#and i mean it WAS to an extent but no overall i left it just. ABSOLUTELY in love with it... it was really touching and light hearted

[1nk20ul]

Jonathan Sims ALIVE?? I Believe I Have Proof.

(Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol!)

You heard that right. And if you've listened to TMP 39 - Dependents, you've heard it too. Not only can I prove without the shadow of a doubt that not one, but two Archivists are roaming TMA's London, but I can also prove with spectrogram + phonetical analysis exactly what Jon is saying.

Let me prove it to you.

First, let's start with an unedited audio sample, taken at 16:30:

Did you catch it? If you didn't, I don't blame you. There's a lot happening here. Let's check the official transcript for more context about what we're hearing.

So, what we're hearing is definitely the Archivist. It's evident that it's whispering something, but the specifics are currently hidden under layers of reverb, static, and tape winding. Let's clean it up a bit to get a better listen. I pitched the audio down 30%, reduced the background noise, and ran it through a few frequency filters to make the speech more prominent.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Yeah, that's definitely Jon.

At the very least, we know this is obviously not Beth Eyre, who voices [ERROR]. Since the transcript states that this audio has to come from an Archivist, that really only leaves us with one other possibility.

But let's assume you still don't believe me. I took the liberty of isolating the vocals entirely and running them through a linguistics analysis programme called Praat (which is fantastic + free by the way!). This way, we can analyse the speech all the way down to the position of the Archivist's mouth when speaking.

Here's the new sample we're working with:

I admit, the speech is a tad more muffled in this version. However, the lack of background noise makes the spectrogram much easier to read, which is what we are aiming for here. We're far past the point of just using our ears.

Behold the Spectrogram:

Looking at this diagram, we can conclude that there are four words being spoken here. (The second word is the gap in the middle part. Note the density shift at around 1000Hz. We know this word must be free of any sharp consonants.) More importantly, the formants provided can be compared to samples of Jon's RP dialect to determine if there's a match. If the frequencies match, it's the same voice. If we get the wavelengths to match, it's the same word.

Let's start with the first word. I'll skip the specifics, as explaining every minute detail would take forever and bore everyone to death. The left image was extracted from the spectrogram above. The right photo? That's Jon saying the word "this."

Note how both waveforms are split into two halves, low then high. Note how the high half trails off at the end. Take into account the similar placement of the red formants. This is the same word, pronounced in the exact same dialect, with the exact same frequency. It is Jon.

Let's do that again with the second word.

Again, the formants line up in the exact same order. The audio on the right is a bit louder, which is why the waveforms have a higher contrast.

What did this word happen to be? World.

Here is the original spectrogram in Audacity. The two bright spots on the right-hand side are easy. It's the same sound as the end of the first word as well. (Notice the frequencies are the same.) These are an easy Letter S. I then fact-checked this using methods like before.

Finally, we have clear, undeniable proof:

"This world isn’t yours."

Edit: thank you to @thestrangepoet for correcting “is” to “isn’t!” The presence of the letter T was a bit inconclusive, but it makes so much more sense in this context.

Now, what does that actually mean? Well, he’s likely referring to Sam. The extent of what he actually knows I’m uncertain of. Feel free to theorise and let me know! I have an idea about how this affects the overall story, but that's a post for another day.

I furthermore checked every single instance [ERROR] spoke for occurrences like this, and what did I find? Nothing. There was a bit of whispering in TMP 10 that I couldn't manage to isolate, but the voice was definitely Beth Eyre's. The only other time an Archivist audibly appeared in this fashion was... Oh, Hello. The TMP series teaser with Jon and Martin. Brilliant.

Now I just have to hope that nothing gets debunked by tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers, TMP 40.

Thank you to Rusty Quill for sending me down this rabbit hole! The details added to all corners of the production bring so much life to the Magnus mystery. I'm glad I could dig deep and analyse this - We love you!

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[juyeoz]

SOFT SPOT — HAN TAESAN

SYNOPSIS — To the eyes around you all, you and Taesan are enemies. You hate anything to do with each other and recoil at the mention of your names. However, behind closed doors, you two are completely different — inseparable. Clearly, Taesan and you will go to an extent to keep your relationship private.

PAIRING — fake-enemy-but-boyfriend!taesan x gn!reader

CONTAINS — kissing, corny love birds Likee i kinda recoiled when writing some lines, and literally just fluff.

WORDCOUNT — 1007 words

NOTE — soph sent that taesan pic and our lives were changed……..and this fic was born duhhh!!!!

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim and spin around in your chair after hearing a few words leave your superior's mouth.

Mr. Lee looks taken aback by your response. Yes, everyone knows about the ongoing battle between both Taesan and you, but your reactions to each other’s names being mentioned never fails to catch them all off guard. 

In the office, you and Taesan never get along. It's been this way since the beginning of your careers. 

Yes, you two have taken a liking to one another since you met, but you couldn’t let anyone else at work know about it, so you played it off as enemies. 

Well, you two at least pretended to want to do nothing with each other to make things less obvious. 

The “enemies” title was given by your coworkers.

Therefore, working with each other is never an option. You “can’t” even stand being in the same room as him, making working in the office a “terrible” experience.

“I won’t work with him.”

“Please, the two of you are the only free ones. We need this proposal by tonight.” Mr. Lee explains with a pleading gaze.

“Then I’ll work on it alone. I don’t need his help.” You say while collecting your scattered papers on the surface of your desk.

“That won’t do.” 

“And why is that?” 

You stack your papers into a pile and turn off your computer in a swift motion as Mr. Lee sighs from behind you.

“It’s too much for one person to handle. With his help, you’ll surely get it done.” He crosses his arms over his chest as you snicker.

Is he looking down on you right now?

“Whatever that means,” you begin and stand up from your seat, with your papers in hand. 

“I’ll work overtime. It can’t be that hard.”

Although it has only been three hours since you uttered those words, you surely are regretting them now.

There you sit, staring at a blank document showcased on your monitor. No matter how long you sit in silence, nothing is coming to your mind. 

Brain fog is after you, and clearly, it doesn't need to try so hard to catch up.

The longer you waited for something, a starting sentence, words — even an overall idea to come to your mind, the more and more workers left. The sun is starting to set, casting an orangey light on your belongings.

In distress, your hands pull at your strands as you let out a groan of frustration. 

You should have listened to what Mr. Lee suggested, but you couldn’t let your relationship become known.

Everyone is used to both you and Taesan rejecting any projects that have to do with one another, so, if you switched up, would they have questioned it?

It sucks, really. You want to spend time with your boyfriend at work, but there are too many eyes on the two of you. To be honest, you can’t even recall why you chose to keep your relationship a secret. It could be because of the awkward tension that would come if you two ever break up and everyone knew about it.

That is a possibility.

The only times you two interact romantically are in the break room when you coincidentally both end up there at the same time. The teasing glances that make your eyes lock with one another and break out into a smile. Or when he secretly leaves anonymous sticky notes on your desk belongings.

Other than that, there is nothing. However, despite that, things will be seen eventually. 

“What’s worrying your pretty mind, love?” A voice approaches you from behind, instantly calming your tense figure due to the familiar warming tone. 

It’s Taesan — your loving boyfriend and so-called workplace enemy.

“A proposal.” You inform as Taesan’s hands slide down from your shoulders and his chin rests on your head.

“Is it the one Mr. Lee suggested we do together?” He asks and you hum in response.

“Why’d you say no? I would be more than glad to help you.” 

“It’ll draw too much attention if I agree, no?” Your head begins to turn to look his way, causing him to rise from his resting position. He looks down at you and smiles while you look up at him.

“That’s too bad.” Taesan begins, then leans down to give you a short and sweet kiss on the lips, which you happily return. 

“If it didn’t, then I could’ve done that many times during work hours instead of after hours.” He teases while your face becomes slightly flushed.

“Why don’t I just help you now? I mean, there’s nobody around…” The boy suggests as your hands lower into your lap.

“Would you actually?” 

“Of course. Here, let’s have a food break first. You seem too overwhelmed by everything to even continue your supposed brainstorming process.” 

You roll your eyes at what he truly meant — your flustered expression — and rise up from your seat for him to lead the way to the break room. 

“A coffee will do?” Taesan questions and you nod. 

“That and your presence, of course.” You reply, giving him another kiss on the cheek once you reach his side.

“Hey.” He stammers out because of the sudden warmth on his cheek. Now, it’s his turn to be left a blushing mess.

“Only I can catch you off guard with a kiss.” He says and you laugh while interlocking your hand with his. 

Out of nowhere, his thumb rubs against the skin of your hand — a reflex he has whenever he intertwines your fingers with his own.

You hum at his words, pondering on his new sudden rule.

“Doesn’t that seem unfair?” Your brow raises as you say your question and look over at the boy interrogatively. Taesan looks back at you, holding eye contact with no signs of breaking it and smiles.

“Not at all.” Taesan replies to your question.

Best believe, after his words, you earned yourself another kiss on the lips for him to prove whatever point he had.

© JUYEOZ

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ancnymcnzjy @miumura @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @macapunoz @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @mydearyeseo @sunghxxnie @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs

[klausysworld]

Apart of the Family

Loving Elijah Mikaelson wasn't an easy thing.

He pushed me away the entirety of the start of our relationship, he wouldn't talk about his feelings or his thoughts. Sometimes he thought breaking up would protect me from him and his family.

If I hadn't loved him so much then I would have left but I couldn't help but stay. We met in Mystic Falls when he was there to deal with Klaus and avenge his family. I had thought he'd left when Klaus daggered him so I was so happy when Damon woke him back up.

He came to my house even before getting his haircut to see me and he ended up staying the night before having to leave with plans to wake his family.

Rebekah didn't like me much to start out, none of them trusted me or wanted me in their house but that didn't stop Elijah from coming to mine. But if he wasn't with them, looking after them 24/7 like a father figure then they all started to fall apart.

He started to pull away again, so I had to confront the Mikaelsons myself, which was admittedly terrifying but overall worth it when Klaus's eyes shimmered with respect and I got to shove past Rebekah and up the stairs of the mansion. Elijah was practically feral after listening to me stand up to his siblings.

His mother liked me, although I'm not really sure if that should be taken as a compliment or an insult. Elijah liked it though. I think he's always sought approval from his parents.

He was distraught when he found out his mother planned to kill them. More broken then any of his siblings could ever know. He made me promise not to tell them that he'd been sobbing into my chest for over two hours that night.

We left for a little while, Elijah needed some time and I jumped at the chance of having him alone for a little while before he was inevitably called back.

We'd been living such a domesticated life We had our own house, yard, stupid white-picket fence.

Even though I knew it was impossible, I started to dream of having his child. I knew he'd been the perfect father, he had a thousand years worth of practice.

I could imagine if we had a son, he'd be all dressed in his little suit with his hair combed neatly. Elijah was just perfect, but he couldn't have children so I wouldn’t either.

I thought I was happy with that, until I found out that Klaus was having a baby.

It wasn't fair. He didn't even want a child and neither did Hayley. Elijah was the only reason the child stayed alive and Klaus still daggered him.

"I promise you, I'll bring him home." He told me when I'd found out he wasn't even in the house somewhere but under Marcels mercy.

"Klaus." I whispered, I could feel my eyes getting wet with tears and he sighed.

"I wouldn't let him get hurt. I know you think I'm selfish and I use my brother...to an extent that's true, but I do love him and I know that you do. He'll come back and I'll undagger him before the baby is even born." He promised and I didn't have much room to argue. Instead I just went back upstairs.

Even Rebekah came which was a nightmare. I don't know what her problem was for me but somehow my favourite Mikaelson in that house was Klaus.

Until Klaus finally brought him back.

I didn't care that Rebekah was pissed that I got to hug him first, I refused to let him go and he didn't seem to be budging much either. I could feel his face nuzzling my neck as I breathed in his scent.

"He made us stop at a suit shop on the way over, he refused for you to see him all dusty and-"

"That's enough, Niklaus. Just leave us be." Elijah muttered and I sighed in relief at the sound of his voice.

By evening I was snuggled up to his bare chest, his hands on my back as he pressed a series of kisses to the top of my head.

"I love you." He mumbled and I smiled, he didn't like saying it often. He worried it would lose it's meaning.

"I love you too." I whispered, wanting nothing more than to lay with him forever.

Things got better and worse from then.

Everything was Klaus centred again of course. When wasn't it?

But I did feel bad for him, to have to go as far to fake his child's death. It was the first time I'd ever hugged him, I could feel his tears on my neck as he tried to sniff them back. Elijah was looking at me from across the room, a slight nod to his head as he finished the phone call with Rebekah.

