

[the-final-sif]

It's so nostalgic seeing your dreamon au again since it's actually how I discovered your blog and definitely one of my favorites! Is there anything else you'd like to share about it?

For the dreamon improv AU, I think one of the bits I never really got to discuss was DreamXD/XD's exact impact on c!Dream.

During his creation, Dream literally put part of his own soul into XD including a lot of his happier memories and love for his friends. It was what really flipped XD into something capable of becoming their own person.

I've mentioned before that DreamXD's creation had some serious impacts on Dream during this period. One such impact is that the simple act of creating DreamXD and shuffling part of his soul into a new, safe location actually both made Dream more vulnerable to the Dreamon and protected him from it.

Removing that part of his soul fundamentally made him weaker, it made it harder for him to take back control from the Dreamon, particularly early one.

However, the flip side that neither Dream nor the Dreamon realized was that Dream removing that part of his own soul clamped down on his side of his emotional connections to people. It didn't erase them, but it did weaken them significantly and destabilize those bonds.

If Dream had managed to get rid of the Dreamon without DreamXD returning that part of his soul, then that would've caused way more problems in the long run with his own memories and ability to form connections with other people. Luckily, XD gave it back. Dream definitely felt some weirdness while the parts of his soul had to patch themselves back together, including one part that had someone else's in hands in it. But like, he was also recovering from months of torture and his body being neglected and pushed to it's limits. So it went overlooked for awhile.

That experience ends up being effectively like if you gave someone your phone for a few months with all of your shit still on it (and no way to recover it) and then you get it back. There's an oddness in something that's uniquely yours and contains important parts of your life being given away, and then getting it back later after someone else has been digging in it. It's unsettling.

XD also suffer side effects once he returns Dream's soul. Although he'd also been suffering side effects while he had Dream's soul inside of him. Mainly because he'd now grown his own soul and the two were in a bit of conflict. Once the soul gets returned, XD ends up more stable and his own individuality begins to grow rapidly. At the same time, his own soul is still quite young and small so he sometimes finds himself reverting back to wanting to just sit by the End portal and stop people from going in. There's all of these new emotions and experience and now he has to process them all on his own without the crutch of having Dream's prior experience to filter them through.

His emotional volatility kinda goes everywhere maybe a month or two after the soul split, and it's basically only Dream that can get him calm again during that period. XD despite no longer having any obligation towards Dream does still refer to Dream as his admin and defer to him.

Also there's an entire 3 month long debacle for registering XD as a proper player because he does 100% have a soul and is a player, but also uh. His birth. Requires explanations. Like, technically he's like a few months old legally speaking (from the moment he had a soul of his own) but he's also very clearly not a few month old baby. They end up having to reprogram several systems to account for him and also pass several new laws.