#green for bottoms and yellow for their tops

[casart]

From the Same Home✨🪞

So excited that I got to participate in this year’s @sandersidesbigbang ;D I was honoured to draw this piece for @charliextea for their beautiful fic From the Same Home!

[ID] (Image displays three variations of Roman against a background composed of a wall of text that is not clearly discernible. In addition to the text, there are blocks of desaturated colour in rectangular shapes. In the top right corner there is a green block, two red blocks in the centre, and two vertical blocks of orange-yellow.)

(The variations of Roman are wearing varying outfits and outlined in a white border imitating a crude cut-out. The first variation is in the bottom left corner and is looking off to the left confidently; wearing a white sleeved shirt with a red v-collar tucked into black pants. The second is in the centre of the drawing and has a daring expression; wearing a long-sleeved red shirt open down to his navel. The third is in the bottom right and has a soft expression while wearing a red sheer outfit with a flare of fabric about the waistline. All three are wearing gold jewelry on their person. In the upper left and right corners, the names "Roman" and "King" are signed accordingly.)

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Have you heard of the term "patterns mills"? These are shopfronts that quickly produce a pattern without any sort of testing or vetting, and then put it on the market with an AI-generated or stolen image for a very tempting price. Patterns produced this way are rampant in the cross-stitching world. However, I've recently noticed an uptick in these types of storefronts in the quilting and foundation paper piecing world. Since I'm well versed in FPP patterns, I would like to describe what an AI-generated quilt pattern looks like as well as provide other suspicious giveaways. AI will only get better, so while these mistakes are dead giveaways now, they might be fixed in the future. FPP patterns seem to be easier to replicate in AI than traditionally pieced patterns, which is why I will focus on FPP in this blogpost. However, you can apply the same clues to any sort of craft pattern (or really anything) you can buy online. Important: AI-generated images are not prohibited on Etsy. However, within their policies they state that you must disclose if you used AI within your listing, and these shops do not have that disclosure.

Below is a listing for a wolf face FPP pattern. When you first look at it, does anything seem suspicious?

First, I would like to draw your attention to the scissors in the bottom left of the photo. These scissors are physically impossible to use and are literally melting into the yellow cutting mat. The lines of this cutting mat are unresolved, as are the lines on the green cutting mat in the bottom right corner. These are your first giveaways. However, not all images have background sewing items that look a little funny. Let's take a look at the actual "completed quilt."

The first thing I notice is that the only background seam line (from this apparently foundation paper pieced quilt) is the one in the top left corner. The seam is merely hinted at and does not go all the way to the edge. Additionally, I notice that the eye is too round. One could argue that the cover photo is merely an enhanced version of the completed quilt, but there are no completed quilt photos in the listing. Another clue for identifying AI generated quilt images is that there are a ton of colors/prints used. The prints in this image seem nebulous and the prints around the eye whiskers (?) lose a lot of fidelity. The individual fabrics themselves do not have consistency.

In the image above, the things I notice are that there are curved seams within the gray and white colors. A typical FPP pattern would not have curved piecing interspersed between regular straight seam piecing. Also, piecing lines that are useless, especially visible in the bluish-gray piece on the left. The amount of piecing within that patch does not make sense. Below you will see another listing from a different Etsy seller.

From afar, it looks really good. Plus, the seller has great reviews! And it's a Bestseller! But let us take a closer look…

The first thing that sticks out to me is how the whiskers of the lion are resolved. You can see where they fade into the muzzle of the lion without a realistic piecing line. Some of the patches are straight up "smeary" and wrinkly, a telltale sign of AI. The program does not know how to accurately render the design so it creates an approximation. These are things that are hard to see unless you zoom in. Below is a listing for a legitimate lion FPP pattern from designer Pride and Joy Quilting so you can see the difference. It is clear that the first image is an actual completed quilt top.

Beyond the AI-generated cover quilts, I'd also like to cover other signs of a pattern generated from a pattern mill.

For the lion pattern, the cost is only $8.63. This is very cheap for what is supposed to be a full sized quilt pattern with a multitude of templates.

Both of these sellers have very generic names. While not an immediate cause for concern, I recommend being skeptical.

There are no actual completed quilt images within the listing.

Both of them are considered "Bestsellers" on Etsy, but the shop with the wolf pattern only has 10 reviews. It makes me wonder about the disparity between "buyers" and reviewers.

The 5 star reviews for the lion pattern are extremely generic and talk only about "how much their friend Lisa will enjoy the pattern" or "how easy it was to download." These are not helpful for understanding the quality of the actual product. The 1 star reviews are way more descriptive about the issues the pattern has. This makes me wonder about fake reviews.

Both of these patterns include a full layout of the FPP diagram within the listing. I personally would never do this and I don't know many designers who would.

The lion pattern says this within its description: "Before making a purchase, we'd like to inform you about some important aspects. The product stands out for its template, design, and print quality, serving as a valuable tool for sewing projects. The instructions include two techniques: direct fabric marking (with visible stitches) and invisible stitches. Both are general guidelines and not step-by-step instructions. You can choose these techniques or any other that you consider suitable based on your experience and preference. There are no refunds for the digital file. We appreciate your understanding and are available for any questions." This demonstrates to me that the pictures are not accurate because they are clearly attempting to depict FPP and are hoping that you won't read the description until it is too late.

Why is every lowercase i in the wolf pattern missing its dot? Like, why? I find that strange and off putting.

So, how do you avoid accidentally purchasing a pattern like this?

The first step is gaining experience in recognizing listings that seem a bit fishy. Use the bullet points listed above to see what kind of feeling you get when looking over a listing. I also recommend finding out more about the designer from their website or from their social media. Not all legitimate designers have these necessarily, but it's a great place to start. Try messaging the shop owner on Etsy. Does it sound like they know what they are even talking about? You'll then build a good list of designers and shops you trust. A big and worrisome thing to remember is that AI will only get better and produce better looking images. This will make it harder to identify pattern mills by the image alone. However, the clues that I've listed will help if you put them all together and come to a conclusion. I suggest using them for all your online shopping. I hope this helps!

[buntress]

[ID in alt text by @horrgores ]

『 ✿ ⋆｡˚ 』 Old Queer

[PT :: Old Queer]

✿ Overview ✿

A blankqueer label // stance for queers who are too old for this shit. It believes that queer // mogai discourse and infighting is stupid and harmful to the community at large and that as long as you aren't harming anyone do whatever the hell you want. One doesn't have to be a specific age to ID with this term, just share the general sentiment. The emoji code is 『 🪻💚 』

✿ Stances ✿

What Old Queer Is ::

Pro MOGAI // Xenogender // Microlabels

Pro Mspec // Contradictory labels

Pro Endogenic // Non-Traumagenic systems and Anti-Syscourse

Pro Queer Education and Research

Pro going outside and becoming active in your irl community

Pro Recovery Paraphilia // Anti-Contact harmful paraphilia

Pro Kink at Pride

Pro Reclamation of slurs

Against the idea of Cluster Abuse ( NPD abuse, BPD abuse, etc)

Anti-Harassment, live and let live.