Things were quiet after that.

But then everything went wrong again, Esther and Mikael came back. Elijah's 'Red Door' opened and he almost suffocated me in his sleep.

He wouldn't touch be for almost a month, not even hold my hand, it was torture. It took a very hash breakdown and a really long cry for him to finally wrap his arms around me and apologise.

It was really hard for a while, but seeing him with Hope in his arms did something to me. It broke me.

That was when Rebekah finally realised we weren't that different. She sat with me on the bathroom floor whilst I sobbed over not being able to have his child and we stayed there until Elijah came in and found us. I wouldn't tell him what was wrong and ended up leaving for a a few hours but it was obvious that Rebekah had spoken to him about it by the time I got home.

He welcomed be back into his arms and he held me tight, caressing my arms and my back before finally breaking the silence.

"I truly refuse to believe that with the amount of magic in this world, that there is no possible chance of me being able to give you a baby." He whispered and I sniffed.

"You're dead Elijah, your sperm is dead." I mumbled and he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Witches bring people back from the dead, I think they can revive a couple of my swimmers." He chuckled and I let out a half cry/half laugh.

"You really think that?" I whispered and he kissed the side of my face.

"I'm at least going to try." He murmured.

It wasn't really mentioned again for a while so I assumed that it had just been a fleeting idea to calm me down.

That was until I walked into our room and found it covered in candles and rose petals. Elijah was stood in a fresh suit, his hands clasped together with a rose between them.

"What..." I mumbled and he let out a shaky breath.

"I found a witch." He stated and my brows pulled together for a second before the realisation washed over me.

"You did?" I whispered and he nodded. I dropped my bag down and made my way inside, standing in front of him and taking the rose from his hands, placing it down on the vanity. "Are you sure that it'll work?" I asked and his lips twitched.

"There's only one way to find that out." He murmured lowly, his umber eyes bleeding into obsidian.

I reached up to carefully undo his tie, my fingers unloosing the fabric in the way he liked to do it so that it wouldn't stretch or 'fold funny'. I pushed his blazer down his shoulders and rest it over the chair before reaching up to undo each button one by one. I made sure my fingertips brushed over the firm muscle of his chest before pulling the shirt off his arms and onto the chair as well.

My eyes glanced up to his as I loosened his belt, slipping it away from his hips and popping the button on his trousers. He let out a soft sigh through his nose as they dropped down to his ankles and he stepped out of them. I let him take his boxers off whilst I unbuttoned my dress all the way down and slipped my panties off and reached back to get my bra off.

His hand was round my waist, pulling me to bed in a second making me smile and lean back into the mattress as he hovered over me.

"I promise I'll give you a baby, Y/N." He uttered and I felt my heart and lower stomach flutter.

His hands stroked down the length of my body before my thighs were gripped and pushed open. I bit my lip to hold back my grin as his lips worked their way down from the top of my neck to my navel.

"Does this help make the baby?" I whispered with a breathy laugh as his hot breath stimulated my clitoris.

"It might." He murmured with a grin before his tongue licked a strip through my folds before focusing on my clit. My head went back, resting against the pillows and my legs fell open against his hands that gripped my thighs firmly. I looked up at the ceiling through heavy eyes as his tongue swirled perfectly. Heat stroked me so precisely that I was a trembling mess in a matter of seconds. It always amazed me how easily he broke me.

It never took long before my fingers were latched into his hair, ruining the neat appearance he always held and forcing groans to vibrate through my lower body and set fire to my core.

I never received any time to recover before he was cupping my face and lifting my legs, hushing my whine as my leg was stretched over his shoulder.

"Look at me, darling." He murmured but his voice was somehow always clear. I did as he said, my eyes locking with his as I felt him push inside me; stretching and filling me inch my inch until all the air was gone from my lungs.

His lips pushed to mine, filling my mouth with his tongue and teasing mine. "Elijah..." I moaned quietly against him and he pulled away with a groan, looking down at me and kissing my forehead as his hips drew back before pushing forward with force. I let out a sharp breath as he did so, my hands cupping his neck and my nails scratching the back of his head. "Gods..." I whispered and he let out a low hum as he build a steady rhythm to move against me.

"I can't wait to pump you full of my child." He uttered, his eyes swirling with that familiar darkness. I panted with a smile on my lips, feeling my leg strain as he pushed be deeper into the bed and moved quicker. "Feel you milk me of my last drop." He breathed out as his mouth now hovered back over mine, making my skin hotter and hotter. "See you round and swollen..." He grunted, his body stuttering before getting a little rougher.

His grip started to get tighter, his fingertips pressing bruises into the skin of my thigh and hip. The veins starting to scatter beneath his eyes and down his stubbled cheeks. My hands slid round from his neck to feel how they raised against the pads of my thumbs.

"I need you." I whispered and his brows furrowed.

"You have me." He muttered, thrusting particularly hard as if to make a point. "All of me."

"Prove it." I breathed and his blunt nails dug in a little before one of his hands let go and slid down my body to massage my clit so well that I knew that was it for me.

His other hand was round my throat, forcing me to look back at him as his warmth started to fill more and more, one thrust at a time until he stayed completely still above me. His forehead rest against mine, his skin warm on mine as he shifted to kiss my lips.

"I promise you, by the end of the year, you'll be carrying our child and I'll be massaging you until you're perfectly sated." He smiled and I mirrored it as he shifted so that I was laid on top of his firm body. "We should lay for a while...so that it can take." He whispered and I hummed.

"I'd lay with you forever."

"Always, and forever." He corrected softly.

[nopanamaman]

How do mutants in the Facility live?

Patreon Loredump. August 2023

One of the most frequent types of questions I get are about life in the Facility. So it seems like a good topic to start my loredumping series with! 

Apologies in advance for all the photo examples, I hope they work fine for getting the vibes across.

Overview

The facility dome is visible in the distance.

The facility in general – or, as it’s officially known, the Zh. I. Alferov National Institute of Anomalous Research – is a large structure located on the border of the Zone. Its most notable feature is the massive dome surrounded by an outside wall.

The wall. In real life, the famous building of НИЦЭВТ.

The latter is a building in itself, containing offices, lecture halls, resting and dining quarters for researchers, as well as minor labs. All entrances are supervised, though not totally closed off to the public. Excursions, official meetings, TV reports – all of those happen within the wall.

But you will not find any mutants here. As you may have already guessed, all the major laboratories, anomalous artefacts, and, of course, mutants are housed in the dome. The entrances to the dome are monitored and equipped with anomaly scanners, allowing only authorised personnel and mutants to travel between its sectors.

Mutants cannot traverse the facility unsupervised.

What is the mutant classification system?

Depending on their anomalous characteristics, cooperability and method of containment, mutants are sorted into types and numbered groups. Individual mutant numbers usually look like XT000-000.

Let’s use Dmitry as an example.

Dima’s serial number is DT001-319.

The type constitutes the first part of the mutant’s number. Dima’s mutation is Directional Type, hence the letters DT at the start (for the record, KT stands for Kernel Type).

Next we have the 00X number. Mutants are assigned a 001, 002, 003 or 004 class depending on the potency and containability of their mutation – kinda like SCPs, yeah. Dima has a very powerful mutation he has good control over, plus he is sound of mind, making him suitable for 001 containment.

The last three digits are the overall number of the mutant within their type. So if Dima’s are 319, the facility has had 318 directional-type mutants on record prior to his arrival. This does not mean they were as powerful or had the same level of control over their telekinesis, just that they possessed a similar mutation to some extent.

How do different mutant classes live?

001

001 quarters example. Not too different from a hospital or sanatorium

Subjects ranked as 001 are extremely powerful, have good control over their powers and are, most importantly, docile. Since their mutations are very potent and difficult to forcefully contain, the go-to approach is making them not want to leave.

001s spend most (if not all) of their conscious lives surrounded by doctors. The latter foster a particular mindset in their subjects, where the world outside is presented as a place that is unanimously hostile to mutants. This is done by means of propaganda, reminders about their family’s supposed mistreatment and, in case a mutant has some favourable recollections of their childhood, gaslighting. Additionally, subjects are never left alone with each other.

001s get very luxurious treatment by facility's standards, with much bigger, more comfortable rooms than other mutant types. They're even allowed to have gaming consoles, TVs with VHS and video players, and their own bookshelves. Each mutant has their own separate room, which is kept under constant camera surveillance with the toilet being the only blind spot.

Special folders are issued to 001s before experiments with lower-ranked mutants.

Experiments held on 001s are relatively humane so as not to discourage them from staying at the facility. They do undergo daily checkups mostly designed to monitor their mental state. 001s are also active participants in experimentation on lower-ranked mutants, who they are taught and encouraged to treat as lesser beings.

001s are a high-risk investment, so their numbers are far smaller than those of 002 and 003-class mutants. Additionally, because of the potential danger they present, the institute is quick to dispose of 001 subjects by either termination or reclassification to 004. Though, if a 001 manages to stay cooperative long-term, they can become a very valuable asset for the facility.

002 and 003

002 and 003 quarters example. Though, they’re typically not as well-kept

002 and 003 mutant classes can be grouped together, since their treatment is largely the same. Both of these types’ mutations are easy to forcibly contain. The difference is their danger levels. 003s require close monitoring to not be harmful to others, while 002s are borderline harmless. Both types are characterised by general cooperability.

002s live in wards for 2 to 4 people, while 003s are more commonly placed in single-person wards to prevent accidents. A standard room includes a bed, a desk and a small bathroom (multiple beds and two desks in bigger wards).

KT got to take a dinosaur plushie to her room for good behaviour.

Mutants are allowed to borrow books from the library, as well as get drawing and writing materials. If they behave well, they can get a toy or even be lent a handheld console for a few days. 

002s and 003s have breakfasts, lunches and dinners together, and can spend some time in the playroom with other mutants (that’s also where they can play computer games and watch TV) – all under very strict surveillance, of course.

In some ways, their treatment is much less cruel than that of the elite 001 subjects.

KT before the DT experiment.

Though, not when it comes to experiments. 002s and 003s are very common, and are thus treated as disposable material in a scientific sense. The people holding experiments on them are a lot less concerned with minimising the subject’s pain or discomfort. Consequently, it’s not uncommon for mutants of these classes to sustain serious injuries or die as a result of experimentation.

That said, 002s have the highest likelihood of getting released from the facility, given they meet the conditions for it (more on that below).

004

004 quarters example. Basically a prison bunker

004 is a special category reserved for powerful mutants that refuse or physically cannot cooperate. This number can also be issued as a temporary or permanent punishment to misbehaving mutants. The 004 quarters are located underground and have the highest level of security, acting as a sort of bunker for the most dangerous subjects the facility has.

004 rooms are even more barebones than those of 002 and 003s. They have no access to entertainment (unless it is somehow required to contain their mutation) and cannot leave their room under any circumstances. They are more weapons than test subjects.

Do mutants receive education?

All mutants from class 003 and above receive basic education, learning to read, write and count. They additionally get curated history and sociology lessons. Some mutants, namely 001s, attend mandatory classes in certain disciplines to better apply their mutation. For example, Dmitry studied anatomy to know the precise positioning of internal organs.

Mutants are also free to study whatever sciences interest them in their free time by asking for educational materials at the library. Needless to say, most kids aren’t too interested in that, and are very uneducated compared to their outside peers.

Is there censorship in the facility?

All the media mutants are exposed to at the facility is strictly controlled.

6 y.o. Dima and his politically correct PSP.

The only movies, cartoons, comics, books and games allowed are those that either don't feature the Zone or mutants at all, those that show the discrimination mutants face outside, or those that are very obvious anti-mutant propaganda.

In essence, there are no positive depictions of human-to-mutant interaction, aside from ones between mutants and noble scientists. And, of course, nothing that goes against the general government ideology.

Can mutants be released from the facility?

It is generally assumed that mutants that go into the dome do not come out.

While they are largely dehumanised, the facility is still publicly presented as a sort of scientific sanatorium and hospice for those that cannot safely exist in society. Releasing mutants that know the truth behind the institute’s experiments into the wild is simply of no benefit to the government. So the majority are terminated once their scientific potential is exhausted or if they become too expensive to contain. As a result, few mutants live to adulthood.

Though, there are exceptions to the rule. Occasionally, mutants deemed non-hazardous can be released back into society. This is applicable to mutants that have not experienced significant mistreatment from the facility, lack the ability to talk about their experiences and optimally have been brainwashed by an appropriate 001 subject.

Have other mutants before DT and KT ever escaped?

