#boy needs a hug

[thealpacaavenger]

About Sonic IDW #56 (Post electric shock syndrome)

(Info found at https://www.verywellhealth.com and https://electrocuted.com)

Dang. That’s the best I can sum up this group of panels. I decided to look into the effects of electric shocks to the body. I swear, the authors did their absolute best to ensure that the amount of pain Sonic would go through would be as insane as possible.

Let’s start with this set of panels.

You can probably assume that the amount of volts Surge is sending into that water is excessive. Now, when someone’s skin is wet, not only does this make the shock more painful, it also makes it more deadly.

Next, are these panels. You can see here that Surge has her hands around either Sonic’s neck, or his shoulders. Either way, both areas are quite close to the heart. Shocks to the heart are another way to make electrical shocks more deadly. Another thing that makes an electrical shock more lethal is prolonged exposure. Which Sonic gets a fair share of. In the comic’s time, I’d say this lasted about 20-40 seconds, which may not seem long, but that is a very long time to be exposed to such a heavy voltage.

For obvious reasons, this causes Sonic to scream in pain, as you can see in both when Sonic first falls into the water and in the action panels (In the first, I believe it’s Sonic’s fist, though I struggle to tell. In the second, it’s clearly Sonic’s eye, meant to display fear or pain. And most importantly in the third panel, you can see Sonic’s mouth open screaming in pain).

When Surge passes out, Sonic is left in shock (no pun intended). Though, I have reason to believe he may have been dead in that panel.

Now, let’s talk about all the things Sonic would’ve gone through after that event. -Severe burns, both inside and outside his body. -An inconsistent or dangerous heartbeat -Numbness and tingling sensation throughout the body -Possible seizures -Weakness -Chronic pain

The weakness is one thing that is shown. Sonic needs help from Tails in order to get up. I also feel as though the patched hatching throughout Sonic’s body could also be interpreted as external burns.

Now, not only are there immediate physical reactions to getting electrocuted, there are also mental effects. These mental effects are labeled as post-electric shock syndrome. The symptoms are quite similar in nature to depression and PTSD.

-behavioral changes -Increased difficulty with memory and attention -irritability -anger -insomnia -aggressive behavior -difficulty enjoying hobbies -difficulty engaging with other people and work

In this next panel, I obviously don’t think that the only reason Sonic is angry is because of PESS, but I do think it may have made it a little harder to contain that anger, and maybe magnified it.

Sonic went through hell this time around. I suppose he always does.

[frosteaart]

"Well alright then."

[screenshot redraw - click image for higher quality]

[kiirisute]

art style has left the chat and new obsession has entered

MILGRAM FANS PLS INTERACT

[textbookpandering]

[bo-bo-bean]

Welcome home

[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[xxxxlovexxxx]

[summerdoddles]

hero's pain

[soaring-trash]

Ishta the summit blade

[kon-konk]

I want to hug Yosuke. Poor boy

[luvergirl777]

Sweet Girl | Spencer Reid

Pairing | Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count | 3k, not bad. 

Genre | Fluff, Smut 

Summary | Spencer is tired, so tired. He knows only one thing could possibly cheer him up. His sweet girl.

Index | Kinda sub Spencer, he's tired and want's to be taken care of, you're more than happy to do that, smut, unprotected sex, love confessions lol, they're perfect for each other, established relationship, pinning, cute shit.

There are so many thoughts in Spencer’s brain, there always is. It’s impossible for them to slow down, he’s always so busy. Even when he’s not working, he’s thinking about the next case, the next degree, the next time he’ll be called into office for a dire case. It’s exhaustive and it feels impossible to just breathe for more than a moment. His morale started to slip, work becoming messy, cases blurring together, memory almost shot.

Until he met you, everything was hard, until he met you. It was an accident, technically. His morning coffee cafe wasn’t open, forcing him to break his routine that he’s had for months. As soon as he spotted you, the new (and out of his way) cafe instantly became his new favorite. Smart and kind, the sweetest smile always worn on your face. He swears you’re the smartest person he’s ever met, always ignoring you whenever you point out his multiple PHDs and ever continuous education journey. 