Pro fucking with bigots for fun

Pro harm reduction

Pro Therian // Otherkin // Alterhuman // Transspecies

What Old Queer isn't ::

Pro Radqueer

Pro TransID

Pro Xenosatanist

TERFs // TIRFs // Gender Crit // Gatekeeping

Exclusionary

Minors in kink // NSFW spaces

Tagging :: @radiomogai @io-archival @redacted-coiner @genderdenied @mimiscoiningcafe @discrophy @dsm--v @kiruliom Simplified flag + color meanings below the cut!

[ID in alt text]

✿ Design Meanings ✿

Shades of purple and blue-green because the colors purple and green are some of the oldest colors to represent the queer community

Yellow lines to represent queer joy

White to represent unity

Violets because, once more, it is one of the oldest queer symbols we have. While violets originally held a meaning for sapphic love, here it is to represent educating yourself further on queer history to understand your community better.

The lacy top and bottom lines to give it kind of a "grandmas lace" feel, making it feel older!

[deluxewhump]

Ingrid calls Carlo a pet name

CW: mention of nausea and headache (Ingrid is pregnant with Jack here). The movies are The Two Towers and ROtK btw ;)

It was barely noon, and Ingrid lay in the master bedroom with a cloth over her forehead. It had long since stopped being cool, and was now only damp instead of wet. She moved it an inch so it touched her hairline and the air cooled the wet skin it exposed.

Thick green curtains were drawn against the heat and light of midday. Insects trilled in the grass outside and she could hear a dog barking distantly— a neighbor of theirs habitually let his two yellow labs run loose around the wooded hills and they sometimes wandered onto Max’s property. Carlo worried about his cat, Lou, who would hiss if he saw them from the window and climb into his master’s arms flicking his tail.

Max told him Lou was too smart to ever get anywhere near those dogs. He was more worried about coyotes than the labradors, he’d said. Carlo had bent his head to press his mouth into Lou’s black fur, frowning at the mention of the coyotes. Sometimes they screamed at night from the tree line, sounding for a moment like human shrieks and then like the mad baying of a dozen wild dogs.

As if summoned by her wandering thoughts, Lou jumped on the bed, stretching his back and chirping in question. Ingrid held out a hand and felt the brush of whiskers on her palm. For half a second, she thought it was Max that appeared in the doorway. But Max was in D.C. all day at a conference. It was Carlo.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want me to grab him? The door was cracked. He pushed it open.”

“No,” Ingrid answered as serenely as she could manage. “He’s good company.”

“Do you… need anything?”

She almost told him no, but thought of something. “Could you get me a ginger ale? They’re the little mini cans, on the door, bottom shelf.”

“Yeah,” he said, like he was surprised but pleased she’d said yes. Max was always asking Carlo things like that. It’s cold, you need socks? Want a blanket? I’m getting a drink, can I get you something, baby? She’d never loved someone by proxy before, but that’s how it was with him. It was Max’s steadfast love for him that instructed her, like slowly picking up bits of an accent. One day she saw him curled up in an armchair, head bent over a book, running his finger absently over his lower lip. Softly, like a gradual summer dusk, she realized she now loved him too.

Lou curled up a short distance from her and began to purr. Carlo returned with a can of cold ginger ale and popped open the tab before handing it to her, another of Max’s mannerisms. “You’re sweet,” she told him, taking a long drink and set it on the nightstand.

“God,” she complained, and lay back on her side. “I feel like a truck hit me.”

“How long will that last?” asked Carlo softly, conscious of her aching head.

“Oh, another couple of weeks maybe. What’re you doing today?”

He shrugged.

“I’m gonna put on a movie, if you want to wallow with me.”

He gave her a little smile and agreed, climbing onto Max’s side of the bed and curling up on his side in a mirror of her own position. Lou got up to reposition next to Carlo’s chest, and Carlo draped his arm over him. Ingrid clicked the TV on with the remote and tucked her knees closer to her chest.

By the end of the film, Lou had left them but Carlo had gotten under the top blanket and tilted his head close to her so she could not help but lay her hand in his soft hair, grazing her fingertips over his scalp. The sun had begun to descend from its zenith, evident by the angle and color of the light that persisted through the seams of the pulled curtains.

“Do you want to watch the next one, baby?” she whispered when the credits rolled, wondering if he might be asleep.

He moved an inch closer to her and nodded. She let her hand drift back to his hair. She’d never called him that before. It was Max’s favorite pet name for him, and she didn’t know if she was allowed. It seemed strange, having come from her lips and not from Max’s, but he did not give any indication there was anything amiss. She pulled her nails gently up the warm base of his neck and into his hair, over and over, to the rhythm of the oscillating fan.

[sleepymaven]

The Bsd "Fyodor is Atsushi's Father" Theory:

My Not-so-Deep, Not-so-Serious Explanation on Why This Could Totally be Canon

Signed: A Sleep-Deprived Idiot

(Spoilers for the Entirety of Bungou Stray Dogs)

So... with Chapter 118 in bsd releasing, I have noticed a lot of Fyodor as Atsushi's father related things popping up and... I'm not mad about.

If anything, I'm happy the theory is getting more attention. People even seem to be taking it as canon fact, even if just jokingly.

Really, I believed the theory was plausible since it first was brought up in the fandom, but I never actually thought it would be canon because that just seemed too crazy. But those were the thoughts of a sweet summer child since the manga has gotten to the point where that might be the least crazy thing possible.

So, here I am at my keyboard yet again, ready to ramble about how, if this does somehow turn out to be canon, this might be actually rather predictable even to those who don't dive deep into the nitty-gritty lore.

Now, I won't ramble on and on endlessly about the book and Atsushi's ambiguous past and how he may be the book or a page from the book and yaddy-yadda. Instead, I'll focus on some key aspects of Atsushi's character design. First off...

His hair.

As I said, this is not all that serious or deep, so take my words with a grain of salt before you start bashing me or something for being ridiculous. You signed up for ridiculous when you started reading past the title.

Anyway, back to Atsushi's hair.

As we almost all know, Atsushi used to have a black streak in his hair that was later removed for unknown reasons, but he also has white hair.

Now, I could jokingly proclaim, "Hehe, biologically impossible Fyodor x Nikolai lovechild," and be done with it, but I am no clown, unlike Nikolai. No, I have a better, probably completely wrong, idea.