The funny thing is, escapes aren’t a particularly rare occurrence.

Dmitry and Katya’s escape in KT’s Official Guide to Coolness.

Despite getting a lot of funding, the facility itself is very disorganised. Most of the money is blatantly pocketed by the higher-ups, so a lot of its structures and equipment are subpar – this includes its outdated safety systems. To top it all off, the security staff isn’t especially well-paid, so their diligence is highly questionable.

With all that piling up, there are around 3 cases of low-level escapes every year. Because of tight budgets and plenty of work to do as is, these escapes are generally brushed under the rug. The institute still keeps tabs on the escapees in case they happen to show up on the radar, but it rarely organises active searches or alerts the public for that matter.

DT and KT’s escape stood out because it was anything but low-level, and pretty bombastic at that. But even that didn’t warrant a public announcement for fear of panic and reputational damage. So if you’re an 003 mutant looking for an opportunity to sneak out… Hell, man, just go for it.

Wrap-up

That’s about all I can say about mutants’ life in the research centre, scratch some small factoids here and there. I tried to answer the most common questions regarding the topic, so I hope your curiosity was satisfied!

[thecloudsaremyhome]

Could you pretty please do a part four of "If Reader committed suicide" and include Selina, Clark, Harley Quinn and Ra!!

(Totally okay if not)

Have a good day/night

You ask and I shall receive enjoy!

Selina: Selina was apart of Bruce’s many relationships he has had over the years the only difference is that she has been with him the longest. Their relationship has been complicated throughout the years but that doesn’t mean she still doesn’t love him. She cares she really does. But she never got to know any of his adopted children sure dick and Damian but that’s it. So she didn’t know of your existence until well your death. She’s heard of your mother before yes but that’s it. She barely knew you. So why why does she feel this intense motherly protection while staring at your dead body lying on the floor. Why does she grieve like Bruce. Who is just as broken. She never wished for children she was fond of them yes but she hasn’t thought of having her own. But looking at you, looking at your lifeless form. She wishes she did have a child. She wished you were her child so she could’ve prevented this from happening. From you succumbing under the darkness. But Selina doesn’t give up, she’s not the type to. So she will help Bruce find a way to save your from the pips of death. And maybe you’ll see her as someone to look up to. Because she knows she will never be your real mother but she can atleast try to.

Clark: clark Yas a complicated relationship with Bruce as a whole they've never seen much of an eye to eye for their senses of justice but they are still able to work together as a team reluctantly. But behind Bruce's gold demeanor they both care for each other to an extent. Clarks worked with a multitude of Bruce's kids to know basic information about them but to clark your an annomoly to him. He had not once met you or have heard about you before not until well Bruce asks him for his help to bring you back to life. And that's when he's. Left surprised he thought Damian was his only bio child. So Clarks distraught on what Bruce has just informed him. But he doesn't take time to process it an immediately agrees to help his friend. That's when he also gets to learn more about you and your so called situation. To say he's pissed is an understatement. What you went through was absolutely horrible, he could never imagine such a young child going through. But that doesn't mean he won't stop helping Bruce no this fuels him to help Bruce even more. To bring you back, to make sure you get the love you need. And then take you for himself.

Harley Quinn: harley and Bruce gave a complicated relationship going from our enemies to accomplices to semi friends to enemies again, let's just say it's complicated. But she doesn't hold any true murder intentions against Bruce because he has helped her in the past, guided her in some way. So of course she's in debut to repay him. So when the big bay asks her for help on bringing you back she's a bjtshocked overall. She's fought some of Bruce's kids but she's never heard of you before. Not even in the underground. So it's strange to say the least. She never once heard of you. Well maybe she did once hear about Bruce's many flings but that was years ago! But when she gazes at your now dead body she can't help but feel a sense of dread in her gut. This Isanti right and she know it but she does own big B for saving her and now she can't really back down can she? Maybe if they could bring you back maybe she could help you escape.

Authors note: I hole this is good I don't know much abouts Ra's lore to properly write him but once I do I'll make sure to add him! Thank you for the request! I'm sorry if the ending was rushed!

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 32

Wayne Manor, Damian's art studio.

Danny: Hey Damian.

Damian: Hi Danny.

Danny: Nice painting.

Damian: It's still not finished I still have to do some finishing touches on the shading.

Danny: Well it looks like a good representation of Jon. Hi by the way.

Jon: Hi Danny!

Danny: Is painting Jon while he's doing his homework functional? He's going to be moving a bit.

Damian: I wanted a bit of a challenge.

Jon: I told him I could stand still and model but Damian refused.

Damian: I didn't want you to fall behind on your homework.

Danny: Don't you have homework?

Damian: I did it during lunch at school.

Jon (sad): Damian always does his homework during lunch.

Damian: That doesn't mean I ignore you, we still talk. I just rather have free time to paint.

Jon: Nerd.

Damian: Excuse me? If anything you're the nerd.

Jon: Let's agree to this agree.

Damian: I can agree to that.

Jon: Hmm... Damian do you have a pencil sharpener?

Damian: Yes, it's in my desk in my room, top left drawer. You can go up and get it.

Jon (getting up and hugging Damian on his way out): Thanks bud, you're the best!

Damian (smiling): Anything for you Jon.

Jon flew out of the room. Danny looked down at Damian who had gone back to looking at his painting. Danny snapped his fingers.

Damian: What's this?

Danny: Anti-sound barrier. I want to ask you something and don't what any wondering hears.

Damian: Ok...

Danny: Damian do you like Jon?

Damian: I- yes he's my best friend.

Danny: No, do you like-like Jon? Just now let him hug you without asking and hugged him back while smiling, you never allow that. You also allowed him into your room without you there, you only allow Alfred to do that. And you let him talk to you while working on an assignment, you hate distractions. So I just want to know if you're just very comfortable around Jon or if I'm just reading too much into things.

Damian: ...I guess it'd be good to tell someone. He took a deep breath. Yes I do like Jon.

Danny: I see...

Damian: I'm not even sure how it happened. When we first meet, I found him annoying and wasn't a good friend. I've apologized to him for my initial behavior and he's forgiven me. Overall just told me not to think about it. Overtime we started hanging out more and more, and eventually I started seeing him as my best friend. But something changed a few months ago. We went on a mission together. The base we infiltrated was booby-trapped and we ended up getting separated. I ended up getting captured, stupid mistake on my part. As I was braking free from my constraints, Jon broke into the room and attacked the goons holding me hostage. He ended up sending all of them to the ICU. I had never seen Jon mad, or use his powers to such an extent before, I guess felt honored. It was after that that I started feeling both happier and strangely nervous whenever Jon was around, and also strangely sad when he wasn't. I also got this feeling to do anything I could to impress him. It was only recently that I figured out it was that I had developed feelings for him. And I don't know what to do.

Danny: Damian-

Damian: Let me finish. Since I was little I always admired both women and men. Guess part of that was because the League of Assassins doesn't care about what its members do on their off time, as long as it doesn't interfere with their duties, so my issue is not one of self, but rather what these new feelings could cause. If I do confess to Jon, he could reject me and ruin our friendship. And even if he does accept my feelings, we could separate later on. Then there's Tim and Kon, no matter what happens between me and Jon, it will impact their own relationship. He started to tear up. I just don't want to see anyone I care about get hurt due to my stupid feelings.

Danny hugged Damian.

Danny: Damian your feelings are not stupid. You can't help how you feel about Jon. True, this situation is very complicated, but I think you should go for it. From what I know about Jon, he won't just stop talking to you if he doesn't feel the same way, yes things might be awkward for a while, but you two will remain friends at the end. At the very least you can say you tried.

Damian (wiping his tears): Danny, that is the worst pep talk I have ever heard. But, I see your point, I just don't know how to go about it.

Danny: What about the gala we're due to attend in a few days. You got a plus one right? Invite Jon, and confess your feelings at the end of the night.

Damian: That sounds like a reasonable plan... I'll ask Jon to the gala, but I don't know if I'll ask him to more than best friends.

Danny: That's the spirit!

Danny broke the barrier.

Jon: I'm back!

Damian looked at Jon and then at Danny who nodded.

Damian: Jon I would like to ask you something.

Jon: What is it?

Damian: In a few days my family and I are going to a gala, and I have a plus one, I would like you to go with me.

Jon: Really!? Sure thing, I'll love to go!

Damian (smiling): Great. Do you own a tuxedo?

Jon: Nothing fancy enough for the kind of galas you go to.

Damian: You can have one of mine, we're the same height and have similar builds, it should fit you perfectly.

Jon: Thanks, I promise to take care of it.

Damian (proud): I'll show all of those lowlife Gotham elites how amazing my best friend.

Jon (smiling): Sounds like it'll be a fun night.

Damian (smiling): Yeah it will.

(Master Post)

[7seas-of-ryy]

Crestfallen - Part 4

Author’s Note: I'm hoping to make the next part longer, hoping I'll have more time tonight to write. Thank you all for taking the time to read my work! Your likes, comments, reblogs, and follows truly mean the world to me!

Overall Summary: Although you were born in the Day Court, you've been living in the Night Court for a century. You're close with the inner circle but what will happen when a new healer is brought into the picture?

Part 4 Summary: After your body and soul have gone through so much, how likely is it you'll survive?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: talks of injuries

"The combination of these plants can lead to some serious complications." Madja informed Rhys and Az.

All of the color drained from the spymaster's face.

"I believe the venom in the cut was from her mission. I would have found it sooner if I had done her check up." Madja muttered, ashamed.

"This is not your fault. It is mine for not seeing Clara for who she actually is sooner." Az responded.

"Now is not the time to take blame. Y/N needs us. What can we do now?" Rhys added.

Madja looked over you, taking a second to think.

"Well, the powder probably just sped up the venom which caused it to attack her powers quickly. It is like an infection, I will treat her with some medicine for that. But I believe there is a power inside of her that she is not aware of." Madja explained, "it might be the reason she is still alive right now."

Azriel walked closer to you, kneeling next to the bed. He laid his right hand over yours and used his left to push some hair off of your face.

"What about the complications you mentioned earlier?" Rhys asked.

"I have never seen the combination of Spitfire Aconite, Vamire, and Aldirin used where it didn't immediately kill the fae once it entered their system. Those three plants combined are deadly, perhaps the mystery inside of her is what saved her. I am not sure yet, I will treat her infection for now and we will figure out the rest as we go." Madja spoke definitively.

She began rummaging through her things to find the medicines. She pulled out some liquids, a salve, and bandages. Dropping some of the mixes in your mouth, she could tell your fever was already dropping.

"We need to flip her onto her stomach so I can access her cut." The healer told them.

"I'll do it." Az jumped up.

He gently rolled you over and went to take the salve from Madja who gave him a look.

"Please." Azriel begged, needing to help you in any way he could.

She nodded at him and gave him the necessary equipment. She pulled Rhys with her out of the room, leaving you in the shadowsinger's hands.

He coated your cut with the cream and bandaged it snugly. Pulling up a chair next to the bed, he sat and watched over you.

Rhys and Madja made their way down to the rest of the group.

"I will go figure out some treatments we can try. In the meantime, I think you need to deal with Clara." Madja spoke up to the High Lord.

He gave her a nod, a steely look already in his eyes thinking about what she did to you. Entering the living area, he sent out a surge of his power so everyone felt it. He walked straight to Clara but she refused to make eye contact with the male.

"I gave you a chance here at the Night Court, to be a part of something bigger and this is how you repay me? You have caused damage to my friend that I do not know can be undone." He growled out.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Mor whispered, afraid of his answer.

"We don't know if we will be able to help Y/N. Clara here used a deadly combination of herbs on her but I'm sure she didn't expect Y/N to be so strong. Isn't that right?" He demanded.

"Wh...What? No I...I just...it wasn't supposed to kill her. It was j...just supposed to heighten her symptoms so I could then fix her. I swear. I didn't think it would do any true h...harm." She stuttered out, realizing the extent of her actions.

"Hmm so you're not a killer? Just stupid." Rhys spit out, "Nesta. Cassian. I trust you two can take care of her while I try to find a fix for Y/N?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Cassian spoke, his voice rumbling.

Nesta didn't verbally respond, just held the icy gaze she had on Clara.

"What? You can't do that!!" The female began to plead, terrified to be punished at the hands of those two.

Before anyone could respond, Nesta and Cassian winnowed away with her. Mor looked to Rhys, they shared a sorrowful look. Feeling like they betrayed you, they knew they needed to make it right. But first, they would have to help you survive.

-----

All of the venom, plants, herbs, antidots, and serums that were inside you weren't enough to knock you out fully.

