#how strong bonds can be

[sawyer-is-eepy]

on our way

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Normal Friend Behaviour.

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[nobleriver]

In death, I carry you with me, my eternal companion, a broken melody.

[merakiui]

ALIEN SCARAMOUCHE WITH OVIPOSITION MERA ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME 😭 I need more, what would he look like, what are his motivations... Omg... Maybe some kidnapping going on...some experiments on humans...him studying how humans reproduce and if his race can use them... Aaaa my mind is going crazy with ideas, please do share yours too! <3

What if he doesn’t have a form of his own (something that sort of ties into canon Scaramouche’s obsession with wanting a heart and a purpose)? And maybe he’s more like a shadowy mass that can take the form of anything so long as he’s encountered said thing (i.e. made contact with it? Or maybe he has to kill the original in order to take its form? Or it’s something like a reflection where if you happen to look at him long enough he’ll have a good enough idea of how to replicate your form from staring and analyzing it.) and since he’s so dedicated to having a form that really fits, that truly feels like him, he’s continued to adapt and evolve as the years pass throughout every planet in the solar system.

Perhaps he does have a few features of his own, but maybe they’re sort of scattered?? Or they aren’t really features his species is known to have? He’s like a mixture of various things he’s observed over the time he’s spent on your planet in an effort to shape himself into something beyond the formless shadow he’s lived as for so long. Like a patchwork copycat composed of so many different parts because he’s desperately trying to understand all of these things. It’s like his version of trying on clothes and new fashion styles. So maybe he has horns or maybe cat ears because he’s seen so many stray cats and they’ve always fascinated him for some unexplainable reason (maybe in order to have these features he’s had to ingest part of the living thing he wants to replicate??? Just something a little extra horrifying for our beloved alien mouchey. <3) And maybe the only thing he has from the one who created him (Ei) is the same piercing stare in a pair of brilliantly colored eyes she graciously bestowed upon him.

Maybe Scaramouche can’t understand human emotion in the usual sense that other humans might, so he assigns flavors to these unusual feelings. When he hurts the things he likes or is interested in (cats, the human he stole his current appearance from (i.e. Kabukimono; let’s pretend they’re two separate individuals hehe), and even other gentle things or creatures who are completely innocent), the taste in his mouth is sour or bitter or so very intolerable. I think over time he hardens himself and learns to live with the foul flavors he often encounters when he attempts to blend in with humans and utterly fails because he can never replicate their emotions as well as he can copy behaviors or appearances. He starts his journey so curious and sweetly innocent, albeit murderous and eerie, and he tries so hard to learn and be good and explore the world with the eyes his mother gifted him and yet he always finds himself hurting. He hates it. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible, and he has never truly felt before. This is new.

When Scaramouche is captured by Dottore, a human scientist who is a little too dedicated to the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, he finally tastes the cruelty of humankind—learns of the lengths they’ll go to in the name of scientific breakthroughs. The researchers run dozens of tests on him. He can’t feel external or internal pain from wounds or injuries; he’s sturdy, birthed from a substance foreign to humans, intended to survive the harshest conditions. But Scaramouche feels pain—the emotional kind. He’s never felt fear; he’s what humans would call an apex predator. He’s strong. He’s never needed to feel fear, and so he doesn’t fear the unknown. He isn’t scared of the sharp tools, of the peculiar creatures he’s shown in hopes that he might replicate them and their features, nor does he fear the trajectory of this new life. The concept of ethical practices means nothing to him even though he’s aware he’s a lab rat, a grotesque curiosity that doctors poke and prod at. He reacts to everything in unique, defensive ways. He impaled a doctor through the throat with a strange shadowy spike. It moved as though it were liquid, yet it struck very solidly, sharply, deadly efficient. Dottore likens its movements and behaviors to that of an octopus’s tentacle; Scaramouche is unsure of this comparison. This is merely a shadow of something he has observed—a reflection. A cheap copy. He has never been original.

You’re the first human he meets who isn’t adorned in sterile white. No lab coat, no gloves, no goggles, no protective gear. Just clothes. Normal clothes. The both of you are separated by indestructible glass, placed in two very white rooms, and you can see one another so clearly. Scaramouche hates the purity of white because he knows that when he’s forced into a white backdrop he’s meant to stain it red. And lately he doesn’t want to break things that are undeserving of it. Perhaps he’s feeling too much. Perhaps he ought to tear these human feelings out and go back to the blank, shadowy slate he once was. How he intends to accomplish that, he has no idea.