You force him to look at things differently, not really trying to, but you do. It’s refreshing, it’s amazing to him how it works, a breath of fresh air. Since he’s realized the difference in himself when he’s with you, he’s fallen head over heels. Your apartment is small and cozy, warm lighting and blankets everywhere. He’s at your apartment more than he is his own, feels more at home. 

You ease his mind, make everything easier. He can just be himself around you without any worry about needing to prove something. He can relax for the first time in what feels like years. It almost kills him to have to go away for cases, kills him even more when the cases last weeks or months. He spares you almost all the details, much like Garcia whenever he can. It’s not what you signed up for. Even when you ask, he only really tells you public knowledge. He keeps you separate from his work, he needs you separate from his work. His sweet girl, he’d like to keep it that way. 

Spencer’s exhausted, beyond exhausted he thinks. He can’t remember the last time he’s been away from you for this long, the last time he’s truly felt this horrible. His shoulders are heavy, eye bags growing from the exhausting 3 weeks he’s had. Kill, after kill, after kill, with no motive, no tracts, no suspects. He felt like a newbie again at the BAU, unable to track down their unsub. It feels like he’s failing everyone and himself, it was beginning to tear him down. 

Nightmare after nightmare, he was almost unable to sleep for the three weeks he’s been gone. The day they found the unsub, he almost cried with relief. The entire team almost cried, really. Generally he’s not emotional by any means, tries to stay objective in his work, but this time he just couldn’t. He’s happy, thrilled, to be home despite admittedly being a bit dishevelled from the trip. Unshaven, worn down, exhausted, eye bags, the list goes on and on. 

You’ve missed him too, but you’ve tried to keep your calling and texting at bay so as to not distract him from his work. As he makes his way home, you almost bubble with excitement. The door is loud as it unlocks, heavy click overpowering the soft instrumental vinyl that was filling the silence. Your feet run to meet him at the door, more than excited. The door opens, revealing a tired Reid. It’s the worst you’ve seen him in awhile, maybe in over a year you think. 

You’ve known Spencer for a while now, seen arguably the worst sides of him. This isn’t quite that, but it is pretty close to it. The slouch and far-out look tells you almost everything you need to know. 

“Oh, Spence.” You call to him softly, watching as his feet don’t move, eyes taking you in as you cautiously approach him as if he were a wounded animal. He doesn’t say anything, watching as you reach for his shoulders. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand, hands gently cupping his face and thumbs gently rubbing his cheeks as you comfort him. “Come, step inside.” You almost whisper, gently pulling him inside by his hands, warm. 

A small smile grows on his face as you take off his suit jacket, palms massaging his shoulders and biceps as you do so. You sway softly to the music, almost dancing into the kitchen as you pull him along. “Let’s eat, Spence.” You smile, sitting him down first. At this level, you easily reach his temple where you place a soft kiss. You don’t have to, but you’re more than happy to prepare a plate for Spencer. The music is comforting, the two of you sitting close, your foot brushing against his leg when you cross your legs. 

You happily clean up after the two of you, dancing around the kitchen as you entertain Spencer in the meantime. “How’re you feeling?” You hum, Spencer’s arms wrapping around your waist as you stand directly in front of him. He easily pulls you forward into his embrace. Your arms wrap around his neck, his face burying into the crook of your shoulder as you do so. 

“Better.” It’s all you need, all he needs to say. He’s putty in your hands as you softly pull him forward and off the kitchen bench, easily leading him to the shower. 

He’s so grateful for you, he thinks silently, to himself. He’s never felt like this for someone, and for the longest time, he was afraid he just couldn’t. He could never understand wanting someone with you everyday of the year, living in the same space, sharing everything. The thought used to make him nauseous. The thought of being with someone intimately used to make his skin crawl. But with you, it’s different, everything is different. 

