#even in the absence of any proof of that being the case

[canisalbus]

As a survivor of abuse I relate to Machete so much. I've always felt unclean for no reason except being told I was unclean, and it made me feel worthless or revolting by default. Like, no matter what I did I would be filthy and unpleasant to be around.

Seeing that he can be loved, makes me feel like maybe I could be loved too.

.

[honeycomx]

Remember The Rain

Domesticated!Frank Castle x Black!reader

a/n: random ex and you’re gonna be an Apple user today.

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Cursing, Violence, Smut ↴

⇣

You weren’t a stupid girl at all.

Things had changed in your relationship with Frank, you could feel it. You’d noticed the things he would do for you before now seemed foreign due to his recent absence. For the past three months it had been like that. But you chopped it up to him being exhausted due to the extra shifts he’d pull at night at the construction site. The extra hours wasn’t the issue, hell you were even pulling some at the hospital. Y’all were making plans to buy a house instead continuing to rent so it wasn’t out of the ordinary. But his distance was.

Even though you were working just like him, you still found time to spend with him, or attempt to anyway. He would give the, now, common excuses of ‘I’m tired honey’ or ‘I have to work a little later’ or ‘maybe another day’. And honestly now, it was becoming suspicious and hurtful of his avoidance of you these past few weeks. And to make it even worse, he hadn’t touched you in two, which was definitely not like him. He seemed to have infinite stamina when it came to sex, you knew. He could go on for hours and hours, dusk to dawn, from position to position. He was like a starved beast when it came to getting his rocks off. But recently his appetite was more sated, and you hadn’t been feeding him.

‘So who was?’ That was first thought that came to your mind. Doubt was flooding through your mind, every time you saw him laugh at his phone, leave for work, or even watch television. You just wanted to know if every ‘I love you’, passionate kiss, sweet messages sent, or intimate moments shared with him were genuine and real. Or was he just doing these things to keep you with him, in fear of being alone.

You couldn’t take it anymore but you didn’t have the heart to confront him with proof. If he wasn’t, you would terrible but your gut saying your feelings were spot on. You didn’t want to risk him knowing you had your suspicions, in fear he would stop his actions. You wanted him to be real with you. You knew he wouldn’t tell the truth, because he knew he had a lot to lose with you. And unbeknownst to him, even a child. Yes, you were pregnant. But you wouldn’t be for long, if he was cheating. And you were going to find out if an appointment needed to made soon…

“Damn 3:30 to midnight is different for you.” Frank said as he passed you your car keys and lunch from the kitchen counter.

“Yeah but we need the money and duty calls.” You grabbed your coat and badge before opening the front door.

“Alright babe see you later.” Frank said making his way to couch to resume watching his football game.

“No kiss?” You called out before he sat. Usually he would automatically give you one, without question.

“I’m sorry baby.” He said running back to give you a quick peck. This time he watched as you made your way to your car, just in front of your shared home.

“Have a good shift.” He called out, as you loaded in to the car. After blowing him a kiss and sending him a wave, you started the car, before making your 25 mins journey to your ‘shift’ at work.

“You really think he cheating?” Your cousin and co-worker, Bianca asked as you settled into the driver side of her vehicle. You were in the parking lot of the job y’all shared. To Frank’s knowledge, she asked to pick up a shift with her this evening. But in reality, She was letting you used her vehicle to devise your plan. In case, you had to follow Frank, you didn’t want to use a familiar car.

“Yes. He’s been acting real distance and I don’t know, I just have this weird feeling about him lately.” You expressed your doubt to her. She seemed shocked about it, to her knowledge, y’all had a fairytale type of relationship. You rarely had any problems in your relationship with Frank in the 5 years y’all had been together. In fact, prior to this, just a few months back, you told her you suspected he was going to propose soon, since you caught him looking up engagement rings. This was a huge turn in events.

“Have you talked to him about it?” She questioned, leaning against the downed window.

“No but I don’t feel like I should. I feel like he’s hiding something or someone. I know my intuition isn’t off.”

“We’ll do you got anything on you that he could track?” She asked, making sure you don’t have anything that could get you caught.

“No, I turned my location on my phone. But my iPad is in the car so my location shows I’m here. Plus here’s my keys if I don’t find anything in time. I’ll just meet you back at your house.” You handed her your car key, which she pocketed before glancing at the time, and cursing under her breath.

“Okay Y/N. I love you and be safe. I gotta go clock in. Call if you need me. You know I ain’t got no problem leaving this job.” She assured, giving you a pointed look.

“Thank you, Bee.” You muttered as the two of shared a hug through the window. She said one last goodbye before jogging her way into the work building for her shift.

It had been a little over three hours since you arrived back at the house. You parked on the adjacent street a few houses up but close to where you could still see your home. And luckily, when you had gotten back from the job, Frank’s car was still parked and the light was still on in the living room, indicating his presence. You tried to busy yourself by aimlessly scrolling through multiple social medias to ease your nerves. But your mind was running like a faucet.

The thought of Frank stepping out on you had you worried, you truly loved him and eagerly wanted to start family and settle down with him. You hoped you were just overreacting, you hoped he had the same thing in mind. But you couldn’t deny the way you felt, you wouldn’t be able to continue on with him, knowing your feelings. You felt the waterworks coming, you really didn’t want your heart broken again especially by Frank. You wanted him to be the one, didn’t want all that time invested to be for nothing.

Wiping the stray tear from your eye, you glanced back at your front door, this time it opened, your eyes widened, you sat up in your seat to get a better look. Frank stood in the doorway with different attire from earlier and his hair had a curly silkier look to it as well as his beard. He had recently showered. You watched as looked up and down the street as if he we’re waiting for something or someone…

You watched his face visibly light up as if he spotted what he was looking for. And you followed his gaze. Lo and behold, there she was, a slender blonde with nice perky ass and titties to match. She was a bombshell. Her attributes were the complete opposite of yours. She had long streaks of straight golden blonde hair, whereas yours was kinky cloud like mass of brown/black curls. Her body was slender and toned, more athletic build. And your body was thicker and wider, a more chubby build, and it didn’t help that you were carrying either. You watch as she threw her arms around Frank’s neck, as he wrapped his around her waist, they accepted each other gracefully. A shaky gasp left your lips, as their locked in passion. Frank pulled his mistress closer as they continue their heated make-out, pulling her into the home before shutting the door behind them. You slumped back into the seat in defeat, after witnessing the dreadful scene in front of you. Frank was cheating.

Tears started flowing like a river, you stared at your desecrated home in complete despair. Never would you have thought in the few years you were with Frank that he would do cheat. He made it seem like the love you two mentally, physically, and emotionally, shared was irreplaceable. Only for him to turn around share his love with another. The sadness you felt quickly turned to anger the more you thought about it. At first you wanted to just leave but you knew Frank would deflect if you confronted him later. So you decided to do it now while the evidence was undeniable.

Minutes passed before you hurriedly gotten out of the off car and crossed to the street, taking the path up to your once cozy row home. Unlocking the door quietly, so you wouldn’t announce your presence to the pair. As your slowly creaked open the front door, you noticed the lower level was empty of life, besides the television playing sport reruns. As you were about to further scope out the place, you heard it, above the sound of the loud broadcasters, the slow creaking of the bedsprings coming from y’all shared bedroom entering the the lower to which you stood in, unbeknownst to the latter above.

“Frankie…please.” The broad moaned.

The cold sensation that racked through your body, was something not even the thickest of coats or furs could ease. It made the realization set in more that your boyfriend of 5 years was just above your head, making a another woman cry out his name in y’all home when it should’ve been you. The cold feeling had yet to shake, but you mustering up whatever strength you had left and began climbing the stairs, being sure to avoid alerting them of your presence.

Your heart sunk further as you made your way up the stairs, closing in on the bedroom. The creaking of the springs increased, the sound of skin being pounded against skin grew louder, the smacking of lips against each other became evident, as well the soft groans coming from Frank, who you thought was your boyfriend, as he made love to his affair lover. As you reached the top of the stairs, the site of men and women clothing being scattered like roses leading to the slightly opened bedroom made you sick. The fact that some of those articles of clothing were Frank’s made you even more sick.

Taking small cautious steps towards the bedroom, you were finally able to see the situation for what it was, though it brought tears to your eyes. In front of you was Frank, as bare as a newborn baby, his sweaty scratch filled back was facing you as he held her petite body in place by her small hips as he rapidly battered himself in her arched bottom, as her upper half was burrowed in the sheets.

“Fuck Frank! Don’t stop baby. I’m so close..”

You halted in your tracks, you recognized that voice as Jessica, his ex. She had called Frank’s phone multiple times, when you both first made it official. Her high-pitched voice screamed at Frank through voicemails, call him everything but a child of God. You were present as he listened, he warned you to block her because of her craziness, and vouched that he did the same. Apparently, that was a bald-faced lie.

Enough was enough, you had seen everything you needed to see. You slammed the door open, the two instantly jumped apart, screams left Jessica’s lip as she quickly faced the doorway, pulling your bedsheet over her nude body. Frank immediately covered his hardened appendage. You stared down the two, anger masked your face. The look of horror etched on both their face would’ve been priceless if the situation wasn’t happening.

“Baby.” Frank stated as you made threatening steps toward him. All while, Jessica immediately gotten off the bed, tossing on Frank’s discarded shirt.

“Don’t you dare ‘baby’ me Frank. 5 years of my life gone down the drain for this bitch,” You screamed, pointing towards her. “The same bitch who broke your heart in the first place. Then you do what she did to you to me?! Me?! Like I fucking deserve it!”

“Well honey,” Jessica spoke, making you send a menacing glare her way. “I don’t know what you expected, he was beating my walls down for 10 years before he beating yours. You should’ve known I wasn’t going anywhere.” She snared, place her manicured hand on her hip.

“Excuse me?!” You asked, wondering where her audacity came from.

“I don’t think I stuttered. I mean look at you.” She spat, looking at you in complete disgust.

Your fists balled up in anger as your eye slightly twitched. Frank already knew what was about to happen next. You leaped across the bed, Jessica screamed as she saw you coming. Before you could reach her, Frank’s arms wrapped around your midsection, pulling you back to his nude form.

“Let go of me Frank!” You yelled, trying to pull him arms off of you, kicking and screaming as he made distance between you two.

“Jessica get out of here now!” Frank urged, struggling to hold you back. Not needed to be told twice, she ran out, swiftly gathering her discarded clothes.

Seeing her run away, added fuel to you fire.

“Fucking let go!” You screamed, thrusting the heel of your foot onto Frank’s toes.

“Son of a bitch!” He yelled out in pain, immediately letting you go.

Wasting no time, you went bounding after her, catching up quickly, surprising her with your speed. As she ran down the stairs to the front door, you clog covered foot made connect with the center of her back, sending her flying down the rest of the way, and smacking the hardwood floors with a pained scream, her clothes scattering out, no doubt causing her to bruise her skin.

Your rage blinded you as you went after her. Your sense of rational thinking, left the moment you walked in on them. And her words didn’t help, even though it was the truth. Still her willingness to disrespect you, your relationship and your home, was not something she was going to get away with. She had walked in to your home with all the confidence in the world but she damn sure wasn’t going to leave with it and maybe not her teeth either.

“First you fuck my man! In my bed!,” you yelled gripping her blonde streaks, causing her to yelp in pain. “Then you come in my house and have the audacity to disrespect me! You have lost your damn mind!” You screamed, landing blow after blow on her body, almost after every vowel. Her cries of pain as she desperately tried to fight you off, brought you sense of bliss, in this trying time. Not matter how much, she yelled, bit, scratched, or hit, she couldn’t fend you off.

You could hear Frank fumbling around above before descending the stairs as y’all fought.

“Jesus Y/N! That’s enough!” Frank yelled, running to you, now sporting a pair of sweats. He yanked you from the girl, causing you to fall back from her, making land on your back.

He rushed to pull the pummeled Jessica further away from you and to her feet, letting her lean on him for security as she steadied herself.

“Get me away from her!” She whimpered, leaning further in to him.

“You shouldn’t have been here in the first place?! You home wrecking whore!”

“Both of you stop it!” Frank commanded, standing in between the both of you.

“Like hell I will. She’s got 10 seconds to get the fuck outta my house before I drag her ass out.”

“No you won’t Y/N, you already went too far.” Frank retorted.

“I went too far! You were fucking that home wrecking bitch in my bed. Then she has the nerve to be smug and disrespectful to me about it. And now, I’m the bad guy, I’m the fucking victim!” You couldn’t believe his willingness to defend her.

“Y/N, you still went too far. She might need to go to hospital!”

“You know what, Frank? You telling me that like I’m supposed to care?! But since you love and care about her so much more than your fucking girlfriend?? You can take the bitch there and she move in with you cause I’m fucking done!”

Without giving him a chance to give a rebuttal, you sped back up the stairs to the bedroom, you’d soon previously shared with your, now, ex-boyfriend. Tears start to flow as you threw the closet open, you grabbed your duffel bag immediately ransacking your dressers, tossing whatever clothing and necessities you needed. You were done with Frank, there wasn’t anything to talk about. Seeing how he treated her, made the ache in your heart spread even more. He went for her first even though you both were hurting. She shouldn’t even have mattered to him anymore. But apparently she meant the most, you could see that. She was the one that was in the wrong, yet he was coming to her rescue and protecting her each time. Frank had broken your heart into pieces, and you weren’t going to sit there and let him break it even more. You loved him dearly, but you loved yourself more than to deal with his infidelity.

Below you could hear the sound of muffled talking, then the front door shut. The heavy footsteps of Frank, made their way to where you were.

“Y/N.” Frank’s gruff voice called out to you. Which you ignored, and continued to pack your stuff.

“Can you stop being immature for second and just talk to me so I can explain?” Frank pleaded. A scoff left you lips, “What’s immature is me walking in on my boyfriend fucking his ex in my bed. When he could’ve been open with me when he had the chance.” You weren’t sure if he trying to get a rise out of you so you could speak to him or that bitch rubbed off of him too much because of his logic.

“I know I fucked up” He tried to reason.

“No you’re a fucked up person,” You spat finally facing him, “And if you can’t tell I don’t want to hear you’re bullshit excuse for cheating on me, Frank. You should’ve left with your lover to the hospital because I’m leaving, it’s not up for debate.” You zipped up your full duffel bag, but before you secure it over your shoulder, Frank took it from your hands.

