#reset rave

[currentlyonstandbi]

thinking about that article where Aidan talks about Five being lost this season, about how he doesn't know what his place is in the universe. thinking about how it might be because there's no longer any apocalypse to stop, no world to save, and comparing it to similar circumstances in season 3. thinking about the fact Five's response to having fulfilled his purpose in that situation is not to despair but to celebrate. you could argue that maybe it's because the reality of it hasn't set in, that he's essentially in the honeymoon phase of no longer having a place in the world, but I'd argue there's another consideration - his family. Five in S3 is content, happy even, despite no longer having a purpose because at least he still knows his place. and that's amongst the people he's dedicated decades of his life to saving. thinking about how, by the end of the season, Five was ready to finally put an end to it all - no more stopping the apocalypse. because at least he'd get to go out surrounded by the people he loved. but S4 sees them all split up. and now Five's without a purpose and without his family. and there's no end of the world to save them from; they won, timeline fixed, universe restored. his family is finally safe. and Five is still alone.

the unbearable tragedy of getting what you want.

[water-mellie-seeds]

The theme being fucking white and bright blue on mobile and i cant change it hurts my eyes so bad im gonna explode

[belethlegwen]

Listen Everytime I think I've finally figured the basics of this website out I realize something like there's more color/theme options than "Regular and Dark Mode"

[tastytofusoup]

I've made an account on Hive Social in case it takes off, because it looks like the only twitter alternative worth my time reserving usernames on (I've got tomfurber too).

[bloodborne-on-pc]

About an hour into a Genocide run in Undertale, and I figured out I'm doing it wrong, and was just on a really violent Neutral playthrough. Apparently it's not enough to kill every monster who tries to fight you. You have to go out of your way to trigger as many combat encounters as possible until they just stop happening in the current area, and only then can you go and fight the area's boss. Jesus Christ.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience. 

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs. 

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!" 

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.  

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.  

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.  

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow. 

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service. 

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.  

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"  

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?" 

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage. 

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed. 

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli

@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge

@mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld   @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs   @hisparentsgallerryy @harryhitties @storyschanging   @selluequestrian   @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

[deathmetalunicorn1]

sentient reader? For ror?

basically, reader is the soul of dead child with one job: making sure it all goes according to plan. Aka, making sure everything happens like it happens in the manga. They are cruel, sassy, and have very specific insults (ex. You look like you’re a cockroach that got slapped with a shoe then stomped again by a big boot.)

But most importantly, they hate gods. Reason being, the gods didn’t treat them well when they were alive and lead them to this job now.

although cool and calm, most of the time, when a match doesn’t end as canon in the manga or anime, they start yelling and having a fit. Screaming that it wasn’t supposed to happen and they have to restart the world and do their job again and again. How would that go?

-This was absolute horseshit, not only did you die, but when you awoke in Valhalla as a ghost, a literal ghost, unlike the other citizens of the series you adored so much.

-You quickly learned that you remembered everything from the series, from either reading the manga or watching the anime, so you knew that Ragnarok was imminent, much to your dismay.

-You couldn’t change the story, it was like you just joined the plot, but you could do nothing to change it. You learned that the hard way when you tried to prevent something in the early plot from happening, and the world itself started to fall apart, imploding in on itself.

-You tried subtly telling the gods that this was a bad idea, trying to tell them that humans weren’t to be underestimated, remembering those who had died. The gods just laughed at you, thinking that you were foolish, and some even threatened you.

-That’s when everything started falling apart, people and gods were sent scrambling, everyone panicking as so many were dying.

-You had the ability to restart the plot, restart the story, to prevent anything from happening, but it was so annoying when it seemed that little things were setting the plot off and you had to keep restarting everything!!

-So, you stopped trying to help others, you stopped trying to stop Ragnarok from happening, you stayed back and stayed silent, only intervening when you had to, to keep the plot moving forward.

-When Poseidon, who remembered your seemingly arrogant words, when you advised him to not get cocky, got pissed and killed Kojiro, you lost it, “Are you FUCKING kidding me?!”

-It was rather shocking, seeing a child ranting and raving as you glared down at Poseidion, who was amused by your outburst.

-You exhaled through your nose harshly, “This is not how the story goes and now I have to restart it- AGAIN!!!!” Everyone was confused by your words, and you snapped your fingers.

-Everything started to go dark for everyone, you heard screams of those around you, who were scared as to what was happening.