Most of us know that Fyodor has a thing for white-haired men.

Exhibit A: Every fucking member of the Decay of Angels

I rest my case.

Also, I feel the need to mention that 3 out of 6 of them have red-ish eyes while the other two have purple-ish/blue eyes. Just pointing out that little tidbit I noticed while finding pics for them.

So, it would make sense for Fyodor to pick and choose which attributes to give to his quote-on-quote "son" when he made him from the book, picking out certain traits he found appealing and pleasing to the eye.

(Also, yes, this could mean that Fyodor could have chose specific attributes that were similar to Nikolai. Boom, lovechild route.)

This could explain certain similarities between the characters who seemingly have no biological connection between one another. Their only connection then only being through Fyodor by just knowing him.

Got all that? Alright, next up...

His eyes.

Now, Atsushi's eyes are rather unique, even for the world of Bungou Stray Dogs. What also sticks out about them is the fact that they are pointed out and focused in from time to time.

Example:

(Fucking gorgeous eyes he has, btw)

To break down the colors of his eyes... While in normal lighting in the anime, they appear to be normally purple and yellow with just a hint of green in it, but under the full moon (as seen here) we can see that his eyes are a light green-yellow at the bottom and purple on the top that fades into blue.

(There are also a few times where his eyes also change while using his ability. Like when they turn almost fully yellow.)

I want to point out the colors of his eyes and the fact that they change due to certain circumstances (i.e: using his ability, being under the full moon), which is clearly not normal in their world seeing as how other ability users don't seem to do that at all.

(Edit here: I actually would like to mention that, in the manga, Nikolai's eyes also change color. The green one sometimes will change to match his normal eye whenever he uncovers it. I saw a theory talking about how it might change depending on whether or not he is lying at the time, which is pretty neat. More Atsushi and Nikolai parallels.)

Now, this might seem like a bit of a stretch just like the rest of this post, but the colors used for his eyes are similar to the eye colors of people Fyodor knows, though they are different shades.

Purple like Fukuchi. Green and blue from Nikolai.

Fyodor's eyes are also a shade of purple, kind of, so... Yeah, that works too, but Fukuchi's shade of eyes are closer to Atsushi's.

Yeah, that's all I can think of now and this is already way too long (if I start talking about Atsushi's mysterious past, I'm going to make this a mile long. Maybe later tho), so I'm ending it here for now.

Alright, bye ya'll.

[russilton]

Fun fact for the 10 Britcedes and Schuvesti shippers out there, George now having a green helmet means that both he and Fred match, and Lewis and Mick match in neon yellow

[lupinshanshin]

[aerial-ace97]

Time for a rebrand

[pattarabhorn]

[bunn-iiii]

what mutual am i (made by me cause I thought it would be fun) ASK GAME

[Picture ID: A drawing with 12 circles all different colors and labeled different things, bullet points follow under them.

the first circle is a deep purple with light purple glitter particles. It's labeled "purple glitter" and the bullet points under it say: "fabulous", "I love your aesthetic very much", "you do have an abnormal amount of microplastics in your blood though".

the second circle is a neon green with a lighter green wave around it. it's labeled radioactive. the bullet points for it are "some sort of creature", "you give bioluminessence vibes".

the third circle is a medium pink with dark green leave and a stem on the top. it's labeled starberry. the bullet points are "I think we should bake together", "flower crowns possibly".

the fourth circle is a light seafoam green labeled seafoam green. the bullet points are "maybe a little snobby", "calm yourself", "I don't know why I still follow you tbh", "Maybe I'm just reading you wrong".

the fith circle is multiple colors, in order from top to bottom: very light blue, sky blue, yellow, red, black, purple, pink, to light pink. it's labeled do you like the color of the sky. the bullet points are "you're always on tumblr", "hits post limit daily", "you should go watch some tumblr history videos if you haven't already".

circle number six is a brick pattern labeled throwing bricks. the bullet points are "you're my resource for all of the things happening in the world", "probably really punk or at least an Anarchist".

circle number seven is a red panda's facial fur pattern labeled red panda. the bullet points are "so soft", "very small", "you're so cute", "my favorite silly".

circle eight is a light off white color labeled cu- I mean creme. the bullet points are "Hey there", "I mean you wanted to-", "slash jay".

circle nine is a deep gold color with a light shine to it labeled stay gold. the bullet points are "book reader", "how do you read so many", "pretty cool", "also a nerd".

the tenth circle is a medium purple with a light purple heart in the center. it's labeled my favorite purple. the bullet points are "you're my favorite person on this hellsite", "why are you here, you're so nice", "are you a people pleaser".

the eleventh circle is a bright pink with pastel pink stars labeled barbie dream house. the bullet points are "nostalgia.", "do you live in the past I swear you do", "are those rose tinted glasses comfortable bub".

the final circle is a black color with a red blood splotch. it's labeled Gerard Way in the 2000s. the bullet points are "popular mutual", "I think you're pretty neat and also kind of scary", "probably really sweet but I'm still intimidated". /.End ID]

[fishsfailureson]

"What is to come"

(image id is both in the alt text and below the read more- I put it under one because it's incredibly long)

And so there we have it, the 200+ followers artpiece that I have been working on for several days, if I had to guess I'd say it took 25 or so hours over eleven days. Honestly it's so surreal to me that I'm here with over 200 followers (260 as of typing this- yes, I procrastinated on this), especially when I only hit 100 followers in February. It's genuinely really nice to know that people are actually interested in my art (before anyone brings up spam bots- I know there are a few of them amongst my followers but I've checked most of them and I am 100% confident that over 200 of them are real). I don't really have much else to say really- I'm just grateful to have the support. Thanks y'all :).