“You’re not leaving until we talk.” He said, tossing the bag behind him.

“Frank give me my bag.” You demanded trying to go around his large form, only for him to block your way.

“Y/N I’m sorry. I know I made a mistake but I don’t want you to go.” He plead, once again. This time you could see his eyes gloss over.

“Frank how selfish can you be?!,” you spat, tears pooling in your eyes as well. Usually, you hated Frank seeing you cry but you couldn’t hold this time. Frank’s face held a shameful look as he watched the tear cascade down you rounded flustered cheeks.

“You want me to sit here and have a conversation with you when I can barely even look at you right now. You have no right! If I need space, I deserve it after today. You made your choice the moment you let her in our bed, even if it not what you want now, it what you wanted then. Just give me my bag and let me go.” You went to move around his towering frame and grabbed your bag and this time he let you. Swinging the handle on top your shoulder,

“Wait,” Frank large hands gripped you wrist tightly, halting your movements. You turned to face him, tears started running down his cheeks,“Just promise me we’ll talk.” His voice was soft, giving his last plea. It made your heart ache more. You snatched your wrist from his strong hold.

“Goodbye Frank.” With that you left out the door, without looking back.

You threw you bag in the back seat of your cousin’s car before getting in the drivers seat. Immediately, all the hurt and tears you were holding back came flood forward. Sobs rack your body as you gripped tightly on the stirring wheel. You grabbed your phone and texted you cousin that it was true and you were on your way back to her home. You still struggled to collect yourself as you started the car. Looking back at the house, you saw Frank standing outside the door, watching you. Shaking your head, you pulled off in the street, watching him shrink in the distance.

Driving away from what used to be your home, brung back every happy memory you shared with Frank. From the first night you met to last intimate moment shared between you both. Then to end of it, which you couldn’t believe was happening. You were at a lost, you lost your boyfriend to his ex, and you’re pregnant with his baby. And as fucked up as it is that you didn’t tell him, you wanted to be free of him completely. Meaning a even tougher decision was upon you, but considering everything that went down today, you were sure you were going to be making that appointment…

[starqueensthings]

Dork Love: Part Three

Summary: Tech returns to Coruscant to take charge of the required repairs on the reader's electrical panel, and his anxiety is only intensified by the unexpected surprise waiting for him at your shop.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen 16+ for slight whumpage. 6161 words, 2nd POV (though this chapter follows Tech, and reader is only alluded to).

Warnings: casual conversations about anxiety, mentions of blood splatter, mentions of blood soaked objects (LOL this one took me down a weird path).

A/N: this one was a challenge and a half, my friends, so I apologize that it’s not up to my usual standard. I just need to finish it and move on before I pluck my eyebrows off my face. But pls enjoy! LMAO. And thanks to the queen of whump herself for proof reading @staycalmandhugaclone

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Four | ao3

As if it were funneling every effort in to soothing his nerves, the weather had fashioned itself significantly more pleasant than when he last traversed this pathway; the cool drizzle falling that day managed to dampen the typically unabsorbent collar of his blacks with an irksome ease, and had lingered unpleasantly against his skin for several hours afterward. Despite now being favourably warm and dry, elongated shadows cast by the sun’s obtuse position over the mouth of the underworld was making the screen of his datapad annoyingly difficult to discern, the intermittent bouts of intense glare blinding him to the articles that he was only absentmindedly scanning, yet relentlessly fetching.

Bemused that the apex of Tech’s affection had landed itself upon a person and not a superfluous piece of technology, Hunter was insistent that he accompany his brother on today’s voyage, though the guise he’d chosen to conceal his disbelief was a weak one. The coils of wire that he had absurdly deemed “too heavy” for one man to carry, swung daintily from the crooks of their elbows with every stride, and despite having bore witness to the innumerable sleepless nights that Tech had spent meticulously studying current commercial Electrical Code, Hunter remained unwavering in his adamance that his heightened senses may prove valuable – (“what if you need me to sense where the wires are in the wall?”)

‘If only the journey to Coruscant had been for a more inconsequential reason,’ Tech found himself longing as the armoured duo departed the ship. ‘Simply a mission to seek a replacement part, or a simple separatist data decryption.’ Had this been the case, his sergeant’s company would have been welcomed and even encouraged; independent as he was, Tech rarely declined an opportunity to be accompanied by a brother, particularly so if it meant freeing the cockpit of any officious, unsupervised visitation in his absence. Today on the other hand, as his mind continued to shirk his every offer of distraction, and perpetually whirred with cyclical, desultory thoughts, he would have much preferred to make the journey solo.

As they typically did to pacify his overactive mind, his fingers danced fervently across the illuminated buttons of the device clutched tightly in his left hand, the absentminded prods and swipes of his fingers triggering a near constant pull of new, yet continuously marginalized information. Most recently ignored was a collection of graphs depicting the primary effects of seasonal climate changes on the pollination schedule of Felucia’s native flora, though more imperative to Tech in that moment, was calculating the likelihood that you would notice the droplets of engine oil still splattered across the toes of his boots; the only remnants of a night spent repairing the damage that Wreckers most recent attempt at landing the ship had caused to the Marauder’s undercarriage.

Regrettably, the poor condition of his boots was only one of several trivial misgivings. In its company was the budding dread that his lenses had dirtied themselves again despite having mastered the disinfection process, and the fear that the callouses emerging on his palms from several hours of dismantling and reassembling the hyperdrive would deter you from initiating the contact that he’d found himself near-addicted to.

But anchoring all of the other menial anxieties, was the gnawing possibility that the entirety of this adventure could be naught but a misunderstanding; those were, admittedly, frequent occurrences for Tech. The disfigurement of his genetics had rendered him largely unable to accurately identify and categorize the infinite array of human behavior, particularly when expressed by those with whom he was unfamiliar.

What if this was one of those times? What if the request that he come find you was merely a parting statement made with the sole intent of being complaisant, and not one that you intended he act on? Much to his dismay, it was a hypothesis that warranted investigation; after all, you were quite polite… and intelligent… and munificent… and welcoming… and so very becoming to him. What if the profound sense of adoration that welled inside him at only the thought of you, was not a feeling mutually shared? What if the unrelenting desire to be back in your company, with your chilled yet capable hands curled around his, was simply unreciprocated? Could all of this be yet another miscategorization of body language, and was he presently walking toward a potentially crippling rejection? And why did Hunter have to insist that he come along?

Seeking any semblance of reprieve or solace from the advice of a brother was an idea banished from his mind almost as swiftly as it presented itself, as even the most casual, off-hand comments regarding a squad mate’s possible love interest typically had Wrecker jeering so extravagantly that even droids in the immediate vicinity saw their circuits overheating under a potent, secondhand indignity.

Crosshair’s passive yet targeted quip of being to spot “dorks in love” from a mile away had caught Tech entirely off guard as the squad marched otherwise silently through the arid and brittle forest abutting a Separatist ComHub on Sullust, yet the sardonic remark, while unprovoked and initially jarring, did succeed in diminishing a portion of Tech’s uncertainty, and he clung to it as if it were a talisman against the degenerative doubt.

That was until today. With boots clunking noisily along a familiar pathway now bathed in a radiant sunlight that in no way mirrored the turbulence in his mind, his every step toward the bright, yellow door of his emotional demise saw the protection of his brother’s sentiment almost entirely stripped of its integrity.

Tech swallowed heavily, stumbling over the fragmented motions of his feet, the fluidity of their typically athletic movements interrupted by the sudden and irrepressible urge to try and remove the oil from the toe of his left boot with the back of his right pant leg. Hunter, nostrils flared against the onslaught of foreign underworld aromas, remained tactfully blind to the uncharacteristic stumble on his right, only concealing the first signs of a smirk by shifting the coil of wire from the crook of his elbow to the ridge of his shoulder bell, and offering the tip of his nose an absentminded scratch.

“You, uh… excited?” the sergeant probed, waiting until the pair had fallen back into a casual cadence to cast an inquisitive glance toward his brother.

“I am most eager to begin the installation, yes,” Tech answered smartly, his response somehow void of the apprehension currently plaguing his thoughts. “I suspect this to be a multi-faceted problem requiring an equally detailed and well-planned solution. The existing circuitry was designed to house breakers of a 15-amperage allotment, and was thus outfitted with 14-gauge wiring throughout. The previous owner was, regrettably, an amateur in the field of electrical requirements and failed to investigate the symbiotic correlation of breaker-to-wiring before interchanging several breakers, thus rendering the preexisting wires incapable of transporting the increased charge and escalating the likelihood of an electrical fire. A complete overhaul of the electrical panel, including all new breakers of the correct specifications, paired with a 10-gauge wire that appropriately fulfills the demand of several different amperage allotments, would serve the in building’s best interests. Additionally, I will need to determine which of the machinery have a load requirement exceeding that of the common 20 amperages. I suspect both the generator and the lens polisher will both require a replacement breaker with a higher allotment, which may, in turn, require me to reconfigure neighbouring breaker requirements to accommoda—”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Hunter interrupted, the vocoder in his helmet failing to smother the exasperation that wreathed his words. “And I think you know that.”

Offering only a guilty glance toward his sergeant, Tech pursed his lips and refocused his gaze upon his datapad. All too aware of the heat surging to his cheeks, and the failure of his helmet to completely veil its presence from the attuned senses of his brother, he maintained a contemplative silence while earnestly scrolling back to the beginning of the article he’d been thoughtlessly skimming (an abstract on the ‘Primitive Parasocial Behavior Patterns of the Felucian Flying Manta’, a species they were likely to encounter during their next mission).

“You know, you don’t need to deflect, Tech.” Hunter finished the assertion by pulling his helmet from his head and shaking his long locks from his shoulders, an absentminded smile peeling across his lips as the radiant sunlight warmed his tattooed features. “I’ve been in your shoes before… I can help you sort out your feelings if you want.”

The gentle, yet, surveying gaze that his sergeant turned toward him while a discomfited silence expanded the space between them saw Tech nearly flinching; not entirely prepared to respond to his brother’s request for vulnerability, he inculpably reattuned his attention to his hands.

“The Felucian Flying Manta bears the ‘Repatavian’ genus, unlike its fellow Manta counterparts with the Reptaquatic subclassification, though socially maintains a similar hierarchy—” he read futilely for the ninth time. “—A lone alpha maintains a symbiotic and systematic breeding schedule with the females of the colony, and remains largely unchallenged for his position as protector and genetic contributor. Rival males must only challenge the alpha for authority during that of a waning gibbous moon, when shifts in the atmospheric currents bring forth—”

“Or… we don’t have to talk about it at all,” Hunter continued with a small shrug, noting both the redoubled avoidance and the subsequent microshift in Tech’s posture. “That’s cool too, but don’t feel like you need to suffer in silence. You know that I’m here for you.”

The likelihood of retaining any imperative information about the flying Manta continued to reduce at a rate that nearly matched the dwindling of Tech’s confidence; the source material slipping from the clutches of his mind as if both the memory of you (and the remnant oil on his boots) were expropriating any and all available cranial space.

Despite his sergeant’s head swiveling about next to him, eagerly taking in the domestic sights of the under-city and offering respectful nods to passing pedestrians, Tech could spare no consideration for the surroundings attempting to permeate his attention. It was likely that they’d already passed the seamstress’ shop that he knew to be only a dozen doors from yours, its impeccably maintained windows exposing the myriad of wealthy politicians pompously designing their senatorial wardrobe from scratch. And if that were true, then surely the cobbler’s shop would be approaching imminently, its windows nearly opaque under the duress of a hundred exuberantly colourful signs, all iterating the implausible claim that Mr. Purble’s shoe repairs were “out of this world!” Yet… despite the dwindling proximity, he still could not summon the resolve to lift his gaze and watch that jubilant yellow door draw nearer.

Tech cleared his throat quietly, nudging his goggles further against his brow in a motion as soothing as it was unnecessary, as he’d long since modified the bridge of his helmet to keep them securely in place on his nose. With time continuing to betray him, now seemed an appropriate opportunity as ever to seek a moment of private counsel.

“I… I am not sure how to quantify the nature of my feelings,” he admitted with a sigh, conceding to Hunter’s periodic glances of encouragement. “I am undeniably excited to be returning, as I have been anticipating this reunion for several weeks, yet I am unreasonably apprehensive. I fear that I may have misconstrued the entirety of this situation and am walking toward an… ignominious encounter.”

Hunter’s sharp eyes softened under the admission, lips momentarily compressing into an empathetic grimace before offering his reply. “I’d argue that’s a pretty normal emotional reaction,” he acknowledged with a reassuring nod, “though even normal is a spectrum from person to person. And some degree of insecurity is to be expected in a situation like this, especially when we’ve placed a high value on someone else’s opinion of us. But your actions speak volumes about how you feel if you take a step back and look at logically: for one, I couldn’t tell you the last time you put your datapad down and forgot about it, let alone for hours and immediately before a mission. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

A moment’s hesitation stilled Tech’s response on his tongue, his eyes narrowing against the embarrassment of his previous, neglectful mistake. Discarding both his datapad and the com system on his gauntlet had been a highly irresponsible oversight, but the hours hidden away in the blissful seclusion of your workshop had seen him too enraptured by your capabilities and intelligence to spare his squad even a transient thought.

“I suppose that is accurate,” he beseeched, apologetically glancing downward to the aforementioned device still encircled by his hands.

“And I have a scar on my wrist from the last time that I tried to touch your goggles. From the few details that you’ve agreed to share, you seem to have no issue letting this mysterious ‘labcoat’ completely dismantle them. Surely, that means something too?”

“Well… yes. Yes, I would agree.” He barely managed to get the words past his lips before they began to curl into a reminiscent smile; the petrification that had coursed through his veins upon hearing the audible snap of his lens unceremoniously snapped out of his goggles, now only a comical memory.

“And you tried every trick in your arsenal to keep me from joining you today,” the sergeant continued with an amused scoff. “So there is obviously an element of confidence here that you’re just overlooking in the shadow of nerves. Seems to me that you really like this person. As far as if the feelings are reciprocated or not? There’s no way of knowing until it plays out, but show me a person that holds hands with a stranger platonically and I’ll eat my fucking boots.”