-When the darkness faded, everything returned to the meeting of the gods, and you huffed softly, watching from above, complaining quietly, “I swear the next person who messes things up is getting stabbed with a fork then I’m throwing them in front of a semi-truck!!”

-You didn’t know what you did to be stuck in this fate, constantly restarting to prevent the destruction of this universe, but you were getting tired of it. Perhaps you would reset things next time, and just disappear with everyone else.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - The Ep8 Script (Pt1)

Thanks to slitwrstsavior sharing the script and @memorian for digitizing it! <3

Imma have to do this in chunks, cuz of Tumblr's 30-pic limit.

SHADE.

AMC. I'm finna smack y'all. I NEED those alternate outtakes! 😭🙏

😳 JACOOOOOOB! 😱

SIR ANDERSONNNNNNNNN~!!!!

You ain't have to commit to the bit like THAT! They said suck the BLOOD DROP on the FLOOR, not the effing ROCKS themselves! XD Your improvs are IMMACULATELY UNHINGED! 😍

This is VERY cool & interesting!

HH's OCD mirrors Lou's mad ravings during his PTSD unhinged Revenge Plot, but it's also really cool that he was from vinatge Hollywood, contemporaneous with Louis' film noir aesthetic in 2x7, AND HH's association with aviation, and Lou's dream learning to fly (a plane)--perhaps in honor of Claudia mad that Les wouldn't teach her to fly (with the Cloud Gift? 😭💔) NO ONE EFFING TOUCH ME!

Ahhhhhh~! They're his triggers; AND his reset-buttons. U_U

He was finna KIIIIIIILLLLLL Lestat, IKR!? XD

I love how the use of ellipses can stand for either interruptions (Louis shushing him) or deliberate pauses (Armand actively tryna think of a lie).

Rolin's goofy arse. XD He really meant it when he said he wanted Dan's music to come in clutch.

Can't help but notice that it's SILENT during this part though. The "tense" film noir music only starts AFTER Louis' finished speaking. Which I think was a better choice. Let Louis' words sink in--HIS voice is the only one that should matter. THEN let the music come in. 👌

I EFFING KNEW THAT WAS HER ASHES OMG!? That ain't LIPSTICK!

I'm STILL MAD we didn't effing SEE the ear/jaw. But thank you for the movie nod from Akasha's BAMF exit.

Ahhh, that answers my question about if Louis was still using the Fire Gift from halfway across Paris--that is AWESOME, wow!

EXCUSE YOU!? Since when did Santiago know Armand's birthname!?

So either: Armand told Santiago his backstory, OR Santiago stole it from his mind (highly unlikely), OR he eavesdropped Loumand. SNAKE!

There's a typo--it should say "They are there to...." Which they took out anyway, and good riddance; Lou immediately cuts him off, cuz ain't nobody tryna hear your effing excuses, a-hole.

I DO wanna hear what he would've said though--pour some more Kool-aid down everyone's throats whydontcha!? "I knew the wisdom of the Great Laws," as if! I NEED to know what REALLY went down with the coven in S3--Imma make a separate post, cuz I have so many questions, that this Ep8 script unfortunately is NOT answering.

SUFFER, bish.

Imma cut off right here, and make a separate post.

[according2thelore]

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The best part happens when Sammy takes his first tottering steps towards Dean. It happens when the first word out of his mouth, when Dad is sloppy drunk on the couch watching a football game that Dad can’t count the points for, is a frantic and excited “Dee-n” as he stacks the pile of blocks correctly on rough, scratchy motel carpet.

The best part happens when Sammy scrapes his knee at a soccer game and runs straight to Dean—not Dad—and he see the look in Dad’s eye as Dean wipes the tears from his ruddy cheeks. Dean’s the one that Sam wants, he’s the most important one here. His is the neck that Sam’ll wail into, until Dad pries him away.

Sam needs Dean to teach him how to throw a punch in a dirt-lot in Mobile, Sam needs Dean to reset his dislocated shoulders, he needs him to buy ice cream and save up to buy him toy trucks and pack his lunches so Sam can have food that he likes in schools that he doesn’t. He needs Dean to curl into to fall asleep until Dad suddenly decides that that’s pussy-shit and drag a scream-sobbing Sam away to his own bed.