He’s uninterested in you at first. You’re a human. He’s seen humans. He interacts with them daily. He’s killed plenty. But you spend nights in that white room and he watches you sleep. He tries to sleep in the same way you do; he has no need for sleep. He regulates his energy differently. He tries to breathe like you. He blinks at the same times you blink—or he comes awfully close. He tries to copy your movements and mannerisms. One night he presses himself to the glass and takes your form and watches you, counting every rise and fall of your chest as you lie so comfortably on the very uncomfortable cot. With hands that mirror yours, he pokes at these human features. He fits one hand in the other and pretends he’s holding your actual hand. There is no warmth, though. Humans are warm; Scaramouche is not. He’s frigid. His home planet is gloomy and cold and desolate. He thinks humans are lucky for cyclical days—for being in close proximity to the sun. There is no sunshine where he hails from. He likes the way the sun feels on him. It used to burn terribly when he first arrived on this planet. Now it’s like a hug—a hug that still singes, but a hug nonetheless. He’s never known what a hug is, but he thinks this is what it must feel like—like the burning warmth of a sun.

Scaramouche feels true, raw, animalistic, paralyzing fear when you’re taken out of the room after two weeks and replaced with a new human. You’re gone. Replaced. Are you dead? Did he kill you? Did he stare too long? He’s distraught, overcome with a horrifying emotion that has him curled and trembling in the corner of his white room (a cage if he’s ever known one). Why aren’t you here? And why is he so…restless? He can’t call it fear because he doesn’t know that word. But oh he’s scared. He’s so scared. You were the first human to smile at him, to put your hand on the glass where his rested, to sit close to the glass and eat meals alongside him. You were like the stray cats he’s interacted with: kind, soft, gentle, sweet. He’s so scared he loses the ability to remain in his human skin, and he practically melts into a shadow, clinging to the corner like glue or slime. He’s empty and alone. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible.

The humans that follow are terrified of him. Either that or they’re disgusted, baffled, cautious. He hates every one of them, so much so that he’s tried to break through the glass numerous times to dispose of them. Weeks pass; he’s forgetting your features. There are no mirrors here, so he must rely on the reflections shown in the glass. Some days he thinks he looks just like you; other days he’s certain he’s a monstrosity—a sloppily stitched version of you. The you he saw did not have pointed fangs or curling horns. He hates his reflection because it isn’t you. Most importantly, he hates that the humans he’s forced to look at are protected by this thick layer of glass. If it wasn’t so indestructible, he’d tear through every human nuisance until he reaches you.

Scaramouche is not sure how many months pass, but you return. And when you do the fear ebbs away. He feels…happy? Is that the right term? He’s pleased to see you, and for the first time in a while he returns to his human appearance—to the one he took from a young man many centuries ago. You’re back. You’re here. He’s so happy. He detaches himself from his corner and he tries to smile in the way you do. And, though it’s awkward and strange and sharp-toothed, you smile right back.

Dottore decides then that you are to be the next subject in this experiment. He’s observed Scaramouche’s reactions to you and compared them to reactions to the other humans and found that you are the best suited to this role. If anything, the alien couldn’t have picked a better specimen to adore. You’re helpless and so naïve. You need the money; it’s why you allowed yourself to live in that room for a few weeks. You were paid handsomely for it. He’ll pay you beyond handsomely if you agree to what’s next. And, really, when you’re in between a predator’s jaws do you really have much of a choice?

Scaramouche needs a human match, and the scientists need to study more than just the social biology of an alien. They promise you he won’t hurt you, and if he does it’s all right. They’re kind enough to respect the wishes of the dead. You must let Dottore know if you’d prefer a burial or a cremation. There’s nothing special in this distinction; it’s just a precautionary measure. You’ll agree to participate in this experiment whether or not you want to.

Your new home is the white room that faces Scaramouche, and after some more time and observations to ensure you won’t be killed the moment you step foot in his space the glass barrier will be lifted. Dottore wonders how Scaramouche’s kind mates and reproduces.

There’s only one way to find out.

[simcardiac-arrested]

what’s up lately with all these snobbish posts about how found family isnt This it’s That and found families don’t have dads or siblings or anyrhing Stop Pushing Your Nuclear Agenda

[akkivee]

no but like fr, how did shakku know that hitoya would be thee guy to help clear kuukou of his assault charges???? how did shakku come to have so much faith in hitoya as a lawyer???? how did shakku learn hitoya’s a lawyer in the first place how does shakku know hitoya’s purpose is related to his brother how did—

[bunnihearted]

i thinkk that a huge part of why im so deeply unhappy is bc im a girl who is supposed to and needs to have a girl bestie - my other half. ever since i was a kid i've always had a girl friend who was my other half and who i talked to and hung out with every single day. now when i dont have that, and when it's also been 6 years since my last friendship like that, i feel profoundly lost and alone. i need another woman close to me who i love and can anchor myself in. who is my compass, my stars, my solid ground. lacking the love, support, comfort, loyalty and security of a strong and forceful love and friendship with another woman, i feel incomplete and lonely and unhappy. like something fundamentally important to the essence of my being is missing. and it completely messes with me on every level of my life.