[Image id: a large, lineless digital drawing of several dinosaurs. It is nighttime. At the bottom of the piece, a lone Eoraptor lunensis is walking across the floodplains- both the ground and the Eoraptor are just silhouettes, the early dinosaur has been given protofeathers. The full moon is shining, it's size is exaggerated for artistic affect. Behind the moon, the heads of sixteen different dinosaurs can be seen (listed left to right, bottom to top) Row 1- Thecodontosaurus antiquus (small sauropodomorph with light brown protofeathers, near-white undersides, straight stripes that are moderately darker than the base colour and vibrant green eyes), Coelophysis bauri (small early theropod with a long and narrow skull, its protofeathers are golden and black. A soft orange stripe runs across the back of its head, it has warm brown eyes. Row 2- Plateosaurus trossingensis (long-necked sauropodomorph, it has reddish-brown scales, light undersides, triangular stripes running down it's spine that get bigger the further down they get and pale yellow eyes), Heterodontosaurus tuckii (small ornithopod with a hooked grey beak. It has spiky green feathers, a lighter chest and a darker stripe running along its head and back, there are three small spots on its face, two behind the eye and one infront of it, it's eyes are bright yellow). Row 3- Megalosaurus bucklandii (medium-sized theropod with warm brown feathers, lighter undersides, dark spots and bright yellow eyes, there are several scars on its face), Brachiosaurus altithorax (greenish-grey true sauropod with lighter undersides, a dark pink patch on its throat, dark desaturated brown eyes and a few small scars on its neck), Archaeopteryx (early toothed bird with a black head, white neck and bright yellow eyes). Row 4- Hylaeosaurus armatus (pale brown ankylosaur with lighter undersides and vibrant green eyes), Velociraptor mongoliensis (dromaeosaur with light brown feathers, a lighter chest, a black stripe near its eye and light green eyes), Sinosauropteryx prima (small compsognathid theropod with ginger protofeathers, an off white mask and undersides and pale yellow eyes), Iguanodon bernissartensis (large greenish-grey ornithopod with a slightly darker back, pale undersides, a grey beak, and yellow eyes). Row 5- Matuku otagoense (heron with medium grey feathers and a small crest. A red stripe runs from just behind its nostrils to about a third of the way down its neck. Its undersides are white, its beak is grey and its eyes are brown), Triceratops prorsus (three-horned ceratopsian with grey-brown scales, lighter undersides, two triangular stripes between it's brow and nasal horns, reddish-orange diamond-like stripes on its frill, a hooked grey beak and golden eyes. Its brow horns curve forward at the base. Row 6- North Island brown kiwi (plump brown bird with a long pale beak, whiskers and black eyes, its nostrils are at the tip of its bill, and unlike the other dinosaurs in the sky part of its body below the neck is visible), male house sparrow (small redish-brown and grey bird with a black bib below it's bill), it has brown eyes and a dark grey bill. Row 7- rock dove (grey bird with iridescent green feathers scattered across its neck, a dark grey beak, and warm brown eyes). end id]

[dirt-str1der]

I still cant tell my pink square from my orange circle so switching to xbox controller is going to be a nightmare for me 😔

[transparentstickers]

Six notebook stickers by Spindex corp, produced in 1982. They are made as labels, and most contain lines labelled Name and Address.

(Description under Read more)

From the top, the first is in the shape of a pencil, the lines for name and address in the yellow center acting as the corners of the implied hexagonal shape.

Second, a yellow spiky shape warns: "TOUCH THIS AND YOU WILL SELF DESTRUCT IN 30 SECONDS" with the label beneath.

Third, A rainbow with a golden star in the center has a golden framed box beneath to input your own text.

Fourth, a red clockwork rollerskate travels to the right with the speed lines behind it crossing a dark blue back ground. The purple frame curves in on the top right coner to match the shape of the rollerskate. The label is below.

Fifth, a black handled paintbrush makes an oval trail of rainbow paint.

Sixth, a green frame has the label at the top, and the top third of the globe in the bottom right corner, a space ship flies on top, above the frame.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Nine

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic descriptions of domestic violence. Medical chart from a SANE EXAM. Simon's family history, trauma. Brief sexual content. Hospital setting, nurse!reader, medical inaccuracies. Heavy emotions. Scars. Reader in pain. Hurt/comfort. Kate is a dog with a bone. Penny is cute. POV switches. Simon and Johnny make a discovery, and a promise.

You can’t breathe.

The air is too thin, too tight, and you stand, silent, in the foyer of the home that you’ve been invited to.

A clock ticks on the wall. You count each second, waiting. 

You should leave. You should run. 

Simon’s footsteps echo above your head, already up the stairs with your first bag and work backpack.

He said to make yourself at home, but you can’t move.

The foyer is the foyer of a family. There is a hall tree with little shoes scattered beneath it, a tiny, pink backpack hanging on the hook. Too many wellies to count, all in pastel colors, matching a small yellow and green rain jacket that’s folded on the stairs. There’s a black hoodie, a black jacket, and a green on the coat rack, hung haphazardly with a toss. Men’s sizes, and you notice two pairs of trainers next to one pair of black boots, and two crayons hide, peeking out from under the bench, one blue, one purple, so worn down they’re almost half gone.

A home. A family. 

“Hey, so up-“ You flinch. The jolt has you stumbling, one misstep over another, and he tenses, prepared to steady you, careful hand outstretched, but not encroaching.

“Sorry.” You shouldn’t be here. 

“No, I’m sorry. I know better.” You blink, and the silence is heavy, weighted down like bricks at the bottom of a river. 

He’s still wearing the mask. 

 “Can I… give you a tour?”

“S-sure.”

You lose your breath again in the kitchen.

Simon turns away to the sink, loading dishes into the dishwasher as you stare at the fridge and its collage with a tight chest. It’s covered; photos, invitations, magnets, notes, finger painted masterpieces. You step closer, studying, noticing the way they all fit together, mix matched perfectly, and even in the pictures, the three of them glow effortlessly, too sweet and smiling, happy. Together. A family. A perfect unit.

Your nose tingles, and you blink back the tears that fight forward, wiping away the two that escape and trickle down your cheek. You don’t know why it overwhelms you, why it fills you with grief.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To have a family, like this? 

Get it together. You’re a guest in their house.

It’s too much, and you chastise yourself for getting so emotional over nothing, over something stupid.

You need to be alone. 

Dry sandpaper scrubs the back of your throat when you swallow. “Simon?” He turns, concerned, glancing at the fridge and then back to you, drying his hands on a towel.  

“What is it?”

“Can I… I’m sorry. I’m… tired.” You try to explain your needs but it’s awkward on your mouth, uncomfortable. His expression creases with sympathy.

“Of course, c’mon. I’ll show you.”

“Alright, one more step.”

“’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, bun. You’re alright.” In the back of your mind, you’re registering Simon’s warmth, the wilted lean that has you tipped into him, slow steps on the stairs, one by one as you fight to stay upright. He’s warm, and pillowy… the kind of comfort you could sink into, disappear inside for a while. It sounds so… nice.

But your shoulder is throbbing. The pain combined with the emotions swirling about in your heart has you on the verge of tears, top teeth dug into your lip, and your molars grind against one other with each step.

“It’s just at the end of the hall.”

You shouldn’t be doing this. Even now, after agreeing, getting in the car, getting yourself here… the desire to bolt runs hot under your skin, buzzing inside your skull, an insistent need.

You’re in their house. Where they live. With their baby. 

What if he comes back? What if he hurts them? 

“Hey.” Simon says your name slowly, ducking down to get your attention. Fuck.

“Sorry, I’m just… exhausted.”