You were awake through it all, fighting with everything you had inside your mind. You had felt Rhys enter your mind, tried to control your light for him but it was so strong.

Once Azriel's shadows entered protecting Rhys, you knew you had to fight harder. But you could feel everything. You could feel Madja unweaving the venom from your very soul. It was not only the worst pain physically but it made you feel so vulnerable and weak as well.

You felt another energy inside of you, something you never felt before. You tried to explore it, but the venom was controlling it and you didn't have enough strength anymore.

With Rhys and Az in your mind and Madja deep in your soul, you had never felt so bare before.

Once they finished and the venom was completely removed, you needed to rest. Knowing you couldn't fight it anymore, you succumbed to sleep.

------

After a while, you woke up. Well, your mind was awake but your body wasn't. Your power seemed to be back in your control, at least it wasn't attacking you from the inside out anymore.

You felt like you could hear something calling out deep inside of you. You couldn't ignore it, it was as if you were hypnotized, following the sound.

There was nothing physically there, at least you couldn't see anything but you could certainly feel it. It was power, antsy to get out. You reached your hand toward it and it was as if it noticed you there finally. It latched onto you and energy shot through you.

It was a feeling you had never experienced before, consuming every cell in your body. You could feel it working its way through you, waking up your physical form.

Suddenly you sat straight up in bed, gasping, no longer trapped in your mind.

"You're awake!" Azriel spoke, his eyes wide in shock.

Taglist

@rcarbo1 @acourtofbatboydreams @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @theravenphoenix26

@anoneyesee @ren-ni @kabekusa @isa1b2h3 @i-am-infinite

@historygeekqueen @mariahoedt @fr0stf4ll @chelsiemp @romantasyreader28

@kissesfromnovalie @plants-w0rld @halo-mystic @bookishbishhh

[multifandomloverthrowaway]

Viktor Was a Wasted Character

(But are we really surprised?)

This is my first post ever on Tumblr so please be nice! This is in no way hate towards any particular character or ship; personally I love Viktor as a character and all his ships, and that’s the main reason why I’m posting this. I also know like no LoL lore, so please bear with me. I’m just going to rant and dump my thoughts out here since I don’t really have fans in person to talk to about this, and it’s really bugging me lol!

That being said, I just watched season two, and after sitting with it’s ending, I do not think that the story told in the season is well thought out, and it can be very heavily seen in how characters are treated both in the show and in the fandom. It’s quite disheartening to see the fandom going through the peak-fandom era treatment of mlm and wlw relationships, and the overall treatment of the characters can be a little trashy. How people see Viktor can be very degrading and objectifying, and the whole ship wars and fallout with JayVik is absolutely disgusting. It makes me feel that many watchers did not fully understand Viktor’s character. And to a certain extent, the writers did not care for it either.

Viktor’s character represents what would happen if a Zaunite were able to become “successful” in the eyes of Piltover. Someone who had the intellect and ambition to supersede the conditions in Zaun and were able to compete with those raised in the “better city”. Thus, the questions of “How did they get to their place in Piltover?”, “What flaws do they have?”, “What is holding them back?”, “What is their experience in Piltover like?”, “Are they accepted?”, “Is there prejudice?”, and “What was their life in Zaun like?” are the core questions that make the character and their arc. This character is particularly important because this is the character that shows that those who are oppressed, no matter how “good” they are, will never be good enough in the eyes of the oppressor, especially if they have faults of their own. Viktor is fundamental to the message of season one Arcane. He helps to complete the story in its exploration of class, social, and political divide by personifying that “what if it could work” gap.

Viktor naturally then must be an internally strong character. Giving Viktor a disability is not just good inclusion, but also a good internal motivator. We as the audience then see that his key goal to help Zaun is not rooted in pity for a former home, but rather the cause of an injustice that he was a victim to. We see his steadfastness in going after opportunities that he thinks will benefit Zaun and humanity, and constant relentless means to get there. This is in stark contrast to his personal life. His deeply rooted sentiment that he must be alone because of his disability, along with perceptions of his disability and birthplace, are why he is a closed person only reaching for science, despite being quite empathetic. They also set up his two main conflicts:

1. He is dying with little time to finish his goal of helping Zaun and humanity

and

2. The people around him want to weaponize his creation into something that can be used against his hometown

These conflicts are where the plot fumbled the character. Firstly, we do not see any ties between him and Zaun other than his illness and that he grew up there. Where are his parents that supposedly love him so much? What is his relationship with Sky, which he supposedly cared enough for to bring out of Zaun to work with him and Jayce? His lack of well developed relationships with other characters other than Jayce hurt his character development from occurring naturally. It’s why Sky’s death doesn’t feel like anything. Despite Viktor seeing her in the realm as a metaphor to his shred of humanity left, his garden dedicated to her, her emblem on his robe, we don’t know their relationship or history in his eyes. (It should have been that they were in at least a friendship. Anything less than that would not fit Viktor’s character.) We don’t see him interact that much with Mel, despite her being his close friend’s love interest. We do not see him interact with doctors or his parents. What other real relationship does he have depicted in the show other than, well, Jayce? The only other is perhaps Singed. How do these relationships play into his self perception, and perception of humanity?

Combining his deteriorating friendship with Jayce over politics and with understanding that his work will be used against him without his credit or his voice should set Viktor up for him to make decisions that will naturally lead into his lore as we know it; to create something that allows him to fix himself and others while simultaneously corrupting him, especially in Zaun. Instead in season two we see that path taken away from him within the first Act after he is fused with magic because of Jayce. This is a pity because it makes Viktor reliant on Jayce’s decisions in a way that is outside of their parallel to the power struggle between Zaun and Piltover and thus takes away from his authority as a character - his decision to fuse himself with magic and machinery to go against Piltover needed to be a result of his decisions and actions, not of someone else and magic!

Giving that narrative decision to Jayce also leaves no organic way for Jayce to come to realize who Viktor is as a person outside of just a “partner”. This is especially apparent during the finale, in which Jayce’s love for Viktor is boiled down to “I love you for who you are”… though that undermines Viktor’s illness, why that illness exists and thus his reason to be a character, and by extension… Zaun’s struggle. And yet, Viktor dies accepting Jayce’s words, despite them undermining the reason he exists! Each time Viktor is yet again denied that choice to be what his character represents. Instead he is used as the crutch to Jayce until the end of the second season. This is also why the multidimensional time travel does not work with Viktor being the mage that gives Jayce magic; Viktor’s destiny is then settled firmly in Jayce’s hands and not his own. They are not soulmates; only one’s life depends on the other’s.

Viktor then, despite having some good foundation, never becomes the full representation that his character could be. We see no growth of his insecurities and setbacks that allow him to make the choice to become who is meant to be. Rather we see that narrative handed to another character who does not fulfill his character arc fully either.

It is no surprise to see the JayVik shippers in this case. Because Viktor is so dependent on Jayce in the narrative, there is no other natural relationship for him. This is despite the fact that Viktor’s sax orientation shouldn’t be of speculation, because in the case of the story, it doesn’t matter. Whether or not Viktor is able to have physical attraction to another person is not the core of his story nor his character. (Which is why his ace designation should not be controversial.) However, that his ability to make meaningful connections with the people in his lives, whether as friends or romantically, is. And we do not see that with any other person but Jayce, who cannot not see him as a full person due to the narrative. Viktor, at his essence, is a man whose agency has been taken from him by the narrative.

The better case in the narrative would have been to let the two part their separate ways after the death of Sky and the council attack, and let Viktor be the tragic hero he was made for. The love between each character that was to have a relationship with Viktor would have been that much more apparent, especially with Sky and Jayce. Then perhaps we would not see Viktor become the “disabled tw!nk whose real relationship could have only been with Jayce because only they truly knew and loved each other” because no. Only they didn’t. Viktor always had so much more, which included Jayce, Mel, Sky, and could have been far more! He just wasn’t given the means to explore it. And not by just the characters in Arcane. By the writers too.

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[cherrybombb8]

This might be controversial, but...

Jegulus changed this fandom. It did, you can't deny it. You can ignore it, bypass any Jegulus media, but the main, heavy focus of the marauders fandom shifted the moment Jegulus became popular, for better or for worse, regarding your personal preference.

Personally, I quite like Jegulus. It's not my favourite - will never be my favourite, but I have a special place for it in my heart (and the fics you guys write, fucking hell, they are INCREDIBLE).

However, I do understand where people come from when they complain and long for the "good old days" of the fandom - while I am not quite old enough to have experienced them in all their brilliant glory, I can still appreciate that time through the fics and posts left behind.

I do understand the other side, too. You CAN avoide Jegulus, even if it takes up so much fandom space. And also - things change. The marauders fandom has evolved and is now a very different creature than it was 10 years ago. But that's okay. It was always going to happen, and all you can do is accept it and move on.

My point is, through my rambling bumbles (or bumbling rambles, whichever), is that 'the complainers' need look elsewhere or accept things have changed. I'm tired of seeing Jegulus content creators being shitted on unnecessarily.

HOWEVER, my point also is that I'm also tired of - when people argue FOR Jegulus - them insisting that you can simply ignore it if you don't like it. While that sentiment is true, for the most part, there IS an extent. The majority (or a near amount) of new content revolves around Jegulus. It was 8th overall in the ao3 2024 ship list, which is pretty damn crazy. A LOT of the new fics centre around Jegulus, or the Black Brother's relationship, as well as fanart, headcannons, whatever else you can think of. A lot of ships have been impacted, or even formed off the back of it (I'm looking at you, rosekiller) which is great! But it is also everywhere. Being a marauders fan, encountering Jegulus is pretty damn unavoidable at times.

I don't know what I'm saying. It's late, I should be asleep, I'm rambling, but I just want to say: can you guys stop fightingggg, pleaseeee, its doing my fucking head in. Thank you <3

P.S. one last thing, because I really need to go to bed - it's beautiful, don't you think? It's beautiful that a fandom that has been around for YEARS - originating from the very first Wolfstar stans after PoA's release 1999 - is still thriving and developing today. Isn't it beautiful that people are still writing and painting and creating new content for a fandom so old?

People are, yes, altering things, in order for the fandom to suit and speak to them, personally, directly. To share their imagination and burst with new ideas at every corner? Gilderat is a thing, guys. Gilderat.

I think it's wonderful that the marauders are still alive and living and growing still in people's heads today. And if that means Jegulus is a thing, well, by all fucking means?

To be loved is to be changed, after all.

[awniie]

HELLO KITTY

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ summary: sukuna breaks your favorite stuffed animal

content: fem!reader, pathetic attempt at fluff n angst , reader cries when he breaks the stuffie, mean!sukuna-ish, readers gets called a baby (derogatory), reader is called small, modern au, implied sex, proofread to an extent

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ notes: I’m not sure what compelled me to write this, like at all !! also I tried not to refer to him as a boyfriend in this cus I don’t see him as one :sob:

“what..is that?” Sukuna asked as he entered the room. He was talking about the little cat toy you were snuggling with. You held it tightly against your chest, the blue light of your phone casting onto the dolls white cotton covering.

“Oh her? It’s hello kitty!” You exclaimed, quite proudly for a grown woman with a cat doll between her chest. You shut off your phone and roll over to show him the toy. Sukuna snatched it from off your body and inspected the…thing. It was white and fuzzy with black sewn eyes and a matching butter-colored nose. As if that wasn’t trivial enough, the toy wore a tiny little pair of overalls and a small pink bow ontop its ear. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, It was the epitome of naivety and childishness, and it made him sick. Curiously, He tested the elasticity of the toy, pulling and stretching her limbs in awful ways.

“Kuna, be careful! You’ll break her.” You warned, arms reaching for your poor kitty. You quickly remembered why you were hesitant to show him the doll earlier, that your hello kitty was small and delicate and sukuna was quite the opposite, and now your worst fears coming true. Your protests fell on ignorant ears, and the sickening sound of ripping fabric filled them instead. Scratchy white poly-fil spewed in the air. Your boyfriend stood in front of you, a look of mild surprise played on his features as he held the now-headless hello kitty.

“Huh.” he murmured before throwing it on the floor sending more fluff scattered across the room.

“Sukuna! What is wrong with you?” You accused, rushing over to where your beheaded kitty laid. He couldn’t believe how quick you left off the bed, cradling the ripped doll in your hands.

“It’s not my fault it was made so cheaply. Plus, you too old to be playing with dolls anyway.” He said, quickly disregarding the whole thing.