[pinkinsect]

aryu and tokimitsu are so special to me actually

[tabbyrocks]

Old draft i found and wanted to post!!!

monodeku AU fic idea thing where people can fuse (like steven universe gem fusing minus the gems) but ONLY if they have a strong emotional bond.

its their second year of highschool, and the two are friends (monoma swears they arnt). they bonded over their shared appreciation for quirks and such.

At some point they are on patrol and izuku's danger sense goes off for some reason (maybe something falling, maybe a villan idk, haven't thought of the details) so he grabs monoma in a panic to help him avoid the danger.

but instead of moving him they accidentally fuse.

after the initial panic of "oh god what why did we fuse" (mostly from monoma) they have to head back to campus. but the issue is, they don't know how to unfuse.

another thing, i came up with their fusion quirk!!

Its called "copy and paste". basically, it works like copy but the user can give the copies to other people as well as using the copies themselves. the time limit still applies for the copy and the paste.

[braceletofteeth]

If you want to be happy, I hope it comes true.

I hope you will be happy too.

[hamofjustice]

y'know, sometimes I focus a lot on the implications of Juliana/Florian maybe possibly being Nemona's official Greatest Treasure for the semester but not fully confirmed as such, or the undertones of her wanting them to promise to be "rivals for life," when I rant er I mean discuss how it'd be really messed up if she got left behind when they transferred to Blueberry Academy in The Indigo Disc

but I can't believe "I've relished every day since you moved here" is an actual unedited line she says. I just assumed I had embellished that one in my head. nope. there's no way to misread that, no embellishment needed, she just says it! and then gets kind of embarrassed about it and she says she's gonna blush when they say either variation of "you too"

not to be like "there is no platonic explanation for this," because there totally is, but if she's going to be shipped with anyone I think it's really hard to justify it being with anyone else as long as the player character is in the picture

[westywallowing]

got lunch with a friend I haven't seen in a while today and we talked about how one of the lessons you quickly learn in the first few years of adulthood is that most friendships will drift apart if you don't put the work in. and that if you put the work in, and it feels like you're the only one, then maybe it's time to let that person drift too

[theultracharmingladynoire]

.

[timandlucy]

Whisper Box episode supremacy 😎

[flockrest]

unprompted / always accepting / @gloryseized ( Link )

     So it's a pretty slow-going night for collecting star fragments, as it turns out.

     Which is totally fine! Really! They can't all be winners — and it gives Tulin all the more time to get Link caught up on everything that's happened to the flock while he was away!

     But. Well.

     Even in knowing this, the disappointment that ruffles his feathers is a hard thing to ignore. It's been too long since they'd last hung out like this, both ( mostly Link ) too busy with their own dedications and responsibilities ( mostly Link ) to find the chance to have fun just for the sake of having fun, and now the fun's not even gonna have the decency to start when they're all prepped for it to?

     Go figure.

     He chatters on some more 'bout the ( thankfully harmless but very hilarious all the same ) explosion Molli accidentally ignited on Master Revali's Landing the other day, continuing to try pacing his restlessness out along the deck of the Stormwind Ark near where Link's seated himself, before eventually flumping down beside him with a sigh he can't quite keep locked behind his beak. He lolls back 'til his head's on the hero's shoulder, semiplumes squished up 'gainst Link's ear and cheek.

     "Sorry it's so boring up here," he says, feeling ridiculous for it a second later 'cause it's not like Tulin has any sorta control over when and where stars fall. It still feels like it's kinda his fault for how things are going, though — they were s'pposed to be in Necluda's skies tonight ( they were s'pposed to be there two moon phasings ago, actually, but who's counting ) as per their routine, but his brother had arrived at their peaks real tired and Tulin hadn't wanted to push him into being, like, dead-tired. Even if Link insisted otherwise.

     The shoulder beneath his head rises and dips in what he's fairly sure is probably a snicker. Tulin turns then, playfully offended squawk already building up in his chest, 'cept Link isn't actually laughing at him.

<< I'm glad you're here. >>

     Oh.

     Feathers puffing with a delighted, tickling warmth, Tulin feels the joy that always sweeps over him when Link's being real nice like this all the way down to the tips of his talons. To all the tiniest spaces between his bones! They're flock and nest, 'course, so this isn't the first time he's been told something along these lines, but the love that radiates from that quiet smile and those assured signs just seems— heavier. Fuller. Link's-talking-'bout-more-than-right-here-and-now-er. It's seriously hard to resist bowling him over with a hug in the face of it.

     Tulin's getting better at not immediately ruining a peaceful moment when he sees one though, and that tends to require a more delicate touch. ( Or, uh, as delicate a touch as he can manage. )

     "That makes two of us!" he laughs, beaming with barely contained giddiness and nudging at Link with a wing. Then, y'know what, he gives the night sky around them one last look, scoots closer, and plops the back of his head right down onto his brother's lap. If the stars remained still for whatever time they have left before they gotta go, Tulin decides he wouldn't mind it if it meant being together like this just a while longer. "I'm glad you're here, too!"