He craves coming home to you, craves your touch after a long day, craves hearing your voice, craves your presence, craves your intimacy. He melts in your hold, his brain is able to finally shut off after a long day. All the thoughts, running miles a minute, goes away. 

He feels like he could cry as you run a shower for him, gently unbuttoning his white button up, fiddling with his belt to take off his pants, kissing his skin better, unknowingly healing him. “Y/n, please shower with me.” He mumbles, kicking his shoes and pants off, undressing the rest of the way. He steps in, watching as you undress before quickly joining him. 

“I’ve been worried about you, pretty boy.” You smile as you step inside, his arms immediately wrapping around your body. He’s tired and homesick, obviously so as he sinks into you. 

“I know, I know,” He nods along, hands sliding up to hold your head in his palms. “I’m okay, I promise.” Spencer smiles, gently kissing your forehead, back down to your cheeks, and finally connecting your lips. You immediately return the kiss, desperate for his touch, his lips on yours. 

“I know you are.” You smile, mumbling against his lips. Spencer smiles too, pulling you deeper into the kiss, closer to his body. You can’t help the small moan that slips when you feel him against you, shaky hands pu\lling him closer roughly by his back. 

“It’s always the best coming back to you, though,” Spencer almost groans into your mouth, making you weak in the knees as he does so. “I can hold my own, but there’s nothing better than coming home to you.”

“Spence, we gotta clean you up,” You almost whimper at your own words, sadly pulling away from him. “Had a rough couple of weeks.” Spencer just nods along, allowing you to do as you please. He’d let you do anything, always. He melts as your hands meet his hair, shampooing and conditioning. He doesn’t melt when you wash his body, quite the opposite as his skin burns hot as your hands rub along his body. 

“Please,” Spencer whines, quickly doing the same for you. He needs to get out of this before he loses his mind, he thinks. As soon as you’re both clean, his lips almost slam against yours, needy, almost desperate. “I’ve missed you so much,” He whines, complaining. 

“Come, Spence.” You mumble, lips against his shoulder as you talk to him. Your face and ears are burning hot, wanting to get out of the shower quickly. Spencer follows you without a hitch, quickly wrapping the both of you in fizzy towels as he places another kiss to your shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Spencer.” You smile at him, walking backwards out of the bathroom. He follows happily, a tired smile painted across his features. A towel hangs low on his waist as he follows. 

“I’m really tired, hun, I won’t lie.” Spencer mumbles as he sits down on the bed, fluffy towel becoming loose when his grip leaves it. A whimper leaves his lips when you straddle his hips, core bare as you lower your weight. He can feel your warmth, mind growing fuzzy almost immediately as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. You don’t make a move to hurry things up, only tucking his hair behind his ears as you glance over his face. 

“So pretty, Spencer.” You mumble as you talk to him, continuing to play with his hair. “I’ll do the work, I just want you to feel good. Feel good after being away for so long, working so hard,” You mumble against his shoulder as you kiss it. Your town easily falls backwards off of your shoulders, leaving you bare on top of Spencer. “You gonna let me do that? Gonna be good?”

“Yes, yes please.” Spencer mumbles, roughly connecting your lips. His grip tangles in your hair, pulling as close as he possibly can. You whine into his mouth, hips grinding against him, so close yet so far, chest pressed flush against his own. You lift yourself onto your knees, pulling at Reid’s towel to move it off of his lap. You drop your weight back down as soon as possible, grinding against Reid’s cock, easily slipping through your folds. 

“Want you, miss you so much,” You complain, for no particular reason. You know Spencer is more than happy to give you what you want, almost wants it just as badly. “I want it.”

“Take it, sweet girl, take it.” He groans into your mouth, sloppily kissing you as if his life depends on it. His palms knead at your flesh, touching and holding everything you can reach. You whimper when his hands knead your inner thighs, so close to where you need him the most. “Need it just as bad. I’ve missed you so much, love you so much.”