A chuckle that perfectly matched the hoarse nature of his smoky voice, left lips now smirking under his feeble attempt at humour. “And speaking of boots,” he continued, the smile slipping from his features and replaced with the ghost of a mildly disgusted grimace. “You should have thought about giving yours a quick wipe before we lef— Tech?”

But the sage advice had utterly dissipated into that moment’s soft gust of summer wind; frozen mid step on the pathway, Tech had fallen long out of stride with his brother, the response stolen off his tongue by the peculiar and devastating sight that had finally torn his attention from his hands.

The vibrant entryway that he’d deliberately forestalled seeing was, quite frankly, nowhere near as welcoming as he’d remembered it to be, the joy of its vibrant colour almost entirely negated by a new and… obtrusive… addition.

A perplexity as dense as the furrow in his brow triggered those magnified eyes to fervently dart across the unexpected dereliction in front of him, and a prickle unrelated to the blissful daydream of which he’d just been yanked quickly raised the fine hairs along the back of his neck.

Hunter reappeared at his elbow a moment later, his posture quickly moving to mirror that of his brother with bewilderment knitting his brows, and his head tipping delicately toward one shoulder. “Is this the place?” he asked Tech, his query dripping in skepticism.

“Yes.” A solitary word was all that Tech could formulate, the shambolic disrepair having entirely robbed him of both breath and understanding, his mind whirring near frantically as he tried to make sense of the unheralded situation.

Almost every inch of glass had been opacified; the oversized windows spanning the entirety of the storefront, now completely obscured by the adherence of several, nondescript wood panels affixed into place from the interior of the store. They’d been hung somewhat impetuously; this was apparent on first glance with the lopsided positioning and the subsequent gaps created between panels intensifying the appearance of arrant abandonment. The smaller window inset into the entry door appeared to have been treated similarly, but it was the barrier hung hastily behind its panes that had seized Tech’s attention and refused to free it.

An untidy, scrawling note had been imprudently scrawled across the wood, the dark ink of each letter seeping into the surrounding fibers and ominously distorting the redundant message.

“Temporarily Closed.”

His lips wrapped their way around the pairing of words though no sound left them, his throat bobbing under the duress of a heavy swallow as his heart slipped unsettlingly from his chest to his stomach.

“Looks, er… welcoming…” Hunter chirruped from Tech’s left side, removing the thick loop of wire from his shoulder and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground at his feet.

Tech remained deaf to everything except the trepidation still tickling the hair on his neck. Even the dull ache radiating from his elbow as the joint began to mutiny against the prolonged oppression of its freight was rebuffed, disappointment and a puzzling sense of foreboding fighting for position at the forefront of his mind.

He stepped over Hunter’s abandoned cargo, deftly stowing his datapad away into its respective pouch as he neared the door. “Temporarily closed,” he repeated to himself, as if the act of voicing the phrase might provide some semblance of the understanding that he just couldn’t seem to excogitate.

‘This is highly nonsensical.’ The thought flashed like a warning across his mind as he cautiously pressed a palm to the glass. It was unsurprisingly warm to the touch, the heat of the sun trapped between the glass and the wood panel on its other side, radiating easily through the pliant yet protective Kevlar of his gloves; a sensation that entirely juxtaposed the blossoming dread prickling his skin.

“Safe to assume this isn’t what you expected?” Hunter mused, the soft chortle that encapsulated his words exposing his equanimity, but something sinister had caught Tech’s eye as he tipped his head back and reread the sloppy message. A smattering of red dots, soaked deeply into the fibers of the wood below the scrawling penmanship that he did not recognize to be yours…

Something near a gasp left his lips as he yanked his hand from the window, quickly jerking the wire from his arm and hurrying to engage the mechanical visor on his helmet. Hunter continued to mutter queries over his shoulder, but Tech remained incognizant to it all, too intent on initiating a scan of the liquid that he was praying he’d misidentified upon first glance.

“Sanguination: POSITIVE.” flashed devastatingly across his vision. “Origin: HUMAN- HS.”

“I… I do not like the looks of this.” He pushed the visor up and out of his line of sight, the presumption spoken lowly, and saturated in a sense of foreboding that could not be immediately rationalized.

“Talk to me, Tech,” Hunter probed, knotting his arms semi-impatiently over his chest. “What am I looking at? Other than a sign that looks like someone wrote it with their kriffing toes…”

“There… there are several things amiss,” Tech muttered unhelpfully, wrenching his gaze from the carnage only long enough to tug his helmet from his head and lower it sightlessly to the ground beside the abandoned wire. “I cannot make sense of this.”

“Sense of what, exactly?” Hunter urged through another infuriating chuckle.

But all desire to answer his brother had dissipated, its urgency overtaken by the dread surging through his veins and pounding heavily in his ears. He turned his attention toward the window on his right, eyeing the linear gap between the frayed edge of the wood board and the window frame. Desperate for a clue as to why there would be blood splattered ominously across a barrier hung where it shouldn’t be, he jammed his eye to the glass; the audible clunk of his goggles hitting the window went completely ignored, his attention funneled blindly toward only that which would provide him even an inkling of plausible reasoning. But the opacification of the boards had rendered the inside of the shop completely enshadowed, and the only detectable movement in the dim was the soft cycling orange glow of the sleep light on your computer monitor.

He affixed his gaze to it determinedly, squinting his eyes to near-closed in an effort to focus on anything in the area that its glow may illuminate, but the same irksome glare that had rendered the screen of his datapad nearly indiscernible minutes previously continued to rob his eyes of the clarity that he desperately sought, and while the cupping of his hands around his face helped marginally, he was soon wincing against the pain of his goggles digging forcefully into the side of his nose as he pressed his eyes ever further against the rigid glass.

“Anything?” Hunter probed curiously.

“No,” Tech lamented, shifting his feet below him to further alter his vantage. “It is too dark to differentiate anything.”

“Well, here…” the sergeant chuckled. “Here, Tech… Tech!… Maker, will you just take the damn flashlight?”

Tech permitted his gaze to depart the shadows for only long enough to snatch the offering from his brother’s outstretched hand, igniting it with a deft flick of the switch and aiming at as precisely as he could through the infuriatingly small gap, but the presence of any obvious clues remained shrouded in darkness… evading him, and every panicked exhale accumulating like a cloud on the glass in front of him, saw the simmering panic in his chest continue to boil until even the innate act of swallowing became a challenge.

“Well… I don’t sense anything weird,” Hunter offered, his voice perfectly pairing the phlegmatic way he stepped backward and looked casually toward the direction they’d come from. “I thought I could smell blaster fire a few minutes ago, but it might have been that pair of shifty looking Rodian’s we passed. And, if I’m being honest, it’s hard to smell anything over the rank trash scattered everywhere in his hell of a hole-in-the-ground. How does anyone even bre—”

“There is a mug,” Tech interrupted gravely, his gauntlet clunking against the glass as he impatiently moved to wipe away the condensation collecting in his line of sight again.

“A what?” Hunter chirruped, cocking an eyebrow.

“A mug,” Tech repeated, stepping away from the window and pointing uselessly at the gap he’d been peering through. “On the counter nearest to us. During my last visit, the sullied dishes had been collected and arranged in the sink in preparation for washing. I– I cannot fathom that someone partaking in a planned, prolonged absence would abandon dishes to garner bacteria.”

But those lips, pressed thin with worry, relaxed only long enough to shift into an indignant frown at the nature of his sergeant’s suceeding reaction; Hunter’s long hair brushing gently atop worn, painted shoulder bells as his head tipped back, and his chest heaved beneath uninhibited laughter.

“Come on, Tech,” the sergeant chuckled. “You’ve lived with Wrecker your whole life. You’ve seen how he leaves his bunk on Kamino… wrappers everywhere… used spoons hiding under his pillow… dirty socks crammed at the bottom of the bed…”

Growing increasingly inexorable, and frustrated that his brother continued to make light of a clearly ominous situation, Tech shook his head. “The Fichus is limp, Hunter,” he spoke intently, jabbing his finger toward the narrow space between wood boards.

“The what-now is limp?”

“The fichus,” he repeated unhelpfully. “The potted plant beside the computer. It appears as if it’s been severely neglected in my absence.”

“Probably,” Hunter agreed, his shoulders jerking lightly in motion of delicate frustration. “It’s dark as hell in there. It’s likely starving for sunlight.”

“Precisely.”

Tech disengaged the flashlight and held it loosely at his side, jamming his goggles back up his nose as he turned pleadingly to his brother. “That is precisely my concern, Hunter. During my last visitation, I observed several written reminders. There was every intention to ensure that all the soiled dishes were sanitized, that each of the various plants were watered, and that the electrical panel was urgently cared for. It was written in ink clearer than this foreign writing. I saw it; I kissed it.”

Hunter’s eyes shifted behind a lagging, unhurried blink, the weight of his skepticism apparent as he looked doubtfully back at the anguished hitch in his brother’s eyebrows, those large brown eyes peering at him in something near a plea behind now crooked goggles. “I don’t know, Tech,” the sergeant sighed, tightening the fold of his arms across his chest and dropping his gaze to the small pebble below his boot. “I’ll agree it’s unusual that someone would board the windows for a temporary closure, but it probably has a valid explanation. I hate to say it because you’re usually not one to jump to conclusions, but… I think you might be overreacting on this.”

“I’m going inside.”

It was not a question nor a request, and Tech didn’t spare his brother even a glance before pocketing the flashlight and stooping to collect both his helmet and the coils of wire from the pathway at his feet.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter protested immediately, unknotting his arms and extending a hand to still his brother’s seemingly impulsive movements. “I can see you’re a little worried, Tech, but this isn’t a separatist stronghold. It’s a private place of business, and we can’t just break our way in and sniff around. It’s an invasion of property and privacy.”

“I familiarized myself with the locking mechanism during my last visit,” Tech answered smartly, throwing a heavy coil over each shoulder. “So nothing is required to be broken for me to gain entry, and my scanners will ensure that neither of us are required to make determinations based on the evidence gathered by the use of our respective olfactory systems.”

“Tech…”

But Hunter’s impatience was matched by only that of the man in front of him now jamming his helmet back onto his head and reengaging his visor.

“I will not cause a disturbance of any kind, I assure you,” Tech continued, dropping to a knee in front of the door and examining the keyhole with narrowed eyes. “My objective is simply to gather the evidence capable of disproving my emerging theory that a perilous, possibly life-threatening event has taken place.”

“Perilous and life threatening?” Hunter repeated after an indignant scoff left his lips. “What in Maker’s name do you think happened here? It’s likely this is just a planned vacation and the topic just didn’t come up in conversation last time. Let’s just take a deep breath and head back to the ship for now. If everything goes to plan on Felucia, we can stop back here on the way to Kaliida Sho—”

“Hunter,” Tech interrupted, pivoting on a knee to look upward at his brother. “My feelings on this are clear and unclouded. I– I feel an admittedly unprecedented yet intense sense of unease, and I am confident neither will subside until I am able to disprove my suspicions. Several aspects of the present situation do not stand to reason. Our final conversation, while frenzied by the urgency of my departure, left me with the premise that I was to return here at my earliest convenience. There is no mistaking the task list that I observed: ‘wash mugs, water plants, call electrician.’ And– and my scanner indicates that there is substantial sanguineous residue embedded into that sign. I suspect the source of the blood is inside, so I must go in and investig—”

“Okay okay okay,” Hunter appeased, his dark eyes thankfully beginning to soften again as he acceded to his brother’s concern. “I don’t necessarily understand your fear, but it’s very unlike you to lose your cool so I’ll heed your curiousity. But make it quick; this walkway is a little too crowded for my liking and we’re already turning heads by loitering.”

Anything even resembling an argumentative retaliation didn’t dare depart Tech’s tongue, the risk of Hunter redacting his already precariously offered blessing was simply too probable, and this was too important. It was imperative that he gain entry.

“I’ll go up top and keep a lookout,” Hunter continued, gesturing with a nod to the roofline above them. “Poke around, but don't linger. Can you get in there without making a mess?”

“Well, of course I can,” Tech answered immediately. “The door is equipped with a primitive deadbolt system; one easily disengaged with the right leverage of a micro tool similar to that of—”

“Okay, do it.” Hunter waved away the unnecessarily lengthy explanation, impatience and regret beginning to ghost across his features. “If you’re interrupted for whatever reason, Plan-11.”

Tech signaled his understanding with an appreciative nod and a heavy swallow, returning his attention to the door while Hunter’s heavy footsteps vanished amongst the crowd of passing children, their raucous screeches and laughter echoing tauntingly into Tech’s ears.

His composure began to dwindle, adrenaline inciting a tremble in his fingers as he retrieved the soldering needle from his belt, sitting back on his heel to reevaluate the best method for a clean and concise entry. Overriding a lock system with his datapad was child’s play, but manually disengaging a deadbolt was not something he practiced regularly. After a deliberative pause, he jabbed the fine tip into the keyhole and began to methodically maneuver it around. With ears attuned for the nearly inaudible clicks that would affirm his success, he redirected his efforts into preventing the simmering panic from permitting his mind to wander; concerns for what potentially lay on the other side of the door pulling droplets of sweat to his furrowed brow. Fear was not a commonplace emotion for soldiers, particularly not for a squad of enhanced commando’s with a 100% mission success rate, but fear for the safety of someone else… a civilian… was both a foreign and a potent feeling, and not one that he was eager to reexperience.

The deadbolt released with a click audible enough to warrant Tech quickly glancing over his shoulder for prying eyes. When satisfied that he hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention, he quickly turned the handle and pushed the door ajar. Long stagnant dust particles danced about in the beam of stark luminescence as the disturbance imbued them with new life, yet Tech observed them for only moments before hurriedly shutting the door behind him; he could not risk a pedestrian risking the open door as an invitation to enter.

He reactivated the borrowed flashlight, his eyes hungrily following the beam as it darted toward the darkened corners. Was it worth calling for you? Making his presence known before clearing the area of perpetrators seemed a foolhardy action given your obvious incapacitation, but his frantic need to establish any semblance of your safety, paired with Hunter’s request for efficiency, demanded that he at least try. The echoing silence in response to his call only succeeded in inflating the now undeniable dread sending his blood pounding heavily through his veins.

He engaged the visor over his eyes again, ignoring the strobing alert in the upper corner warning him of his increased heart rate, and directed both the beam of light and his line of sight toward the floor beneath his boots. Despite having anticipated its presence, the blood splattered amongst the floorboards threatened to tear the breath from his lungs.