“No! That was my hello kitty, you had no right to break it.” You told him between sniffles, holding the two pieces of your hello kitty in each of your palms. Warm tears ran down your cheeks and your nose reddened.

“Do you see yourself right now? You’re acting like a fucking baby.” Sukuna retorted, annoyed at your reaction. He honestly didn’t mean to break it, but what’s done is done and you were a fool for thinking that lashing out at him could change that. “It’s just a child’s toy, get over it.”

“You are sick. I hate you!” You yelled, holding the pieces of your broken toy close and leaving the room, not before slamming the door with teeth-rattling force.

Sukuna sighed and rolled his eyes. He didn’t expect you to get so animated over a cartoon cat replica, but then again human emotions were much more sporadic and quite frankly annoying. He gave your outburst no more than another thought. He knew you well enough to know you’d be back soon, crying and whining and begging him to talk to you and give you some attention. He’d just have to patient until your came your to senses..

..Or at least that’s what he thought. Your boyfriend seemly underestimated your ability to hold a grudge. You hadn’t truly spoken to him in 3 days, the most he’s gotten out of you being “uh huh” or “no”. He pretended your coldness didn’t bother him, but it did. A lot more then it should’ve. The pointed shoulder-checks, the refusal to make any eye contact, leaving the room whenever he walked in. It really bothered him. He knew that the only way to get back your favor was with probably some form of atonement. But, he has his own pride to worry about and he refused to be the one to grovel at your feet and apologize. No it would be you. He was Sukuna Ryomen and he would not bend to the will of a foolish mortal girl.

But, a week without speaking to your other can be unbearable, even for a callous curse such as Sukuna. After being with you so long, he found himself having a sort longing for you. Why would he though? He didn’t need anyone, especially not you. If anything, you needed him…so why weren’t you acting like it?

Even though you were mad at him, outwardly you seemed fine. You were doing everything on your own, pretending as if this giant curse of a man didn’t even exist. You still laughed at stuff on your phone, you still ate your favorite foods and enjoyed yourself, while Sukuna clearly wasn’t.

He hated the silence that he had grown unfamiliar with after being with you. You seemed to never shut up before, but now? Sukuna found himself longing for your annoying voice and pestilential chattiness.

He missed your body. He missed your delicate fingers that you would intertwine with his rough, pointed ones whenever you went to the store with him. He’d express so many times that he didn’t like you doing that and he’d “cut your fingers off” if you did it again. But you always did, and it never happened.

He hated the absence of your warmth. He had become so accustomed to your late night snuggling, he had trouble sleeping without it. One particular lonesome night, he watched you sleep from the door you always left slightly cracked. He longed to be next to you, to feel your faint breath tickling his neck, to run his hands down the curve of your spine, to have your sleep-mucked face be the first thing he sees in the morning.

So, that’s why he was now on the couch, hissing and cursing as he attempted to put the stitch through the tiny hole of the needle. He was trying to sew your god-damned hello kitty back together, which proved to be a much harder task than he thought initially. Sukuna had watched you do it many times, stitching whatever article of clothing he had ripped off of you the night before. You made it look simple, and of course you were just a little human. Nothing you did would take much skill, right?

“Fuck!” He hissed through clenched teeth and he stabbed the pin through the pad of his finger. A bead of dark-red blood swole and eventually dripped down his finger. Watching the blood drop made him think of you. You would’ve taken his tattooed hand and cooed at the injury, leaving a kiss on the stabbed finger. He always thought you were stupid for making such a display over a little nick, but now? He felt some sort of…emptiness without your comfort. Sukuna quickly chased those thoughts away, telling himself that he was only doing this for his own benefit, not for you. No, he’d never do something like this for you.

-

“Kuna…?” You called, the moniker sounding foreign on your tongue after a long week of ignoring the man to whom it belonged too. His head quickly snapped as he watched you come into the room, treading lightly as if the tension could break with a footstep too heavy. In your arms was the patched up doll, looking a little limp but still in one piece.

“What do you want?” He asked, his tone glacial, suggesting that he didn’t care. But he knew he cared a lot, a lot more than he should’ve.

Just a few minutes ago, Sukuna creeped into the bedroom, ensuring sure you wouldn’t hear him over the sound of a running shower. Afte the coast was clear, he meticulously placed the doll on your bed, propped up on a pillow, the hello kitty freshly washed and sewn. He relished on his work, shoving away the feeling of…anxiety? Then he waited and waited for you, hurrying back to his place on the couch only when he heard the shower faucet stop running.

“Did you…fix my doll?” You asked, leaving the question hanging in the heavy air. You avoided eye contact as you sat across from him, fiddling with the hello kitty’s stubby arms.

“What does it look like? It’s fixed, isn’t it?” He retorts, gesturing to the crude stitches that encircled that dolls neck. He sounded pissed off, but he was far from it. He missed your voice, even if you were wasting it by asking him stupid questions.

“Oh,” was all you were able to say. Sukuna rolled his eyes, mimicking your “oh”.

You stumbled with your speech, trying to find the right response. In all honesty, you were shocked. “T-Thank you.” You murmured, your voice a little louder now.

“yeah, whatever. Now you have your doll, so you can stop your damn sulking.” He muttered, waving his hand in dismal. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, careful not to break the delicate silence.

Warmth bloomed inside of your chest. Yeah the stitching was clusmy, revealing his lack of delicacy, but somehow it felt better than him buying a new stuffed animal. There was something that was almost thoughtful about it, and sukuna ryomen was anything but the sort.

He couldn’t believe himself either. Had he really done that, for you? It was impossible. He could’ve easily forced you to speak to him, or lashed out at you for being a brat. So why didn’t he? He sat there, waiting for the repercussions of his actions to hit him. Disgust. anger. anything. but strangely, it never came. Instead he felt a sense of relief and lets out a breath he had no idea he had been holding.

You then slipped into his arms, your ear resting against his surprisedly-existent heartbeat. The hello kitty was still in your grasp, and you fiddled into between your two hands. He didn’t say anything, because he wasn’t even sure that words would come out of his mouth. You felt so nice on him again, and he placing his around you, never wanting to let you go.

As the two of you laid there, distressing fact came crashing down on him. You had broke him. You contorted his barbarous heart into ways that no stich could fix.

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Pride Post

As pride month comes close to the end, I've compiled some asks and other posts relating or adjacent to LGBTQIA⁺.

Let's start off with this art done by @maridrawss:

[From left to right: Watchdog Ford - Jerk Ford - Anti Ford]

By complete coincidence (and popular headcanons) all three of these Fords are Aromantic Asexual, or AroAce.

Watchdog Ford by @nowimjustastranger was always intended to be AroAce. Does this stop him from being borderline BDSM-coded? No. The palette of his formal wear is based on the asexual pride flag. 🖤🩶🤍💜.

Jerk Ford is AroAce because his only preferences and inclinations in life involve terrorizing society. The palette, and aesthetics, of his formal wear is also based on the asexual pride flag. 🖤🩶🤍💜. This is actually Jerk Ford's only known formal outfit/wear that he'd be depicted in. He decided that subtlety was for the weak.

Anti Ford, his design and history is based primarily off of the Anti Gravity Falls AU by @zombiedeers (but has broken off an become its own thing), and his sexuality there was stated to be AroAce. The palette of his formal wear is based on the AroAce pride flag. 🧡💛🤍🩵💜.

When I use Anti Ford, he is also FtM trans, hence the trans flag🏳️‍⚧️ lapel pin, and his blazer buttoning on the 'female' side. Its a reference to something I heard about the original plans for canon Ford transitioning during his thirty year exile, but its reaching a bit, and also I can't prove that was a real thing. But its a neat thought.

It's also supposed to be ironic because as the opposite of canon Ford, he is not a nerd, he's a jock. He's notably taller, and more built because he's naturally athletic. (Canon Ford got athletic and badass only after spending six years studying anomalies in Oregon, and then a following thirty in a multiverse hellscape where his survival was dependent on his overall fitness. Meanwhile, Anti Ford was always like that.) People are often surprised to learn this about him, especially when they're aware of the multiverse and have met other Fords, because in appearance excluding fashion he's one of the manliest Fords they've ever met... not that the bar is very high.

Anyway, here's the mood boards I put together when conceptualizing these. For Watchdog and Anti Ford, these are not their regular formal wear, it was put together specifically for pride events.

Originally one of them was supposed to have their outfit palette be based on the Aromantic Flag 💚💚🤍🩶🖤. However, Jerk Ford was being wretched as usual and claimed the 'best one' for himself first, because his formal wear was already like that. However, Watchdog demanded that Jerk Ford let him wear the ace flag colors too since he has a dark colour palette usually, and flat out refuses to wear anything colorful unless it's pajamas because he's a dramatic emo. After fighting about it physically, and verbally probably spiritually too Jerk Ford begrudgingly agreed as long as Watchdog arranged the colours differently so they didn't match.

Anti Ford naturally took the most colourful flag. Also, because he's the opposite of canon Ford, he cares a lot about selfcare and hygiene, so he's the only one who bothered to style his hair. This is one of the few times he's seen without shades, instead wearing his 'serious glasses'... which are just regular, non shaded glasses like most Fords.

---

@rayyanishere1

What Jerk Ford does to observe pride month:

[Original by Chrisxk]

Because yes, just like canon Ford, a concerning amount of items Jerk Ford has collected over the years are either cursed, or used to be cursed.

If by 'the gang' you mean the Gravity Falls main cast of the AU: Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Jerk Ford, Soos, Wendy, Old Man McGucket and Shifty to a lesser extent—

At the moment, assuming its the June after the events of Gravity Falls; both Mabel and Dipper are Cis, but their romantic/sexual inclinations aren't concrete at time as they are still figuring themselves out. Dipper would consider himself a 'straight ally', Mabel would say she 'loves and supports everyone'.

If Gravity Falls has a yearly Pride Parade in June, most if not all of the main cast would be there with varying degrees of participation.

Mabel is all about celebrating pride, the whole idea of romantic love entrances her even if she's a bit naiive when it comes to how relationships actually work. She would want to be involved with decorating.

Dipper would be more interested in seeing how the paranormal community and its different species' are like in regards to gender/sexuality. He would ultimately be more involved with the planning aspect of the parade, alongside Mabel who's putting her heart and soul into the aesthetic aspect.

Stanley, as has been stated before, is Aromantic Asexual. However, Stan struggled with his sexuality for a while (he didnt even know what words to use for it at first), he was in denial about it well into his adulthood. Being born in the 1950s and raised by Filbrick, Stan had some 'conservative' beliefs about sexuality and gender when he was younger, especially in regards to men, but he's shaken off quite a bit of that over the years. Especially as he's worked with children and teenagers, and has seen all manner of identities from his students; in the closet or not.

He is still kind of shy about the whole subject; he tries not to be too prudish about it, however (he often fails). It was the summer the twins visited that he attended the parade as 'out' (he wore an AroAce pin) instead as 'just an ally'.

Wendy doesn't have a set romantic preference at the moment, but she does identify as Pansexual.

Soos and Melody, although in a Heterosexual relationship with each other, are both Bisexual. They would absolutely be 'out' and participating.

Old Man McGucket is Biromantic and Demisexual. Emma-May is a Straight Ally. They're the ones funding a lot of the events during the parade.

Shifty's species doesn't have gender the same way humans do - they are hemaphrodites, and as such are Assigned nonbinary at Birth as opposed to male or female (AMAB or AFAB). Some do later on choose to identify with those, or as something else entirely. As Shifty, they are nonbinary, and their sexuality is the same as their primary human disguise; Panromantic Demisexual.

Wolfgang, Shifty's primary human disguise, identifies as male (making him technically trans but thats not a conversation he'd care too much about). Although his sexuality hasn't changed, his attitude about it is something like this:

[Original Post]

Shifty doesn't care much for special events or large gatherings of people in general, so its unlikely they would attend and would instead focus on work. They're keeping an eye on things in case one of the floats has faulty wiring and catches on fire (happens almost every year).

Shifty's husband, Tad Strange, claims that his sexuality is 'Being Normal' whatever that means, as he cannot be referring to heteroromantic heterosexuality considering he is married to what he percieves to be a cis man. In actuality, however, his sexuality is Monsterf[riend]er. He attends the parade as an ally / spectator.

Jerk Ford is AroAce. But he is, as expected, banned from the Pride Parade in his dimensions Gravity Falls, because back in 1979 he rigged Farmer Sprotts parade float to only move sideways, as payback for shooting at him when he was trespassing on his land to study a cow circle that had wandered in and assimilated with his herds.

