#feel like throwing up but more this time and maybe a lobotomy

[skyllion-uwu]

[mediumgayitalian]

“Death Breath! Hey! Wait up!”

Nico bolts. He makes it about ten feet away from his cabin door before Will and his stupid long legs catch up with him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and then immediately tripping over his own foot and sending them both sprawling.

“I hate you,” Nico groans, curling up on the grass.

It’s too early for any of this. He was just trying to get back at Cecil for covering everything he owned in aluminum foil last week — and then he was going to go right the hell back to bed.

He knew he should have fucking shadow travelled.

“Aw, c’mon. You love me.”

Nico pretends to gag. The only thing he gets is Will’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow, so he doubles down and really starts to retch. Whatever. It’s eight thirty in the morning. He fell asleep at five. Rational thinking is a distant, distant memory.

“Whenever you’re done.”

“I will be sick at the thought for the next eight weeks,” Nico informs him. For dramatic effect, he looks up at Will’s face — which he cant even see, since the sun’s in his eyes — and shudders.

“You know, you have a genuine, beautiful talent for the dramatic arts, the likes of which I have never seen. Are you sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

I better not be, ‘cause then all the staring I do at your calves would be real weird, he thinks to himself, then considers whether he can convince Kayla to give him a lobotomy. He thinks she might like the opportunity.

“Piss off,” he says instead of that, artfully schooling his face into the aristocratic mask he’s perfected from his father, squaring his shoulders and looking at Will like he’s a pebble lodged in the flesh of his heel.

Will rolls his eyes. “Get up, Sharpay Evans. You’re gonna stain your shirt worse than you already have.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “My shirt is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I order them in black for a reason.”

He notices a giant grass stain on the side when he stands. He ignores it. Will does not.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the Goth King.”

“Ghost King.”

“Right, right. That helps your case.”

Nico shoves him, fighting back a grin. “Whatever, Solace. What are you bothering me for?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Nico is a deeply cheesy person. Down to the core of him, past all the sarcasm and prickliness and trauma, or whatever, he’s made of fucking mozzarella, because what business does he have comparing Will’s eyes to the morning winter sky? Huh? That’s embarrassing. It isn’t even original. If Nico caught anyone saying shit like that out loud in real life, he’s collapse into the shadows from embarrassment. He needs electroshock therapy.

“I was thinking —”

“Rare,” Nico quips, just to watch Will’s eyebrow twitch. It does. Nico smiles.

“I was thinking,” he repeats, mocking glare in Nico’s direction, “that you and me go to the city this afternoon.”

“You chased me across camp for that?”

“Oh, please, Zombie Face. I chased you maybe twenty yards.”

“I think all that time sniffing rubbing alcohol has deteriorated your brain.”

“I think I’m going to shove you in the lake.”

“Feel free to try. You will not wake up the next morning.”

“Nah.” Will shoots him a smug smile. Nico trips over air. “I can be as annoying as I want and you still won’t kill me. I have impunity.”

Nico rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The less he acknowledges his own shame, the more likely it will go away on its own. Probably.

“Anyways. Guess what Cecil told me today.”

“His last will and testament?” Nico guesses, suddenly remembering his reason for being up this early.

“No, no, not that.” Will pauses. “Well, I mean, he did. I passed it on to Chiron. He has requested that when you maul him, you avoid his face, because he wants to be a sexy corpse and he can’t do that if you destroy his prettiest features.”

“Noted. Please inform him I will come for him within a window of the next fifteen hours.”

Theres a very particular face Will makes when he finds something genuinely funny. A smile a little more crooked than his regular one, teeth working at his bottom lip to hold it back, left dimple appearing in his cheek. It makes Nico want to do stupid things like press his thumb into said divot. He instead shoves his hands deeply into his pockets.

“I’ll let him know.” He clears his throat. “Anyways. You know what day it is today?”

Nico squints. “Tues…day? No, Wednesday.” He glances at Will. It’s been maybe….three days since their weekly sleepover? No, fuck, four. He thinks. “Thursday. Final answer.”

“Monday,” Will corrects, “and, gods, you need to sleep more. And a calendar. But no, that’s not my point.”

“Feel free to get to it.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Will finally explains. He tries for exasperated, but it doesn’t work — he’s clearly excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving his hands. “And The Five Seasons is doing half off for couples, so you and I need to go!”

He waves his hands, as if tying off some grand reveal. His (blue blue blue blue) eyes are squeezed nearly shut by the force of his beam, which lessons slightly with every second Nico does not respond.

“William,” he says finally. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “William.”

Will pouts. “What?”

“Explain how this is relevant to me, William.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nico! Don’t be difficult!”

“William,” stresses Nico again. “We are not a couple. Did you hit your head again?”

“Well, duh, Neeks, it’s about the scam!” He flaps his hand in a way Nico assumes is meant to convey something. “We’re gonna — eat! Cheap! By pretending to be a couple!” Now both hands are flopping, paired with wide, imploring eyes. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Nico repeats, slowly. He instructs one half of his brain to keep its focus on not melting into a puddle of blushing embarrassed goo, and the other to exercise restraint and not strangle the boy in front of him. A headache begins to press behind his eyes. “Will, what the shit.”

“You of all people!” Will throws his hands up. “You love scamming people! You hate corporate holidays! You frequently throw pebbles at people who look, and I quote, too obnoxiously happy! You’re the best hater I know! You should be on board!”

He makes a compelling point. Not that Nico is going to make that easy for him.

“You seem very invested in this,” Nico points out. He manages to keep his voice tastefully judgmental, which he’s very proud of.

“Of course I am! I want cheap Five Seasons food, godsdammit!” He pauses, switching tactics. “Nico,” he says softly. He puts a gently hand on Nico’s forearm, making him freeze. He is suddenly very, very close, and wow, did his hair always frame his face in gentle waves? Has that always been a thing? “I really, really want to scam a restaurant with you.” He smiles, small and crooked and gods, Will doesn’t look dangerous very often, but holy Hades when he does — “Will you make my Valentines, and scam a restaurant with me?”

His fingers begin to trace little circles in the inside of Nico’s wrist.

“Yes,” he squeaks, voice cracking.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pulling his fist. “Yes, hell yes, Nico! We are going to scam the shit out of this restaurant! Half off for couples? How about half off for heathens! Free money, baby! Fuck yeah!”

He turns back towards Nico, smile still wide and radiant, blinking eyes pools of sparkling excitement. Nico’s knees go a little weak. “I’ll come get you at 2! Thank you, Neeks!”

He runs off back to his cabin, only tripping twice. Nico watches him go, feeling a little like he’s tripping, too, with all the swooping his stomach is doing.

“Dude,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “Be normal. Christo.”

It takes him ten straight minutes to get back to his cabin, even though he’s standing at the porch.

———

The obsidian handle of the Hades’ cabin door rattles.

“Neeks!” calls a voice behind the door, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Nico scrambles over to the mirror and stares at himself. He turns a little to the left. He scowls. “Shit!” Tugging the shirt off, he turns back to his closet, tossing the piece of clothing to join the rest of its brethren on the floor. “Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Shit.”

“Nico!”

“Coming!”

Tapping his foot rapidly, he looks harder, as if that will magically make the right shirt pop into existence, perfectly pressed, on a hanger. “Shit.”

“What could possibly be taking so long? You’ve had two hours!”

“I care about my appearance, Mr Flip Flops and Scrubs!”

“Bleh bleh! Hurry up!”

Nico bites his lip. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. Five Seasons is not actually a fancy restaurant. He and Will just like to joke that it is, because it has tablecloths. They’ve gone there dozens of times before; they stop every time they’re in the city for supply runs or visits to Olympus or to harass their summer-only friends at school. There is literally no reason for Nico to be stressing about what stupid shirt he should wear. Gods know Will is wearing cargo shorts.

“Nico!”

“I’m coming!“

Scowling, he digs through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds the first shirt he’d put on — a dark green button up that was given to him, along with a bunch of other fancy clothes he never wears, by the Aphrodite cabin. He hastily shoves their buttons through their holes, cursing when he mixes them up and has to start over, and sprints over to the mirror to inspect himself.

The shirt looks good. It’s a little tight on the arms, which he suspects was on purpose, and the colour compliments his skin nicely. The buttons are a dark, shiny brown that match his eyes. They pair nice with his simple jeans and black vans, casual enough that he doesn’t look like he’s going to Prom, or anything stupid like that, but dressy enough that it looks like he put effort in. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make the staticky strands sit right, but gives up pretty quickly. It’s okay if one thing is a little messy, right?

“Finally,” huffs Will as the door swings open. He glances Nico up and down, then grins. “You look great.”

Nico was right. He is indeed wearing cargo shorts, although to his credit they are his one pair without various Head Medic stains. His sweater, too, is a pretty blue, V-necked, long-sleeved, and a completely different style than his shorts. It clashes horribly. His shoes are, for some reason, bright solid pink. Nico suspects Hecate magic. His hair is braided in two French braids, his favourite way to wear it. Nico believes he is also wearing a touch of sparkly eyeshadow.

“You look dorky.”

Will grins wider. “Thank you! I wouldn’t let anyone help me choose something.”

“You should have.”

“I wanted it to be authentic, Nico. Also, got something for you.” From behind his back, he pulls out a handful of daisies, black dirt clinging to their roots, like he plucked them straight from the ground. Nico is inexplicably endeared by the image, and prays the smile on his face is less soft than he knows it is.

“You got me flowers?”

“Well, duh, Avril Lavigne. We gotta sell the scam.”

Nico brings them close to his face and inhales deeply. They smell fresh and earthy and sweet.

“That’s a stupid reason to bring someone flowers.”

“Give them back, then.”

“No. Fuck off. They’re mine.”

Will’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.” He holds out his arm. “Ready to go?”

The jump is close enough that Nico can convince him to shadow travel, and not just because he sadistically looks forward to the shade of green Will’s face will get after. As dangerous as he knows it can be, he misses it, sometimes. There’s something comforting about it, something soothing and familiar. Shadow travelling to the restaurant eases any lingering nerves.

“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere I can’t hear you,” he says as they materialize in an alley.

Will’s cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna do it on your fuckin’ shoes.”

“I will leave your ass here, Solace, I swear to the gods.” Despite his grumbling, he rests a cool hand on the back of Will’s neck until he’s recovered. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He straightens, dusting off his sweater. “Let’s go.”

Nico follows him down the alley and onto the street, elbowing past the crowd of pedestrians until they approach the familiar glass doors. He rolls his eyes fondly every time Will apologizes to someone.

“You need to be meaner.”

Will sticks his tongue out and tries to trip him. Unfortunately, he only manages to throw himself off balance, nearly crashing to the floor of Nico hadn’t caught him.