He needs Dean to tie his shoelaces and cuff his jeans and press a kiss to his forehead. He needs Dean’s old clothing, needs Dean to take him to soccer practice and clap louder than any parent at every single school play, whistling so loud that a few people duck. He needs Dean to embarrass him in front of girlfriends, needs Dean to lend him sweatshirts that Sam can fall asleep with his nose tucked into, eyes sliding closed contented and sun-warm in the Impala’s passenger seat. When Sam’s scared, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s upset, he goes to Dean first. When Sam’s happy, over the heads of people in school cafeterias and in hallways and sprinting at him across graveyards, he turns to Dean first. In the middle of a hunt—and Dean has no idea if Sam knows he does it—Sam goes Dean, Dean, Dean under his breath when things start to turn south, like Sam can summon him, like the idea of Dean can keep monsters away.

Sam needs Dean because in the winter, his nose starts to get cold first, since it slopes down and away from his face. He liked tucking it under Dean’s jaw when they shared a bed as children, and currently likes shoving his icicle feet under Dean’s thigh when they sit on couches together. He calls Dean a human furnace, but Dean’s secret is he has regularly proportioned limbs. Sam’s too damn big to give circulation to his freak feet, so Dean keeps “finding” pairs of woolen socks that he slips into Sam’s laundry when he’s not looking.

Sam needs Dean for his Blockbuster card (good in all fifty states, fuck yeah) registered under John McClane that the acne-ridden counter guy issued Dean with a raised brow. Sam likes M&Ms in his popcorn because he’s clinically insane, and Dean buys them liter bottles of pop that they can trade lazily back and forth because they can’t afford more than one individual bottle.

Sam needs Dean to take him out when they get to wherever they go next. Sam likes going to the movies and hates hiking and loves public libraries. He leans into Dean, no matter how old he gets, in the darkness of a movie theater, presses his foot against Dean’s under the table at diners, lets Dean throw his arm around him while Dean chats up girls at a public pool, like he’s afraid if Dean’s not touching him, either of them might snap out of existence.

Who else will adore this kid like he does? No one. No one could.

The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him.

The worst part happens when Dean uses his body as a shield to protect Dad or Sam or both from barely restrained blows. It happens when Dean lets Sam rant and rave, when Dean talks Sam off a ledge, steps outside to talk Dad from pushing Sam off a ledge, lets him spit venom about Sam right back. The worst part is being the depository for their hatred and their tempers and their love.

The betrayal in Sam’s eyes when Dean tries to calm him down guts him. The anger in Dad’s eyes when Dean tells him Sam means well is a blow to the skull.

Loyalty to either is a betrayal to both and Dean is sixteen.

Dean is sixteen and he’s got pimples and his bones hurt and Dad won’t stop screaming. Dean is sixteen and Sam won’t look at him most days for choosing Dad, as if Dean is physically capable of choosing anything other than the boy that planted his roots in Dean’s bones instead, when Dean had to prune them from Sacramento and Knoxville and Tampa. 

Sam needs him.

Sam needs him to be in the middle because they need a father.

The worst part is when Sam needs twelve dollars to go on this field trip to the museum that he’s been looking forward to because they’ve been in town long enough to look forward to something. Dean has just spent his last cents at a bar the night before because he’s sixteen and he’s scared, and he’s lonely because Cindy at the bar last night was the first not-Sam person Dean had spent longer than two sentences with in three weeks and four days. The worst part is that look in his eyes, and Dean smiles and plays along to the dumb-drunk-older-brother thing, because if Dean says that he spent the money because he’s miserable and dependent and scared, Sam will—Sam—Dean doesn’t know what Sam’ll do. Dean has never let Sam be that uncertain yet.

The worst part is having nightmares into his pillow, burying his grief and his tears in the motel sink at four a.m. because Sammy is sleeping in the other bed. 

The worst part is being fourteen and Dad hasn’t been back in a few weeks and the twenty bucks on the table evaporated a few days ago.

The worst part is being fourteen. 

The worst part is having to make a shelter out of his ribcage, out of slow smirks and lit cigarettes drooping from drunk men’s fingers, of sweaty, crumpled bills passing over a long-haul truck’s driver’s seat. The worst part trading those bills for Slim Jims and Kraft mac and cheese and marshmallow creme to make it seem like more food than it is, the look that the till girl gives him when she sees phone numbers written over Lincoln’s face. 