He's mean to people about a lot of things (like existing in a way where he can perceive you), but it will never be about someone's race, sex/gender, or sexuality; because he's a jerk, not a bigot. Mans got six fingers, he does not let anyone, let alone society, tell him what is or is not 'normal'.

---

@triptychcryptid

Okay so technically this isn't the most LGBTQIA⁺ type question, but I'm counting it anyway. Reaction to Ford advancing in the Need-Him-Pregnant Poll?

Dimension-PJC311

Stan, holding a bat: I told you the consequences of adultery would catch up to you one day! Now tell me who did this so I can beat them to death.

Jerk Ford: *too busy collecting data / taking notes on the phenomena, the weight of the situation hasn't hit him yet*

Meanwhile, in The Anti Dimension...

Anti Stan: I'm not… unhappy with you, but why get 'those' organs removed decades ago if you were just gonna get knocked up anyway?

Anti Ford: Huh? *already making a 'single dad journey' type playlist on his channel*

---

Either you're a troll, or you're too young for several of my posts. On the off but still possible chance that this is just a person who has not heard this euphemism before:

Posts/asks referencing Bug Gleeful getting his guts rearranged: "I f***ed your dad, shitlips", THAT Card, Romance and Intercourse means nothing to Jerk Ford if it's in the name of being a jackass, Look in the tags, What this ask is referencing, Banned from Gravity Malls.

---

[Link 1, Link 2]

Canonically in the JFAU, Jerk Ford has cross-dressed before (when he worked at Space Hooters) and seemingly is not bothered by it. The only time he seemed upset in any way wasn't even when he was at work or in the uniform, its when he passed by his mirror in his then-apartment and felt as though he was becoming too similar to his mother because he was smoking a cigarette, drinking wine, and wearing a purple bathrobe.

He was surprisingly popular as a server because of his terrible table side manner (also the looks helped). At the particular Space Hooters that he worked for, the establishment had posters with brief descriptions of each of the servers in the front in case if any of the patrons wanted to request a specific server. Jerk Fords poster outright said that he's a grumpy middle aged man who is awful, and terrible, and will talk down to you. Whether or not he'll make you cry isn't an if, it's a when.

And he was still requested a lot, by the same time of demographic that he's popular with when he shows up in Anti Fords videos; the type of people who unironically like being spit on.

You know when he first started working there, there had to be this like mean girl queen bee type who saw this middle aged man of all things working alongside them, and said "Look at this fossil. Well, he better learn that I'm the bad bitch in charge."

Jerk Ford just looks at this 18-20 y/o, blows cigarette smoke in her face while indoors, and says "I've been a bitch longer than you've been alive."

This 'challenge' is just Jerk Ford saying "Oh, you're a mean girl? Let's see how you measure up."

She doesn't measure up.

[Space Hooters Mentions: I, II, III, IV, V, VI]

[stressed-sock]

hi hello it's a small ghost fire au art dump \o/

some of y'all have seen these already but whatever lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ no longer gatekeeping at least xD

anywho, some infodumping here as well under the cut! establishing who's what and so on :D there are some differences from what i've said in older posts for this au bc this is very much still in the works lol

i'm definitely down for suggestions for characters and plot ideas btw!

to give some background info, this au's world is pretty much like our own but with yokai thrown into the mix. some interact with (and/or are malicious towards) humans, so a government agency was formed to document them, with specially trained agents to subdue/defeat yokai causing trouble.

this is where raidou comes in! officially, he's one of those agents that do documentation. unofficially, he also helps defeat yokai because they hate him especially for whatever reason. he's a bit of a yokai magnet, if you will. half-thought-out plot right there but we might get back to that eventually. he can also spot yokai even if they're purposefully staying hidden, which is partially why he's so good at his job.

anywho, part of raidou's current team is kakashi! kakashi is from a long line of powerful exorcists, and his left eye has the ability to pinpoint yokai weaknesses, among other things. said eye also lends a little more power to his talismans and charms so yay for that. obito and rin are still alive in this au, but sakumo isn't, with mysterious circumstances surrounding his death. another half-thought-out plot right there.

next, part of raidou's former team was genma! genma used to work with raidou as a fellow documentation agent, going more into initial scouting/assessing than actual recording. unfortunately (as you could probably tell from the art and fics involving this au), he's not quite alive anymore (rip). it was initially assumed that he'd disappeared on a one-off solo mission, but after his body was discovered washed up on a beach, he was declared officially dead. now he's a funayurei (ghosts of those that died at sea) - i originally had him as a shiranui (a type of onibi (demon fire/wil o' wisp) found on a sea i forgot the name of) bc of his last name but i think this works out a little bit better - he just has a pair of hitodama (onibi-like things that are basically kind of like a yurei's (ghost's) soul detached from the body) hovering around, to give a similar vibe haha. depictions of yurei are typically white clothes, long black hair, etc. etc. but i did read that they can appear in the clothes they died in, so i'm going with that. but hey on another note - now that they're reunited, genma's back on the yokai documentation grind. just. as a yokai himself xD

anywho, these two have been the most consistent in raidou's team. he has definitely worked with other agents before, but those agents were more like specialists assigned for specific missions. more on that eventually.

izumo and kotetsu don't really fit into any of the categories i've described so far. they're two among many undercover agents established all over the country, often in somewhat more remote areas, responsible for reporting yokai threats in their assigned sectors. izumo and kotetsu specifically are undercover as convenience store employees, with said convenience store also working as a safe house. any agents assigned to that area can restock supplies/weapons, get some rest, or establish contact with hq. and like i said in previous posts about them, they are able to deal with yokai to a certain extent. not powerhouses by any means, but they can usually hold their own until reinforcements arrive. izumo favors talismans and dart guns that usually contain a tranquilizing substance. kotetsu, meanwhile, favors larger bladed weapons (and ofc they're both proficient in other weapons xD) as such, they're a good combo of long range and close combat

overall, the jounin would probably be the higher-ranking all rounders, tokubetsu jounin would be the specialists, and chuunin would be the undercover agents i mentioned earlier. as for anbu, they'd probably be the ones dealing with large scale threats. ofc there are exceptions, especially those at the agency headquarters. (this is def formatted similarly to canon xD)

moving on to the yokai! while i have done research, this definitely isn't fully fleshed out yet. here's what i do have though!

hayate and yugao: the two are a pair of sword and scabbard tsukumogami, which are yokai generally agreed to be objects that have gained life and sentience after reaching 100 years of age. they busted out of a museum ages ago and have since lived together, passing relatively well as normal people. i will admit i took artistic liberties though; most art i've seen of tsukumogami look distinctively more like the objects they used to be. for my own sanity i've made them more humanoid xD

anko: she is a bakeneko, a type of mischievous cat yokai that is sometimes said to come from cats that became yokai after being raised for a certain number of years (exact number varies) or to exact revenge against cruel humans. i don't have much else on her so that's about it for now :3

and uh. that's all i have actually. i thought i had more tbh but oh well. like i said before - feel free to give suggestions, ideas, or questions! and if you made it this far, thanks for reading :3

link to fic series ^still vaguely shy abt this lol (also provides context for the first two images o7)

oh and speaking of context, the third image (bright blue background) is for another vague plot line i haven't talked about yet. maybe more on that later.

[letterex-fyofm]

Honestly, contrary to popular opinion, I don't mind rare pairs. And when I say I don't mind, I mean I can really get to enjoy them. For example, I can't tell you how many pairs with Yamaguchi I've read in the past years. Like, I can't count. Yamayachi? So cute and so wholesome. Yamayama? Kageyama having a crush on Tadashi is just such a cute idea, and there are several dope fics about them. Kuroyama (don't ask, I was myself surprised but there are a couple of good fics about them)? It can be so freaking funny. Osayama? Osamu literally told Yamaguchi he would make onigiri for him one day, and not only he did, but there was a panel of I think Yamaguchi helping him in the kitchen? THAT IS SO CUTE.

The same goes for Tsukki, to an extent. I don't usually engage in fanfiction or fanart that has any Tsukki pairs besides tskym, mostly because my head (which is hard af) can't see it most of the time. BUT, I can see it - in some way. Like, Tsukikage? It would be so funny that after all this time bickering and picking on each other (tho most of that was Tsukishima so) they'd like each other. Tsukihina? That is so funny and cute at the same time. Overall, most of my opinions on Tsukki rarepairs are "Can't see it but this is so funny actually, like I would read things about them." And the art is so cute!

However...nothing kills me more than when I read a fic where tskym is entirely platonic...but only for one part. Like?!?!?!?!

Every time I encounter things like Yamaguchi having unrequited love or Tsukki being the one who suffers through that breaks my heart, and I'm like "NOOOOOOOOOVDUOSDOFJOJFSFJ"

And this really goes for any fic, honestly. I usually am so sad whenever I read something with love triangles because even if the pair I like is endgame, I feel so sad for the other one who was left.

LIKE NOOOOO DON'T BREAK MY HEART LIKE THIS

This really shows the type of reader I am, where if everyone doesn't end up happy me neither. I just contemplate the meaning of life after.

[senka-mesecine]

What would happen if reader tried escape from hills!Barnes and she thought she had made it out, unknowing that Barnes had been following her the entire time?

That Dog Don't Hunt.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

----

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

----

Meaning; Hound not taking part in a hunt. Apparently originating from the southern United States, the phrase may refer to a hunting dog that refuses to do its job. Something won't fulfil its intended purpose, or a plan or scheme will fail. 

⚫

You take one final look at the mountainous forest perimeters left behind you and you think to yourself 'Thank god. Never again.'

With every step taken closer to civilization, at least faint, ramshackle signs of it in the form of an occasional roadside diner, an old, semi-defunct gas station, a semi-abandoned lonely trailer park or a neglected settlement partially swallowed up by nature you felt one step away further from Barnes, at least in a subjective sense, some lizard part of your brain convinced against all logic, that by the time you'll make it to the nearest city, perhaps Knoxville, Gatlinburg or even going as far as Nashville, the embrace of all those buildings, the bustle of people, the cars, the shops, the traffic, you would've been safe from him, like someone having gone to a place he couldn't follow, repelled and left outside not unlike a vampire that needed an invitation to come inside from the cold and the wilderness; an invitation you wouldn't extend. According to an old Summer proverb, a dog understood 'Take it', but it didn't understand 'Put it down.' Barnes was much like that in a sense; he refused to comprehend letting anyone or anything go, the concept of break ups practically nonexistent in his vocabulary. A man could be only a couple of things in that regard in his opinion that consisted only of polar extremes; widowed, legally hitched or both dead and neither you or him were any of those three respectively.

That's why you needed to run.

Go as far as your legs would take you.

For the time being, that began and ended with hitchhiking.

But, so long as you were on the move, you had some vestige of consolation.

That so long as you moved, you'd be fine.

It would be fine because it beat him or you being buried rather than parted.

The highway snakes through the Appalachians like a circuit and the man who picked you up from putting up your thumb on the side of the road was a mercifully elderly one; a typical senior, fishing rods, buckets and nets in the back of his truck --- someone back from a pensioner's fishing trip judging by a quick deduction --- living with Robert made you careful by proxy --- all of his vigilance, long silences, instincts for danger and scrutinizing stares rubbing off on you like a second nature. Made you hellbent on details. You came to profile people and sizing them up without even intending to, neatly classifying them inside of your head into distinct categories. Safe and not safe. Friend or foe. Enemy or ally. You'd chuckle bitterly if you could, seated beside the greying man with a cap on his head combined with faded jeans overalls that seemed like they were exposed to too many days in the sun and rubber boots that were very well loved by the looks of them. Nobody was as unsafe as Barnes, so the point was moot in trying to analyze this situation to the extent you were unwittingly doing so. -"Fancy findin' anyone out here all on their lonesome. I thought you was a ghost when I first saw'ya by the interstate."- The grandpa remarks with some humor, not unkindly, curious eyes travelling between you on the passenger seat and the road, his coincidental usage of the word 'lonesome' immediately causing a shiver to run down your spine. -"You out here all by yourself?"- He asks, voice peppered with worry in the most paternal sense possible; sure, you realized you must've seemed demented walking beside the edges of the forest, stopping vehicles whose drivers could just as easily rape you and dump you in the nearest ditch instead of giving you a ride anywhere, but you supposed desperation caused people to do crazy things; you were like a wild animal in that sense. Felt like it too. Caught in a trap and willing to gnaw your foot off to limp free and bleed out somewhere where you could be left alone so long as it meant you'd have a moment of liberty. You give the old man a tentative look. You don't know why you decide against coming up with a creative lie, but the truth slithers forth before you can stop it.

-"I've left my husband. Ran away."-

You admit.