“Good gods, Solace.”

“That was your fault!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The doors of the restaurant are absolutely plastered in cheesy red hearts and bows and cartoon kisses. And, as promised, a giant sign promising couples a fifty percent discount on their meals.

“My love,” says Will dramatically, holding out a hand, “shall we?”

Nico sighs, resting his hand delicately in Will’s. It sparks with electricity, like it always does. “I suppose.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not hearing oh, Nico, thank you so much for doing this incredibly stupid thing with me, you are my dearest friend and I owe you one. Or three, for some reason.”

Will’s mouth twitches. “Oh, Nico, thank you so much for —”

Nico shoves him, laughing. “Shut up.”

They’re seated pretty quickly, server smiling when they take notice of their clasped hands. Will orders chicken tenders, like he does every single time without fail, and water. Nico orders from the adult menu and absolutely does not make any kind of show about it.

“There is nothing babyish about chicken tendies.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Is this about you having a credit card? That does not make you more adult than me. It makes you a nepo baby.”

“Mhm. Sure thing.”

“Nobody likes a nepo baby, Nico.”

“Look, I think your drink comes with a complimentary sippy cup.”

Teasing and joking with Will is so easy that Nico forgets the core of their mission. The pink garlands hanging from the ceiling fade into the background — he’s too busy crying with laughter when Will nearly chokes to death on a french fry, too busy flicking a forkful of food at his shoulder just to make him shriek, too busy kicking his shin under the table. He catches Nico’s foot between his the fourth time he tries it, keeping it trapped for the rest of the meal. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“And your bill,” says their server when they’re done, setting down a slip of paper. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but do you two qualify for today’s discount?”

Will smirks widely. “We do,” he says, with no small amount of pleasure. He shoots Nico the least subtle wink of all time. Nico rolls his eyes, cheeks going a little pink.

“Great! You guys have a wonderful Valentine’s day.”

“You, too.”

The server hurries away, turning to their other tables. Will’s smile is wide and smug.

“I knew it would work.”

“Duh. Easiest scam in the world, Solace.”

He sticks his tongue out. “And thus the best payout. You’re welcome.”

“Blah, blah. Gimme the bill.”

“Um, no way, di Angelo. I’m paying.”

He opens his wallet before Nico can stop him, mouthing as he counts the bills.

“What? No! I’m paying.”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” He sets down a couple twenties. Nico snatches them right back up. “You we’re just complaining about my credit card!”

“Exactly. Thus my need to continue to pretend you don’t have one, so we can continue our friendship.”

“Solace, I swear to the gods.”

“di Angelo, I swear to the gods.”

Nico stares him down. Will stares back. He doesn’t even try to hide his lazy grin, his laughing eyes.

“You’re not paying for this by yourself,” Nico says firmly. “You don’t have a job. My father invented being rich.”

“Sure, but I made you come with me.”

“Ugh!” Nico throws his hands up, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that long neck (followed by his teeth and his tongue and his —). “Why are you impossible? I would’ve gone with you no matter what, stupid!”

As soon as he says it he wants to stick his head in wet cement. For a brief second, something like surprise flits across Will’s face, before he schools it back into his teasing smirk.

“Well, obviously, Death Breath. I’m excellent company.”

“You’re literally the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me, of your own volition.”

“…I’m paying next time.”

Will grins. “Whatever you say.”

They walk around the city for a while before heading back to camp. Will says it’s because he needs the air, Nico knows it’s because he wants him to rest a little longer before trying to shadow travel again. He tries not to let himself get all melty inside.

(Nobody willingly hangs out around the city for the ‘air’. He’s a shit liar. Nico should be offended.)

It’s nearing curfew by the time they melt back out from behind Thalia’s tree, extra shadows of early evening making the trip easier.

“Those fries are going to make a reappearance,” Will grimaces.

“Not if you don’t want me to kick you in the face.”

“You’d never.”

He would indeed never. But he would rather pass away than admit it, so.

“C’mon, dot face. It’s getting late. You have a cabin to run.”

“Oh, Nico,” Will says in a breathy falsetto, “are you walkin’ me to my cabin? How chivalrous!”

“Nevermind.”

“No no no no no I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nico allows himself to be tugged, weak to Will’s giggles. “Walk me to my cabin. C’mon.”

Sighing, as if he’s so put out, Nico does. Some point in between Thalia’s tree and the amphitheater, Will’s hand slides down from around his wrist to tangled in between his fingers. Coincidentally, his mouth goes dry.

As they approach the Apollo cabin, Will slows to a stop.

“Hey.” He squeezes their fingers together, smile soft in the dying light of dawn. “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Nico swallows. One day, those words will be said in a different context, if everything goes well for Nico, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to handle it without bursting into flame. “Yeah, well. Anything to scam a restaurant.”

“Right.”

They walk the last few steps to the cabin, rickety porch steps creaking under their feet as they approach the open door. Will doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Nico.”

“…Yeah?”

Quick as a flash, Will leans in and presses the softest of kisses to his mouth. The noise Nico makes is practically punched out of his lungs, spine going rigid in surprise.

“You can pay for our next date, okay?”

He’s gone before Nico can respond, ducking into his cabin with a small smile and closing the door behind him. Nico stands there, like an idiot, for three solid minutes at the very least, distantly aware of the giggles coming through the open window.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing his bottom lip.

“The little fucker set me up.”

Valentine’s day scam. Please. The only scam today was the scam of Will’s sneaky asking.

Nico smiles.

“You’re a mess, Solace!” he shouts, knowing damn well Will is listening.

He’s right. “Goodnight, Nico!”

Shaking his head, Nico runs back to his cabin, entire body tingling and cheeks aching with his grin.

[stormyoceans]

The song began, and Day perked up, recognizing the first few chords from the radio version. He smiled to himself, waiting for Mhok's husky, off-key voice, and the inevitable jeers of his friends.

But instead... it was definitely Mhok's voice, but - not at all what Day was expecting. Certainly not a professional singer's tone, but still warm and earnest, and the lyrics were making Day's palms feel sweaty, his heart beat a little louder. Day felt his smile fade, turning his ears to better catch the chorus.

"He's looking at you while he sings, you know," whispered Gee, shameless, in his ear.

Day made a face in her direction, but then he turned, trying - wishing, somehow - to see.

And for a moment, for just one fleeting moment -

He'd been a different him, in a different bar, while a different person played a different song... but it was still Mhok, maybe even his Mhok, wearing the same face and the same smile that he somehow knew was meant for only him. And the other Mhok gave the other Day the same butterfly feeling, deep in his chest, like stumbling into the recognition of something important, like a glimpse of a home built piece by piece, like a hug so warm you would cross a universe to find it -

And it faded, of course. The vision. Day shook his head, gently... it had only been a split second. Just his imagination.

The guitar slowed, and Mhok sang the last few bars quietly - almost sweet, for his rough tone. Around him, Day's friends began applauding, whooping, reaching for Day - "he really is good, eh?" "a professional singer, you said? I believe it..."

Day looked down, smiling to himself.

When Mhok asked about his red cheeks, after, Day planned to blame it on the liquor.

ANON IM SAYING THIS IN THE MOST AFFECTIONATE AND ADORING WAY POSSIBLE BUT ARE YOU - PERCHANCE - INSANE LIKE I STARTED READING THIS AND WAS ALREADY CLUTCHING MY CHEST TAKING CRITICAL DAMAGE THINKING IT WAS A MORKDAY FICLET WITH A MORE IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS OF DAY'S THOUGHTS DURING THE BAR SCENE BUT THEN THE PUENTALAY VISION HAPPENED AND I KNOW THAT AT THIS POINT IT'S A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED THAT MORKDAY ARE PUENTALAY IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE BUT SEEING IT WRITTEN DOWN LIKE THIS SIMPLY HITS DIFFERENT I MEAN

"And the other Mhok gave the other Day the same butterfly feeling, deep in his chest, like stumbling into the recognition of something important, like a glimpse of a home built piece by piece, like a hug so warm you would cross a universe to find it -" >>> CRYING AND THROWING UP AND EATING GLASS AND GOING INTO CARDIAC ARREST AND MAKING A LOBOTOMY APPOINTMENT AND ENGAGING IN FITS OF FEMALE HYSTERIA TO COPE LIKE NOT THE LOVE THAT TRANSCENDS TIME AND SPACE SOULMATISM OF IT ALL HELLO POLICE?????????? I WANNA REPORT A MURDER!!!!!! I AM DYING!!!!!!!!!

ANYWAY IF ANYONE NEEDS ME I'LL BE DEAD IN A DITCH FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING GOOD NIGHT OR GOOD DAY TO ALL REGARDLESS THO

[bettermiya]

THE DEVIL DOLL.

Pairing: Hinata Shoyou & Reader

WC: 1.7k Triggers: Lobotomy / Platonic Yandere (?) Summary: You find a doll in the trash that you plan to sell. Horror!AU.

He was meant to be a life-sized doll, but he seems small to you. His hair is a messy red, almost orange, standing up in all directions. As you remove him from the dumpster where you found him, you run your fingers through it. It’s a fine material, almost like real hair. He has a layer of some kind of artificial skin over what feels to be a more solid, heavy plastic frame. You wonder briefly why such an expensive looking doll- you’ve seen them in the stores, they’re the next big thing for people with enough money to use dollar bills as kindling for their fireplaces- why is such a thing in the garbage?

You give him a cursory check. He seems to be all in one piece, just dirty and scuffed from his time in the dumpster. There are a few cosmetic damages where smooth skin-you can’t think of anything else to call the material- has been torn or nibbled by pests and the sharp edges of other trash, but you have done repairs like this before. If you heat up the material, you’re fairly sure you can melt the edges together. There may be little ‘scars,’ but if you can get the guy up and running again, you’ll be able to sell him for enough money to get yourself back on track.

You get him home. To clean him off, you end up having to give him a strange sort of sponge bath in the tub. It’s the only place he’ll fit. You’re afraid to get him too wet, though. The dolls are supposed to have a sort of rudimentary AI system, and you doubt throwing him into a vat of rice will save him if he ends up getting water-logged.

Once he’s been cleaned, you place him on the floor in your room and gather your tools. For a lot of fashion type dolls, you can use a hair dryer to heat up the glue enough to remove the doll’s head. This one seems to not have a detachable head in the traditional sense; the neck and head connect together almost seamlessly. From the owner’s manual you downloaded by scanning the QR code on the heel of his foot, you are able to find the power switch, which is an almost imperceptible raised button just behind his left ear.