Sporadically smattered like a trail of morbid breadcrumbs, he followed the droplets into the open space of your shop, peering around in the oppressive darkness. The familiar orange glow from the computer stole his attention almost immediately, and after casting a final glimpse at the gruesome implications dotted across the floor, he departed their path and made for the counter. The dilapidated ficus was offered only a fleeting glance as he passed, as was its equally dehydrated fern counterpart and the ivy trailing down the wall, their dilapidation having already been registered. No, he was more interested in the mug; the second clue.

The degradation of its contents became obvious within seconds of stepping into its proximity, yet despite the aroma of its putrefaction forcing his top lip to flatten, Tech continued toward it without hesitation. Milk had coagulated densely in the center of the unfinished liquid, and a quick activation of his scanner indicated a bacteria progression only achievable by several weeks in an undisturbed environment.

“Unusual,” he mumbled to himself, stooping to observe the sparse layer of crystallization forming around the rim where the anemic looking liquid met the white ceramic.

A sudden, booming thud against the window sent his shoulders jerking in alarm; his datapad stowed deftly into its pocket and his pistol departing its holster in the span of a blink, but the ringing laughter and jeers of the passing children outside quickly exposed the intrusion as nothing more than an inopportune distraction, and a reminder that time was of the essence.

Tech cast one last surveying look at the mold festering in its unmolested paradise before departing the area and retracing his steps back toward the droplets of blood scattered atop the floor. Like the worn footpath that his own boots had traversed during his last visit, the red blemishes formed a direct path toward the back room, scattered at near precise intervals as if a gruesomely soiled object had been dripping as its holder tread across the store, yet the macabre trail was but a walk in the park compared to the door to which it led. He stared, horrified to the point of immobility at the once glimmering gold knob that would permit his entry, its radiance hidden by a crusted, red handprint.

The grip around his pistol tightened until his hand began to tremble, yet despite its demand for absolute security, he longed to simply drop it and reach instead for his datapad, his always reliable source of information… his comfort, but too much unknown still lingered in the air; too many enshadowed spaces still to explore. A horrifyingly developing theory needed disproving if he were to be able to leave this place with his heart intact.

He dared not disturb the third clue lest it be scanned at a later time and tested for identification purposes, so an assertive kick of his boot saw the door swinging ajar, the hallway opposite as hauntingly enshadowed as the one in which he stood. A seemingly endless trail of blood lay on the floor in front of him, nearly stealing what was left of his resolve; the droplets increasing in frequency and size before diverging into a small room on the left that he knew to be the kitchenette.

His fear only intensified at the sight of another morbid handprint, this one smeared across the faucet of the sink where… in the depths of the aluminum basin, was a soiled hammer.

The threat of suffocation encompassed him as a sinister realization began to fit puzzle pieces into place, but he was robbed of the opportunity to process the additions by the chirp of his comm.

“Tech,” Hunter urged. “I think you may have a visitor inbound. Someone is hovering by the door but I can’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd.”

Plan-11: The Perceiver. Hide and observe; do not engage until you’ve established a visual on your approaching backup.

A degree of focus that only imminent danger could provide saw his jaw tensing beneath his helmet, his gaze darting from the bloody tool in the sink toward the door in which he’d just passed through. He raised his pistol, crossing one wrist over the other so that blanching beam of light may guide him back through the din.

Your workshop, the haven in which he’d mentally prepared himself to spend the next several hours in, was as dark as it was silent, and for the first time hesitation stilled his steps from exploring the the uncharacteristically lifeless space, as there were numerous shadowed corners in which further clues, or dare he think it, your body might be found.

But time had seemingly diminished, and every extended blink into the darkness was a moment wasted; a moment he needed to enact Plan-11 while he still could. He disengaged his flashlight, and a quick nudge of the door with his knee saw him reentering the retail space, his eyes immediately darting around to search for any semblance of cover; somewhere he could stoop and watch until Hunter appeared in the doorway to flank the intruder, but his moment of hesitation had cost him.

Poised to welcome the perpetrator who’d likely come to clean up their mess, he refused to squint against the onslaught of sunlight as the door creaked slowly open and exposed the intruder.

Final Chapter coming soon!

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[dresshistorynerd]

There is no way to say it pleasantly. Your recent post about Julie... its speculation is a slap in the face of masculine women. Dressing in men's clothing is not a statement against being female, especially in times when male clothes were far more practical than women's. (And especially in the case of a bisexual or homosexual woman!) Behaving "unwomanly" is evidence only in the eyes of sexists. But even today... it is stunning to think that a woman, should her every thought not be recorded, could be deemed a secret man for being masculine! That lingering speculation, despite absence of proof, is rather insulting.

Your reading of my post is extremely dishonest or you didn't actually read the post. The whole time I talk about her as a sapphic woman, because that is what the evidence most point towards. If you think even raising the possibility that she might have been somewhere in the genderqueer or trans spectrum (like some butch lesbians identify as genderqueer and/or trans too), is an insult and means I'm sexist or some shit, there's no way to say it pleasantly, you're probably just a fucking terf.

Now I have no illusions that correcting some of the inaccurate things you said will do anything to change your mind, but because we're already here and I'm allergic to these bad fashion history takes, I'll correct them anyways. This is more for anyone else who happens to see this and actually has some level of reading comprehension.

The women's dress at the time was not necessarily any more impractical than the men's dress. The impractical part of high society women's dress was the skirt that usually had a large trail. But they would also have much more practical dresses for casual usage. High society men wore large wigs that were I would assume pretty impractical. Their clothing, which was well fitted around the torso, closed with buttons and then not very easily adjustable. On the other hand the women's dress was either loose and pinned and belted to fit (in the case of mantua) or laced (in the case of rigid gown) so very easily adjustable even during the day to keep it comfortably fitted to the changes in the body. This would be more practical for anyone, but especially to most afab people, whose bodies can change quite drastically thorough the month.

My point is actually no Julie de Maupin did not have any practical reason to dress in men's clothing. In fact it was impractical for her. As I point out in the post she struggled with the leading female roles, which she wanted to get, partly because her off-stage personality clashed so much with them. (At first) she didn't get as much recognition of performances in leading roles as in supportive roles, partly because the audiences had trouble buying her performances in those roles.

And the other point. The modern concept of fashion doesn't entirely apply to the past. Now fashion is seen as self-expression. Even being into fashion is seen as an indication of certain personality. This was not the case in the time when Julie was alive. Back then fashion was much more social decorum. To be able to participate in the high society you had to keep up with fashion. There were people who were more fashionable than others, sure but they were mostly just the richest young people around, and that made them most fashionable. Fashion was not for self-expression, it was mostly for expression of hierarchy. It was also for political expression. (There's an interesting paper on the contemporary commentary of the politics of the court fashions, which I will link here, when I'm on my desktop.) It was not about what you wanted to wear, but what you wanted others to think about you.

In addition to that at the time clothing was integral part of gender (arguably still is judging from all the conservatives loosing their minds when a man dares to wear a dress). Women in breeches and men in skirts were seen as transgressing on gender. This can be seen even in the mid 1600s conservative reaction to when women's riding habit first appeared (they never change do they?). They complained that the women were basically indistinguishable from young pretty men and like the women were even wearing skirts (seen below)? Part of this was that both the women and men were shaping their silhouettes with their clothing to gain the fashionable feminine and masculine silhouettes, which meant that different shaped bodies could still achieve either silhouette.

Looking through this lens we can ask, why did Julie wanted to be seen as transgressing on gender even though it hindered her career? I think there could be many answers to this question and one could be that she wanted to be seen as not-woman (or maybe not entirely woman). We can never know, because we don't have any of her thoughts about her androgynous expression surviving to this day.

[acerathia]

The Lament of Erebus || Chapter 1: The weight against their soles

Summary:

They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people.  OR Midoriya Izuku is quirkless, despite his protests, despite the feeling churning in his insides. It seems like fate has a cruel way to show its affection, as this lead to a social death sentence. And he has lived like that all his life. That is until society began to shift, creatures of the night swallowing people residing in the dark. The question is, what is the connection between them and Izuku?

Wordcount: 1.5k

Read it on AO3 || Masterlist

Tags/CW:

Minor Characters Death, Abuse of Power (Government), Censorship, Isolation, Alternative Universe,

Note:

Literally filled with anxiety rn but still posting it. I hope you enjoy it!! Also currently unbeta'ed, so some slight changes may occur oops

Izuku had been four when he was diagnosed as quirkless. The doctors didn't care about his missing toe joint, they had no proof for the absence of his quirk but their belief. There was no way he could still manifest a quirk, their arguments sounded the same. No matter how the little kid tried to argue with them. He knew it wasn't true, he had a quirk. But how was a four year old supposed to describe how his insides felt? How his shadow seemed to grab his ankles, weighing him down? He only barely registered something going on, but never, truly understood what. So he had to continue with his life, medically quirkless and yet.

Some people sensed some kind of wrongness in him, surrounding him, almost swallowing their footing around him. That played a big part of his school life. Isolated, not bullied, but ignored to the degree of neglect. And if someone was knowledgeable, they knew, they were aware, how studies showed how isolation affected the brain, how it destroyed someone.

But Izuku? He had his mother. She didn't care how fast lamps seemed to break around him, or how the dark places moved and grabbed in his company. She cared for him when no one wanted to, no matter the situation, he was her boy after all. And thanks to her Izuku remained sane, her smile lighting the corners of his brain, saving him from being swallowed in himself. The world had Inko Midoriya to thank for, or nothing would have had the chance to remain for all this time.

And in another timeline, maybe, he could have discovered the thing inside of him, used it to become the hero he always wanted to be. But everything had a consequence. And poor Izuku, his timeline just wasn't the one he wanted, maybe the one he needed, but he only was the victim of the circumstances. The actions of someone else skewed with his possible future. Leading to the current state of events, Izuku stuck there as the everyday civilian.

He had barely turned twelve when the butterfly effect truly kicked in. The appearance of mysterious creatures destroying every hint of a normal life anyone could have led in a world full of quirks.

They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people.

For such a long time people assumed kidnappings, some shady dealing in the usual groups. But no matter how deep the heroes crawled, they couldn't discover any trafficking ring, any gang, that could just make people disappear without even the smell of blood lingering in the air.

But they tried, they dug until they reached the deep, dark water of existence walking through the city, grabbing at everything and anything, even resuscitating old cases. Nothing. Not until a pair of proheroes got grabbed, on their date.

The pair had been minding their own business, walking through the streets, talking, laughing after the dinner they enjoyed. It hadn't been their first date and it shouldn't have been the last. But not everyone got lucky with their wishes and hopes for their future.

They have been on their way home, just through this alley and the door was glowing at the end of it. They were proheroes, they could manage a familiar alley just fine. And they knew that, their pace slowing, not wanting to end the night just yet.

And maybe, if circumstances had treated them better, they could have gotten out, like they did times before. But they didn't hurry up, their steps just a bit too slow, the shadows dragging their feet to a stop.

Their giggles filled the alley, if only they didn't. Maybe they stopped for a kiss, a hug, maybe they themselves didn't know why they halted their steps, surrounded by the moving shadows. There was a single breath before the darkness engulfed one of them, crawling and scratching. And even if the victim suffered immense pain, no sound could even be perceived in the first place.

The shadows scratched at the soles of the other, but fate had planned another outcome. Their quirk lit up, banishing the shadows into their corners, into their seats at the edge of everything. And once they had left, nothing existed of the partner, their clothes, unscathed, draped over the floor. The hero scrambled to pick them up, before stumbling out of the alley, the heaviness in their steps banished with their light.

The hero, filled with the feelings of determination, protectiveness, hurried to the next police station, not allowing their pain and fear, their anguish, to even come to the surface, intend on leaving these ugly feelings for the shadows of the house, not their home, not anymore.

They told the police what they saw, how the darkness swallowed their partner, soundlessly leaving these clothes not even tattered. The police didn't like that story, they tried to outright deny it, but too many factors proved that tainted event. The cameras viewing the exits of the alley, the clothes, every single lie detector, even the human one. They all told them how they felt the truth, how, at least for them, it actually had happened.

And oh, how much the investigators hated that. How bad they wanted everything to be a lie, because how were they supposed to catch something like that? Something impossibly illusive? They had to resign from the case, hand it over, as much as they tried to resist. As much as they tried to resist, they were aware how powerless they were, how they could not contribute to this case any longer.

The heroes received the case. But everyone knew, at least the people filled with knowledge about how this society ticked, the case landed onto the desk of the Hero Public Safety Commission. The government. And what would the HPSC even dare against these creatures? What could they possibly do, which the police couldn't have done?

Some people thought their measurements were over the top, not understanding the gravity of the situation perhaps, some worshiped the commission for their actions, looking at them like saviors. But in truth they only introduced a lockdown. Nobody was allowed to leave their homes at night, the lack of light strengthening the shadows. Of course everyone got compensation for everything they might have lost in such a situation.

And the heroes? Those poor heroes. If they considered themselves lucky, they didn't get deployed for the service at night. The rest on the other hand had been thrown into the darkness, with nothing but their flashy quirks to help them. Because they would be fine, shadows hated the light and their powers were bright enough to protect them, weren't they? Why else would they be heroes if they couldn't even protect themselves? And every hero had to obey the whims of the HSPC or else they would lose everything they ever fought for.

Maybe some would consider the underground heroes the victims in this particular situation. They had to work in the day, making everything they built naught. But they too had more things to consider than their preferred life path. The lives of the common people hung on them to compensate for the lost heroes, not dead no, but lost to the fight with the invisible darkness.

And twelve year old Izuku had no idea about any of this, why would he? Well, he did, to some degree, because people notice things when they lose them. And they lost their freedom to wander into the night, and more importantly, they lost some of their dear heroes to the night. In more than one way, but they only knew what the government told them. Which wasn't enough, barely the truth.

So Izuku stayed at home, not that he would have done otherwise, and his mother, with his last bit of luck, had only to work in the brightness of daylight. But if everything had remained like that, we wouldn't have the story right now and I wouldn't have anything to tell you, wouldn't I? Because there would always be something that goes wrong, and for Izuku it was multiple things at once. He simply messed up once and fate took that mistake and knitted the future.