You find the old man's wrinkle framed eyes immediately widening.

Mouth agape.

What were you gonna say where untruths were concerned anyway?

That you were a lost hiker mysteriously separated of all their equipment and their group against all odds and now taking a ride in the opposite direction for no discernable reason? That you've been abducted by aliens and dropped off in the middle of the mountains? That you had a curious case of total amnesia? Honesty. Honesty was the best policy in the long run. People could feel honesty. They could sympathize with it on a primal level the way they never could with blatant, made up bullshit. You focus on the rearview mirror in front of you and the pine air freshener along with a picture of a woman in a plastic pouch hanging off a colored string, dangling as the old Ford moved --- old timer was a family man. Maybe a widower killing time by fishing. You weren't going faster than seventy miles an hour but that was good enough.

-"I haven't got a cent on me and I need to get as least as far as Gatlinburg. Please."-

You explain, not too proud to plead a little, semi expecting the obvious.

That he tell you to alert the police.

If the police headed back up those hills, thing is, they wouldn't be coming back.

-"He a bad man?"-

You're asked, with some semblance of familial worry on the driver's part, wrinkled, pale fingers having a vice grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, Barnes was a bad man. You felt you didn't even need to answer that one; the fisherman could just about read the truth off your heavy silence, no doubt. There were some good people in this world. Good people who'd understand even without you saying a single thing. -"Been puttin' hands on'ya?"- He eggs on and no, no, you mutely shake your head at that one, staring at your own lap. Problem was, Barnes was always ready to put this hands on everyone else. One time at a nearby bar at the foot of the mountain that also doubled as a hunter's lodge on occasion he held a knife to a man's neck just because he decided to vaguely chat you up and then look at you for longer than Bob liked; in the aftermath, the whole place was trashed and Barnes had the poor sob by the collar of the shirt, sobbing on the floor, pissing leaking through his trousers and you never stopped feeling guilty since, the whole situation leaving you with the ingrained fear that one of these days someone would get killed over a mere nicety of yours and that you'd have to live with that notion for the rest of your days. You weren't one of those girls. Who felt thrilled and titillated by the prospect of their man hurting others for them. If anything, once the knot that's been settled in your stomach for months after the incident started unwinding, you unwinded right along with it and hit the road, believing that with you gone, perhaps Barnes's incentive to bring harm would internalize itself too, his jealousy ceasing to have a reason to exist. -"No. It's more complicated than that."- You manage sincerely, trying for vagueness, feeling your own voice weak and faint, watching the road ahead disappear into dusk of the Great Smokies, the forest behind you seeming dark and distant, like a dream you couldn't place, relief washing over you slowly, like a caressing wave, the tension in your shoulders dissolving, so much so you hardly minded your lack of luggage or things, save for the ID and some small cash you could get your hands on tucked into your bra. You hoped Robert would've found the meal you left in the kitchen for him by now as a last farewell.

This was for his own good too, even if he didn't know it yet.

---

You had a total of twelve dollars to your name.

Now twenty, with the addition of what you were given.

The last money an old man's kindness could give you before he drove away.

Pushed it into the palm of your hand before you could protest, not that you could find it in you to, alone at night in Gatlinburg with just enough for one night at a room on a basic motel. You didn't get far, but it was still far enough. Better than nothing; the comfort almost instant --- the twinkling lights, the pedestrians and the honking of the moving vehicles like a bubble of humanity far away from the fray -"A room for one, please?"- You manage, out of breath at the counter of the first motel you spotted straight off the parking lot; whichever seemed on the cheaper side, aptly called The Roadside. Truth of the matter was, you were no soldier and you were no Barnes. You tended to get tired. Tended to need your rest like any person. You slide the money across the counter with all the hope in the world. The woman with the sharply penciled on eyebrows and the beehive eyes you speculatively. -"We've only doubles."- She retorts, seemingly bored, like she's spent the better part of her shift explaining this very same bit of information to dozens of people before you. Funny how that worked; if Barnes was here with you now, you'd get a room booked. Fact that he wasn't only complicated everything. The minute you detached yourself from him it's like the whole world conspired to keep you at bay and make things difficult for you. -"Can you please find something? Please? I really need this."- You halfway whimper, met with nothing but the cold scrutiny of the counter attendant; a radio playing behind her on a shelf. Sonny and Cher's I Got You, Babe. How ironic considering she didn't in fact, have you. Or your back. Then again, she was only doing her job. -"No singles."- She insists. Man, you really needed to get off the streets and under a roof somewhere. You still weren't out of danger. There wasn't a single information's board displayed anywhere detailing the prices and by the general look of the woman's disposition, you concluded she didn't want to book you on the basis she must've concluded you were a vagrant. You were, in a sense. -"What if I came back later? Would there be free spaces then, do you think?"- You try for pleasantries and she shrugs her shoulders as you grabbed your money from the counter. The nametag pinned to her dress revealing the name to be Debra. Jesus, Debra, help a person out. -"Yeah, maybe in an hour or two or ---"- She cordially blows you off and your legs are on the move. Yeah, you couldn't afford to waste time in a place called The Roadside; if anything, Barnes would look some place just like this first. In any case, you tried. Nobody could say you didn't try. -"Okay, thanks! Thanks a lot!"-

You respond, breathless, rushing out the door before Debra could even retort.

Not swift enough to where you could be suspicious.

But, still fast enough as not to waste time and lollygag, as Barnes would put it.

C'mon, now, Gatlinburg had to have someone to bunk for the night.

Somewhere beneath the bracket of twenty bucks.

Leaving you just enough change to eat literally anything.

Catch a bus or a train afterwards; in any direction but back from whence you came.

The crowded streets are dark, splattered with the light of the orange electrical poles melting into the moist pavement and the footsteps of people huddled around corner stores, the odd bar, drugstore, motor lodge, family diner packed with patrons --- you welcomed the crowd, feeling you could get lost in it. Out in nature there was only ever you and Barnes. Hiding being an impossible task. Always in his crosshairs. Like the prey of a hunter who knew his trade all too well. Even now, you could feel his phantom gaze on you, occasionally throwing careful glances behind you as you walked, checking if he was behind you, undoubtedly seeming unhinged or slightly unstable to whatever outside might've been looking in. A crazy woman rushing down the street, eyes darting around, looking for any place that had a plaque that said rooms on display, bypassing a motel decked out in Confederate memorabilia called The Rebel Corner. Nope. No way in hell. You couldn't do that one. It felt too prophetic; you could almost imagine him finding you there of all places and being so infinitely smug about it you would never live it down, hating yourself for being a choosy beggar like this as you sped up your pace, hope being alive and well once you stumble upon a small establishment, tucked in between two unassuming buildings, a blinking neon sign displaying the Dogwood Motel; working hours from 0-24h. Fair enough. Seemed both seedy enough and yet open and touristy enough to prevent it from being unsafe --- the garish yellow gingham wallpaper of the lobby hitting you like a sobering slap across the face. Yeah. You could stay here. Something about it seemed aggressively cheerful and friendly, right alongside the man attending the counter in a matching yellow wool turtleneck, a well manicured mustache and bushy sideburns. His trousers and the belt buckle it was fastened with tall on his waistline, shirt tucked in around it. You either spent too long in the woods or the world has gone more strangely surreal when you weren't looking. -"Good evening. Are there any vacancies?"- Feeling like an overly eager puppy, you practically prop yourself up your toes asking the question. -"Sure. There's an empty one on the third floor. Let me write'ya up."- He drawls, all fidgety and fingers, looking through his books, something regretful about his gaunt expression; he looked like an infinitely skinnier version of Burt Reynolds from Smokey and the Bandit, minus the hat, of course. -"Problem, though. The particular room has no windows, bit of an architectural fluke, so ---"- He starts and you instantly perk up, like a meerkat.

No windows!?

No place someone could crawl in? Break in!? Ambush you? Watch you!?

-"I'll take it!"-

You interject before the poor man could even finish your sentence.

Heart thumping fast in your chest.

He gives you an almost pitiable, concerned look, like he couldn't believe he actually successfully booked that one to someone.

You, for one, couldn't be happier. Oh, god bless the Dogwood Motel.

You borderline started fantasizing about something straight out of a movie scene; you mysteriously sliding the man a controversially large sum of money to hide the fact anyone by the surname of Barnes was staying here in the off chance anyone inquired, the fantasy remaining nothing but a fantasy. You barely had for food. You were nonetheless momentarily overtaken by the drug called hope, filling you with newfound euphoria.

-"That comes with a discount then. Five bucks a night. ID, please?"-

He explains, vehemently scratching the side of his face.

You slide him the plastic bit of identification of along with the cash for the evening.

Nearly bouncing up and down on your heel anticipating the key he gives you.

It's neon yellow, matching the rest of the interior decoration.

-"Alright, Mrs. Barnes. Room 307. Enjoy your stay."-

All pleasantries aside once he took one look at your ID, and the fact that being called Mrs. Barnes had the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you don't remember when was the last time you grabbed something so fast in your life, squeezing the key and it's chain in the palm of your hand like someone would steal it from you, practically making a b-line for the nearby staircase, sauntering in wide steps up the third floor until you could practically feel your chest could explode with the pressure, sweat pooling your forehead; when you reach the room intended to be yours, pushing the key into it's allotted keyhole, you're entirely out of breath, huddling into the entirely womb-like, dark room with fingers searching hastily for the light switch and flicking it on to produce a dim, orange light stemming from the overhead chandelier, revealing a bed covered with rust colored Ogee patterned bedsheets and very loud, basketweave brown wallpapers lining the walls, enough to induce some measure of claustrophobia in just about anyone, semi expecting this to be an ambush for Bob to be waiting for you in some corner, deciding to jump out of the bathroom while your back is turned. The air is somewhat stale; the inability to air out and ventilate properly clearly taking its toll overtime. No matter. You wouldn't stay here forever. This was good. This was only temporary and meant to be a cheap shelter to help you recover from the ordeal it took you to get here in the first place. Next stop would be Knoxville via Pigeon Forge and Sevierville and from there, hopefully Nashville and the first plane out of the country, although how you'd get the money for the ticket eluded you. You'd think about that, you figured, when the time comes, in stride, deciding to focus more on moving than the future details. You turn the second interior room lock of your front door and you collapse on the squeaky, colorful bed that smelled like lavender detergent and accumulated dust, partially fearing that the moment you close your eyes, he'll be there, collecting you in his arms like a vice grip, meaty, thick, calloused fingers coiling around your neck.

You dreamlessly sleep without even removing your clothes like a train's just hit you.

'Works on paper', you remember him musing before you heavy eyelids flutter shut.

'You runnin' away. But that dog don't hunt.'

He'd gloat, warning.

Promising.

---

He was a man of immense self control.

So, when he decided to hurt someone, it was never an accident or a mere slip up.

It was a cold, deliberate, well-measured choice.

That's why you couldn't justify him. Robert E. Lee Barnes always knew precisely what he was doing; never his temperament winning out of him or something clouding his judgement, making him behave irrationally. His cruelty was finely oiled and tuned, almost like clockwork, with the punctuality of a Swiss watch; he's been threading the certain route of killing for you and because of you before and you knew it was for you and because of you in equal measure because he told you so. Quietly lorded it over you like a trophy. Held your chin over it, both literally and figuratively, making you witness it. Was only a matter of time, you knew, before he does it again and you'd wake up to something harrowing, like someone's skull on the mantlepiece serving as a reminder and a decoration, him leaning his whole arm over it while he smugly smoked after lunch with his legs up on a stool. You couldn't live like that. That was madness. Worse yet, it was purposefully evil. You loved him and you were assured he loved you too, in some sick, obsessive, dark, rotten, Barnes-ian way of his, but in equal measure getting away from him was the only sane choice that existed on God's green Earth, every other leading further back off the precipice of calculated, machine-like insanity that would sooner eat you alive than let you off the hook.

You ponder the whole idea out on a supply run, crack of dawn.

While the city still more or less slept.

First in line at the grocery counter, first to get out, first to be off the street, needing to start vacating the rented one-night room and return your key by nine in the morning, buying a reusable cheap rucksack, pastries in brown paper bags, some bottled water, more so for the bottle you can fill later rather than the actual fluid inside; another lesson you learned from Robert directly --- sometimes the canteen itself was more valuable than what was inside, because a canteen was always valuable all on its own --- figured there was something bittersweet there. Using the skills he pass on to you to escape him. Bypassing a Smoky Sky Lift billboard, you think about the prospect of catching a train out of here, hopefully the first one, refusing to stall or procrastinate; maybe hit the next town over. Get a job. Any job so long as it was honest and legal. Lay low for a while. Accumulate more money. Move on. Keep moving. Always moving. Disappear in some town, some city, maybe even some other State somewhere. Divorce wasn't what you were after. Just separation. Bringing Barnes to a divorce court feeling inherently absurdist. You could vividly imagine him being served the papers by whatever poor, long suffering postman would be forced to climb up the hill where your and his house stood and Barnes silently showing up to the court date with a sowed off shotgun.