You press the button and hold it down until you hear the slightly rattling hum, like that of an old computer toward. Sitting back on your heels in front of him, you watch as his head lifts and his eyes slowly open, glowing a faint amber. He cocks his head to one side, regarding you curiously, and offers a smile. When he opens his mouth, a little air brushes your face, and you realize this must be where one of his venting systems is located. The manufacturers really thought of everything to make these dolls seem lifelike.

“Hello, my name is Hinata Shoyo.” He says, a little stutter and warble to his flat voice. It reminds you a little of the voice of one of those text readers people use to make videos on apps like TikTok. You are a little confused by the doll already having a name; the manual made it sound as if the first thing you would do when the doll was booted up for the first time was to give it a name. You suppose this doll already has a name because someone tried it out. Maybe it was a display model. Certainly someone hadn’t spent all that money just to throw it away after naming it.

You briefly scan the manual again and find a page concerning how to reset the doll. The doll’s wide, golden eyes follow your hand as you lift it toward his right ear, searching for the small button just inside the soft whorl. You find it, press it, and hold it down. The doll watches you closely, blinks, and repeats.

“Hello, my name is Hinata Shoyo.”

Strange, but you’ll worry about that later. Besides, even if he has already been programmed with a name, you still believe you can sell him for enough money to change your current circumstances. You smile at him and tell him your name. A thin band of light glows around the edge of his amber iris as he takes in your name and repeats it in that same, flat voice as before. You have a brief moment of panic, before reading in the manual that there can be multiple users with various profiles and preferences. You’ll just delete your profile once you do the necessary repairs and get him in working order again.

As you move about your room, gathering your tools, the doll Hinata watches you. It sits with its legs crossed and its hands resting in its lap. You’ll need to buy the doll new clothes-. The ones that it is wearing now, while freshly cleaned courtesy of your washer and dryer, are falling apart from being exposed to the trash and elements. You aren’t sure what base personality this model of the doll is supposed to have, that would have been something included with the specific box and literature of this particular doll, but you suppose you can ask it. If the doll’s AI is not sophisticated enough to answer basic questions about itself, you can look it up online and shake your head about the price of the doll compared with its actual capabilities. “What model are you?” Hinata straightens as if called to attention and rattles off a long string of letters and numbers. You shake your head quickly, there’s no way you’ll remember all of that. “No, I mean… what is your interest? Or hobby?” You’re scrolling madly through the owner’s manual, trying to find the right verbiage to get your desired response. “I like volleyball.” Hinata says with a bright smile. The expression on its face is almost human in its excitement- almost.

A sports model. You can hardly contain your own excitement. The ones that help with learning and practicing sports are the more expensive models, since they include sensors for heart rate levels, step counting, and other health and wellness based applications. Why was Hinata in the dumpster? The question keeps nagging at the back of your mind like an itch you can’t quite scratch, but you’re too excited and too deep in mentally creating the list of the bills you’ll pay and things you’ll treat yourself with when you sell the doll. “Hinata, can you run a vitals scan for me, please?” You ask, just as a test. The doll stands and moves to you. It reaches out its hands; one circles the bicep of your left arm and the other your right wrist. The hand clutching your left arm begins to tighten its grip, the tips of the doll’s fingers applying enough pressure to be uncomfortable, almost painful. You gasp and try to pull away, but Hinata holds firm. It’s only a few moments, but they are frightening ones. He releases you, and you stagger back. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated, but vitals seem to be strong.” Hinata says matter-of-factly. He tilts his head and smiles. “Do you want to go for a run? Do some drills?” Of course. That’s why his grip was so tight; he was checking blood pressure. You take a moment to calm your breathing. Shaking your head, you offer him a small, nervous smile. “That’s okay. Tell me all about yourself while I start working on your repairs.” Hinata’s expression changes into something that looks very intense. Were his pupils always slitted like a cat? “I’m not broken.” His voice sounds strange. It's stuttering again, glitching.

“No, of course not! You just have a few cuts and you need new clothes.” You say quickly, gesturing to the tears in his skin and his obviously ruined clothes. Hinata looks down at himself and seems to notice his clothes for the first time. His eyes go back to normal, and you’re not sure if they had even changed before or if that was just a trick of the light. He sits down on the edge of your bed and the smile is back. The repairs don’t take long. Once you gather the necessary tools and materials and lots of coffee and energy drinks, you are able to finish over the course of a weekend. You managed to order a volleyball jersey off the internet and get it rush delivered. It fits him a little loosely, but it’ll be good enough. Whoever buys him can get him better clothes. The uniform is a black and orange polo sort of shirt and shorts. (Orange to match the bright color of his hair.) You take photos of him, making sure to take photos of the small areas where you repaired him, and upload them along with his description. You start the price on the lower end for his model, hoping that the bidding will get higher as the time passes. When you’re finished, you take a moment to let yourself feel excited and hopeful. You go to sleep with a smile on your face. There is still that nagging voice in the back of your mind. Why was he thrown away? You don’t notice his eyes glowing from the corner of your room. You wake up to a loud sound and find Hinata standing over your destroyed computer. Your eyes widen, but before you can draw the breath needed to scream, he is on top of you. He’s so fast, a blur of motion. He sits heavily on your stomach, and you can see a jagged piece of glass in his hand, most likely from the screen of your computer. He is staring at you with those wide, golden eyes and those slitted pupils you thought were just your imagination.

“You were going to sell me…” Somehow, his modulated voice sounds sad. You try to speak, but his free hand lashes out and catches your throat. His hand begins to squeeze, and suddenly you can’t breathe. “I thought we were friends.” You thrash beneath him, clawing at his hand, but he doesn’t budge. Darkness is starting to crowd your vision; your head is beginning to swim. He lowers the tip of the glass toward your eye. “I think we can still be friends, don’t you? I’ll make sure you’re unconscious while I make your repairs.” He’s smiling broadly, his eyes are so wide they look like twin, glowing suns. As you black out, you feel the tip of the glass shard pressing between your eye and its socket, digging deeper and deeper. “Friends forever.”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Just had the craziest, wildest thought re: Fyodor's Ability.

I think a fact that's rarely touched on in bsd is that Fyodor was originally introduced as a hacker.

So what if he's like the anti-Katai?

To make it a little more far-fetched, let's combine it with the theory that Fyodor can split himself into two beings. But maybe one of them lives in and is now somehow trapped in cyberspace (re: "save me").

It would explain the almost omnipotent extent of Fyodor's knowledge, as well as some of the gaps in it. Like why he couldn't access the Port Mafia's Gifted records--because they were hard copies.

Just thought I'd throw this out there 😅😅 most likely wrong, but certainly interesting to try to think like Asagiri. If anything, at least let his hacking be important bc it's almost never brought up again after the Guild arc.

Honestly anon, I don't see a lot of reason to prove or disprove this theory at all (we have so little information that most theories are valid suggestions!) - the only thing that confuses me would then be the instant killing by contact.

However, if we are going by an "anti-Katai" premise, then remember that Katai's ability is to manipulate the electrical signals of machinery. Perhaps we could look at it a little like "Katai-adjacent" - what if his ability has to do with manipulating the electrical signals in neural firings. Increasing activity rapidly in an area should increase blood flow to that area, thereby increasing the pressure to a degree that... yeah... *head blowing up sounds*

It may also be relevant to whatever was done to Goncharov (implied to be a form of lobotomy?) to render him unable to feel negative emotion. Perhaps he cut off the signal to those areas that process them (though irl be aware that most brain areas have multiple functions, we still don't fully understand how it's hooked up, and this is more a sci-fi imagining of it).

Also, networks are used primarily to "connect". Could it have something to do with the way he and his ability are shown communicating with each other in Dead Apple?

Going with the other possibility, if there is a copy of Fyodor that can exist on planes other than "reality" then that may be an intriguing "Poe-adjacent" ability (being able to enter a created space), and given the fact that both are heavily associated with books aka writing aka the narrative, I think that'd be a really interesting premise.

I do think Fyodor as an information source/manipulator is brought up a few times after the Guild arc. He presumably uses these skills to throw Ranpo off their trail in Cannibalism, and it was him who somehow found out about Atsushi and told Shibusawa. I personally believe Fyodor started out as a hacker before becoming ever more involved with the DoA. If he really can access a cyberspace, that would make him a sheer terrifying force, even more than he is just be being a genius. He who controls the information controls the story and whatnot (that's actually similar to something Naomi says Dazai told her... hmm...).

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Whiskey Shots And Cheap Cigarettes

Kirby Rivers (oc) x Win Lewis (oc)

♤ Summary: Kirby brings Win a bottle of whiskey and they get to know each other a little bit.

♤ Warnings: oc x oc pairing, trans/nonbinary oc, Kirby uses he/him, drinking, talk of drug use, smoking, pre relationship, mentions of Gator Tillman, pre ot3.

♤ A/N: suprise! @jozstankovich some getting to know you stuff with our babies. I just feel like he would 100% reach out to her! I hope you like it! 💖💖 oh also, the title comes from the Green Day song Before The Lobotomy, one of my faves. 💚

♤♤♤♤

The door swings open and Kirby smiles up at her. She immediately smiles back, leans agaisnt the doorframe.

"I brought libations!" Kirby sings, holding up a bottle of Whiskey. His back arching a bit as he leans back.

"You're eyes are so red oh my god." Win laughs, shaking her head.

"It's been a good day." They lower their arm, shrugging, lazy smile on their face. Win leans forward a bit, eyeing the driveway.

"I walked." Kirby says, still smiling, blinking slowly.

"Can I?" He nods toward the door.

"Oh. Yeah. Of course, come on in." She steps away from the door, letting him pass, he gently hands her the bottle as he goes.

"That's for you. Not much of a drinker myself." Kirby says, absently, shrugging as he looks around her front room.

"That's a shame. I bet you'd be fun." Win says, twisting the cap as she walks to the kitchen.

"I'm always fun." Kirby says over his shoulder, then turns to her.

"Though there was one Halloween involving a very interesting acid trip that some people may argue I wasn't. But I had a good time." They smile when she laughs again, pours a bit of whiskey in a glass.

"Sure you don't want any? Not even a shot? Two shots?" Win asks, shaking the bottle gently above the counter top, eyes wide, waiting. Kirby crosses his arms.

"Are you trying to get me drunk Ms. Lewis?" Their head tilting, hip popped out a little, Win digs her teeth into her bottom lip as she looks at him, grinning.

"Drunk? Never. Cross faded, maybe a little bit." She nods, Kirby laughs, shakes his head.

"I will do two shots. And no more. Just cuz I'm stoned doesn't mean you can take advantage of me young lady." He points at her, walks over to the little half wall, bar window, type situation she's standing by, and watches her pour him a shot. She smiles wide when she hands it to him slowly.

"Hmm. I already regret this. Just so you know." He tilts his head at her, takes the shot, throws it back, and immediately starts coughing. Win laughs at him, head thrown back, and then takes the shot glass and refills it.