And considering why we all were here, we all knew how much of a hero nerd Izuku was, almost in every possible direction fate could have gone, he was one. So nobody should be surprised by the following events.

Of course Izuku noticed the change of pattern in their behavior and in their patrol routes. And he wanted to know why. Why did the government actually implement the nightly lockdown? Was there something else but the allegedly rising criminal rates at night? There had to be, or the change in the normalcy of the heroes wouldn't make sense.

Luckily, he didn't decide to break the lockdown on a whim, or else the story could end right here. No, he did what he could do best and analyzed and investigated. And this decision marked the beginning of his involvement and how he would grow to regret his decisions.

[kanekiobsessed]

Absence

Parings: Kaneki x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 430

He was right. A human with a ghoul could honestly never work. It was doomed to fall one day. You guys were different though. Weren’t you?

I mean, it was to be expected. The way he was going out more often to feast than normally. Something wasn’t right with him. Despite being half human himself he had the same exact cravings as any other ghoul did. You being a human around him didn’t help his case. The smell of your sweet blood being so close was already driving him insane.

You knew it. You could see it in the way he looked at you, no different than a regular ghoul would. No amount of blood or coffee could satisfy him. He wanted yours. You would of been happy to give up a little but you could tell he wouldn’t settle for less. With his patience going down by day you knew you were fucked no matter what.

Leaving wouldn’t change a thing. He would definitely find you. Confronting him was the only option.

“Kaneki..” You cooed when you heard him enter the house, attempting to seem calm. “Hm?” You heard him hum before walking towards you, grabbing your body and pulling it to his. His warmth was unmatched. Comparable to a fireplace on a winter day.

You cupped his pale face in your hands taking one last good look at it before saying, “Kaneki. Do you want to eat me-?” His eyes widen in shock from the words that just came out. The poker face melting off his face. At this point he couldn’t even deny it. He honestly did want to eat you. Your question was met by silence as he tore your hands off his face.

He kissed your cheek and replied with a simple “Yes.” Not sure whether you should be shocked or relieved that he isn’t lying. You stare into his black and red eyes that just confirm his answer. Before you could reply he started grabbing random items like clothes and personal items.

“I’m sorry, I should of told you earlier.” You heard him whisper under his breath before walking to the front door. Without even saying goodbye he walks outside. The darkness consuming him whole. 12:43AM. That’s the time your dear Kaneki left you. Did all these years just lead you to this? You ran to the window to watch the white haired boy walk off into the night. He had no idea where he’d go.

Maybe he’ll hang out at some abandoned factory. He just knew he couldn’t be around you any longer. Hopefully you’ll get used to his absence.

[zorilleerrant]

Batman being able to sneak up on any member of the Justice League is a symbolic point about a regular human being able to stand up to inhuman goliaths and still be able to make a difference, no matter how small. As powerful as heroes of legend (and less concrete comparisons: corporations, governments, invisible social systems) can be, a person is not entirely powerless against them simply by virtue of still being a person who can see things and object.

But leaving that aside, members of the Justice League have wildly varied situational awareness and ability to see if someone is coming towards them, so it's going to differ a lot.

Some of them are totally regular humans, in which case Batman's stealth doesn't even have to be particularly impressive, just better than their ability to find hidden things. It would absolutely be easy for him to sneak up on Green Arrow. Most of the Green Lanterns would also fall into this group.

Some of them aren't regular humans, but don't have any special heightened senses to go along with their other powers. Flash could catch Batman if he knew to look beforehand, because he could run everywhere until he found the hiding spot; if he didn't know, though, Batman would still surprise him. Likewise, Captain Marvel could use his powers to predict where Batman was likely to be, but wouldn't just incidentally notice him. Aquaman's powers would have no benefit and Batman can definitely sneak up on him.

Cyborg is tied into Watchtower systems, and if the Watchtower can't find Batman, that's a huge problem, so he would definitely know. This would hold true at any of his solo or team bases, and probably a lot of other heroes' bases, where he's trusted with the security system. In the field, he would have advantages, like motion activated cameras and multi-spectrum scanning, but could still be distracted by other things, and therefore snuck up on. Others who have technological components or rely on technology and could be tied into security systems, like Red Tornado or Booster Gold, might have similar advantages, but not necessarily to the same degree.

Martian Manhunter can read minds, which Batman has specifically proofed himself against. However, this would lead to a very noticeable blank spot, like a black hole in telepathy. Even without being able to read his thoughts, it would be a bright blinking beacon to where Batman is at all times. People who rely on empathic skills as well as telepathic would probably all notice this absence.

Knowing Superman can hear his heartbeat, Batman would definitely install countermeasures in case he needs to avoid that. The Batmobile has a whisper mode in which it absorbs sound/light/kinetic energy instead of emitting it, and so Batman would likely build something similar into the suit which could be turned on in emergencies. For unrelated reasons, the materials of the suit will most likely be designed to dampen sound, light, smells, etc. as much as possible, and for any given suit he's using these will be muted as compared to a random person. So people with heightened senses would have difficulty sensing him, but it wouldn't be impossible, especially once they got to know him enough to learn his tells. Black Canary can't always hear him, but she learns to hear places that sounds around him stop, and use that to triangulate.

Wonder Woman is a trained soldier and her battlefield instincts are always on. She's literally always waiting for someone to sneak up on her, so there's no way Batman can get the drop on her, not when she has such a fast processing speed and can move so much faster than he can. Other soldiers (and people with hypervigilance symptoms) would have an advantage here, but not as much without both speed and heightened senses. Hawkgirl, with her fighting history and enhanced senses, but without Wonder Woman's serious speed advantages, would be pretty good but not as good as Wonder Woman at finding him.

Not everyone would be looking for Batman, though. Many people would be easy to sneak up on somewhere like the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice, where they have no reason to be on the lookout for someone trying to jump out at them, and would just relax. That doesn't mean that Batman wouldn't scare them; he doesn't necessarily do it on purpose, he just gets used to moving stealthily, and his suit is designed to accommodate that as much as possible. So he'd be in the kitchen making coffee and have someone walk in on him and scream about him sneaking.

And then there's Zatanna. She's so caught up looking into other planes and trying to keep an eye on what's going on in them, especially the ones she's partially responsible for, that anyone can sneak up on her when she's not in Fight Mode. Batman will walk up to her, greet her, get greeted back, and have a ten minute conversation - until her attention shifts back and she jumps and asks when exactly he got there.

[letteredlettered]

I have a question for the HR expert! Since you focused on employee relations, I'm wondering if you noticed any general trends regarding disciplinary actions and/or termination. Like, do disciplinary actions typically lead to change? Are people usually let go for similar reasons? It would be nice to know what sort of behavior to avoid. I guess it would also be good to know in case I ever want to get fired. You never know!

The biggest trend in disciplinary action is absenteeism. Someone is gone a lot and don't have paid time off to cover it. The weirdest thing about this is my company was pretty lenient about protected leave; there is both federal and state protected leave and basically if you were even applying for it the company wouldn't do anything to you. Now sometimes if you applied and were denied, there would be corrective action, depending on the length of absence. But the number of folks who received disciplinary action and hadn't even tried to get protected leave was wild to me, especially because many of them were people I'd had conversations with personally about their attendance, and they'd told me to my face they would apply for protective leave, and then then they didn't. Also there were a number of people who would be out and not call in, which is going to count against you far more than if you notify your department of your absence.

Most of the people I helped terminate were terminated for attendance.

Some folks with attendance problems improved and never got a counseling again. Other folks did not. As for counseling for other reasons, on the whole, I think disciplinary action led to change a lot of the time. Plenty of the people who received counseling never had a problem again.

I'd say those with work performance issues did not tend to improve in the same way. It's pretty hard to give a corrective action for work performance because at our company, you had to provide extensive proof that you coached them repeatedly, gave them extra training, asked multiple times what resources they needed etc. It was a big job for management, who sometimes would rather deal with someone who didn't do a good job rather than do all the work of mentorship. If it got to the point of counseling, the person was probably doing a really bad job, and it often meant that the job just wasn't a good fit for them--ie, they were not going to improve on their own. I don't like to think of anyone as helpless, so I feel like it was less that they couldn't do the job and more that it wasn't possible to give them the training, mentorship, and resources they needed, or they weren't particularly interested because they were about to retire or applying for other jobs or were interested in getting unemployment. That said, with those employees, they would almost never get a second counseling, because it was too much work.

There were only a few folks who had behavioral problems. At my company, you could not receive disciplinary action for being annoying, or because someone just didn't like you, or because you said something a little off-color, or because you rolled your eyes a lot and slammed doors, etc. Basically, you had to do something definitive that could be proven and was demonstrably unprofessional. It's definitely true that if a lot of people didn't like you and made up reasons for that dislike that were egregious enough, you could get counseled, so I'm not saying that the process was 100% fair, but the number of times I dealt with issues where the whole department didn't like someone, but the only reasons they supplied were because the person was passive aggressive and made bad jokes, was not nil. And that person should be coached but is not going to be put on a path to termination because their personality doesn't mesh well with others. It's just not fair. Anyway, lots of those, once they received a serious counseling, either decided to quit or change their behavior in some way, and didn't receive counseling again.

If you want to get fired just don't show up and don't call; it will happen eventually.

[princessofdorkness]

This had vamp!eddie written all over it. Might do a part two if you peeps like it! Also it’s kinda proof read but if I missed anything let me know!

Warnings: slight suicidal ideations, angst, vampire!eddie, kas!eddie, mentions of blood but not a lot, (again, if I missed anything pls let me know!)

((Reposting this so it gets in the tags!))

It had been a month since the “earthquake” and you were forced to drag yourself to school for the first time since he left you. The school only allowed one month to “grieve” and then any other absences would be put on your record. One month. What a joke. They think one month would be enough and maybe it would’ve been if you hadn’t known the sad truth. The fact that Eddie sacrificed himself for a town that didn’t deserve him. And worst of all the fact that the love of your life was taken away before you two could graduate and get out of this shitty town.

But you couldn’t think about that right now. You had to go to first period and the last thing you wanted was for the stuck up assholes to see you break. No, that was for late at night when you couldn’t sleep, plagued by nightmares of that night. Usually you’re pretty good at hiding it during the day but by the time lunch rolled around you couldn’t help but miss the lunchtime rants he’d climb up on the table for and the way his head would tilt back as he laughed at something one of the party members had said. And before you can catch yourself you realize that your already crying and you feel your stomach turn so to avoid emptying your stomach in front of the whole cafeteria you raced outside.

Luckily, the fresh air quells your nausea and your feet take you to the one place they always did when you weren’t in the cafeteria for lunch. You approach the familiar picnic table, covered in leaves and sticks from not being used. You brush off the bench and sit down, sighing as you reminisce the times you had with him. Just as the tears began to flow again, a rustling sounded from somewhere in the woods. Your head whipped around as you grew quiet. Now, you usually wouldn’t be this paranoid. Before you’d blame it on an animal and go about your day but with the events of last month, you’d been on high alert.

Staring out into the woods you focus your hearing and keep your eyes peeled in case something’s out there. Right before you look away a tall shadowy figure runs behind some trees. Your breathing picks up as you stumble trying to get off the picnic table. On the way down you realize you scraped the outside of your leg on the wood. Before you have the chance to push yourself up and run you feel a hand close around your ankle. There’s a brief moment, before you look up at whatever’s got a hold of you, where you think about him. About seeing him again after whatever’s got you was done with you and you were finally at peace.

Only after seconds pass did you realize that nothing was happening. All you could hear was the ragged breathing of what sounded like a man. Slowly you opened your eyes to find the one thing in this world you had been missing. His eyes were the first thing you noticed. Bloodshot and pupils as crimson as the blood you feel trickling down your leg. It was Eddie alright, being so close and feeling his arm around your ankle letting you know that this was definitely not a dream. You don’t even have it in you to scream or struggle. You’re just happy to have him back in any way which you know is selfish but you could never help it when it came to him.

You feel his hand close tighter around your ankle, breaking yourself out of your trance as it borders on painful. You start to piece together the details of the man (creature?) in front of you. His eyes, almost glowing, mixed with the death grip he had on your leg, now beginning to take in the rest of him. You realize now that he seems to be having an internal battle with himself, one that almost looks painful, a sadness in his eyes to match your own. He stares down at your leg, confusion and sadness swirling around in the air mixed with something else…something deeper. It bubbles between the two of you, almost like it never stopped. You don’t dare break the silence, too paralyzed by the shock of just being near him again.

After what seems like an eternity you muster up the courage to speak,

“E-Eddie…?” You whisper quietly, sitting up a little to reach your hand down to where his is on your ankle. Before your able to reach out for him you see his head snap up from where he was staring down at your leg. Then as fast as he was here he shot up like the mere mention of his name pained him. You know he’s probably ten times stronger then you but watching him walk away again sounds like the worst hell you could ever imagine so you quickly reach out for his arm, a quick and desperate “No.” leaving your lips.

He turns to you a slight look of shock on his face, like he can’t believe anyone would touch him after what he’s become. This makes the tears you didn’t know we’re falling increase tenfold. You slightly pull him closer by his hand and he surprisingly lets you.

You let out a raged breath through your tears, "Either kill me or kiss me. Don't just let me go." You beg into the air, wondering if the words will get through to him.

They seem to as his brow creases in the middle, like he’s constraining really hard. Like he’s trying to dig deep to figure out why he didn’t just tear you to shreds. Why deep down he feels as though you’re supposed to be important to him, or at least the person he was before…everything.

He stares at your tear stained cheeks like you’re a puzzle to be solved. Even in his old life he can’t remember anyone ever crying for him. It’s strange remembering himself before everything. It’s like flashes that come in and out before the creature he’s become takes over again. He can feel it simmering below the surface but he’s too focused on not going completely berserk on you to really explore that.

You’re scared that at any second he could decide to bolt again so before you can think of the possible repercussions your lunging at him, your hands planted firmly on the solid ground as you push yourself up the few inches so your lips meet. His hand shoots out to hold the meat of your thigh like he was looking for something to anchor himself to this moment. Afraid that if he let go he’d do something terrible that he’d regret.

But then something unexpected happens as the kiss deepens. Those flashes he’s seen become more vivid than ever. Like a movie reel of his life’s most important moments. He grabs your face gently, wanting to chase these memories he thought would only ever be just fragments.