You shiver at the thought.

What if he just got bored, you think in stride, looking both ways crossing the street?

What if his pride got so irrevocably injured by this, he wouldn't follow?

Was that possible?

Would he be capable accepting loss? Losing?

Would he retaliate for retaliation's sake? Would you ever be able to rest easy?

Set down your head on some pillow, god knows how far from here, and be assured that he wouldn't be looming at your front door one night? Would he ever throw in the towel and say, shit, I give up?

No.

Not Robert.

You knew him.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth.

He never gives up, even at the cost of his own life, it simply wasn't in his nature, you solemnly conclude, settling back into the hallowed safety of your windowless room, plastic grocery bags in tow, re-packed into your backpack in the off chance you needed to get a move on quickly with no time to waste, taking a moment to look at a photo of him you brought with you as a keepsake; a rare sentimentality for sentimentality's sake, a reminder to yourself you could still care for someone, carry them with you and want to get away, locking the door behind you, using the leftover hour or two you had left in here to take a warm shower and wash the stink and sweat off of you.

God only knew when would be the next time you'd have the opportunity.

---

You board the ten thirty train northwest, heading towards Nashville.

With a transfer and a quick stop in Knoxville.

Funny. Part of you expected him to have caught you by now. Expect him to catch you day one, while you were still hitchhiking along the ADHS. The fact you were still out here and free to move about as you pleased, well, filled you with some semblance of unspoken terror and unease, like a calm before the storm or the deep breath taken before a dive. Where was he? Was it oxymoronic to ask that of yourself? This wasn't like him. Wasn't like Barnes to be seen when he hunts either, your subconsciousness tells you. The point you couldn't observe him tracking you was the whole point. A trick, to think you've gotten away. Outsmarted him. Ensure you let you guard down and then when you felt most assured in your safety he ---

The train tracks disappear beneath the rushing train in a blur.

You spent the last of your money on a one-way ticket, with literally fifty cents leftover, sharing a coupe with a mother, her newborn and two men; who they were to each other hard to asses but you welcomed the crowd. You were safer in a crowd. You might just slip away if you continuously surrounded yourself with people even if your situation started resembling a comedy sketch; you were travelling with a group off to protest the unveiling of a Civil War canon or other up in Nashville and judging by their colorful attire, lack of discernable luggage and the long hair, you could only assume they were drop-outs, beatniks and possibly homeless, like yourself. Degenerate scum, as Barnes would call them. You sigh sadly at the moniker. One irony compounds another. He would blow a fuse if he knew who you were bunking with. That or you were focusing way too much on the thoughts and the possible margins of approval to disapproval of a man you were hellbent leaving behind.

He was still your husband, not just some random man, you remind yourself.

He was a killer, another voice reminds icily.

But then again, you always knew that. He never hid it from you.

You knew that about him before you even married.

-"It's a history of oppression, of bloodshed, of violence, and they unveilin' that shit for the whole world to see!"- One of your fellow coupe passengers rants to the other while you gave yourself the brief leeway of closing your eyes, hugging your rucksack around your body, leaning the side of your head against the vibrating glass of the train window, the thinning forest bypassing the cornered edges of your eyesight in a blur. In everything went well, you'd be in Nashville in some three hours give or take. You internally curse yourself for not having a wristwatch on you --- then again, how could you, when he kept everything under lock and key? When he was always watching, like a hawk? You flutter your eyes open briefly, catching sight of the man's faded, ripped jeans vest riddled with badges and pins, turning your head away once you spot one saying Ban the Bomb and another that said Give Piece a Chance. Why did you feel haunted? By everything? -"Now, tell me how we can move on as a society with crap like that goin' on in our own backyard, man!"- The other one, with a long ponytail retorts, impassioned and you feel the sweat pool along the surface of your scalp, anxiety bubbling up in your gut once the baby in the woman's arms seated next to the pair hiccups itself awake, no doubt alerted by all the noise, whimpering in its swaddling cloth; its mother immediately grabbing the hem of her long, flowing blouse embroidered with the odd floral pattern peppered with tassels and frills, giving the child the nipple to suckle on. -"You'll wake the baby, asshole."- She whispers, slapping one of the men across the shoulder in a manner that could be considered playful, softly but with enough force to be considered a reprimand, cooing her crying kid. Her head leaning down in consolation, smooth, long hair falling around her face like a curtain; it must've been below her back, spilling all around her train seat like a veil. -"Shh, shh, Robbie, it's alright."- She mutters and it's like every instinct in your body fires and flares up, on alert. Robbie? As in Robert? Her baby was named Robert? Why wouldn't he be? It was a common name. You don't even remember when you excuse yourself, hastily exiting the coupe to get as much fresh air in the hallway, leaning against the nearest cabin wall to calm yourself down, feeling your own chest heave with tension. Would life always be like this, you wonder, hyperventilating, using your backpack as a comfort, embracing it like a shield around your body, protecting what exceedingly few belongings in the world you had left --- you running away and Robert always chasing you and catching up with you, in some shape, way or form, even if through reminders if nothing else?

The train screeches and you conclude you had to have been paranoid.

These were growing pains, nothing else; you anticipated this when you ran.

There was nothing more natural than being afraid when you were out surviving.

The whole hallway trashes and you feel every movement in your bones.

Causing you to hug your bag even tighter, like a life raft.

The baby's crying intensifies.

A pair of people smoking in the corridor stumble, one nearly falling over.

What the ---

A moment of silence later, the train sluggishly jumps, only to slow down.

Coming a complete halt.

You stop breathing, tears goddamn nearly welling in your eyes once the uniformed, heavy set, red faced Conductor slams the corridor door open, sauntering inside, pushing past the bewildered smoking couple sporting a matching pair of tan sunglasses. -"Get out of the hallway! Out of the hallway! Evacuate the train!"- He orders, pointing outside and you mutely shake your head once he spots you standing alone, grazing you with his finger from afar to signify that included you too, the threesome and their newborn peeking their heads out of the coupe through the sliding door, alerted by the commotion, looking at each other in confusion and then at you; the collective so distraught you figured nobody even noticed your cheeks were wet by now. The wispy, long-haired mousey woman with the baby looks at you square on, appearing like the spitting image of Olivia Hussey under this light; just as wide eyed, fae-like and lost. -"What's goin' on?"- She asks you and then repeats the same question to nobody in particular, staring down her two companions who seemed equally perplexed. -"What's happenin'?"- One of them echoes the inquiry and you stopped. Everything stop. You weren't moving anymore and that was the worst thing that could happen right about now. You needed to keep going. If you started running into obstacles now, all of this would've turned out to be in vein. You're practically soundlessly crying by the time the Conductor arrives to wrangle the four of you forward. You feel yourself grabbed by the elbow and pushed to move; unwillingly, you do. Like someone sleepwalking and having no control over it. No, no, no. This was a temporary setback, is all. Temporary setback. Temporary setback. -"The tracks have been de-railed. We can't get a move on 'till it's fixed."- You hear the Conductor shout and if there was a way for fear to feel painful inside of a human body, it does with you there and then; you sense the dread shooting through you like an electrical current. The forests around the train thick and deep; like someone who moved in a circle you were right where you started. And he could be out there. Waiting. -"Hey, what about a refund for our tickets, man! Shit! We paid our way fair'n'square! Ain' right, man!"- You hear the beatnik argue his case and whatever the surly Conductor responds back fades into background noise, some deeper instinct inside of you rendering you blind and deaf as you walked with the certain knowledge that he did this.

He singlehandedly sabotaged the fucking train.

-"No, we can't go outside."-

You whimper, aggrieved once you feel the Conductor's heavy hand on your back.

Ushering you down the steps in your unwillingness to get out, holding up the line behind you, like an animal led to the slaughter. You weren't being deliberately difficult; you were just...so scared. So scared.

-"Ma'am."-

Are the last words you're cordially give once you're practically shoved down the metal train steps, landing on the grass on your own two feet, right beside the train tracks that stood askew, the footboard, wheel and breaks stuck between what seemed like several planks dislodged from their place on first amateur glance; was honestly a shock the impact of the crash wasn't more severe. That it didn't send you and everyone thumbling headfirst down the floor. You look around, finding the scattered passengers confused, your companions from the coupe already walking down the train tracks on foot, the two men in cowboy boots and flaring bell bottoms still arguing among themselves, no doubt on the subject of the injustices of the railway system this time around, the woman and the baby between them, her long skirt fluttering after her in the breeze. Was nice, some yearning voice inside of you whispers, reproaching. To have a family. You had one too. Until you left it. No. That was just your intrusive irrationality throwing a wedge into your plans --- you could still make it, even though you cursed the fact that the nearest highway had the closest shortcut led through the surrounding woods, but then again, for all of Robert's faults, he was only human too and this fear; it was only skin deep. You'd make it to the road and simply hitchhike, the way you did before. If you could do it once, you could do it twice. This was only over if you believed it to be. Now wasn't the time for despair. Now was the time for action. You turn on your heel, seeing the Interstate from here, through the tree line of pines, making a dash for it, leaving the collective of befuddled, aggrieved passengers behind, practically running, the trees rushing past you in a haze leading you down a steep slope, accelerating your movements, nearly causing you to stumble forward, branches getting caught into your clothes, your hair, scratching against the skin, leaving you under the impression the painful, sudden impact drew blood and you were certain by the time you sprinted out of here you'd look like someone who's just taken a beating. Nobody was chasing you, you think feverishly, gripping your backpacking, you were just spazzing out all on your own. How ridiculous you must've looked. The pines close in around you and you falter, catching your balance of your footing at the last moment, the blur of adrenaline taking over and you barely spotting the untouched campsite in the forest clearing in front of you.

An extended hand holding a match to a piled on stack of woods.

Holding the flame there until the planks lit up under a pillar of thin smoke.

You...no.

It was him.

Crouching on the ground, lighting disemboweled bits of the train tracks on fire.

A metal crowbar, a hammer and a shovel leaned on a nearby tree.

You recognize him by the bush of curly hair.

Robert lifts his head up slowly, blue eyes calm, meeting yours.

Something about his voice infinitely pleased, humming in contentment.

You stand paralyzed, feeling the blood rush into your brain.

-"Mhmm-hmm! You ever get to Nashville?"-

Laced with soft spoken sarcasm, he tilts his head to the side, taking the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth, balancing it between his index finger and thumb, right before chucking it into the newly formed, fledgling campfire, letting it crackle; you take a step back instinctively once he slowly stands up, dusting his knees off with all the casualness in the world while you were here, with your eyesight dotted back in distress, causing you to feel faint and lightheaded. Shortness of breath overtaking all survival instinct as the distant sounds of slamming, shouting and clanking echoed from further back up the hill; repairs on the train no doubt already commencing. You weren't ambushed. You practically ran into a trap. -"Bob, I ---"- You try, desperately glancing between the point of where you came and where you winded up, wondering if you should try your luck and run back or not, finding your own words cracking midway through your pathetic attempt at a sentence. The train tracks were burning and he stood in front of you, rifle slung over one shoulder, fingers gripping the leather belt strap. His words come into mind; That dog don't hunt. And it was just as he said; it didn't. If this ever winded up in the newspapers, which you knew it never would, it would be one of those things where truth was stranger than fiction --- you could already see the article title; Vietnam Veteran involved in brigandry, deliberately causing an accident and highway sabotage to circumvent his wife from dumping him. More on page six! In a second of inappropriate self-indulgence you envision the hippies headed for Nashville getting their hands on a periodical and recognizing you on the front page. The gulp in your throat is heavy, glutaral. You were so embarrassed you could die. You open your mouth to say something to him, perhaps something meaningful, groundbreaking, witty, something of a verbal checkmate, but before you can, you feel yourself grow limp, nostrils filled with the pungent stench of vapor and smoke, all endurance fading once he's entirely too close for comfort, causing you to go collapsing into the familiar prison of his arms where you've been countless times before, the forest closing in around you, like the jaw of a flesh eating plant around an insect.

The campfire crackles on, swallowing the wood, leaving no traces behind.

The whole world goes thumbling on its head and everything goes black.