Kirby coughs into his elbow a few more times and then wiggles his fingers at her to give him the glass. He takes it, throws it back, and hacks and coughs again for a minute. Their eyes watering when they finally stop.

"Good right?" Win asks, still smiling.

"Oh yeah." He croaks, coughs again,

"Just the best." Kirby wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at her when his eyes finally stop watering.

"So, watchin doin' here? I assume you knew Gator wasn't here with me." She sips at the whiskey in her glass, walks to the living room, twitching her head for Kirby to follow.

"Yeah his truck kinda sticks out like a sore thumb, now that I know it." Kirby shrugs, follows her to the couch and plops down at the opposite end.

"And I dunno, kinda got a lonely vibe from you when you were at the garage the other day. Thought maybe you'd want some company." He shrugs again, lets his head fall back against the couch, his hands laced together on his stomach.

"You think I'm lonely?" She asks, taking another sip,  her eyes on him. He doesn't look at her, their eyes shut as they breathe slowly.

"Mmm. Maybe not always. Just... this town's pretty lonely when you're an outsider." Kirby glances at her, smiles, closes his eye again.

"I know a little something about that. Figured I could help a friend in need." Their shoulders move again, just slightly, before they sink further into the couch. Win pulls her legs up, arm wrapped around one knee, whiskey glass resting on the couch near her foot.

"Are we friends?" She asks, quiet. Kirby turns his head, opens his eyes.

"If you wanna be. Yeah." He shrugs again, easy smile on his face. She smiles back, nods a few times.

"Okay. Friends. But I don't know anything about you." She says, eyeing him over her glass as she takes a sip. His eyes fall closed again, his hands rise off his stomach, palms out.

"What do you wanna know?" He asks, dropping his hands again. Win snorts.

"What, you wanna play twenty questions?" She asks, taking another sip. He groans.

"God no. I couldn't think of twenty questions right now if I tried. But you can ask twenty if you want. Or more. However many. I don't mind." Kirby smiles, his eyes fall closed again. She smiles at him, though he can't see her.

"What's your favorite color?" She asks, watches him smile, his eyes still closed.

"Hmmm... orange I think." He hums, raising a hand and rubbing at his nose before dropping it back to his stomach. Win watches him, watches his chest rise and fall under his thin, ratty t-shirt.

"Favorite band?" She asks. His face scrunches.

"That got so hard so fast." He mumbles, laughing as he pushes himself up a bit, eyes still closed.

"Iiiiii.... fuck I don't know. I listen to a little of everything. It depends on my mood I think. Been listening to Motely Crew a lot lately, though I wouldn't call them my favorite." He shakes his head, opens his eyes.

"Got any easier questions?" He cocks his eyebrow at her, smiles when she grins at him.

"Sure yeah. You single?" She drags her teeth over her lip through a smile and takes another sip of her whiskey. They huff a laugh, sit up a bit more, tuck their legs up onto the couch, knees pulled to their chest, facing her now.

"In this town? Yeah. Pretty damn single." He nods, pressing his lips to his knee.

"In this town." She repeats, gives him a look. He nods, glances at the window.

"Guy like me. With my... reputation." He wiggles his eyebrows at her, his hand on his chest. She grins.

"And what reputation might that be?" She asks, raising her glas to her lips.

"Oh ya know. Trans guy in a town like this? I'm sure you've been around enough to know people aren't exactly fond of anyone too different." He shrugs, gives her a small smile. She gives him one back.

"Yeah. I've noticed." She downs the last of her whiskey, sets her glass on the small table behind her.

"Thought you might have." They nod, rest their chin on their knee and then wave her on.

"Alright c'mon. More questions. Easy ones." He warns, points at himself.

"I got a lot going on over here so just, take it easy." He rubs at his red eyes with his knuckles and waves her on again. She laughs, shakes her head, and asks another question.

~°~

A few hours, and about thirty questions later, Kirby yawns, loudly. He moves his feet off the couch and stretches like a cat, back bowing as a ridiculous moan escapes him.

"Jesus. Okay." Win chuckles, stands, stretches herself, though silently, and grabs her glass off the table.

"You want some water or soda or somethin?" She asks, heading for the kitchen.

"What kinda soda ya got?" Kirby asks, patting at the pockets of his baggy black cargo shorts.

"Mainly Mountain Dew right now." She snorts, watches Kirby's face scrunch as he thinks.

"I'll take a water this time. Thanks. Hey can I smoke in here? I'll sit by the window, open it up." They look at her, their eyes wide.

"Yeah that's fine. I'll join you actually." She walks over, hands him the water. He tucks it under his arm, reaching for his pocket but stops when he sees Win tap her pack of cigarettes on her palm. His eyes lingering.

"What?" She huffs a laugh as he stares at her.

"That your brand?" He asks, nodding toward the pack.

"Well, yeah. Unless I'm feeling fancy. Then I get the Djarum Blacks." She doesn't take one out, just looks at Kirby, looking at her.

"Alright the cloves are nice, I'll give you that. But, these? Babes. C'mon." He taps her pack. She pulls it away from his reach, acting offended.

"What is wrong with these?" She looks from her cigarettes back to Kirby.

"They're little cheapy smokes. C'mon." He tilts his head, his nose scrunched. She rolls her eyes, can't help the thought that he's adorable that crosses her mind.

"You ever had a home rolled one?" Kirby asks, reaching for his pocket again.

"You are talking about cigarettes right? Not weed?" She teases, watches him pull a small tin out of his pocket.

"Yes. Tobacco. Not Marijuana." He smiles, pulls out a little white cigarette.

"My grandpa used to home roll. But I was too young then. Hadn't started smoking yet. But I always loved the smell." She tells him, takes a step closer. He holds the cigarette out to her, close to her nose.

"The fresh tobacco." He nods, understanding, as she leans the little ways too it and inhales. She sighs, nods.

"Yeah. That's it. That's the smell." She concedes. Kirby smiles, lowers himself to the carpet, crosslegged, his head just above the windowsill. Win lowers herself down next to him.

"Shall we then?" He asks, head tilted again.

"We shall." She smiles, watches him flip his zippo open and light it. Watches his cheeks hollow as he takes a drag, handing it to her as he exhales toward the window.

The first drag is heaven. The smoke curls in her mouth, down her throat, into her lungs. That slight burn following it. She smiles at the memories, lets the smoke fill her lungs and then sighs it out toward the window as well.

"Shit. You deal this too?" She asks, handing it back. Kirby laughs, a good laugh, head tilted back, hand on his stomach.

"Not typically. But for you? I could definitely hook you up. For sure." He chuckles, takes another drag.

They sit there, smoking, in silence for a while. Listening to late autumn crickets through the window. The chill in the air blowing through the screen, moving Win's hair against her cheek.

"Thanks for comin over." She nudges Kirby's knee with the back of her hand.

"You were right. I do get lonely sometimes." She admits, eyes on the floor as she takes the cigarette again.

"Anytime. You can always come to mine too ya know? Any time you want. I'm almost always there." He shrugs, smiles at her as she blows a few smoke rings.

"Good thing about working were I live. No rush hour traffic. Just me and my fight with my alarm everyday." She laughs at that, it echoes through her quiet house, hands the cigarette back.

"I might take you up on that. I'll bring Gator sometimes too. If you want?" She asks, voice cautious, glancing up at Kirby through her lashes. He looks at her, watches her watch him for a moment, and then nods. The corner of his mouth twitching as he takes a long drag, the last, its tip burning close to his fingers.

"That's fine." Is all Kirby says, his voice thick, like he wants to say more. But they don't.

Win gets up, grabs her ashtray. Kirby follows, stubs out the cigarette and wipes his hands down his shirt. It's a habit he has, from working on cars, always wiping something or other on his clothes while he works.

"Fuck me it's like, two in the morning." Kirby whistles, looking at the clock. Win's eyes follow his, suprise on her features.

"Wow. It doesn't seem like you've been here that long." Her brow furrows.

"That a bad thing?" Kirby asks, stepping slowly toward the door.

"No. Ya know what they say about time, and flying." Win assures him with a shrug, follows them to the door. He stands there, swaying a little, hands clasped behind his back as he smiles.

"Well. Thank you for the hospitality Winifred. I'll get outta your hair. Let you get to bed." He lets his head fall back, opens the door and steps through it with a little lazy twirl. She laughs at him, holding it open as he takes a few steps away.

"Thank you, for the whiskey. I'll come get in your hair sometime. Make a day of it." She crosses her arms, shrugs, nonchalant as she smiles after him.

"Sounds good. I'll have the cigarettes ready for you!" He calls, still walking slowly backwards away from her.

"Be careful walking home!" She calls.

"Im always careful!" He calls back, his foot hitting a rock, making him stumble, he shoots back up, points in her direction.

"That was a fluke!" They say, kicking the offending rock into the steet. Win laughs, shakes her head at them.

"Have a nice night Win!" Kirby calls, almost disappeared into the dark now, waving over his shoulder as he turns.

"You too Kirby!" She calls, waits til she can't see them anymore, and closes her door. She shuts the window, puts the bottle of Whiskey away and goes to grab the ashtray off the table. She stops in her tracks, picks the ashtray up, and smiles. Setting on the edge is a cigarette, home rolled, brand new.

She picks it up, tucks it behind her ear, and walks to her room. She sets the ashtray down, sets the cigarette back in it, and gets ready for bed.

She climbs under her sheets and gets cozy, runs her finger slowly along the pretty white paper of her small gift, and turns out the light. Smiling into her pillow thinking about her new friend, how easy it was to talk to them. How easily he made her laugh. She hugged her pillow tight and thought maybe this town wasn't so bad. Even if it was just her, Gator, and Kirby. Maybe that was enough to make it not so bad.

[ahmedmootaz]

Since it is Angela's birthday today, I've got some birthday asks for you.

How would the everyone in the Library celebrate Angela's birthday, both as her original self and her child self?

Do you think Angela and Carmen share a birthday or Angela and the Lobotomy Corporation share a birthday day/anniversary?

What gifts would Angela recieve from everyone, especially Ayin and X?

What kind of gifts would Angela even want?

Dear Anonymous,

Yeah, yeah! It's totally Angela's birthday, ahah! Ahah...hah...ha...

Looks at date

Erm, sorry for that delay, Anon. I hope you're not too upset with me. But as for your questions...well, they're quite fluffy, so I am very happy to hear that~

When it comes to how everyone would celebrate Angela's birthday...I think they would give her a day of complete rest. She wouldn't sort books, she wouldn't tend to the Library, she would just rest while everyone serves her. While she can always use the Light, the fact that everyone is willing to serve her despite her massive advantage with the Light is a nice gesture of affection. Allowing her to share her thoughts freely with them, taking care of the Library at full attention (yes, including Netzach) without slacking off...And I'm sure giving her lots of new information and perhaps introducing her to new technologies she hasn't seen before would be considered a very lovely gift in her eyes.