Strangely enough everything that flashes before his eyes includes you in them. He sees you sitting on a couch next to him with a group of people he can’t quite place just yet. You’re all watching a movie and he leans over to whisper something in your ear that he can’t quite remember but the quiet giggle you let out makes his chest warm and fuzzy.

The next memory is you two sitting in the back of a vaguely familiar van at dusk by a lake. You have your head on his shoulder, gazing up at the stars. He passes you the blunt you’ve both been sharing, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He turns to you as you look up at the stars.

“Sure is…” he agrees though you’re not sure if you both were talking about stars. The next memory seems more tense. They’re in a trailer all decked out in army gear. Even in a memory he can feel the tension in the room. While it’s just the two of them he can hear other voices just outside the room.

“If anything happens…” he hears himself say, “bail, you hear me?” He grabs your face just like he is now. “If I loose you…” he whispers, feeling tears run down his cheek, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

“Hey,” you say, gently. He feels your hand lift his chin forcing him to look at you. When he does he’s taken aback by just how much love seems to be behind your eyes. He never thought someone like him would ever experience a love like this and the idea that it could all be ripped away scared the shit out of him.

“I love you…” he hears you say, like you’re in his brain or reading his mind. “Whatever happens…that will never change, ok?” Her voice quivers, and she’s nodding like she’s trying to convince herself just as much as him.

“I love you so much.” He says with more conviction then he thinks he’s ever had about anything. If this was the last time he got to hold you he needed you to know just how much you meant to him.

“Come back to me…” He hears her whisper but after a moment he’s not sure if it was the memory or not. Before he has too much time to explore the question he’s back in the woods, his lips a mere centimeter away from yours.

He takes in a raged breath as he opens his eyes. You gasp lightly, looking into his more muted eyes, still red, but not as vivid or bloodshot. Almost like muscle memory his thumb begins moving back and forth where it still lays on your leg. He searches your eyes, almost like he’s trying to decide if this is real or not. And then, through the sounds of the forest around them he says the one thing she never thought she’d hear him say again,

“…y/n?”

[celestialrose3]

So, I don’t post my writing ever, but Cass and the whole series has been inspiring. The last part of Donatello’s chapter spiked interest for this one-shot.

Taking place between CJ running for his things, and coming back to see Uncle Tello in the bath, thoughts overwhelm Tello and make him question everything they’re about to accomplish.....maybe.

Potentially slightly ooc for Uncle Tello, but it’s my first go. All credit for story line goes to @somerandomdudelmao 

TW: little angsty, (it gets better) anxiety

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D is for Denial

Uncle Tello woke up in his enormous room with disheveled blankets and a somehow missing mask. He groaned and reached down in an attempt to feel his adoptive nephew. Poor kid passed out midway through his brilliant revival rant last night after being so convincing that sleep wasn’t needed. His hand fell into pure blanket and he glanced over his shoulder to confirm Casey’s absence. 

Rolling over onto the empty blankets, Don muttered to himself, “Where could that kid have gone at this hour of the day?” A sigh escaped his throat as his arm draped over his face. “Maybe ran off to figure out how he found me? …That was a big piece of our puzzle we’re missing.” He dropped his arm above his head, making a mental note that his mask had been found there. Eyes carefully looked over his surroundings. The colors are so vibrant here. Plants were somewhat familiar and thriving. When was the last time he felt rays of sun coming down onto him? The warmth brought a feeling of safety, like there was…hope?

Donnie sat up with a desperate ‘huff’, suddenly extremely aware of what was being planned for his brothers to be revived. Sure, he had done this once before. Sure, he documented the process to a ‘T’ so it could be repeated by almost anyone (including Leo). Sure, Casey Junior was here to help, but something wasn’t sitting right. Something felt wrong about this. Dee’s brows furrowed and his knees came instinctively to his chest.

“What the hell is this?” he questioned himself. “W-we know- I know what needs to be done for this…” Thoughts began flooding his brain like a tsunami. ”Denial”  

“What if these calculations only work for Raph?” “Denial”

“W-what if we can’t find all the materials?” “Denial”

“What if this doesn’t work in this timeline?” “Denial”

“What happens if something goes wrong?” “….”

“Why in the hell am I only thinking of worst-case scenarios?”

“I don’t know, maybe DENIAL?”

Casey’s words from their last conversation silenced his constant questioning. Were any of their combined efforts even worth it? Could this unprecedented experiment even be replicated? Could the Great Donatello…have been wrong? Air had been cut off from his lungs this whole time, like a wall of future regret and past anguish made a home in his throat. Thoughts set fire to his mind- he couldn’t stand losing his brothers a second time, let alone by his own hand. Tears threatened their way into the genius’ eyes, whether from lack of air, or the overwhelming feelings creeping in didn’t matter. Something clicked as the salty water began to creep down his face- he was alive. 

The breath that came after this realization acted like a fire extinguisher to his burning thoughts. 

‘Why wouldn’t it work here?’ a smirk formed on his face as His Brilliance got back to work. ‘It has to, the physics would be the same-mostly-. Calculations can be reworked for any situation. Materials can be bought, made,...or stolen. And replications?’ He looked at his own hands as his legs lowered to the ground. 

“I’m my own proof this is gonna work”

Blinking the remaining water from his vision, Donnie looked back up at the light now pouring in from above. He knew, in some heart-string-pulling way, that for the time being, he was going to need to be the strength, razz, and face-man of the Hamato’s until he and Casey could bring his respective brothers back. Don gave a signature “scoff” to himself.

  “A man of science being ruled by emotion…how embarrassing. The results are here.” A smile replaced the smirk that had been sitting on his face. A small shiver ran down his back. Guess the light can only give so much heat….

Donnie grabbed his mask and robe earnestly and marched his way to the bathroom. “If I’m gonna be thorough, I’m gonna be thorough, comfortably.” With the door partly closed, warm water began to run in hopes the heat would well replace that of the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[earthstellar]

Figure Review: Earthspark Elita-1

Packaging

I like Hasbro's move away from plastic packaging; I've noticed they're using a wrapping tissue paper type material twisted tightly into strands as their replacement for plastic ties to secure figures to the cardboard, and I really like that as it's far easier to open and makes all of the packaging fully recyclable! :)

I also want to point out that they seem to have done a nice subtle touch of using specific colours for the non-plastic ties to match each individual figure; On Elita-1's packaging, the twist ties are the same magenta/pink colour as her paint. It's a good little detail!

Root Mode

I think it looks great-- So far, the Earthspark figures seem to really try hard to match their on-screen look as much as possible, which is super nice!

The head sculpt is really good, and very faithful to her appearance in the show. There's very little paint on this figure aside from her head crest and eyes, with most of her body being magenta/soft lavender pink.

She doesn't have too much flexibility, as she doesn't turn at the waist, her head is fixed, and her joints (aside from her arms) are pretty limited.

That having been said, her legs are movable enough to compensate for this, and her proportions in root mode look great.

Her guns are permanently fixed to her arm, but any issues that might be caused by posing her with the larger gun underneath (as it collides a bit with her back kibble) can instantly be fixed by simply rotating that larger gun to the topside of her forearm, so it's clearly a problem they considered when working on the design and it can be worked around.

The non-removable guns do make her a little tricky to pose if you want her to be holding her smaller gun, but she's pretty stable on her feet, and lacks the backpack-heavy issues that a lot of other Elita-1 and Arcee figures tend to have.

The absence of the GHOST logo on her chest is pretty glaring, but it's possibly because it would have been too tricky to add as part of the plastic mold, and it might have been difficult to get a painted logo on there in a way where any detail would actually still be visible.

(Plus, if things change in the show, who knows if GHOST will still be around... So it could be a future-proofing thing as well.)

Alt Mode and Transformation

Her alt-mode is her all-terrain SUV mode from the show.

That having been said, there are a couple things that are a little funky here:

She has her guns built into her arm, which might come across as a bit weird looking in certain poses in root mode, and does make it slightly difficult to figure out where her arm fits into her alt-mode.

And also, holy fuck, this is such a complicated transformation process.

Keeping in mind that transformation complexity is always on a sliding scale for most figures based on various design challenges etc. and difficulty is somewhat subjective, but I think I've seen enough people talking about how tricky this figure is to transform to feel comfortable saying it's a fairly non-intuitive transformation.

This is a figure rated for ages 6+, and I have no idea how a six year old would possibly do this-- I feel like it might lead to a lot of frustration for the intended age range.

I fully admit I have cognitive problems which make figuring out the more complicated transformations pretty difficult for me, but it took me about an hour with the assistance of another person via Skype, the instruction pamphlet that came with the figure, a tutorial video, and a forum post for me to be able to transform her even half way.

I'm not sure it was entirely necessary for her to require this much of a difficult transformation process, but I'm by no means a toy designer, so it might be the case that this was actually needed for some practical reasons that I'm not aware of.

The plastic is pretty light weight, but doesn't feel flimsy, although I'm wary that her over the shoulder wheels and the hinges on her door wing panels might warrant a little caution-- I tried to be a little careful when transforming her. That having been said, they don't feel weak at all, just possibly more delicate when compared to the rest of the figure.

Final Feelings

I'm definitely keeping this figure in root mode, but that's fine, because the root mode looks excellent.

I do think the transformation sequence on this one is notably difficult, which might make it a better figure for teens/adults rather than younger kids.

Overall, I'd say this gets pretty high marks for screen accuracy in root mode (absence of GHOST logo aside), but takes a hit in my personal rankings purely for how fucking impossible the transformation process is, lmao

But if you like having a more challenging transformation sequence to figure out, this is a solid choice!

[sweetcloverheart]

Clover Rants Miraculously: Train(crash) on the Brain

Hi, I’m gonna complain about “Style Queen” (and “Queen Wasp”) Again! (Warning for S5 spoilers)

For all I see the traincrash complained about, I never see anyone actually talk about how messed up it and Chloe’s motive are in context with how it’s handled - because you have the show present to us/the audience that Chloe is obsessed with getting her mother’s love and approval. So much so that she copies her every mannerism and got upset that she was more interested in her daughter’s bully victim than the daughter herself as well as mocking her on live TV, and was willing to endanger an entire train full of civilians over it on the premise that she believed doing something “heroic” would make her mother reconsider her being “unexceptional”.

It, at both it’s base and deeper levels, is messed up and awful. That Chloe both decided on this course of action and that the effect her mother’s absence has had on her influenced this are equally horrible things. And instead of addressing that, instead on tackling that obsession, instead of talking about how messed up it is Chloe felt she needed to do this to get her mom’s attention (or that Audrey, for whom she did it for with said attention in mind, responded so dismissively at the whole fiasco), instead of talking about how this was the wrong way of handling whatever trauma Audrey’s abandonment had on her and she might need to reconsider how valuable that love is if it’s driving her to try and crash trains and having her needing to ask her mother why she doesn’t love her - the show just has Marinette encourage them to bond through their shared evil and treats it like the problem begins and ends with Audrey staying in France instead of everything else it just presented within these two episodes.

And I���d be more forgiving of it if MLB was one of those black-comedy parody superhero shows, but even they manage to handle those types of topics with a bit of tact. If the entire point of Audrey’s treatment of Chloe was meant for comedy, they would (and should) have just kept things limited to the whole “Audrey’s so detached from her family and such a raging narcissist she can’t even remember her own daughter’s name” instead of dedicating the entire following episode and later ones and several mini-moments in this and the prior season to how this treatment has had a negative impact on Chloe and is one of the main reasons she’s so awful to everyone before having it drive her to almost cause a citywide tragedy and give her a magical artifact because of it. The show runners spent so much time showing how Audrey’s been such a toxic influence on Chloe even in her absence and gave such an extreme case example via the attempted train crash of why it’s bad she doesn’t seem to recognize what a terrible person her mother is/her effect is on her, so having them act like Chloe just needed mommy dearest (and how Marinette needs to give up her dream to help achieve this when there are a million different canon ones for why she can’t go to New York and why another character could and should be involved in this arc instead) to spend time with her is just baffling? Especially when they then proceed to turn around and go “LOL JK! Chloe never had any depth actually, KA-PRANK!” at everyone in the season 3 finale for having dared to get invested in the storyline they introduced in the first place! And even then, it didn’t actually solve anything because Audrey’s still a neglectful POS afterwards and Chloe goes from schoolyard bully to cartoonish psychopath before the show then decides to use her mother as a “punishment” for her Also don’t even dare talk to me about Zoe - no she is not “proof” that Audrey isn’t an excuse for Chloe being a bad person because “she still turned out good despite Audrey doing the same to her” because 1)we have zero info on how Zoe was raised in New York. All we know about her backstory is that Audrey left too and that she got bullied for lying. We aren’t told what the Lee household is like or how they treated her or what sort of life she had lived before the liar reveal forced her to moved. For all I know, Mr.Lee donates yearly to the orphaned penguin fund and his wife (if he has one) reads to blind streetlamps. We can’t say she had the exact same backstory but turned out different when we don’t know what her backstory actually is. And 2)Audrey barely effects her backstory. Audrey isn’t the reason she moved. Audrey isn’t why she got bullied by her classmates. Audrey isn’t why she was mean to Marinette after meeting her again (Chloe was). Audrey has no involvement or connection to Zoe or her character outside of birthing her and validating Chloe’s claims that a Bourgeois must be “perfect”. I could literally make Zoe’s mom any other character in the series, and not only would “Solecrusher” still play out the same way as canon - it’d still run into the same issue as mentioned. Zoe isn’t good “in spite” of Audrey’s neglect, but because that just happened to be her default setting. I can at least say Audrey is, more or less, partially responsible for how Chloe turned out as a person and involved in her character arc because the show actually bothered to show this in series. Can’t say the same about Zoe though, because the writers didn’t try to give the two a connection outside of Audrey being her ovary-donor because they cared more about making sure everyone knew Zoe was anti-Chloe and better for it instead of proving the point the fandom claims she represents.

Like, if the show had Marinette (or maybe one of the other characters they had shoving her towards getting involved) say “Chloe, your mom’s a huge b-word and you absolutely should not be hanging around her anymore than you already are. It’s the entire reason I dropped the apprenticeship offer with her. Also, you should maybe think of investing in a therapist if she has you so twisted up that you decided crashing a train was the optimal solution to her disinterest in you.” and then have that advice rejected, it’d be fine - but instead they had Marinette say they should be bonding over how nasty both are and made it out to be like Chloe being exactly like Audrey was good and necessary, before then chiding anyone and everyone for still being attached to her afterwards because how dare! Don’t you know Chloe’s evil? So much so that she’s even more evilier than Hawkmoth! She’s just rotten to the core - always has been. What do you mean we had an entire arc showing she potentially could be a good person and it’s because her mother’s a bad influence? You’re imagining things. Chloe’s just evil because evil, nothing more nothing less!