Your hips lift up, Spencer helping you out the slightest as he lines up his cock for you. Your legs shake as you sink back down, hips connecting with a small slap. You both share a moan, needy hands pulling one another as close as physically possible. Spencer throbs as you grind against his cock, completely inside you, clit rubbing against his skin. It doesn’t feel that good to him, but watching you shake and whimper is almost enough to get him off. 

“I love you, Spencer.” You mumble, finally building the strength to lift yourself up, bouncing on his cock. You know exactly what Spencer likes, what he wants, moving exactly how he needs you to. You know where he’s sensitive, how to get him to tick. As you kiss his neck and squeeze around him, he swears he can stay here forever with you. He wants to stay forever, not here, maybe not this specifically, but with you. He wants to be with you, forever. 

“Y/N, I- oh fuck,” Spencer whines as you speed up, desperately chasing his moans, wanting to hear him. He feels embarrassingly close already, all of his senses full of you. You’re so tight and warm, goosebumps spreading across his skin. “Y/N, will you, uh, I want-” His words break off as he moans, feeling his abs tighten up as he fights off the urge to cum. To combat it, his fingers dip in between your bodies, gently rubbing circles into your sensitive clit. 

“Spencer, oh fuck.” You whine, tightening around him even more. “Gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum.” You bite softly into his chest, whimpers muffled by his skin. 

“Marry me,” Spencer whines, voice muffled and whiny. You don’t register his words, focused on the way his fingers rub circles into your clit, his other hand roughly guiding your hips as you bounce up and down on his cock, vice grip around him. Your thighs are shaking, teetering on the edge that you’re so close to falling off of. “Y/N, marry me.” Spencer's hands stop your movement entirely, giving you no stimulation as he holds your hips flush to his. 

“I-Spence, you’re mean-”

“Marry me, Y/N.” He cuts you off, not listening to the way you’re about to call him all sorts of names. “I love you so, so much. So perfect to me, Y/N. I want to be with you, forever. Please, marry me. I promise I’ll ask you in a cheesy, over the top way later, and we can say that was the official proposal. I never want to come home to anyone else but you.” 

“Spencer,” You can’t help the whine that struggles to escape your lips, squeezing around him even tighter. His grip doesn’t let up, holding you completely still. “This is a bit crazy to ask when I was about to cum all over your cock.” You giggle, hands coming to hold his face as your mind begins to clear just the slightest bit. “You know that, right?”

“I-I know. I was just thinking-” He starts, releasing his grip on you once he realizes your plight, allowing you to grind against him for some sort of stimulation. 

“You do that, a lot.” You giggle softly, biting back the moans as you move on top of him. 

“You do so much for me. It’s like, like when I’m with you, my brain quiets down. I don’t have to worry, don’t have to think a hundred miles a minute. I can just be me, when I’m with you.” Spencer rambles on, brows creasing as you speed up your movement, desperate to get there once again. “I can let you take care of me, love being around you.” 

“Spence, we’re gonna look back at this and laugh.” You giggle as you grind against his cock. Spencer goes back to rubbing tight circles against your clit, moaning when you tighten around him again, beginning to move up and down. 

“So, I’ll take that as a no th-”

“Of course, Spencer. Of course I’ll marry you, my pretty boy.” You grin hard, watching as his face completely lights up, matching your giant smile. A giant squeal escapes when he quickly flips the two of you over, your back hitting the bed before you can protest. “Spencer! I thought you were tired.” You laugh, immediately being shut up when his hips begin to move. 

“I was.” Spencer smiles, hips driving forward into you. You’re already so close, so worked up, that the change in position almost sends you over. “Now I have a fiance, it’s a bit exciting, you see.” Spencer laughs at your circumstance, all of the wit wiped clean as you mewl and moan underneath him. He does his best to sooth the shake in your thighs, hands rubbing the soft skin underneath them, hips never slowing. Like you, he knows what you like, exactly what you like, his memory doesn’t allow him to forget it. 

“You- oh fuck,” You whimper as he rubs ghost like circles into your clit, not needing much more stimulation and he knows that. 