“I’m sure. It’s right here.” He opens the door to a room, flicking on a light switch. The walls are a sage green, a gentle hue that matches the bedspread, framed photos organized into a gallery wall, pictures of smiles and laughter, a tiny Penny in Simon’s naked arms, a candid shot of Johnny in full military regalia, the three of them together somewhere, hiking, with Pen snuggled in a papoose on Johnny’s chest. The bed is the centerpiece, a massive king size piled with pillows, and it looks so inviting, so soft that you want to collapse into it right here and now.

“Wow.” It’s the best you can do, considering the screeching agony vibrating in your shoulder. You try to breathe through it, but the pain only shortens your draw.

“Yeah, it’s our old bed. Very comfortable.” He puts your other duffel down by the dresser, and you try not to dwell on the idea of it once being theirs, where they slept, where they’ve loved one another, held each other, their child, their- “It’s got its own bathroom, just through here.” He’s on the other side of the room, turning on a light that is far too bright, and you squint, jerking away with a gasp. Are you getting a migraine too? “Shit, sorry.” The room spins. You stumble towards the bed, limbs heavy, head full of cement, wooziness blurring your immediate sight. You’re disjointed, a mess of pain and disorientation, and you cover your eyes with a palm.

“Sorry, I think… I think I’m getting a headache. My shoulder-“ it slips out before you can stop yourself, and even with your eyes closed, you know Simon is staring at you, picking you apart with his eyes.

“Your shoulder?” You’re on a runaway train now. It has no brakes. No destination. It just barrels down the tracks, unable to stop for rational thought or pleas of mercy. It has no plan, and it does not heed you. You’re helpless. Hopeless. Lost. Reaching out for a light in the dark, a rope, a life vest, and a sob breaks through to the surface.

“It really hurts.”

“It hurts?” His voice cuts, tone worried. “Which one?” You use your good side to point, shakily.

“I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry.” You try to tell him, try to explain that you don’t mean to cry, or be emotional. You don’t mean to be making a fuss. You’re not supposed to be a problem.

A warm hand lays atop your thigh, thumb rubbing into your scrub pants.

“Sweetheart, you’re in pain. You don’t have to apologize for crying.” Your vision blurs, thick with tears, and fingers gently probe along your shoulder cuff. When you flinch, he swears. “Shhh, alright. Easy.” He’s gentling a spooked horse, carefully feeling along where you ache as you cry through it, unable to stop. “I’m going to go get some ice. We can… wrap it up, if you think that will help?”

“Ye-yeah, okay.” His steps fade, and you try to get your top off, sliding the arm that doesn’t hurt underneath your turtleneck, which is confined by the rigidity of your scrub top.

When you try the other one, the pain is so sharp, a cry bursts from your lips, and Simon sprints up the stairs. How did it get so much worse between the beginning of your shift and now? 

“What happened?”

“I can’t… I can’t get my shirts off.” You uselessly tug at the hem, eyes half open, letting it fall from your fingers, stuck in a loop, frantic movements matching the increasing pace of your lungs.

“Can I help?” His face is lined in concentration, and you spot an icepack on the bed now, with a sling, and a wrap. They’re prepared. Must come home with a fair number of injuries. “Bun, are you with me?” You sniffle and nod. What choice do you have? What choice do you ever have? The pain is too much. It’s all too much, and it boils over until you need to get the shirts off, not caring that it will expose you, or show Simon the very details you’re always trying to hide. You’re too far lost now, too far gone.

If you’re here, in their home, shouldn't you let them see? Shouldn't you let them know? 

The truth is terrifying, the reality of the trust you have in them. You know Simon won’t hurt you, instinctively. You feel safe here, in their home, their old bed, and when he looks at you, you show him, just for a second, the fractured mirror that is your reflection. You show him the pain and the rage and the fear, you give him everything. You shove the girl in the mirror forward, you force her into the sun and you hold her face to the light, trying not to sob as she screams at you in protest.

Just for a second.

“Okay.” He nods, and then cups your cheek. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” You nod with tears that sting, and then you slowly pull away, slipping back into yourself, hiding the girl in the mirror away, making more promises to her that you’re not sure you’re going to keep.

“We’re going to put this one,” He slowly, carefully lifts the arm with the bad shoulder until it’s resting on his own, “right here. That alright?” A whimper builds, but you give him another nod, breathing through the anguish. There are a million little needles in your shoulder, all stabbing you over and over, ripping and gnawing at the cartilage, or the bone, or the muscle… you can’t be sure. “I’m going to bring your scrub top up now. Is this okay?” his fingers peel it from the turtleneck, and when he gets to your head, you incline your neck, more tears rushing forth.

“Yeah.” You whisper, a tired, pained moan, falling from your lips without permission.

“I know it hurts; I know. Almost there, try to breathe.” He soothes you, and the top slides towards him along your arm. He pulls it free, throwing it on the floor somewhere, his hands returning to your thighs.

“Sorry.” It’s automatic, ingrained. A reaction to pain, to fear, to the idea of being a burden, something that haunts you, every day. He ignores it.

“Ready for the next?” The turtleneck comes less easy, but the two of you are in sync like dance partners. The pain shoots up your arm when you move your neck again, and Simon wipes a few tears from your cheek, carefully leaning you back into the pillows and pulling the comforter down.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, the raw edge of surprise, horror, you’re sure, and you close your eyes. You can't look at him, when you know what he sees. You know what you look like. A roadmap of foolishness. Of weakness. You know the scars are plainly on display, still raised, still ugly. Like you.

He says nothing, only sits at your side, bed dipping with his weight. “I’m going to take your shoes off too, okay?” He narrates and asks for permission with each touch, pulling your sneakers free, satisfying thunk of each one hitting the floor, and then moves on to sliding the ice pack underneath you, wrapping it firmly but not too tight, ensuring it stays in place. He’s tender and slow, thoughtful, your eyes fighting to stay closed, brain and body starting to drift off into uncomfortable sleep. “Not yet, sweetheart.” There’s a rattle, two pills being deposited into your hand.

“What are these?"

“Paracetamol.” He turns the bottle, label out, word coming into focus enough to be verified, and you swallow them down with the glass of water in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” The croak stays lodged in your throat, and his eyes crinkle, the sign of a smile.

“Get some rest.” It’s comfort he gives you, leaning forward, pressing mask covered lips to your forehead. Comfort that doesn’t elicit a flinch or a sense of wariness, and you bask in the shine of the sun on your skin, holding tight to it, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

“Banky.” Pen demands, hands outstretched.

“No binky, it’s lunch time. Lunch.” Simon makes the sign for lunch, L shaped pointer finger and thumb, circling the corner of his mouth. He does it a few times, accompanied with the word again and again until Penny huffs and leans back, eyes wide. “You try. You try, lunch.”