(and it’s so frustrating they only had Marinette say this so they could justify keeping Chloe as an civilian antag when they could have just had Adrien, who would be justified in saying this seeing as how he has such an unhealthy view of family relationships thanks to Gabe, take her place and have the same result - or better yet, focus on Lila, whom they brought back in “Chameleon”, and have her take Chloe’s place as the civilian antag so we could better have the set up for her eventually becoming the new Butterfly holder!)

“It’s just a kid’s show. It doesn’t have to take the subject seriously. They just didn’t want to make Chloe a hero.” Alright then. Fair. If MLB just wants to be a silly kids show, it can be that - just don’t include the topic of Chloe and her mom then. If you want to be a dumb heeheehoho show about two kids with magical super powers who want to date, then don’t include heavy subjects like child neglect. Don’t make the child neglect part of the character backstory. Don’t make it be revealed the reason she bullies people. Don’t make it lead to a 2-season long arc about the character potentially joining the good guys, and then suddenly go “LMAO nope” after stringing along the audience the whole time! Don’t give depth and character focus to character you have no plans on actually utilizing it for, and then I can happily say to myself “it’s just a dumb kids show” and leave it at that!

[twistnet]

too busy [ jay halstead ]

SUMMARY ─ jay’s somehow always too busy, and it gets more and more tiring with each excuse he uses

PROMPT ─ [ falling out of love 13 ] spending less and less time with your lover, claiming ''they're busy'' when your family asks why they no longer come to visit with you

WARNINGS ─ female!reader, angst [ implied cheating, falling out of love + missed dates ] + mature language

[ jay ] : gonna have to cancel again, something came up with work

your eyes had flickered over the text message what seemed like a thousand times. all with the hopes that maybe it would somehow change, or another text would magically appear stating he would show later. yet, neither was ever going to be a plausible reality.

sucking in a deep breath, you entered molly’s. immediately warmed by the atmosphere and the loud mix of music and chattering. shuffling through the crowd, you quickly found the rest of your truck mates from 51, smiling as they greeted you happily before ushering you onto a stool, “what you drinking tonight?” stella smiled, hooking an arm around your shoulders as she pulled you in for a light hug, “i’ll take a beer.” 

“so, where’s jay?” mouch questions from his seat in front of you, raising a brow as you offer him a gentle smile -- inwardly cursing yourself for saying you’d bring him by after being hounded over that fact they hadn’t seen you together in over a month, “he really wanted to come, but they have this big case and voight wants all hands on deck.”

“that’s a shame, we really hoped he’d be here tonight. you know, it’s been - “ you wave off her words before finishing, “ - since you’ve seen him, i know. he’s just been busy is all...” you trail off, thanking cruz for the drink before taking a hefty sip, hoping it would calm your frantic heartbeat. knowing if they could hear it, they’d know you’re lying through your teeth.

the truth is you didn’t know why jay was busy every time you wanted to go out together. and to make matters worse, you got to the point of not asking him to even go, knowing he would just come back and say he’s busy. the thought of cheating crossed your mind every now and then, finding it to be a reasonable explanation as why he was constantly standing you up for dates. yet, there was never any proof he was even doing such a thing.

his absence never squashed your mood, and you always found yourself forgetting he existed during your time out with friends, even going as far as to openly flirt with someone you found interesting, until slowly walking back to your car at the end of the night knowing you weren’t exactly single.

so, by the end of this night, as you said goodbyes to all your friends you headed for your car. still warmed from the alcohol coursing through your system that you didn’t even notice the harsh breeze that had blown through the nearly empty street. and just like clock work, you drove back towards your shared apartment, mentally flipping a coin as to whether jay would even be home even though it was well past midnight.

it was no surprise to find the apartment still dark and bare. like no one had been home since you had left to join your friends at molly’s. and whether it was your drunk filled stupor making these last minute decisions, you’re not entirely sure, but the old suitcase is now laying open atop the mattress and you’re shoving everything you can possibly fit into it.

anything that you can’t fit, goes into another bag that you plan to pick up at a later time, knowing what you pack in there isn’t needed where you’re going. which is still undecided in that moment as you zip the suitcase closed. 

the first phone call you make is to stella, you’re oddly calm voice ringing through the receiver as you ask her if you can stay with her for a little bit, just until you find a place of your own. she questions you, wondering what exactly is going on until you tell her you’ll explain everything once you get to her apartment.

the second phone call you make is to jay, yet as the dial tone rings for a third time in your ear, you know then he isn’t going to pick up. so, instead, you leave him a message. hoping at one point he may just listen to it when he actually remembers who you are and what you’re supposed to mean to him.

the second you’re on stella’s doorstep, she’s ushering you in with a concerned look. taking your things into her spare bedroom and cornering you onto the couch to explain what’s going on. that’s the first time you break down, letting out the months of bottled and tearful emotions as she comforts you with sad eyes.

across town, jay’s finally stepping out from his almost three-hour restaurant date, still at little buzzed from the alcohol he had. he fishes for his phone, pulling it from his jacket pocket and raised a confused brow when he sees a missed call and voicemail from you.

lifting the phone to his ear, the voicemail plays, “i’m not sure when you’ll hear this. but i’m hoping you may at one point tonight. i’m not sure when you fell out of love with me, and i’m not even sure when i started making excuses for you. maybe i was scared, cause somewhere deep down, i knew what was going on but i just couldn’t bring myself to accept it. the only thing i wish is that you would have been brave enough to tell me to my face, instead of slowly ghosting me. either way, i’m not sure i can keep pretending anymore. i won’t be there when you get home. but i’ll be back in the morning before work to grab the rest of my things. hopefully, you won’t be too busy for someone in the future.”

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[swiftsnowmane]

GENEVA—10 November 2023—Armed Iranian security agents raided the homes of more than 20 Baha’is this week in the cities of Karaj and Hamedan, taking at least 19 into custody based on the latest information available. Many of the Baha’is were verbally abused and physically assaulted during the raids. The latest arrests and home searches—which included harassing five elderly women—confirms rising fears that Iran’s government has redoubled its crackdown on the persecuted Baha’i community in Iran.

Ten other Baha’is were arrested last month in Isfahan—all women. Twenty-six others were sentenced to a total of 126 years in prison. At least thirty-two in total have been detained since last month in a number of cities across the country.

Homes containing five elderly women between 70 and 90 years of age were raided in Hamedan. One suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, and another who was rushed to ICU in distress after the raid. In another case they broke down the door of the home of an 82 year old woman, searched, upended her belongings and damaged her home in her absence. The husbands of two of these women were among more than 200 Baha’is executed by Iran’s government after the 1979 Islamic Revolution.

No further information is available on charges against the Baha’is or where they are being held.

“With almost every passing week, and with each new wave of arrests, the Iranian government gives us new proofs of its cruelty and its intentions to persecute Baha’is only for their beliefs, even in advanced age,” said Simin Fahandej, Representative of the Baha’i International Community to the United Nations in Geneva. “Searching the homes of the elderly and the infirm—women who lost their husbands more than 40 years ago, to this same government—shows us also that any attempt by the Iranian authorities to justify their actions is hollow and false. What threat do ill and elderly Baha’is pose to the Iranian government? Nothing but religious prejudice can explain such merciless actions.”

[satanwritesfanfiction]

Heisenberg x F!reader || A new dawn *SMUT*

Title: A new dawn

Ship: Heisenberg x F!Reader

Triggers: Lowkey stockholm syndrome, pwp

Characters: Heisenberg

Wordcount: 4230

***

Deep within the night, darkness spread like a blanket in the night with the odd flickering in the distance. The breeze biting into her skin as another growl spread fear into the air. She was safe for the moment, so close to that which could control them but a few more paces and she was playing with fire, would she even make it back in time if that were the case?

Some nights were spent like this, retrospective. She wondered how long it's been, she tried counting the days since she had oddly found refuge here but it's been hard to keep track as of late, but the most pressing question was, how long before her usefulness runs its course?

Sometimes he found her here, a sharp word as he pulled her back into the factory at the dark hours of the night, with her apologizing profusely thought those had decreased with time.

It wasn't quite the situation that pushed her into the biting cold. The thing that really gnawed and got under her skin was the developing feelings that surely would only ever be from her side. Maybe she wanted him to drag her back, proof that he sees her. There were moments of something kinder, but ultimately he stayed cold towards her, barely a notice even when they worked in the same vicinity each and every day.

She admired him. His work, though morally unsound, was ingenious. She also admired the reason behind it, felt a twisted sense of understanding when he spoke on it. She'd never voice any of this, of course, past the involuntary flush of cheeks.

She wondered if she took a few steps forward if he'd even bothered if she'd screamed or even if she would have time to scream. Would he bother looking, would he even feel her absence. Does her life hold meaning?

The door creaked behind her to which she turned, he had forgone his hat and glasses from his usual attire. Her heart pounded, an odd sense of warmth spreading through her chilled body as he approached. No words were spoken, unlike previous occasions when he almost reprimanded her for standing in the cold.

A sigh left his lips as he looked out at the scene in front of him, as he stood beside her, another echo of grunts and growls lingered in the night air.

"Another day and another time I find you staring out into the dead of night. " He commented. "You aren't being held prisoner, you know? You could leave-"

"No." She stated firmly, arms crossing over her chest as her heart pounded beneath it. She knew what was out there beyond his territory. Heisenberg may offer her only emotional turmoil but he also came with security for the time being. "I don't want to leave." She said softly, eyes cast down.

He looked at her demeanor for a moment, she was so puzzling. If it wasn't to flaunt with the idea of escape, why stand here in the wind and weather. He couldn't quite make sense of the oddity in her actions and everyday quirks. She was an odd specimen, one which he'd like to unravel and explore but those specific thoughts were best kept to himself where he could think it through in the deep hours of the night when he knew she was asleep.

"That's good." He hummed. "You must not entirely hate it then." A small smile threatened at his lips as he gave her a sideways glance.

"It's not the worst." She replied, not yet lifting up her eyes to meet his. In all honesty, it was really not that bad, definitely better than the alternative. They both knew this fact but she wouldn't be the one to confess it.

"Alright, come on." He stated, voice rising just a bit as he turned. "I'd hate to be forced to take care of you when you catch a cold in this weather. "

She imagined he only said the words as a jab, that he wasn't really the type to take care of anyone, least of all her. He'd mostly chalk it up to another body for his experiments rather than care for it but nonetheless, she followed him inside. Abiding every word he said since the early days when she didn't know that much about him. A lamb to the slaughter, some would say.

He opened the large doors that led into the factory with ease, without the use of any of his limbs. Another lycan howling into the night searching for its prey as the final send-off as the doors shut behind her.

There was a definite change in temperature as she walked further into the factory, the numbness on her skin now apparent as it adjusted to the warmth.

"I'm sorry." She said softly, eyes not meeting his when he turned to face her, eyes roaming her figure. He knew what it was for, it just usually came much earlier.

"You're no use to me sick." He responded promptly, a step closer, and then she finally looked up at him. She nodded in understanding and he was pulled into another plain again. One he consciously strayed from, it had been one where things would fall away and only one singular thing remained. It made his mind wander, a hundred what-ifs upon a thousand fantasies.

He had to remind himself of the monster he was, how she must see him, but it was so hard when she refused to look at him like she looked at the lycans and soldats or even the glimpses she had of Miranda and the others. She was a hard thing to grasp. She seemed so fragile when he knew she had fight, yet the fire inside her was never actively directed at him and he couldn't fathom why.

He was lost, and then in a moment, everything was stripped away. In retrospect, an all-around, ill-advised decision when he pressed his lips to hers. Naturally, she was shocked but then her hands fisted into his jacket, body pressing closer. A reaction Heisenberg wouldn't have expected from her. He had always assumed she stayed out of self-preservation and nothing beyond it, that she wouldn't and couldn't want to be near him but now... now her lips moved against his as he held her in his arms, wishing for nothing more than to rid himself of some of his layers so he could feel her more prominently, feel her skin against his. He imagined it would still be chilled from her time outside but still soft under his touch.

He broke the kiss and she looked at him with those same eyes that had no business being caught in this godforsaken village, and she bit her lip with cheeks slightly flushed and chest that rose and fell more rapidly than before.

He wondered what more she'd allow, he had no business asking for it, and yet he couldn't stop his mind from lingering. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, it weighed him down when he knew he should turn and walk away from this.

"What are you thinking?" Her voice was small as it disappeared with the wind, afraid to break whatever limbo they fell into. She wanted so much more but she could not ask, could not let him know just how many times she thought about this, she had no right. He was one of the lords and she, well, she was just another human.

"A few things." He responded, hand coming to cup her cheek as he spoke, a soft gesture which did not fit his next words as a gloved thumb smoothed over her cheekbone. "All of which are improper."

She felt her stomach churn at his words, at his touch, a want growing in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed. She had no right, no idea if he even meant it in the way she wanted him to. How could he.. but it's interesting what someone would do given the right circumstances.

She craved him, craved his touch, his attention. She watched him work, watched him rise and fall in his endeavors, each moment pushing her into a need she could not have, one she had managed to slightly satisfy in the deep hours of the night bred out of the thought of him.

She pressed close, lips hungrily pressed to his as her arms hooked around his neck. If she had read the situation wrong, walking down the path into the mouth of a lycan was still on the table.

He held her close, kissing her fervently and pushing her against the nearest wall. He broke the kiss again, holding her wrists and dragging her above her head to limit her movement. She had too much control over him, he realized, but the part of him that should object to it, was oddly being silent.

"You don't want this." He reasoned out loud.

With his body so close to hers, she was intoxicated. Hands held down by his that elicited so many images that it took a moment to register.

"You have no idea what I want." She responded, head hitting back against the wall at his protest, knees rubbing together slightly.

A shadow of a smile moved over his features for a moment. "There's no going back, once I claim you,"

Her mouth hung slightly agape as he spoke, the thought of him taking her, claiming her, using her for his own gratification. She didn't quite mind the idea. Everything about him should feel so very wrong and yet, it excited her. The thought of being his to use as he willed.