The worst part is being seventeen, and something’s got to give, so Dad looks at Dean. Dean’s going to give—of course Dean is going to give, because it can’t be Sam. Sam loves school, needs it—needs other people in a way Dean has trained himself not to want. So Dean drops out of high school in senior year, so Dad’ll stop picking fights with Sam about needing a hunting partner, so why doesn’t Sam just stop going to school?

Dean thinks the worst thing he thought about Dad to that point while he avoids eye contact with the guidance counsellor when he tells him the news. I want to drop out, Dean says, because he has to end it for Sam. What does school have for him anyway? Kids that’ll never understand him? A GED that he’ll never need? Dean hates feeling stupid, hates kids laughing at him behind his back because he had to move when they learned how to do times tables and he doesn’t know what seven times nine is. He hates the prickle of inferiority. 

But Dean thinks: I am the one you created to love you. He is the one you created to hate you. You need both of us. But you only care about one. You crave the challenge of winning—even love, even your son. I never won your approval, so what was it worth?

Dean banishes it as soon as he thinks it, goddamn horrified. That’s awful. It’s ridiculous. It’s pussy shit, is what it is. Dad’s right. Dad’s good. (Dad is right. Dad has to be right, has to be infallible, because in twelve years after Dean has left his eighth teary voicemail to a dead phone line after Sammy starts throwing up after his visions, after he stops eating because he sleeps in blood now it drips from his fingers, he will start to realize and it will undo him—What has it been for? If Dad’s not right—If Dad’s not good—then what is Dean? What has Dean torn up Sam’s roots for? What has Dean lost girlfriends and childhood memories and prom and almost lost limbs for? Dean has ripped himself apart and put himself back together so John Winchester can be right. If he’s not right, then Dean is misshapen for nothing.)

The worst part is being nineteen.

The worst part is the fact that Sam hates him anyway. That Sam rages against the bars of Dean’s ribcage because it might keep the rain off but God, who would want to be trapped next to this heart?

It bangs and slams all hours of the day, and it’s so goddamn hollow—even worse, it’s not hollow at all, it’s just SamSamSamSam—it’s just Sam’s long limbs and fox-slanted eyes and the mole to the left of his nose and the way he snorts when he’s trying not to laugh and the way his mouth looks after he gnaws on it and the way he tries to lick ice cream off his own nose, the way his face looks slack in sleep, the way he’s moulded himself to fit Dean a little, too.

His heart is sickening. It’s rotting, it’s metastasizing the air that Sam needs to breathe.

The best part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam Winchester needs him. The worst part about being Dean Winchester is that Sam needs him. And Dean’s not enough.

The very worst part though, the part that makes Dean eye his pistol sidelong as Sam’s back gets smaller and smaller as he walks away with his duffle bag over his shoulder and he knows—he knows, that at the end of this, Sam will never turn back, it will be Dean on his hands and knees, begging Sammy to come back, Sam will never look at him again if he’s given the chance to look away—

The very worst part about being Dean Winchester, is that Dean needs Sam more than Sam will ever need him.

crossposted on ao3 here

[holmesshire]

WARNING!! RDR2 SPOILERS Greetings folks! Welcome to uh... a beginners experience to RDR2 itself. I HAVE played a bit of the game (8-ish hours fiddling around grabbing the concept of the sandbox-like elements..), but I'll be here to post my daily experience on this game. Without further ado..... Log 01

alright firstly I will admit, before even starting for the day with my intents I had a look around camp. Hosea was teaching Jack to read, Abigail waving Arthur off... .. and (being the curious fool I am) decided I'd eavesdrop on this interaction.

...needless to say, I don't think they were too impressed. My first mission I took to start Chapter 2 was Uncle's mission. I was stoked to start this... cause.. VALENTINE! (but seriously why is this town so close to horseshoe overlook??? that thought was consistent in my head...). Being the goody two shoes I was I prompted to help the coach with his horse.

disaster struck me soon after.

SO I HAD TO MISSION RESET... .. not the first time I failed the first part of the mission Eventually though we did get to Valentine. The prospect of the saloon sitting right infront of me nearing this mission had me STOKED. Not to mention when exiting the general store I was convinced Arthur was drunk... (I played GTA5, I'm familiar with when Rockstar wants to throw in the being drunk feature). Alas, he wasn't. So the mission continued!

SO THEN WE FIND OUT THE GIRLS GOT THEMSELVES INTO TROUBLE.