“No!” She shrieks, and he shushes her, scattering some banana puffs across her tray.

“Shhh Pen. Bun is sleeping, remember?”

“Bunny seep?” She gives him the sign for sleep, or her sign at least, a palm dragging down her face followed by very dramatic closing lids. “Seep?”

“Yes, sleeping.” Simon makes the sign to acknowledge she was correct. “Good job.” He gives her a thumbs up, and she smiles, sweetness melting away some of the tense worry that's taken up in his heart.

“Puff?” She holds one out to him, but he shakes his head, pointing at her mouth.

“For you. Eat them, eat your puffs.” He signs along with the words, and she mimics him, food in hand, eyes lighting up when she finally makes it in her mouth.

He glances towards the stairs. You’re in the guest room, far enough away that Penny’s noise shouldn’t wake you, but still he tries to keep her preoccupied, distracted from making a fuss.

He wants you to get as much sleep as possible, this morning’s discovery of your shoulder unsettled him more than he’s frankly comfortable with, and the image of your swollen, battered face and neck leers and taunts. 

She’s safe now. She’s here. 

“Dada.” Pen calls, and he smiles, leaning forward to brush his lips across his baby’s soft skin, wispy curls tickling his nose. 

“Love you, baby girl.” He signs it too, and she beams.

“Luh.” It’s supposed to be love, and though the word is a struggle, the sentiment is the same. He doesn’t care that she’s not quite got it yet, he’ll take every word, every syllable he can get. These moments, each moment with his child, Johnny’s child, theirs… is a gift, one he never thought he’d have until Johnny. A privilege.

His phone vibrates with a text message.  

>Simon

>Give me a ring when you get a chance. On the black cell.  

“Thought you were on vacation?” Kate sighs, click clack of keys echoing in the background.

“I am, but if I’m too idle I start to go crazy. The wife likes it when I have a project.” Simon pauses, cocking his head. Penny’s feet kick in the highchair, baby spoon banging against the plastic tray.

“Hang on, Kate.” He drags a kitchen chair over in front of her so he can sit, pinning the phone between his shoulder and chin to twist the lid off the applesauce pouch. “Shhh, here you go." Penny gurgles with a grin at the taste of the fruit, and he smiles back at her. "So, what’s the new project then?”

“The nurse.” Simon’s eyes dart to the floor above his head.

“It’s not a good time.”

“I can talk, you can listen.” She brushes him off, sipping something with ice and then continuing. “I found it hard to believe that a civilian would be able to scrub their footprint like this, so I did a little digging. The more digging I did, the worse my fixation became.” Like a dog with a bone.Simon holds his breath. “I just needed a key, and with those photos you provided, well, things just started unraveling.”

“Kate.” He growls because he can’t manage anything else. He’s trying to keep himself still, heart pounding in his chest. Penny coos, like she notices the shift in her dad’s demeanor, and he immediately attends her, thumbing at a smear of applesauce on her cheek.

“I found a SANE exam from a few years ago. Small hospital in southern Colorado, right over the border from Texas. Patient’s name is Jane Doe, but the photos are almost an exact match.” His stomach lurches, dark clouds shadowing his vision, world splitting into blood and rage. Violence.

He didn’t want to be right.

He wanted to it to be anything, anything but this.

Who? 

Is it the same person that choked you? Beat you? Tore your shoulder damn near out of its socket? 

His gaze drifts to Penny.

They'll need to loop Price in, immediately. 

“Can you send it to me?”

“It’s already in your email.” She speeds past, eagerly. “There’s more. I used the photo to run facial recognition on archives in neighboring states and got a host of hits from Texas. You’ll have to visually confirm, but if I’m right, I’ve got positive ID on your girl.”

“How?”

“School. She graduated high school a year before the rest of her class, ended up with a full scholarship to Rice University in Houston, Texas. Went on to get a bioscience degree and graduated from Rice early.” Pride flutters beneath his ribs, honeyed and heavy. Their smart girl. “She ends up at a different school for pre-med but drops out before the first year ends. Not sure what happened but she started an accelerated nursing program, and breezed through it. You should see her transcripts. I don’t think this girl has gotten less than an A+ on anything since kindergarten.”

“Send them over.”

“Already done. After that, she starts work at a local hospital, and then… nothing. Her paper trail stops. Her job disappears. She’s a ghost except for the sealed court records, and now the Jane Doe medical chart, but that didn’t happen until later. The aliases she’s used over the past few years, they’re in the wind. It’s really quite impressive. She’s either got a connection somewhere, or she’s CIA.” Kate is animated, talking quickly, and he interrupts her to get to the question that’s weighing on him, brushing off the latter immediately. You’re not a honeypot. He spots those a mile away.

“You know her name, then. Her birth name?”

“I do.” She’s silent for a moment, and then she gives it softly. First, middle and last.

He closes his eyes. He tries to imagine you as a girl, on the playground, playing tags with other kids, all of them shouting your name, or as a teenager, in a fight with a parent, one of them yelling your name. He pictures you as a uni student, with your friends, laughing and having a good time somewhere, one of them hollering your name over too loud music. You’ve had a whole life with that name, a whole story. You were a person with that name, and he tries to imagine the way it would sound on your tongue, on Johnny’s, even his.

You’re a ghost now, will you let them bring you into the light?

Will you let them help you reclaim it; the way Johnny helped him reclaim his own?

Kate subtly coughs on the other end of the line.

“Thanks, Kate.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll keep digging. Check your email when you get a chance.”

“Will do.”

“Oh! And the hotel, I sent that paperwork to your email as well.” He thanks her, again, tells her to try to enjoy her time off and hangs up just as Penny starts to fidget, unhappy with being in the highchair for so long without attention.

“Alright, lamb. Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?” He pulls her free, showering kisses all over her cheeks and neck that make her giggle. “Can’t be wearin’ your applesauce and pajamas over to John and Lou’s, can you?”

Johnny is anxious. Simon can see it a mile away, even before he gets in the room, he notices how he is fidgets, unspent energy and too much time to dwell culminating in an unsettled state.

So, when he kisses him first thing, he makes it long and slow. He drags Johnny’s bottom lip between his teeth, carefully taking his time until he’s sure his partner is half hard beneath his hospital gown and blanket.

“Si.” Johnny groans, and he relents, pulling away to cradle his face between his hands, taking him in, every line, every fleck of gold in his blue eyes, soaking up the healing, healthy glow that glimmers in his skin.

His doctor says it won’t be long now, until he can come home, and Simon is counting the days.

To have everyone, under one roof, feels like a fever dream.

“Missed you.” Johnny noses into his neck, and Simon reciprocates with a kiss to his temple, his cheek.