“Come for me, please. Wanna feel you, want to hear it, need it Y/N.” He groans, leaning forward to kiss you, sloppy and messy. You’re trapped underneath him, the weight somehow overwhelming and exactly what you need. At the change of angle, his cock hits exactly where you need him, hips grinding against your clit with each movement. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, Spencer, coming.” You whimper, hands reaching for his back, scratching and pulling him closer. You’re almost impossible to push into as you cum, so sensitive and aroused that you clench so tightly around him. He whimpers into your skin, finally coming unraveled as it all catches up to him as well. 

“Good girl, so good.” Spencer groans into your skin. “Gonna cum for you, okay?” You nod eagerly, legs wrapping around his waist as you pull him close. 

“Cum inside, Spence, my sweet fiance.” You whine, thighs shaking from overstimulation. The name makes him fold, the way it slips so easily from your lips making him melt instantly. 

“Cumming, cumming.” He whines, sloppy thrusts slowing down as he does. You can’t help but whine with him, clit so sensitive that it’s almost driving you crazy. 

“Spencer,” You whine loudly, legs tightening to stop his movement completely. You’re too sensitive, it’s too much for you. “I love you.” You mumble, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Love you, so much, the most.” Spencer mumbles, words soft and sincere as he speaks. Your legs slowly unwrap, sore and tired as you finally rest them. He’s moving slow as well, trudging into the bathroom for a damp towel to clean the two of you up. He’s almost sluggish by the time he’s done, tossing the towel into the bathroom without even really looking. You almost expect it as he collapses next to you, completely spent with his legs hanging off the bed. 

You giggle softly, rolling your eyes at the dramatics as he finally fully crawls into bed. You crawl next to him, propped up onto your elbow as you look down. “So, we're gonna tell our friends you asked me to marry you while balls deep?” You laugh almost directly into his face, hand coming to push hair behind his ear. 

“No.” It’s stern and final, no arguments accepted. At this, you laugh loudly. 

“C’monn, it would be funny, Morgan would love it.”

“That’s exactly why I’m scared. Listen, let’s sleep, before I rethink this decision.” He jokes dryly, a smile on his face when you finally give it up. You pull him close, cuddling into his side. 

“You’d never.”

“You’re right.” He hums, eyes falling shut. “I love you too much.”

[westruun]

Hug him.

[soplapinga]

Favorite part of The Dead Boy Detectives for sure is Edwin pulling literally every single age appropriate male character he interacted with. The absolute cunt ever

[blorbocedes]

a compilation of max interrupting christian's interviews to get his post race hug -- and the one time christian does the same 🥰

[fraugwinska]

I'm dying to see you write Alastor opening up to Reader about his mom, maybe a little angst and lots of fluff? (- v -)''

WE NEED THAT MOMMAS BOY GETTING SOME COMFORT!

Finally Anon, I found the strengh to write this. Sorry it took so long - I hope it was worth the wait! Next story will be less sad, I promise! :'< But I think we can all find some love for our Mommas Boy today, right? (Prepare your handkerchiefs, fellas...)

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Mother O'Mine

Not the kitchen. Not the lobby. Not the bar. Not the radio tower. Not his room.

You sighed and stilled for a moment, thinking of a place where he could've gone.

If Angel had just shut his damn mouth. Mother's day was a shit day for everyone in the hotel. You, who never knew a mother, raising yourself in the farce that had been the foster care system, rued the day. Charlie was still in denial about her mothers blatant absence and ignorance, Husk melancholic and tense at the memory of seeing his mother being exterminated shortly after reuniting with her in hell, and Vaggie bitterly wanted to ignore the holiday all together, feeling as though she would be betraying the mother she could no longer reach in heaven as a fallen angel.

Angel had been pissing them all off by breakfast, obnoxiously mocking their various reasons of why this day felt even heavier than others in hell. You knew it was his own way of coping with his mommy issues - something he didn't even talk about with Husk, as far as you knew, but he bordered on being not only menacing, but outright cruel.