"Did you shoot him?" no. kinda wish I did, I don't like seeing a women get disrespected like that :(

The usual went down from there as most RDR2 players probably know -- save Tilly, accidentally knive the guy Karen was having problems with... (that's intended in the game right? cause I gasped when I stabbed him) .. OH, AND THE CHASE!

No pictures I'm afraid but I can clarify, Jimmy was saved. Is that going to cost me? Probably. I mean later on in this gametime Arthur was telling Dutch about Jimmy... that's gotta hold some importance, right? Ahh... I like to be civil.

I AM SO MAD AT MYSELF FOR NOT FINDING THE HORSE OWNER. I AM SO SORRY, SO SO SO SORRY :'(((((

As I was still in Valentine after Uncle's mission, I noticed Javier was in the saloon so I went in there. Had a good giggle at the "he about to kiss that guy or punch him?" comment and did NOT hold my composure whatsoever when the bar fight itself started.

never thought I'd get so offended at getting my hat knocked off though........

IT HAPPENED TWICE! yes, I am saying after this first bit I picked up my hat, then Tommy comes in and WHERE IS MY HAT. GONE. VANISHED!!!!!! (I died to Tommy on the first go too... what an absolute loser I am to this. All because I forgot how to block......).. I passed the hurdle on the second go. Felt bad for Arthur being covered in dirt after the cutscene happened, and I nearly lost it into a giggling fit when DUTCH showed up. My thoughts were fixed on it; WHY IS DUTCH HERE?!

Now listen, after my hat got knocked the second time I waited patiently for the lore to settle and the cutscene to finish, and I made a beeline for the saloon. Wasn't leaving without my hat, no sirree...

this resulted in me finding out about Cigarette Cards! Apparently according to Google there's 144 in total. Uhh... that's another thing on my bucket list! (Alongside completing William's first task with the Harlow's, and Deborah's bone collecting task). Oh, and dumb dumb over here didn't realise my hat was back on my horse back in the camp. Pretty dumb guy if you ask me...

There were 2 "strangers" I met after this mission, both inside of Valentine; The biographer and the homeless vet.

I came across the biographer first, this guy RAVING about a gunslinger. I found the whole thing delirious considering there's a sheriff.. . ain't gunslingers like outlaws? (Talking about the fact Valentine's SHERIFF was nearby. This biographer had a lot of guts rambling on about his tales and actively wanting to track historical outlaws for this biography of his...)

i'm onto you mister. You shady fella you...

Now in my opinion, the homeless vet had me in a HEARTBEAT. Had me confused as heck at first because his dialogue startled up whilst I was behind the same house he was infront of.... I was crashing into everyone to be generous to this guy. However I found him!

Believe me, hearing about this guy had me down. The one arm caught my attention first and really, REALLY I felt for this guy. (Of course I gave him the hug, the guy needs it if you ask me...)

FINALLY I made my way back to the camp. All these prompted missions interested me, However it was Kieran who had my attention straight away. The darn O'Driscoll who was tied up? THAT GUY? A MISSION???? How can you not be sceptical of that! Dutch was going to castrate this guy. CASTRATION. CASTRATION?

Yeah, pretty big stuff. Soo... Kieran admits to an O'Driscoll camp. I was reminded of that whole 6 (was it 6?) gangs index you can find index, and generally stuff about overrunning the camp spaces. Of course I was invested... and John being up? I took full advantage of poking fun at this guy on the way there... (in my defence Jack was literally staring me down earlier today. Gotta set my priorities straight.../joke)

The ambush occurred, and uh... things went "smoothly" (that's a lie, our silent ambush went straight to charging). I was sat there questioning everything at one point because both Bill and John were scattering. WHERE ARE YOU GOING? ... .. we did it though.

The kicker where Kieran protects Arthur stabbed me good. I have the clip... "oh my god.. wait WHAT?" -- (me, today)

or this. This encapsulates my reaction just as well.

My main question though is how QUICK Kieran was to jump on and join the Van der Linde gang.. Kieran... buddy I'm starting to see why Dutch was so eager to castrate you. You my friend have got balls of steel....... I'm suspicious though. Undeniably, the guys sketchy to me.

I'll catch you round on Log 02 when it comes...... hoo boy, we're only getting started and I know it...