“Missed ye too.” He pauses, squeezing his hand. “Pen?”

“Alright. Grumpy this morning. Think she wanted to see you.” She did, he knows it, but he tries not to pile it on. Johnny knows their daughter misses him, as much as he misses her. They’re two peas in a pod, best friends, halves to a whole. They’re both suffering. “Went with Lou and John fine. I’ll bring her in the morning.”

“Good.” He nods, tilting his chin for another kiss, and Simon gives it without hesitation, basking in the warmth and familiar feel  of his skin.

When he clears his throat, he pulls away with a sigh. “How is she?”

“In pain. Shoulder is nearly torn out of the socket, and her neck is in poor shape. I had to help get her into bed, she couldn’t get her shirt off. Emotionally she’s… still got the walls up, but she let them slip for a second last night, before she let me help her. And I caught her crying in front of the fridge. Think the photos of Pen got to her somehow.” His stomach twists, new, horrifying possibility dawning on him. Do you have a child somewhere? 

“Did she get any sleep?”

“She hadn’t come down when I left to take Penny, so I assume so.”

“Good. She needs it.” Simon agrees. After injury, after trauma, body and mind need so much more care. More rest, more nutrients, water, protein. More love.

“Kate called.” He bites the bullet, fingers flexing against his knee. “She found a loose end and tugged it.” Johnny straightens. He’s every bit the solider, even laid up in bed. Waxy, soft features turn razor sharp and focused, except instead of his practiced steadiness, he’s chomping at the bit.

“Tell me.”

Simon does. He tells him everything Kate said, almost verbatim. Johnny’s face changes from worried to enraged when he finally gets to the medical chart.

“No.” Johnny’s whisper is faint, thin, papyrus. Brittle and broken, almost washed away, and Simon doesn’t blame him. The chart is horrific for them, was horrific for him earlier, turned his stomach until he thought he’d be sick.

He’s killed. He’s tortured. But to be there when Johnny revealed the handprinted tender skin on your neck, to be there when you cried out in pain last night, when he saw the scars on your body, the cigarette burns that were so familiar, to look at these photos and know that you’ve been brutalized beyond belief, makes his vision run red and his heart ache.

There’s a ghost in these photos. A different girl, but the same, a glimpse of what he saw last night. Still their bunny, their girl. He can see her, through the broken blood vessels and compound forearm fracture. He can see her past the swollen cheekbone and broken nose, the fresh burns on your stomach and torso. The doctor’s notes indicate that you said you were mugged, and sexually assaulted, but refused to finish the SANE exam and took off.

He's not surprised. 

The first time he saw the burns on your naked skin, he swore he could his mother’s screams, and for the hundredth time today, Simon thinks of her. He wonders, if she ever went to a hospital, if she ever begged anyone to help her, or them. He wonders if someone saw what was happening, how she was slowly disappearing, sinking in on herself, and tried to help. He wonders if she felt as alone as you seem to. If she too, became a ghost.

He looks at these photos and cannot fight the pain, the memories.

“Oh, Si.” Johnny cups his cheek, thumb soothing softly across his skin, trying to wipe away the tears that fall. He can’t stop them, not now, and Johnny does not ask, only holds him through it, lets him cry into his hands, pain and suffering of a small, frightened boy coming out of his body in broken sobs.

He won’t fail you. Not like he did her.

After minutes turn long, he takes a deep breath, pressing his lips to Johnny’s palm, and utters a promise as cold as death. 

“We’ll kill them. Whoever it is.”

[c0kitty]

NOW PLAYING ... NOBODY KNOWS ft. spider-women!ellie x reader

“…BUT NOBODY KNOWS MY LITTLE SECRET.”

(⭑) summary: r/reddit, when’s the best time to tell your girlfriend of three months, (who you are so desperately in love with) you are that "crazy" vigilante on the news, fighting crime in a spider-suit, and that you now shoot fucking webs out of your wrist. (⭑) content: wc 1.2k+ nerd!ellie. confessions. making out. comfort. spider-man!ellie. established relationship. suggestive. insecure!ellie. HEAVILY inspired from the roof-top scene in tasm bcs im obsessed. cursing.

you guys find yourself on the roof-top of dina’s-friend’s apartment, for a random party, celebrating god-knows what. it's slightly chilly, you stand next to ellie with her oversized jacket on you; despite ellie telling you numerous times it was going to be cold, she was not one to refuse you.

ellie wished she had her camera right now; outside’s a pretty scene with the many buildings scattered, the sky, gradually transitioning into yellow and pink hues, night unfolding, and you, looked so pretty by her side. 

the city below though remains bustling with constant movement, and ellie's mind is no different. because today was going to be the day —

ellie’s hazel-green eyes shift towards you, observing your soft expression, her heart ached with uncertainty as she wondered if you would hate her — hate her for lying, hate her for not being normal, hate her for having so much baggage. hate her for being spider-women. 

“you think dina and jesse are shagging?” you ask, randomly, breaking the comfortable silence. your hands moves to the railing, casually pushing yourself backwards on it.

“saw dina sneakin’ out at 1 am, like she was a teenager. so, yeah, definitely.” 

also due to ellie’s super-senses, she had heard so many “private,” conversations with him and dina she wished to unhear.

you nod your head, turning your attention towards ellie. “so, why do you seem so te—”

“i need to say something,” 

you guys both interrupt each other, it elicits a small giggle from you. “okay... is this about before? is that the reason you’ve been so pissy tonight?” 

you were hinting about earlier. when someone had hit on you, even with you being on ellie's lap, her arms even wrapped at your waist. it irritated the hell out of ellie, leaving her to characteristically run her mouth at em'. 

you almost had to drag her away to stop the growing commotion.

ellie sports a slight pout at her pink-lips. “it’s not my fault men can’t get fucking context clues, it’s a wonder they survive. and i haven’t been “pissy” i—” you raise your eyebrows in response, conveying a silent ‘you sure?’ ellie stops talking, only rolling her eyes.

“okay, whatever, maybe i was but, it's not about that,” ellie wasn’t sure how to start this conversation without sounding crazy or scaring you.

“...i was bitten,” ellie says, bushy brows slightly furrowing.

your head tilts, “that’s a little ominous.” ellie rethinks; maybe that wasn’t a good way to start.

“nevermind. you know, when i was sick. that whole two weeks, couple months back.” you nod your head, “yeah, you said you were sick. projectile vomit and shit. couldn’t lift a finger because it was so bad.” damn, ellie forgot she said all that.