"What makes you think I'd want to go back?"She pressed forth, biting into her bottom lip as her cheeks flushed. She moved from one foot to the other when he didn't react immediately, perhaps he was already regretting this..

But then lips reconnected, more insistent than the last as his body fully pressed into hers, fingers intertwining with hers as he still held them in place, a place that held her at a disadvantage but no less enjoyable.

She wanted to press against him, wrap her arms around him, wrap her legs around his waist.. but his hold was proving firm and so she just took what he gave her until he broke the kiss. His eyes roamed over her, an expression she found unreadable, and then it lingered on her lips. She was acutely aware of her breathing as it quickened.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" He hummed.

The words brought up emotions, some lingering on anxiety while others fed right into the feeling brewing at the pit of her stomach.

She nodded, cheeks burning up at the words and promise. A smile spread over his lips as she did. She was so innocent, so soft beneath his touch. There were so many ways he could break her if only he had the desire to do so. Instead, he just wanted to get lost in her. He wanted her close, he wanted her safe, he wanted the light she brought with her, he wanted her to always look at him like she did now, like he wasn't a monster.

"Good." His voice came soft before he pressed his lips to hers for a barely-there kiss before he let go of her hands, his own hands lingering over her thighs. He could take her right here, he had permission and her need but still, he didn't want to push her too far. He didn't want to break her and that's exactly what happens to the things he wants to keep. There's no going back, he had told her and it now only occurred to him what wrath he'd be exposing her to.

It was a bit of a debate, the feelings that pressed against his chest and sometimes pressed against other places and then, what he wanted for her. They were oftentimes very different things. She'd give him what he wanted so freely but he could never return the favor and neither could he ever let her go. He had become dependent on her presence, the lingering, the vision. Telling her she could leave seems like such a lie when he's not sure he could let her go.

His hands wrapped around her thighs and lifted her up effortlessly to slot perfectly against his waist,  a soft sound escaping her lips as it did. If he could not give her what she deserved, the least he could do was quell the thirst he knew he had awoken within her, he reasoned. If nothing else, he knew he would've spoiled her for Alcina and she couldn't be taken from him so easily.

He could take her right now, pressed against this very wall and she'd have no objections but something bothered him about that statement, that's not what he wanted. Something within him halted his usual actions, something about her begged him to be different. Something within him felt as if it would break if he ended up breaking her.

Her much smaller hands were on his shoulder, soft eyes looking at him as he held her tightly to him. She was blushing, soft crimson peaking under her skin. He had all he wanted at the tip of his fingers, everything came together so easily.. then why did he find it so hard to act upon it?

Perhaps all he needed was to push forward, simulate his usual demeanor until he fell back into it. He just needed to break through the wall she created within him.

He held her to him, warm skin pressed against him as he walked down the hallway. She clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he supported her back. She felt the movement with every step. It was a brisk walk towards what one might call her room and he placed her on the bed, legs hanging off the edge as he came to kneel before her.

Weeks he'd observed her, shared some soft as well as sharp words with her. Weeks of developing this co-dependency, getting used to her presence. Weeks of his own quirks moving away to make room for hers in the factory. Weeks of getting used to how her hair would fall around her face at the end of a work day, how her fingers twitched when she was frustrated, how the fire burned behind her soft eyes.

All in all, he strayed so far from what he once knew, without even noticing how far he's drifted out to sea. She was one of them, just another human.. what should she matter. She had been afraid of him once, afraid of his reactions.. when did that change, because evidently it did change by the way she was looking at him right now, prepared to give herself over to him completely without a second thought.

His eyes lingered between her legs, he's reminded of times he's thought about her, of being buried inside her, when he'd find his release with a singular thought... her.

He clenched his jaw as he looked up into her eyes once more. He'd have her. He'd be the last thing she has. She was his to keep and instruct, she'd be the cause for his euphoria as well. He'd claim her in the way he knew how, by having her cry out to him and being with her in that moment when she does.

Hands pressed forth, fingers fiddling with the button of her pants which she then helped in shimmying out of. It was fast, too fast. It made her stomach churn. She barely had time to process and her mind was foggy. There was nothing romantic about it, just a need in his eyes as he pushed her back against the bed. She rested against her elbows as she watched the man between her legs.

Callous fingertips lingered on her thighs, unappealing panties covering where he wanted to be. It didn't quite deter him as he wrapped his lips around the fabric and sucked softly at her clothed core. He felt her muscles flex under the action and looked up at her when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the underwear, pulling them down her legs until she was left unobstructed before him for his viewing pleasure.

A small taste as lips pressed against her then a tongue moving down her slit. A rush of pleasure echoed as she sucked in a breath. A smirk lingered on his lips as he looked up at her, going in for another taste but this time, his eyes stayed locked onto hers.

She gasped as his lips moved against her, hands slipping into his hair as she allowed him to open her up, fingers pressing ever so slightly at her entrance. If she died right then and there, it was okay, it would've been fine knowing this moment was the last she'd ever have.

A finger pumped into her, circling inside her until her body jerked, a cry slipping past her lips. There were times she thought about it, imagined him between her legs but this, the ecstasy she felt was so much more. She could feel it coming together at the pit of her stomach, faster than she'd normally muster herself and her mind couldn't keep up with the demand as she tried keeping the edge at bay.

She cried out, legs closing around his head as her back arched slightly but he didn't stop, even with the constraint, replacing his fingers with his tongue as he took all that she'd give him.

"Good girl."

And then her legs fell open once more, breathing slightly labored as she looked down at the man. Evidently pleased with himself if one is to judge by the smirk on his lips. He licked his lips as their eyes locked, the remnants of her release still glimmering on his beard. She bit into her lip and it made the picture all the more enticing but there were things he thought might be a little more exciting at the moment, namely, having her completely bare beneath him.

He made quick work of removing his shirt before climbing onto the bed, hovering over her, her thighs fitting perfectly beside his hips. Fingers danced at her side for a few moments as he took her in, before grasping the hem of her shirt and pulling it upward. She helped with dragging it over her head which gave him some moments to appreciate the skin being revealed.

Almost there, only the smallest bit of cloth that clung teasingly over her breasts. So close to an unobstructed view, so close to replacing his thoughts of her with a real image rather than what he constructed.

Her fingers worked on the clasp without Heisenberg having to prompt for it and then she spilled fee. Her stomach churned as she did, put on display for his viewing pleasure. So open and vulnerable.

He licked his lips, his calloused fingers running over her bare skin with a barely there touch that left goosebumps in its wake. She was perfect to him. His fingers flicked her nipple softly. She in turn bit into her lip and he repeated the action before his hands moved to the button of his pants.

He dragged his pants over his hips, just enough to free his cock. He stroked himself a few times as he looked at her before running his cock through her wet folds. A small sigh escaped at the contact and then he pushed her legs open a little more.

She was beautiful like this, open for him to take and play with. Better than any of the fantasies even before he pushed into her, even before he heard her moan his name, even before he felt her walls clench around his cock.

It didn't take long for her walls to get used to the sudden stretch, especially with how he played with her clit as he pushed home. All in all, she had been easy, almost comfortable... pliant.

His hips rocked into her shallowly at first as he tested the waters. She felt so good around his cock, he had to resist the urge to just fuck into her and lose himself in her but there was something more he wanted, needed from her. A memory, a moment. He had to remember, savor, prolong.

Hand clenched tightly against her thigh as he hovered over her, watching her face as it contorted, how she moaned with each thrust, as power started to build behind each one. His head dipped down, something primal as his tongue ran along the length of her neck. He felt the need to mark her, claim her as his own.

Her hands were on his back and in his hair, nails scratching every now and then as she held on. Her eyes ere closed as she moaned into the air, hips smacking into hers repeatedly, drawing out a pleasure that she hadn't anticipated she'd have tonight or any time soon for that matter.

Earlier he had said there's no turning back once he'd claim her and he wasn't lying in any sense of the word. Even more than before, he couldn't let her go. His perfect little pleasure, the one thing that was truly his alone.

A surprise whimper fell from her lips as he pulled out of her and an equally surprised expression when her eyes snapped open which he decided to ignore. His hands securely wrapped around her hips and swiftly flipped her over, dragging her hips to his. He had been back inside the warmth of her cunt before see could even process the entire situation.

His hand smoothed over the skin on her ass and then a small smack reverberated that had her gasping at the contact which cause Heisenberg to chuckle. His hand then smoothed a path from her backside down her back and then rested at the back of her neck. He liked her like this especially, pressed into the mattress and completely under his control. A preferred angle to both get what he wanted and have her crying out.

His thrust took a sharper turn, rocking her body forward as she took him over and over, hand on her neck keeping her in the position as she moaned his name. Many bad decisions had been made on this day but allowing him to take control of her certainly wasn't one of them.

She could feel the cord tighten with every moment, she wished she could look at him fully but she also wouldn't raise complaint with the amount of pleasure he was pushing into her body at the moment. Encouragement fell from his lips as he pushed into her, watching as her fingers gripped the sheets below. The grip he had on her neck moved to her hips, feeling his release nearing its end.

She cried out, vision slightly out of focus as she finally fell from the ledge after fighting it for some time. Her skin was on fire, each cell in her body screaming as the feeling took over, walls clenching down on his cock.

"Fuck-" He cursed as she did, movement being constricted for a few moments as her body submitted under the pleasure. She was impossibly tight but he'd make due. Her orgasm being prolonged as he moved, pushing more pleasure into her body even to the point of pain until he too submitted under the pressure and came cock pressed deep into her cunt.

He pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder as they both came down from the high. She had been perfect, just like he knew she would. She wasn't one to disappoint so boldly. He wished he could look into her eyes and see what she was thinking but it was just something he'd have to forego for the moment.

She whimpered when he pulled out of her heat, body falling to the softness below and then he could finally see her, expression and eyes. She was breathing heavy, body layered in perspiration. A little pang of pride that he reprimanded himself for.

He imagined there would be regret in her eyes, clamoring to cover herself after a lapse of judgement, after a tumble with the monster that he is.. but she did none of it, just caught her breath, eyes half closed until he laid down beside her. He didn't quite know what to do with the absence of hate, disgust.. but he knew what he wanted to do.

An arm wrapped around the girl and pulled her into his chest. She looked into his eyes with a question, a soft blush and then she looked down with a soft smile. He wasn't one for sentiment or care and though those parts of him hurt, she had grown accustomed to this. Now, it caused her stomach to flutter as her head rested on his chest. Part of her could've sworn it was all a dream but the throbbing between her legs alluded to otherwise.

She had fallen asleep not long after, the lord running his fingers along her back and her. Unlike her, there were parts of him that regretted putting her in this position, but his most selfish parts overrode those notions, especially when he looked down at the sleeping form pressed against him.

[frogsmulder]

The X Files 30th Anniversary Mulder Appreciation Post

The thing about Mulder for me, more so than Scully (I don't need to explain the cultural impact her representation has for women) is how relatable he is. When I watched the x files for the first time, even as I thought I was a woman at the time, I didn't at all identify with her. I think this is because of how queer/ neurdivergent coded (or at least the lense I read it through) Mulder is. Don't get me wrong, I wholly believe that this is unintentional, but the facets of his character add up in this sense.

I think also the time in which I watched the x files is somewhat removed from it's creation meaning that I have been fortunate enough to not experience workplace misogyny to the same extent that Scully has, meaning I relate to it less (? Idk) and The Scully effect has already taken place unbeknownst to me, so I have seen more women in STEM than there was during the nineties so her representation is less significant to me who watched this in 2019.

First of all, the childhood trauma is very much a real representation neurodivergency. The important thing for me is how it changes him and I forms his character/decisions into adulthood even if he doesn't realise it. There have been several times where Scully has pointed out that Mulder is chasing his sister in whatever little girl their case involves which he denies, to the point where Scully stops mentioning it, even though both we the audience and she can see it.

We can see how it informs his trust issues and attachment/abandonment issues. Mulder is generally a dichotomy of too easily trusting (like of deep throat, phoebe, dianna), which then he knows he gets hurt by, so he is also slow to trust (Scully, Skinner, X), creating an inner turmoil of logic vs feeling. Scully is an especially important example of how trust/attachment inform each other in Mulder, where once he trusts Scully isn't a spy, he immediately trusts her with everything, which is a big leap. With Scully, he feels like he doesn't have to hold back and can be who he really is, which is where the queer coding comes in: in Scully he has an ally.

Aside from the fact that queer people often experience all or some of the above neurologically, socially Mulder shares similar experiences because of his beliefs. He is portrayed as an outsider, who doesn't really fit in, even though it feels like he should: he has other normal hobbies like basketball, he can work well with others in a team and get on well with them (I know he doesn't always most of the time but the point is he can) writing profiles to help out other departments when asked, having a good partnership with Reggie and report with the VCU etc. But he is still shunned and ostracised for being different. Despite this, he never properly tries to hide that side of him, standing up for his beliefs in face of the damning consequences (insisting in front of the court that Pusher had supernatural powers for instance).

This also resonates a lot autistic experiences: being able to put on a mask to fit in, but never properly fitting in, a fierce sense of justice and truth despite how it may be perceived. This isn't to say that Mulder is autistic but that his experiences are relatable.

Mulder is also kinda queer coded in that he is never shown to have a dating life (neither he or Scully have let's be real) outside of work, but where as Scully, has had fairly normal seemingly healthy relationships in the past (excusing Daniel), Mulder hasn't that we know of. We get to her about Scully's high-school boyfriend but we don't here about Mulder's high-school relationships. Whilst the absence isn't fool-proof evidence that he didn't have any relationships it is more likely to be perceived by the audience as so. This is much like some queer people's dating experience, where we come to sex and relationships later in life because of both social constraints and internal figuring-stuff-out. Then his past two relationships we do know of have been unhealthy, which isn't to say that all queer people start off in unhealthy relationships but that Mulder's initial relationships feel wrong much the way that some queer people in their initial relationships feel whilst they are still trying to figure stuff out.

Then there is the last straw for me which is his inability to sit still, he is always fiddling with something, throwing pencils in the ceiling, impulsively running off, or calling Scully at inconvenient times because he either misses her or has had a thought that he needs to share immediately which is very adhd of him <3