Alastor had listened to his rambling stoically, flipping eggs while drinking his coffee with not much more than an annoyed twitch in his brow, but then the spider made the gruesome mistake to mention her.

Alastor's mom.

"What, 'ya think any of 'ya mothers could even look at 'ya without punchin' themselves? Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me Bambi's mommy wouldn't be fuckin' disappointed by what her little fawn has become... Can ya really see a sweet southern lady all happy, lovin', and coddling ol' murder-clown Alas..."

The green explosion came faster than you could blink. You were frozen in place, only staring in fear and worry when Angel landed unceremoniously into the table with the rest of the breakfast, the other residents as shocked and dazed as you were, while the radio static and greenish-black shadows seeped away from Alastor who then swiftly made his way out without a word, holding his staff while his tendrils bristled dangerously.

Alastor had vanished and the only thought coming to your mind - after giving a cursing, groaning Angel a righteous 'You fucking deserved that'-speech - was that you needed to find him before the princess did to make sure the demon had calmed enough not to finally lose it and maul her to pieces. Charlie meant well, but she didn't know. No one did know, except for you, and even you only knew so much.

It's not like it had been an elaborate talk. It just happened, after a nightmare that made him tear up in a mixture of rage and sorrow, a bad memory that had made his shadow basically drag you, half asleep still, from your bed to his in the middle of the night. Why you? You weren't so sure. Alastor usually preferred your company more than the others just because you were the most neutral, sane person in the hotel. Some would even say impassive. An introvert who didn't draw attention, silent and observing. But not once had his shadow ever acted up around you, and while it wasn't overly friendly with anyone, it seemed to watch mostly you with curious glances and interested hisses. When you had finally woken up enough to comprehend your situation, you were sprawled across Alastors stomach with his arms wound so tightly around you you struggled to breathe, strained mumbled words pressed through gritted teeth into your nightgown.

"Mother... I'm sorry... Oh mother..."

He had been sobbing into your shoulders and and shaking against your chest while he let go of a strange anger and grief he never seemed to get rid of while you had, confused but worried, whispered words of comfort in a hushed, soothing voice until you both dozed back to sleep. Morning broke, and when you opened your eyes again, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, not able to look you in the eyes. He had thanked you, gruffly and with an unsteady voice that made your heart ache, before offering his hand to teleport you back to your room. As far as you were concerned, the weirdest of it was that you felt him caress the palm of your hand with his thumb, barely audible as he mumbled that "that should have never have happened, and we shall never speak of it again." - he was usually a gentleman, and he never touched you this intimately before - but, to him, it was obviously a humiliating and horrible thing that you had witnessed him like that.

And you didn't speak of it. No one knew, and you intended to keep it that way. It was a moment you shared and fragile trust was on the table. You would take it to your second grave, along with all those feelings that had come with it, to prevent it from breaking.

Back to the present, you sighed and massaged the bridge of your nose. You had checked all the obvious places that crossed your mind, so maybe, you should start to look at the not-so-obvious ones... Maybe some place you knew was connected to... His mom...

A sudden pang hit you as you got an idea of where he might be hiding.

"Is this seat taken?"

The roof of the hotel was usually restricted from access, due to the general instability and collapse-prone architecture it presented, but you and (after an admittedly awkward encounter on a hot day that had involved you in a two-pieced swimsuit sunbathing and a very flustered Alastor with a book in one and a severed hand on a plate in the other hand) the radio demon knew about a small nook between the roof's overhead window frames and the hotel's ventilation system, hidden by the growing shadow of the radio tower where no one else ever came looking. A hideout, a place to go when you wanted undisturbed solitude. You had quickly left the place, apologizing for intruding a space that Alastor had apparently already claimed for himself (explaining the existence of the lounge chair you've so rudely used), but soon enough he discreetly invited you back, second chair added, to sit in silence together every once in a while, as long as you swore secrecy. It became a place of comfort for both of you, a retreat when life in the hotel got too stressful.