“yeah, um sorry. i lied about that.” before you could say anything, lips pulled into a frown, ellie blurts: “i’m spider-man,” finally with a breath. you’re staring at her, but she can’t decipher your expression. unconsciously, ellie bites at her bottom lip.

silence fills the moment, and ellie finds it unbearable; suddenly, in just a second, your face relaxes. “oh, wait. you’re fucking with me. els thought you were serious for a second.”

ellie was regretting playing pranks on you so much, “i’m not fucking with you,” ellie’s arm cross, unconsciously flexing in the process, but you only a grow smile on your lips, like this was some ongoing joke. “jesus, stop smiling — it’s not a joke y/n,”

“i’ve known you all my life ellie — i think i would know if you were fighting crimes with iron-man,” you ignore her, releasing the bar. “wait just w—”

“lets go els, please. it’s getting cold and i’m tired,” you say, making your move toward the door; but in a quick reaction, ellie’s translucent webs shoots out her wrist, spinning you around til’ you're close, her hands, now holding at your waist.

you’re staring at her, eyes widened comically, and your mouth parted, seemingly trying to process what just happened. ellie's attention was drawn to something else though; light in the distance, drunken footsteps heading their way. 

“you just fucking — shot webs out your hands, ellie! you’re sp—” 

ellie didn’t have much time to think it through, because as soon as the drunkards stumble in, ellie's lips, soft and sweet, press into yours.  “..shh,” ellie whispers, faint to your lips — trying to calm you down.

a small gasp leaves your mouth. but after a second, hearing the commotion behind you; you get the message, relaxing yourself into the kiss.

ellie's kisses are usually greedy, but tender, her hands would rummage your body confidently, possessively pulling you in. but this kiss, its … different. it’s tentative, hesitant, like she was afraid to push.

at that, you try to make her feel comfortable with a subtle touch beneath her loose black-shirt. your lips, coated in strawberry gloss, glides seamlessly over hers, giving her a little push; and it works.

ellie tongue pushes in hastily, its smooth tracing from your lips to your tongue. her moppy-brown hair tickling your chin as she eases in the kiss, embracing the subtle buzzing in her chest. 

you hear the people leave, and it’s silent now, besides the busy cars. “ellie… t–” 

“one more second,” she grumbles, you wanted to keep going, but you still had a lot to say — questions cycling. so you pull away, with a gentle smack of the lips.

she lets out a small groan in response; her cheeks dusted in pink and round eyes flutter open, looking at you in a wistful gaze.

“so… you’re spider-man. well, spider-woman,” you finally say, exhaling. ellie’s eyes shift to the floor. her hands drop from you, and instead, runs through her hair anxiously. “yeah. i know it’s fucked up, and weird. i should’ve told you, warned you, but i—”

you interrupt her depressive rambles, “no, ellie i mean it’s cool, you’re cool. it’s just, fuck.” you take a breath, throwing your hands up. “i was just surprised because you’re, like, nerdy and cute, and then … spiderman, you know?”

ellie’s eyes lifted to meet yours, “relieved” couldn’t fully capture how she felt, but all she could managed to say was: “oh, okay. that’s great, yeah.”

a silence falls between you two in response to ellie’s awkwardness, exchanging glances; both of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“i feel like i should feel offended though, ‘nerdy?’” you playfully nudge at her feet, “you know what i mean. passionate about space, introverted, so obsessed with your grades. it’s like a text-book definition,” ellie couldn’t really deny that, so she just playful rolls her eyes instead.

“...but you know what’s crazy, i had a small tiny crush on spider–man, well you, before we officially dated.” 

ellie’s lips curve into a smile, “so now you get the best of both worlds, huh.” ellie comes closer to you, hands finding their place to your body. "i bet you dreamed of both of us fighting over you, hm?”  

in the quietness that follows, your eyes drift away from ellie, intentionally avoiding her gaze. ellie could tell there was more story to your silence, “wait — did you have a wet dream about spider-man and m—” she begins, but you swiftly cover her mouth.

“...shut it,” you say beyond flustered, which only intensifies ellie's curiosity.

[puppetmaster13u]

Idk I just had the intrusive idea of the JL or some hero investigating the GIW or some other group with suspicions of them keeping merfolk or similar what with the giant tanks and what's shown in their paper trails over the years.

Only for Big Ass realms naga to swim by the observation window in the water.

From top to bottom, left to right: Valerie, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Danny, Ellie & Dan

Like I am saying 30ft (9.1m) at the least from head to tail, probably bigger in giant rooms. And like, visibly has been there for a while. Like the GIW have been studying them as the only available specimens after they hypothetically destroyed the portals.

The GIW is the ghost investigation ward after all, not extermination. Though that doesn't mean they're exactly treated the best either- more akin to something like a snake or crow, like semi-intelligent animals like dolphins, chained to make taking samples & dragging them from the ecto-infused waters easier.

And maybe they're a little feral, muzzles on save for feedings preventing them from talking, if they even remember how to make noises that aren't in the words of the Zone anymore.

Maybe they've convinced themselves that it could be worse, they could've been killed like Vlad, like an animal that had bit too much, over and over. Maybe they've convinced themselves that this isn't so bad, even if they're treated less than human, even if they've not seen the sun for who knows how long now.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Design Thoughts?

-Metal Core Valerie, her scales are literally made from it, in blacks and reds like molten gemstones. Her scales are sharp too, designed for easily cutting through stone. Lots of spikes that glow when channeling energy.

-Plant Core Sam, scales designed for plant seeds to catch hold and take root not unlike a sloth's fur, hiding the sharp thorn-like ones lining her backside. Also, acid. Blacks, greens, and flashes of bright purples & greens that hint at the poisonous nature

-Storm Core Tucker, very thick scales designed for going through the sand with side spikes that help channel electricity. Has both a rattle and a pair of stingers that could hypothetically 'plug in' to things as well. Some of the most bioluminescence of the group.

-Ocean Core Jazz, she is the most aquatically designed out of all of them, with lures all across her body that mimics the lights reflecting off water, tricking the mind from noticing her. Large carp-like scales and several rows of teeth. Lots of blues in coloration with hints of oranges & yellows like a sunrise at the sea

-Space Core Danny, with large amounts of spikes and 'vents' that cover him in an aurora if he were free. Spikes with their own miniature gravity forces, twisting the area around him as he moves. Black iridescence & swirling white-blue patterns like galaxies are painted across his body

-Moon Core Ellie, covered in fine needle-esque scales not unlike how actual moondust is. Very rough like sandpaper and a fin that mimics the tail of a comet tinted ecto-green. Mostly monotone colors otherwise.

-Sun Core Jordan, with similar vents to Danny but with flames and plasma. Thick fur at the end of his tail not unlike how Vlad's was, with thick scales that allow for swimming through molten material that could melt anything and anyone else. Blacks, whites, blues, almost like white-hot coals