But if we're talking about widdle Angie, then I'm inclined to think they'd try to throw her a normal party. It's not like she needs anything too fancy considering her age and inability to eat or drink, so all she needs is a ton of happiness and she'd be okay. Maybe she'd love being pampered by her uncles as well as her papa, as well as playing with the rest of the kids all day while maybe watching 'A-ni-meh' as well. She's not a very demanding girl, I think, she just wants some happiness and she'll be okay.

As for Carmen and Angela sharing a birthday, I want to say that they do, but I just don't think Ayin had the time for such details. I mean, he did make Angela in the likeness of Carmen, but at the end of the day, he didn't want a 'new' Carmen. He just wanted Carmen, not to mention that he was building Angela when he had nothing. He had no friends left, the Old Lab was destroyed by Garion, there really was nothing left for him except using the information in Garion's mind and attempting to create Angela to lose himself in his work, so I doubt he had a specific schedule in mind when creating her. It's a 50/50 on whether or not he was lucky enough with the time to have Carmen and Angela's birthdays match or if he had to choose date because if he waited for too long there was a chance for The Head to swoop in and ruin everything he ever worked for...again.

As for the gifts everyone would give Angela...I think it varies. Malkuth would likely give Angela historical books, but she would also present them in a nice way. Maybe Malkuth would make a play with the other Librarians to present certain historical facts or battles to spice things up a little. Yesod would like cobble together a mechanical gadget from the City Angela hadn't seen before, even if it is quite simple, and he'd let her toy around with it and explore it to her heart and curiosity's content. Hod would likely help Angela with the poetry and perhaps show her some poems she may like. Netzach would...stop lazying about and maybe draw a portrait of Angela. Tiphereth would just hang out with Angela and keep her company, I think. Gebura would show case some combat techniques, weapons, and City factions to Angela, in addition to telling her about the nature of words and language so that Angela doesn't feel confused by some of the ways language is used. Chesed would probably brew her coffee if she could taste it, but otherwise, he'd likely tell Angela about what it was like belonging to a rich family and he'd maybe compare and contrast with Gebura. Hokma would spend time with Angela and tell her more about the Old Lab and how it was like before everything went down the drain. Binah would probably host a tea party of sorts and invite Angela and the rest of the Librarians while still speaking cryptically to everyone.

And as for Ayin and X...I think X would be very classic: He's a sentimental fool through and through. I think he'd maybe offer flowers, or perhaps a group-picture of Angela and the Librarians + Ayin and X, or maybe he'd offer her tea cups with 'World's Best Librarian' printed on them. Maybe he'd also offer her watches and such.

But as for Ayin...I think his gifts have to be something more...personal. Perhaps he would ofer her gifts that change or modify some aspects of her mechanical nature that she always had problems with. Or perhaps he would spend a day looking at her and listening to her, something she always wanted from him but he never gave to her. Perhaps he'd even allow her to vent her frustrations by maybe beating him up with a pillow until she feels somewhat satisfied. I think Angela doesn't really care what gift is offered to her so long as it was truly from the heart, and I think just being offered gift would be very touching for her considering she spent almost a (perceived) million years without receiving any affection at all.

But those are my (very belated) thoughts on Angela's birthday! Thank you for the very interesting topic, Anon, and until then, be well, take care, and see ya'!

[wickedsick]

Psychonauts Secret Santa 2022: Gift for @paperbaghead

This was my first time writing any sort of hurt/comfort, but I hope it’s good

As Gisu walked through the Questionable Area, she heard a small splash, then another. Following the noise, she saw Dion, tossing rocks from a pile into the waterfall.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Warming up my throwing arm.” As another rock hit the water, Dion continued. “Next time I see that guy, he’s getting a rock upside the head.”

“Which guy?”

“Mister Danish or whatever his name was.”

“Who?”

“The- the donut guy.”

“You mean Ford Cruller?”

“That’s what it was. Yeah, him. He screwed with our family- Dad and Nona especially. But they’re too nice to get revenge.”

“So… you’re going to throw rocks at an old man.”

“Well, I can’t shoot magic mind beams like everyone else here does, so I use what I have at hand. What’ve you been doing?”

“Well, me and all the other interns got promoted to Junior Psychonauts.”

“Weren’t you already a Psychonaut?”

“No. Well- it’s complicated.” Sitting down on a nearby log, Gisu explained. “So, we all went through the Cadet Program at Whispering Rock- that’s the camp that your brother went to. After the camp, we came here and joined the Internship Program. Then, after helping against your Nona, Hollis promoted us all to Junior Psychonauts. Theoretically, we’ll eventually become actual Psychonauts, get to go on missions, and all the rest of that. It’s a whole thing.”

“That feels needlessly complicated.”

“Maybe. So- aside from your plans to throw rocks at my boss, how’ve you been holding up after… everything?”

“Meh. I haven’t heard from Raz, but everyone else is dealing with it… best they can. I think Dad’s the most hurt about it.”

“Okay, but I didn’t ask about your family. How are you doing?”

In lieu of an answer, Dion threw another rock at the waterfall.

“Look, I understand if you’re troubled. I’ve been training for this thing my whole life, but-”

“One week.”

“Huh?”

“It’s been one week since Raz ran away,” Dion said, his voice breaking. “Last week, everything was fine. We- we were all together, everything was normal. And now- now my brother’s psychic, my dad’s psychic, my sister’s psychic, and my Nona’s not even my Nona!”

As Dion turned around, Gisu saw that his face was stained with tears. “What else? What more crazy psychic nonsense is going to happen?”

“I don’t know. But, whatever it is, there’s plenty of people here to help deal with it. This place is probably the largest group of psychics in the world- if more ‘crazy psychic nonsense’ does happen, we can deal with it.”

“Yeah, but I can’t! All I managed to do was throw my little brother into a tornado! I couldn’t help when some crazy army dude ripped his brain out, and I couldn’t help when Nona was in trouble!”

“Dion, I-”

“I’m one of, like, four people in this entire goddamn place who can’t- shoot mind lasers or whatever else you people do! I want to help my family, but it doesn’t feel like I can do that anymore!”

“Hey, powers aren’t everything. I could lose my powers tomorrow and I’d still be pretty well-off.”

“Wait, can that actually happen?”

“I mean, not without a lobotomy or something. But the point is, even without my powers, I’m still a great skateboarder, a brilliant inventor, a snappy dresser…”

“Yeah, I get it, you’re awesome,” Dion said.

“I have great hair…”

“So do I!”

“See? Even outside of any psychic powers we may or may not have, we’re still awesome. I may be slightly more awesome than you,” Gisu joked, “but that’s not because of my powers.”

“Yeah, you’re not cooler than me.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m an acrobat, I can juggle, I have better hair than you, I play the oboe, I make great borscht…”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“You don’t know what borscht is? It’s, like, a sort of beetroot stew with meat in it.”

“No, I know what borscht is. What was the thing before that?”

“...the oboe?”

“Yeah, that. What is that?”

“You don’t know what an oboe is?”

“No. Is it, like, an instrument?”

“Wha- yes! It’s a woodwind instrument made out of wood. In practically every orchestral performance, you hear the oboe before anything else!”

“I don’t listen to orchestral music!”

“What do you listen to, then?”

“I listen to pop music! You know, All Paul and stuff.”

“Huh. Never heard of them.”

“That’s fair, they died like a decade ago. I only really got into them because the Coach likes their stuff. I think Morris has a record of them.”

“Who’s Morris? The guy on Queepie’s radio?”

“Yeah. So, are you any good at the oboe?”

“I mean, I don’t have any real comparison points, but yeah, I’d say I’m pretty good.”

“Can I hear you play?”

“Sure- my oboe’s in the caravan, but I can go get it.” “Nice. I’ll be here.”

[aidsyouinthinking]

Rollercoaster sickness

There’s something wrong with me, maybe someone can fix it. Why can I do nothing right, and why is everything wrong… This blasted brain, its scream is on repeat, I want to be done. Get me off this jostled cage, swung back and forth along well-trodden rails! This migraine and feeling in my stomach makes me wretch. Why implicitly does this throw me so, like car sickness or something… This ride is so familiar, why does it feel like the first, let me be numb please.

Get me my fix, a pill, a solution, fuck I’ll take a lobotomy, don’t give me a second to think!

This ruins me, forget about the joy, neuter me, it’s worth the trade-off I beg of you.

Why is this me, is it baked in, I don’t understand, it came from somewhere… Sear my flesh, carve trails and words into me, and let that instant last eternal, For the white-hot noise shall cast my turbulent thoughts back to the infernal. Wounds/spigots drain my viscous woes from my internally calloused body. The weight spilling forth cracking earth, leaving my none-existent soul to disembody. Though I’m better off inert, I could not do the world the favour, as I am spoiled and don’t deserve such a fate and so I linger.

Okay, we’re done now, clear it up. What? Yeah we’re good now, it was nothing remember! Fucking what? You don’t get it… What I do get doesn’t make any sense, why put us through this? Why is the wrong question, insinuates meaning, intention. And? IDC just tell me, you know what I mean! Why be so robotic? That’s what you want isn’t it. You don’t like your organic experience,you want to become “inert” or an object. AH, okay, fuck you, smart arse, being all technically smart, good job, you insignificant speck of dust, of course dust is all it takes to grind our gears. Shush, damn, look more of that and we going to start everything again,you don’t want to be chasing phantom nothings down rabbit holes. MAYBE I DO, maybe I want to sit here all week, drowning in intrusive thoughts hopefully I find what you can’t tell me, or I get so lost in the weeds I convince myself of what needs to be done. No, we let them hit us, and we hit back like wacko mole or whatever, buys us time. Time to be unhappy? Time for what, exactly? There are no answers, we don’t know, Shut up, and focus on not thinking. Got it? …

[rawrmeansilyindinosawr]

2 Nonbinarys, 1 Milkshake

I yam survivng getting my Rite titty smacked by a bony boy at Hoyt Schemmorhone n trying to get my power back by txting club promotors to giv meh more than just a table but to secure the Bag bitch!. n within the Last 2 weekZzzz i Did coke w a person named Smiley in the Bossa baffroom then followed a stranger to a supposed afterparty tht didnt rly exist like 5 blocks down then got scared N ran away :-D !!!. K holed and became a metallic lilac crayon who had the zoomiezz. also saw a bunch of Froggie paper macheys holding handz. now it my favs things in tha world n being dramatic to ppl i don’t know in a white pedo van outside of a wegmansz n Being on set again n lending ppl my journal to use as a hard surface to sketch n Do art but feeling mistrustful if they gonna peek inside N read my unedited poems i feel insecure ab idk why cuz i feel like so transparent all the time but also the feeling of wanting to hide myself constantly at the same time but also fighting the FeelIng and Fe sr of being a wallflower n Musterd ing up courage to Just share n la la la la la la so i don’t know how to stop turning my head back a million times cuz im anxious ab it all n I love vanilla coke !!!! I hav a crush on someone in seattle and i feel sad that whenever i talk to them i talk really fast n get embarsssed.