Alastor's reaction to seeing you was a quickly stifled hum before going back to staring stubbornly at the horizon. He looked dejected, and if you would not have known him so well, you wouldn't have noticed the trembling twitch of his ears nor the way his claw tapped impatiently against his knee, his shadow balled in on itself while hovering at the edge of the small roof.

It looked like he was staring straight through the distant buildings of the pentagram to the faintly illuminated orb that was heaven next to hells own sun, while also refusing to acknowledge you or the world around him at all. His smile had slipped into an emotionless line of pursed lips.

"That depends" he mused quietly. "Are you here to make me return to that insolent arachnid and attempt a 'healing' conversation?"

"I think you know I know that I couldn't even if i wanted to." You tried a weak smile.

Alastor briefly met your eyes at that, giving away that, despite his aloof act, your comment got his attention and he considered it before turning back to the horizon, the tense posture relaxing somewhat. A brief silence passed until he hummed an affirmative noise. "Then you may sit, darling."

After sitting down, minutes passed without a word said. The distant roar of the bustling traffic carried the muffled sounds of hell with the usual maelstrom of catcalling, profanities and general noises of mayhem to you, while you fought to keep a certain twitch in your hands as you counted the beats of his heels clicking on the tiles.

"You must know... my mother was a rare light in a world of filth." he declared suddenly into the silence. "An honest, virtuous soul of beauty and strength." He said it slowly and, surprisingly, completely unamused, the clacking of his shoes ceasing at once. He stared at the city in contempt, hands clasped together and resting on his legs to hold back a tremble that you caught anyway.

"She, unlike me, had not a spec of corruption in her bones. Wherever she found the warmth and love she shared with me, I cannot fathom. But she did. I may have been mocked and shunned by the world, the bastard child of a black woman and a white man, but I always had her as my home to return to.” The knuckles on his hands turned white. “But the cruelty of life and the disgusting human that was my father, the unbearable excuse of a man, killed her before I was grown enough to help. Before I was old enough to kill that monster myself." He spat the words, claws digging deeper until a faint trickle of blood could be seen. "I remedied that circumstance, twice to be exact, although it couldn't make up for what was lost. Nothing I did to him could make up for it..." his smile widened bitterly as his face twitched, recalling a fond, yet regretful memory. "… and believe me, I tried. But it was cathartic nonetheless, and quite educational... for my further career."

You stayed quiet and studied his profile, patiently waiting for him to continue talking. It was painfully obvious how hard it was for him to speak about actual feelings, with his tense grin and his white knuckles dripping with crimson blood.

"I knew, of course, where I would end up after my demise, and that I would never be able to see her again. Because I was sure she'd end up in heaven, like the saint she was. Is." He cleared his throat, attempting to appear dismissive, but you saw it. The sadness, the longing, the resignation, and it shattered your heart.

"Alastor...", you knew he hated physical touch, but your hand reached out on its own, to stop his hands from ripping themselves apart. He stiffened at the contact, but said nothing.

"Don't tell me you took what Angel said to heart..."

"How could my mother love me after what I've become after her death?"

His tone was monotonous, but his hands trembled under your fingers. He refused to look at you, but you saw his eyes, glazed with wetness that threatened to turn into actual tears. How he could still smile was beyond you, you had your theories on that, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered was that he was hurting, and that fact broke your heart. You never knew motherly love, how could you really miss something you never really knew? But Alastor did, and it had been ripped from him in the must cruel way, the impact of it so hard it made him even question the very foundation it was built upon.

You moved your hand from his to cup his cheek and turn his face to yours. His expression was blank, and if it weren't for the tight grin and the eyes filled with an unspeakable anguish, it would have been an emotionless stare.

"Alastor, do you know the poem Mother O'Mine?"

"I'm afraid the memory of it fails me, darling."

"Then, I'll recite it for you."

"Why?"

You gave him a sad smile.

"Because I want to."

He eyed you with stunned curiosity as you reached into your pocket, glad for once for your mostly useless power. You've only told Husk about it, in one of your late nights where everyone else was asleep aside him and your insomnia got the better of you, drunk and as a bargaining chip for one last gin tonic.