“technicolour radiostatic heart

moonchild warm illumination .. reaching for sweet milk with the long fingernails , green sunbeams,” randdoooo phrases of stuffs i hav scribbled down / A poem ab someone i love.

i H8 waking up to long paragraphs from Nyu studentZ?.!!! just Kall me or continue to mutually ghost meh!! even then i regret screaming when i shuld hav just been liKe confident n held my tongue knowinG i invented Wickbush .

Im writing this while sitting in a popup cinema snack bar in greenpoint n still amazed i walked here with only 20 min of sleep n absolutely no stimulants n a big blister on my left foot from my $18 wooden leather jeffrey campbells Chaffing against my shmexy twiggy baby cow cows (calves ). Wait i meant shins. Which rhymes w double chin . =} Which i don’t hav but i wish i did . ! There is keylime cheesecake n Redd Velvet Kake here n Mayb 1 day i will b able to eat desserts again.. mayb 1 day i will be able to eat in restaurants randomly with my friends , and not have to plan it out or decide whether or not to eat based on how big i feel or how bad my stomach aches for it or not. Cuz it’s not ab deserving to eat or not it’s just about eating simply Knowing tht when ur choosing to eat u choose to live . i Wanna share 1 milkshakes w two straws w my Nonbinary crush N know that Tis Gonna B OKIE

I luv when ppl share their porn addiction with me when we just met n i really luv feeling like a cardboard box aka safe space . :3 n i literally don’t know what to think ab the snowrain rainsnow. No one can understand meh sppecchh rn cuz ive been chaknsmoking since Chinese lunar yr cuz i felt like hurting moiself :-] yay!

I love sweating w my friends on drugs n i love when they sweat on meh beCuzz they have a uncardiovascular disease Condition on their hands i forget the name of it but i think it’s KewL . i Luvv hangin out n being popular n cool n also wishing for many wishes in one wish on a shooting star Green Comet except i forgot but i prayed the morning of for

- a less fat pussy

- be able to hold my breath for 86.6978738 seconds under water

- Lobotomy (as a verb and noun)

- B able to b cool enough to say “i smoke weed” by actually smoking weed again .

i got married dis week with ringpop n planned my wedding . Tiz will take place at olive garden where everyone will have a mandatory dress code of “bread stick . “ Then throw italian wedding heart shaped rice in my face . All i want on my honeymoon registration is pink heart shaped Bubble wrap from Etsy . Rsvp NOW!!! What does it mean to be someone’s bossa nova?? All i kno is i found Comfort in my friends farts when they refuse to withhold them from meh N smelling their insides . N holding each other in the afternoon after blacking out the nite b4 n kissing each other’s itchy tattoos itchy kisses w pierced lips in crowded and small bathroom stallz at Bushwig ice house in non bushwick / East Williamsburg. Snorting n feeling unashamed n blissfully unaware promising each other things we can’t Promise ourselves n Vocalizing our drug preferences and chatting ab prison n heaven n long lives n last lives .

hElped style for Bella hadid shoot last wk cuz og stylist for the shoot couldn’t make it or whayytevvzz n i had to change my tiktok name for Vidz credit . rip “renny69247” :-[[[ n Heyo just cuz u fuck cis men does not mean ur less queer n i Found the queen kunty book while walking in nyc stopping wickbush n i think it’s a sign from god . I luv my hood n knowing i am emotionally intelligent just as much as i am street smart . I luv staying up all nite kholing w moi friends n having dance partties tht r EPIC N SWAGGY n baking brownies 4 pplz n having sleepoverzz n having SO MANY CRUSHES!!!!! i also LOVE ECZEMA!!!! YAH i’m a profesh mouse catcher not so much releaser tho N i wanna thank all service tops 4 their service esp doubly if they r real veterans . and non monogamy with a underscore and italicized “n” cuz im like red gelatinous jelly .?

. Im dyke spongebob and lesbian Hash slinging slasher who hangs out w ppl with alpaca hair teddybears and german shepherd Border collie Mix coats cuz Peta is actually not as cool as We all thought in our spiritual vegan Cali Wave . n a vegan who eats chikkin. it’s BRICK OUTSIDE n i kant wait to go to coHeed n cambia cambria concert in may SOOOOO Stay fergalicious defanicious Make dem boiZ Go L0c0!!!.!!! which rhymes with h0L0 kind of . i luv holo! Kant wait for denim party n clown core vday party n remember if u placebo urself to believe ur hi on addy u ARE high on adderal :-D o and ! i am cum and my situation ship is lube!

Xx, renny =} <3

[apotelesmaa]

Everything is happening so much I feel like a deep fried jpeg

[xxmoodslimexx]

hi!!! idk if it’s been done yet, but the boi’s™️ when they realize they’ve messed up and have upset their s/o’s 🥺🥺

The Ghostbusters realising they’ve messed up and upset their S/O.

((So this is similar to one of the many requests by the lovely @songbirdemerald-blog so I’ll be describing he fight and apologies and such too, I hope that’s okay ❤️))

- Peter -

• You’ve always known how Peter is.. He was a terrible flirt before he met you and honestly he didn’t completely change once you started dating. Most of the time it doesn’t bother you though because you know he loves you and he’s never being serious.

• But sometimes it’s a little much. One particular day he gets a little too close with a client, even at one point being a literal shoulder for her to cry on.

• Needless to say you’re upset. For the next couple days you’re cold with him at best and downright snappy and argumentative at worst. All the while he’s making things ten times worse by making out like it’s not a big deal or like he’s almost not bothered at all (he is).

• It’s not until the rest of the team step in and let him know just what a douche he’s being (Egon literally threatened him with a lobotomy) that he cracks because of course he cares about you. So! What’s a better apology than flowers and chocolates, right? A classic!

• He delivers them with a real apologetic smile but you’re still skeptical.. Until you read the handwritten note attached to the bouquet. It’s heartfelt and sweet and sincere and once you finish reading it you can’t help but forgive him.

- Egon -

• It’s weird. Most of the time Egon is the most considerate, caring, kind pillar of support kind of boyfriend ever. And other times he’s Doctor Spengler and you’re another one of his specimens.

• Just sometimes if you get irritated or upset or even amused by something and he can’t figure out why he just gives you this look and all of a sudden it’s as though you’re under a microscope. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if he’d talk about his own feelings without you prompting him sometime.

• One day he looks at you the wrong way at the wrong time and you snap and finally tell him all that.. Loudly. He gets defensive and angry right back. He doesn’t yell at you (he never yells at you) but it’s still not pretty.

• Immediately though he knows what he’s done. It’s not fair to assume you just know what he’s thinking and feeling if he’s not always clear and it’s not fair for him to try and make assumptions. He reflects on it for a while by himself before deciding the best way to make it up to you.

• Later that day Egon appears with a mug of your favourite drink and a simple but sincere, “I’m sorry.” You kiss and make up, but the real apology is his actions. Slowly but surely his communication gets better and you can see him actively checking himself. Within a few days you guys are back to normal and stronger than ever.

- Ray -

• Don’t let anyone get you wrong. You adore Ray and one of the things you love most is how passionate he is. After all, the Ghostbusters wouldn’t have got off the ground without that passion and he’s equally as crazy about you.

• Well.. Most of the time. You’re his baby but the Ghostbusters is his baby. And sometimes it feels like you’re competing for Ray’s affection with his work.

• A few dates missed or cut short because of a paranormal emergency is one thing, but sometimes even when you’re alone together at home it’s more like you’re just alone. Or worse - Just a colleague listening as your boss excitedly throws himself into modifying a proton pack or fixing up ecto-1.

• So you distance yourself for a bit, maybe even going as far as moving back into your old apartment or staying with a friend/family member rather than staying at the firehouse. You think Ray would barely notice you’re gone but he does. And even after just 24 hours he misses you terribly.

• So he calls. More than once. And leaves you a voicemail that’s just so heartbreaking that you have to call him back. You guys have a long talk about everything you’ve been feeling and it feels amazing to clear the air.

• When you get back to the firehouse he wraps you up in the biggest, tightest hug ever and right away you know you’re back where you belong with who you belong with.

- Winston -

• It’s nice to have someone who cares about you and your safety as much as Winston does. Everyone secretly want to have a strong protective boyfriend like him.

• Until it gets in the way of your work. It started with him taking a couple of hits for you on the job and escalated into him trying to convince you not to come on jobs at all.

• He makes you feel helpless and incapable which isn’t fair because you’re more than able to handle yourself. And even if you weren’t, it’s not for him to decide.

• This leads to a huge fight between you one day. The entire firehouse hears it too and it gets real awkward real fast. The rest of the team split up and try and help you both work it out. Half of them helping you realise that Winston means well and the other helping him realise that you’re strong and smart and brave and don’t always need protecting.

• And really.. You both already knew those things. It takes a lot but you both apologise for all the things you said and from then on Winston’s shielding becomes the extra support he always meant it to be. He’s got your back and you’ve got his, just like it’s meant to be.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

hawkeye isn't even out yet to judge how bad the writing will be, but i wish bucky hadn't been in tfatws and they'd given sam his own show, and then bucky showed up in hawkeye. (and then maybe a white wolf series where he gets to stand on his own and be no one's sidekick) i mean bucky going to see rogers the musical? bucky getting kisses from lucky the dog and remembering what being loved feels like? bucky rolling his eyes every time clint shamelessly flirts with him? we could have had it all. but no seriously the bucky & clint dynamic in the comics is so fun, even if mcu!clint kinda sucks it would've been nice to see that friendship happen.. and maybe they could have alluded to bucky knowing natasha in the past! not that i didn't want a bucky & sam friendship, but they didn't give us a bucky & sam friendship, did they? they gave us victim blaming and antagonistic bantering and then tried to make us believe they were bffs at the end so... no thanks? i just think hawkeye looks more fun and maybe bucky wouldn't have gotten victim blamed if he was next to clint "i went off and murdered ppl when my family got dusted but no consequences for me!" barton.. you know??

It’s telling how they’re trying to introduce all this other bait into the HG show -- amazing charismatic character actresses! a Christmas setting! a cute dog! (how dare u hollywood-cast a golden retriever instead of a yellow lab tho). 

You’d think the star himself would be the draw, wouldn’t you? 😬

It was in Mackie’s case!

Seems they’re aware they fucked up the casting and writing straight off and now they just have to surround Renner with good stuff in the hope we won’t notice. 

(I can’t get over how the fandom, no matter the ship or whatever, has just uniformly ignored MCU Clint in fanfiction, and put Comics Clint in his place?? Like... you could say the sky is blue and get people flaming you in this fandom, and yet everyone agreed to delete him without debate!) 

AND BUCKY WOULD 100% FIT BETTER IN HAWKEYE!

Two disabled, formerly mind-controlled snipers!

In BROOKLYN!

A musical about Bucky’s life!

Both lovers of animals! (Bucky’s the only canon person with animal connections it should’ve been him!)

With little-sister stuff goin’ on!

And Red Room characters?!

It ain’t rocket science, is it?

And, yeah, they couldn’t be victim-blaming Bucky for coerced/brain-damaged acts when the next guy is Clint. They should’ve been in VA meetings together!

What would be nice is a Defenders-style thing of 3 separate series, where all 3 characters are in the finale together but it’s a single episode.

(Maybe throw Wanda and all those WV characters in there too? I haven’t watched that show so idk if it would make sense.)

And running gags about the events of whatever that Spiderman movie was which had Mysterio in it, happening simultaneously? Like the very last event of the joined season finale should be Sam, Clint, Bucky, et al. sitting down like ‘finally, now that [finalething] is done, we can relax!’ turning on the news to hear that dumbass kid Parker being outed on national TV. 

(CUT TO BLACK.)

ITA about FATWS. 

Actor!friendship ≠ character friendship, and both Sam and Bucky were character assassinated, directly contradictory to canon (and since good characterisation is about consistency, this was straight up bad writing). 

Besides, that was too important a story to force it to share breathing space with silly leftwingvillain Flagsmashers and Walker and Val and Sharon and Zemo and Bucky. 

(Whose story is, also, too serious to relegate it to a scanty subplot.... or it would be, if they had shown his real story, but because they can’t identify with the uncomfortably female/queer-coded canon victim character, they gave him a dudebro lobotomy instead. Great.)

They wedged crashy punchy action sequences into a series that shouldn't have had any, gave us more copaganda and US-military-porn, and fixated on the legacy of 'Murica without ever even once mentioning the real legacy of Cap and the shield, which was to fight Fascism, in America and abroad. 

(You’d think that would be a big point in the shield’s favour in Sam’s eyes? And no mention of Gabe Jones?! You’d think if there was any show in a position to go into the real history, not the Disneyneutered WASP version, it would be this one!) 

I wanted Logan from that show and what I got was X-Men: The Last Stand. 

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

[nightshadeshadow123]

Mildred Ratched - Punishment

You work as a nurse along with Mildred Ratched and you decided to tease her but she snaps faster than you think and she gives you a punishment for your bad behaviour. Lol and here I am writing Smut after thinking I wouldn't ever just because I'm not good at it. I hope this is not too bad, this is pretty much the first Smut fic I've written , the first one in this book was only slightly sexual.

Warning: Smut and some swearing (honestly I tend to curse like a sailor)

You just loved to get Mildred worked up at any moment you can. The two of you had been dating each other for three months now and you also know of her true motives working here and about her brother that seem to have taken a liking to you and teasing Mildred about you when she went down to see him, taking great joy in seeing his sisters flustered state.

Mildred was originally just planning to get her true plans over with in this place and get it over with but the moment she set eyes on you that plan have quickly flew out of the window and she have fallen for your teasing nature fast, even more so as she tried to deny it until she eventually couldn't get you out of her head and the way you've endlessly teased and flirted with her and getting jealous when Huck have flirted with you before you've subtly told him that you prefer the company of other women and he became like a older brother of yours instead.

When the two of you started officially dating your teasing have only seemed to have increased as time goes on and Mildred was stuck in a love-hate zone with that but right now she was having a hard time handeling that when you've decided to target her once again for the third day this week.

The first time was early in the morning on the car ride her that you started the teasing with your hand on her her inner tight, teasingly running your fingers higher. She have fixed you with a stern glare after removing your hand but yet you kept it up until the the tips of your fingers have grazed against her clothed core, she was about to give you a harsh piece of her mind but it was already too late because you were near the hospital and you were out the door the moment the car came to a stop after planting a kiss against her lips the moment she opened her mouth, leaving her staring after you with a lingering look.

The second time you've caught her off guard that morning was when Nurse Bucket was talking with all the staff at the front, you were standing close to her and the moment Nurse Bucket turned her back for a brief moment you took a chance to sneak your hand beneath the skirt of her nurse outfit and groping her as she cheek firmly which elected a yelp from her just as your hand flew back to your side as Nurse Bucket turned to glare at Mildred in annoyance while you bite the inside of your cheek to stop your satisfied smirk.

"Do you have something you wish to share Miss Ratched?"

Mildred simply straightened her posture. "No." She said coldly as Huck tried to hold in his chuckle by coughing into his fist, clearly having seen what you've done.

The third time she finally snapped, you two were in the operation room cleaning the equipment and tools when you've decided to tease her by beginning to kiss at her neck when she stood next to you to put away a tool.

"Stop that before I perform a lobotomy on you." Mildred threatened half heartedly, glaring at you coldly but you could see right through her, a smug smirk playing at your lips.

You leaned up on your tip toes to whisper in her ear. "Stop what Nurse Ratched?" And then proceeded to take the bottom of her ear into your mouth and tugging on with your teeth as you pulled away, your hand cupping her clit over her uniform.

Mildred hissed at you, grabbing your arm and flipping you so that you are bent over the steel operation table.

"Now you've done you filthy little girl."

Mildred flipped the skirt of your outfit over, holding it in a fist against your lower back, taking notice of the wet patch on your panties which she quickly pulled off and then flipping you onto the cold steel table completely forcing you onto your back.

"You clearly haven't learned your lesson the previous few times...or maybe you have but you are just being a brat to get punished." Mildred growled lowly suddenly showing her pointer and middle finger both into your soaked aching entranced without warning, tearing a startled yelp out of you,  groaning in arousal at feeling just how wet you are.

"God, just feel how absolutely drenched you are you filthy brat." Mildred quickened the pace of her fingers after curling them, smirking when you let out a whimper and desperately trying to trust back at the same pace into her hand but she easily held your hips down with one hand making you groan in frustration.

After a few moments of her scissoring you with her fingers while thrusting them into you you let out a loud moan, already feeling closer to tumbling over your orgasm.

"Not so fast. You get to cum when I give you permission to and I'm far from done with you." Mildred husked out, slowing the pace of her fingers when she felt your walls tightening around them, red painted lips forming into a devious smile as you let out a desperate whine mixed with a frustrated groan.

"Don't pretend you don't love this. You've brought this upon yourself you filthy brat." She watched you through hooded darkened eyes, suddenly thrusting her fingers faster and deeper again at a ruthless pace making your hips jerk, (e/c) screwed shut as the operating table creaked beneath the force of your jerking hips as she forced them down.

Just when she noticed your walls tightening around her fingers again as your low moans increased she abruptly stopped her pace all together making you whimper once again, eyes flying open and needily staring into her list filled eyes.

"P-please Mil-" You started to say shakily as she pulled her juice coated fingers completely out of your throbbing heat, trying to get friction on your core by trying to rub your thighs together but she easily forced them apart again with a firm grip.

"Don't call me that. It's Mistress to you when I'm fucking you." Mildred said in her raspy deep voice before sticking both her fingers into her mouth, licking them clean of your juices and groaning at the taste.

You swallowed heavily, chest heaving before desperately whimpering out. "Mistress, P-please make m-me cum."

Mildred simply tutted at you after releasing her fingers with a pop, red lipstick smeared on them by now.

"No. You don't get to cum today." She said coldly and proceeded to hike the skirt of her blue nurse uniform up her hips and pulling her black panties off, bending over you and taking your earlobe into her her warm mouth, her wet tongue running teasingly over the shell of your ear before biting down on it softly as her warm breath raised goosebumps on your skin, taking delight in your desperate whimpers as you gripped the cold steel sides of the operation table, knuckles turning white.

"Pl-ease Mistress. I-I'll behave." You and Mildred both knew that was far from the truth and that you'll do it again at any moment you can.

Mildred bit your earlobe one last time before releasing it with a soft pop.

"No. You'll just have to suffer and wait until I've decided when you get to cum." She growled out, getting on top of you and grabbing your neck with both her hands, squeezing just enough to restrict your breathing slightly as you gulped, lust fulled eyes staring into your clouded (e/c) eyes as she started to move her hips against your clothed stomach in a lazy pace, ignoring the fact that her juices is rubbing off against your nurse uniform.

You grabbed at her soft clothed hips, slowly guiding her as you watched her with drunken lust as her red lips parted, her hands moving to your clothed shoulders and digging her fingernails into them and you believed if the nurse uniform sleeves didn't cover them she surely would've drawed blood.

"You will finish me off and clean up this mess you've made of me and then perhaps tonight I'll make you cum." Mildred ordered in a strict voice before removing your hands from her hips and moving up your body until she's hovering her heated core above your face.

You licked your lips in anticipation, groaning lowly at seeying her glistening heat.

"Yes Mistress." Was all you could managed to get out, hands moving up and gripping her hips firmly and lowering her slowly and eagerly licking between her wet folds.

Mildred let's out a relieved sigh, one hand gripping the the steel side of the table to keep her steady while the other one pulled your nurse cap off, throwing it on the floor before digging her fingers into your (h/c) locks firmly, thrusting her heat against your hot tongue.

You moaned at the taste of her sweet juices, sending vibrations through her core as her, her hips faltering for a moment, a moan falling from her lips.

You firmly began to guide her hips again, making slow circles around her clit with your tongue and taking the soft nub into your mouth and suckling on it as you rubbed your tights together in arousal, wanting to reach down to pleasure yourself but knowing better to not anger the red haired woman.

Mildred's eyes fell shut, moaning again and thrusting her hips against your face, her grip in your (h/c) locks tightening slightly.

"M-more." She ordered.

You obliged, one of your hands slipping away from her waist and moving to between her legs, rubbing her clit teasingly.

"Enough teasing or you won't get to cum tonight." Mildred growled out, eyes opening and glaring into your (e/c) beneath her.

You huffed but obliged again, rubbing two fingers against her wet folds to wet before sinking them into her entrance, starting to pump them into her slowly.

"Good girl. Now keep going." She groaned out.

You kept your eyes focused on hers as you picked up the pace of your fingers, sucking and licking at her soft nub again, slightly out of breath but enjoying it.