The blank piece of paper was a bit crumpled, but it would do. You started to fold it while you spoke, your voice sounded soft and almost like a spell.

"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

Your fingers moved with a solemn purpose as you folded the paper this way and that, a skill you perfected out of boredom over the years, the edges turning into an elegant shape, the poem coming from your mouth like a song. Alastor watched your hands move in a trance, not sure what you were doing, but too focused on the faint glow of purple around them to ask.

"If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!"

There in your hand, sat a little origami bird. It wasn't anything special, maybe a traditional crane would have been better, more elegant, but you were out of practice and for what you intended to do it would work either way. Carefully you reached out, silently demanding for one of Alastor's hands that were still digging into each other. He didn't protest, and slowly raised it to give his hand to you. The tips of his claws were covered in a thin, fresh layer of his own blood, and his skin was warm and slightly clammy. You put the little paper bird on his palm, a speck of his blood staining the bottom of the pristine white paper, and closed his fingers around it, holding it in both of yours.

"If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine."

His enclosed hand in your own was encased in purple light, with wide eyes he followed the soft tugs of your fingers and opened his hand. The little paper bird flapped it's wings on his flat palm, looking at him for a heartbeat before taking off and flew in a singular circle around his head before it headed into hells deep red sky, towards the bright heavenly sphere. You watched it until it vanished completely from view, hoping there was a possibility that maybe, with a bit of luck, it would find it's way to her.

"This, Alastor, is what a real mother is. She loves you, I'm sure of it. Always has and always will."

Tears fell silently on his lap, a strangled, coarse breath escaping him. Without warning, he pulled you from your chair into him, holding you pressed close to him. Just like in the night of his nightmare, his face was buried in your chest, arms wound tightly around you in a hurting embrace and shoulders trembling with suppressed grief. His grip was bordering on painful, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying one of your hands in his hair, stroking gently while you let him quietly cry into your shoulder, not caring that the wetness of his tears was soaking through the fabric of your shirt. You felt his heart beating rapidly, his pulse erratic and his breathing fast.

"I miss her. Oh, how I miss her."

You held him tighter.

"I know, Al... I know."

You didn't know how long you two stayed like this, him in your arms and crying silently while you tried your best to comfort him, but you didn't care. As far as you were concerned, you would stay here forever if it only meant to lift this weight for a little while from his shoulders.

It took him some time, but eventually his breathing evened out, and he calmed down, his hold becoming less desperate and more... affectionate. You didn't realize it at first, but he had moved, his head resting under your chin and his forehead leaning against the hollow of your throat, his antlers slightly poking the thin skin. It felt strangely intimate, and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but the moment he moved to get up and leave, you knew the spell was broken. He didn't let go of you entirely, but instead helped you to stand up and held your hand, his gaze firmly planted to the ground, avoiding your eyes.

"Darling, I..."

"Don't worry, Alastor. Although I'm glad I was able to be here when it happened... we shall never speak of this again."

You could feel his hesitation, a strange nervousness radiating from him. His shadow hovered next to him, a hand reaching out towards your face. You smiled at it, and, just for a brief moment, allowed yourself to lean into it's warm, buzzing touch as it caressed your cheek, before you turned and made your way back inside without a glance back to the sudden sound of a longing hum.

[nell0-0]

Mask will let the captain have this. Just this once. It wasn't just once.

Poor Mask kept falling to the ground. Luckily for him, either the captain or Tune are there to catch him

A continuation of THIS

Fun fact I didn't know until I started researching for this: apparently when someone looses an eye, it's possible that the other eye adapts. This is not good in the beginning as the remaining eye stops working for a while (???!). While long term it's not as noticeable (just less field of vision and some problems with depth perception sometimes) it's, uh... interesting :,D

Correct me if I'm wrong about this tho. I did my research, but sometimes there's misinformation out there so don't trust it 100% without checking it first.