You kept on going for a good few moments, alternating between sucking her nub and folds while keeping a steadily fast pace with your fingers in her, never taking your eyes off of her face that is contorted on pleasure, enjoying the sweet raspy moans falling from her mouth.

"Oh fuck, I-I'm almost the-re. Keep that up babygirl." Mildred moaned out, gripping your hair in a vise grip, struggling to keep her dark eyes trained on yours.

You eagerly picked up your pace, fingers thrusting into her in a relentless pace and once again taking her nub into your mouth, sucking on it gently and occasionally biting it softly while moaning around it to send vibrations straight through her core.

"Oh fuck! Just like-" Her mouth fell open in a broken mix of a whimper and moan, her hips stuttering unsteadily against your mouth.

You firmly brought her hips down with one hand again, closing your mouth around her nub again and firmly sucking, fingers curling inside of her just to hit the right spot that have her seeying stars.

"Shit!" Mildred groaned, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she threw her head back, soft moans bouncing around the room as you softly bit down on her nub once again and moaning around her and that have her cumming with a blinding orgasm, juices spreading down your wrist, mouth and chin.

You removed your fingers from her juice covered entrance and stuck your tongue into her still fluttering entrance as deeply as possible.

"Fuck, Baby stop!" Mildred pulled at your hair, whimpering when you continued to sick and tongue fuck her oversensitive pussy, not once slowing down as you eagerly sucking up all her juices until you tore another blinding orgasm out of her that had her a whimpering mess.

You duck your two fingers clean before moving your hands up to her clothed waist, pulling her down your body until she's sitting on your clothed stomach again as she panted heavily, sweat running down the side of her head.

Mildred stared into your eyes while still coming down from her high, leaning over you to peck your swollen lips, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth, groaning at the taste of her in your mouth.

The two of you lazily makeout for a few moments before Mildred pulled away making you pout up at her, already missing the taste and feeling of her lips against yours.

"That was good. I'll reward you tonight Baby." Mildred cooed at you, her thumb tracing your lower lip.

"Now fix yourself up and clean this mess up.  Dr. Hanover will be needing us both here later for a operation on a patient." Mildred ordered after fixing herself, back to her asual composed self, giving you one last look before turning and leaving the operation room to go to the nearest bathroom.

You took a moment to collect yourself before fixing your nurse uniform and then attempting to fix your messy hair as much as possible before pulling on your ruined panties and nurse cap.

"Well this was so worth it." You said to yourself.

After cleaning the operation room and putting everything back where it belonged you made your way out of the room too, seeying Huck leaning against a wall in one of the white hallways, a knowing smile tugging at his lips after noticing your disheveled state.

"So that is what you two were up to?" He stared more than asked as a pink dusted your cheeks.

"Shut up." You glared at him.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Just please don't get caught by others." He warned softly and you smiled in assurance at him.

"Don't worry, we'll be careful." You assured.

He gave another smile before pointing at your hair. "You might wanna fix up that mess." Was all he said before turning around and walking away to get back to work.

You rushed into the nearest bathroom, smiling when you see Mildred applying red lipstick again, going to stand next to her and fixing your hair in the mirror, seeying a hint of a smile ghosting over her lips as the two of you made eye contact in the clean mirror.

[rusty-k]

A Theory About the Saint of Duty

[HTN/TLT SPOILERS]

Hey TLT people--

There was a reddit thread about the Saint of Duty the other day (link), and I commented some G1deon thoughts of mine that’ve been brewing in my head for a while. I figured I’d bring them to the tumblr tag to open up some discussion and see if anyone else buys this theory, or honestly just to spread some G1deon love. (I imprint on minor characters; it’s a curse.)

This is more or less copied from my reddit comment word-for-word, but here’s some general thought on Gideon the First’s personality, and why I have a theory that he might’ve lobotomized himself like Harrow:

G1deon character thoughts

G1deon as we know him in HtN is likely very different from the man he must've been 10,000 years ago. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed significantly between the start of the Wake affair and the events of book 2.

More so than any of the other Lyctors, Gideon and Pyrrha seemed to have had this strong synergy going on. Unlike most necros, Gideon is a buff beef jerky man, and we see two rapiers in G&P's room. The winnowing/construct trial is also referred to as "Pyrrha's trial," which has always struck me as a curious detail and suggests to me that Pyrrha knew more about necromancy than cavs generally do. We know that the saintly epithets refer to the cavs, in general, but I don't think that was exactly the case for G&P; based on the previously stated, I believe they were both equally dutiful people, willing to throw themselves into each other's studies and share each other's skills.

Aug and Mercy were forced to rush their Lyctorization process because of their reckless cavs, and G1deon was next, but the fact that Pyrrha compartmentalized suggests they were closer to figuring it out than Aug and Mercy were--which I think is greatly due to the harmony of their relationship.

We know from what the other Lyctors & John have said that Gid loved and respected Pyrrha deeply. I wouldn't be surprised if the ferocity with which he threw himself into his saintly work over the 10,000 years emerged--at least partially, if not primarily--from his devotion to her. There's Pyrrha, the most spectacular cav and an all-around badass, and Gideon--having taken her to fuel his ascension--acting as John's attack dog with an intensity that would make her sacrifice worthwhile.

It's difficult to gauge how much Gideon actually enjoyed any of this; John seems to think he did, but I wouldn’t trust John for shit, and I'm sure John's understanding of G1d is heavily skewed in his own favor.

I think it's also important to consider Pyrrha's side of this story as it relates to G1deon’s current state, as well as the Wake affair. Her actions raise several questions. First of all, how long did it take for her to realize that she could take control of his body? How exactly did it happen, the first time? And how aware is Gideon? Does he have any inkling at all? Is there something more to his forgetfulness, something purposeful?

I have to imagine that in any case, Pyrrha must have gone through a lot over those 10,000 years. 10,000 years of odd sensory deprivation, which was probably hell for a fiery badass like P. 10,000 years of watching Gideon put up with John's bullshit, of watching the other Lyctors die off one-by-one and accumulate a host of mental, physical, and emotional scars. I'm convinced that Pyrrha's relationship with "duty" changed over the course of the years as she watched from this disembodied perspective, and that her "treachery" against John (her affair with Wake & possibly feeding intel to the BoE) was just a natural progression of that change.

When Wake factors in, I'd bet good money that the driving factor in both Pyrrha and Gideon's attraction to her is that she reminds them both of Pyrrha. Hell, Pyrrha even says this outright: "She was the most dangerous woman I'd ever met who wasn't me." I imagine that P's attraction to Wake, beyond this cool display of cockiness, also emerged from a sort of nostalgia--maybe Wake reminds her of what life used to be when she had a body, when she could fight and command, when she had a cause to occupy her energy. On G1d's side, he sees a woman who's dedicated and dutiful, even if it's for an enemy faction, and a woman who would undeniably make one hell of a cavalier (I think someone says this in HtN, although I'm forgetting who, so correct me if I’m wrong). I'm sure there's nostalgia in it for him, too.

Then, there's elephant in the room: Wake's fiery red hair and Pyrrha's name, meaning "flame-colored." I'm convinced that at least some of the similarities were physical. And at the bottom of it all is the inherent sexiness of finding a worthy opponent who's also hot. Lol.

Gideon Prime Lobotomy Time(?)

Here's where things get squirrelly for me, and the main reason why I have a theory that G1d's current state might be partially self-inflicted.

G&P were having discrete affairs with Wake, which inherently brings up logistical questions. First of all, how? And how exactly did Wake come to "kiss" Gideon "before she realized what they were?" How long were the durations of time in which Pyrrha kept his body under her control? In any case, after Wake & Gideon initiated their leg of the affair, it continued throughout the two years up until Gideon Jr.'s birth, which implies that Gideon Prime had some agency and willfulness in all of it. It's difficult to imagine the permanently-spaced-out-thousand-yard-stare man we know in HtN actively participating in such an entanglement.

Of course, I’ll acknowledge that it's entirely possible that I'm wrong, and that Wake just jumps his bones when she feels like it, and he's like "ok I guess," so take this as you will; but I'd like to put forth the suggestion that G1d's memory loss and overall lack of lucidity might be self-inflicted, to the tune of Harrow's lobotomy. We don't know how aware Gideon is of Pyrrha's presence, but it does seem to be the case that Lyctors having an awareness of the cav is dangerous for the cav. Being an accomplished necromancer, I'm sure Gideon was/is a smart man. Pyrrha mentions that she was "able to go underground" from him, but what if Gideon started to catch on to Pyrrha's presence through the double-affair? What if Wake let something slip? What if the thing that Wake didn't realize about them was the fact that Pyrrha's survival depends on Gideon's lack of awareness?

What if he lobotomized himself at some point, after catching onto Pyrrha's presence, at the expense of his sanity?

What really strikes me is the post-incinerator scene (HtN ch.31, pg. 292 in the hardcover):

The Saint of Duty turned his body toward you. He was clutching his rapier; but it was idle ... His eyebrows were very slightly drawn together, a sort of exhausted crinkle. He looked at you, and he said in a voice you had known since you were eight years old: "I sometimes--forget."

It was the tone--clinical, enamelled, half-defensive, half-endangered--the tone of someone admitting a final fraily. It was familiar because you had used it yourself. Understand I am insane.

It's his quiet resolution that does it for me; he knows something's missing, and he's accepted it. He's being set up as a parallel to Harrow in this particular moment, and it just makes me wonder if the parallel goes beyond his understanding of his own “insanity” and extends to the means by which he has become "insane." 

Pyrrha's already being set up as a parallel to Gideon Jr., both in terms of her formerly-skewed sense of duty and her compartmentalization, so I think this sort of dual-parallel between G1d and Harrow would work nicely, if only from a meta perspective.

In short, I think Gideon the First's feelings on everything that happened are complex, fraught. I think "duty" is what defined much of his personality, and I think what we see of him now is the result of split senses of duty having torn him apart:

he's torn between his devotion to Pyrrha (and by extension, ironically, his devotion to John) and his interest in (and perhaps love for) Wake;

torn between John's command to kill Harrow and whatever it is that caused him to pull punches (I'm guessing a combination of basic decency and solidarity); and

at the end of it all, he's quietly accepting of his own "frailty," understanding that the current situation is the shitty result of everything that's happened over the past myriad, and that there's likely no way to set himself straight, even though his shortcomings put him in direct conflict with the man he's "supposed to be," according to this awful religion, and according to what others think of him.

Anyway, for those who’ve stuck around, that’s all I have to say for now! I’m just so fascinated by the Saint of Duty/the Pyrwakeon story that’s going on behind the scenes; there’s such an understated intensity to it, and honestly, it didn’t even hit me until months after my first read-through. 

I’m curious to hear what other people are thinking, too!