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Brothers

Maybe one where Roman or Remus have a very bad anxiety attack/spiral & the other helps them outta it and comforts them? Just some h/c creativitwins. – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

Read on Ao3

Warnings: hypothermia, remus has abandonment issues

Pairings: none

Word Count: 4093

In the Imagination, where one brother is as warm as the fire burning evermore in the hearth, another may be trapped in the freezing gales. They come as a pair: do not separate them.

The metal screeches and whines as it buckles under the force of the crash. Remus tightens his grip over his mouth, squeezing himself further into the corner. The walls shudder and shake as the low groan of the machinery resets. He presses the shaking fingers of his free hand to the burning cold metal wall and inches forward. His breath freezes in his mustache. She risks a glance over his shoulder.

No shadows, no nothing, he’s still undetected in this frozen hellhole. He grits his teeth against the bitter chill and inches forward.

Slam!

Another crash of whining screeching metal and the reverberation smashes into his ribs. The force of inhaling the cold air so sharply makes his lungs burn and his throat weep. How long has he been here? How far has he come?

How close is he to getting out?

It’s so cold. It’s so fucking cold. He covers his mouth with the end of his sleeve just for a second, just to get the itching burning freezing sensation off of his face and the moment he takes it away, the steam from his breath has already frozen. He grits his teeth and keeps going, edging through the massive sprawling halls in the hopes that he’s just moving somewhere.

Would it kill this place to have any fucking signage at all? Even just a set of emergency lights being like ‘hey, in the event that it’s brutally fucking cold and you need to get out before you turn into a living ice cube, head this way?’ Hell, Remus would even take flashing disco rave lights over the cold indifference of the flickering buzzing fluorescent things embedded in the ceiling.

Slam!

Remus jumps and hisses at the protest of his aching muscles. Can’t fucking slow down. Can’t stop moving. Stopping means giving in to the cold.

Dread creeps steadily up his spine as he keeps moving through the endless bleak hallways. What if he’s trapped in here forever? It’s so cold, he knows he’ll die if he stays here too long. he’s already been here too long, he needs to get out of here yesterday, and the slamming sounds like it’s getting closer, but that’s impossible. It’s impossible because it’s coming from behind him, always behind him, and it’s still getting closer. Is it moving? It can’t be moving, something that big, that dangerous, moving that quickly, that’s—how—how could it be doing that?

Slam!

Finally, finally, he sees a fucking door. A big one, a big sliding door like garages have. He sprints for it—or at least, he tries to, but his legs have long ago iced over and trying to make his knees bend and unbend is like pulling them through frozen tar. He stumbles and slams into the wall, grunting in pain, but he lands close enough to the buttons to jam his thumb into the one that says ‘OPEN.’

With a hissing grinding screech, the door slides upwards, closing a wave of freezing snow through the now gaping opening. Remus winces, huddling behind the corner of the wall, squinting to peer out through the mess. Concrete pillars loom out of the storm, but nothing else.

He risks a glance behind him.

Slam!

No time to waste. He ducks through the door and winces as it immediately begins to slide shut. Frantically he scrabbles for something to prop it open, for a control panel on this side, but there’s nothing but burning cold metal and unyielding concrete and the door shuts with a resounding thud that’s quickly lost in the gale of the storm.

Alright. Well, he’s out here now. This is fine. This is fine. He definitely won’t die quicker out here. He definitely won’t die more painfully out here. He definitely knows all of the bad things that could be out here, that could be lurking behind the white clouds, that he might not even be able to hear over the rush of the howling winds. Speaking of those, his ears hurt almost immediately and his head is already aching from the sheer force of the wind smacking his eardrums. He rushes for the closest pillar, trying to huddle behind it out of the wind, but the wind is coming from everywhere and there's no relief from being pressed up against the freezing concrete. He glances behind him for the door but it's already disappeared in the blinding snow.

Forward it is.

Despite the fact that he knows it won’t do anything, he keeps going from pillar to pillar, just to have something to hold onto as the icy winds race around. Surely, surely has has to be close to something, something else that will get him out of the wind for even a moment, something he can just rest up against for a second.

Pillar after pillar after pillar after pillar and everything in Remus shuts down except for the parts that have to move his body and the repeating words of next one, next one, next one, next one…

He has no brain left to remember that there can be an infinite amount of next ones.

Be it mercy, spite, or sheer boredom, the pillars come to an abrupt halt at the edge of a vast, flat plain. The concrete under his feet drops off onto an icy white ground that stretches out as far as he can see—which isn’t that much through all the wind and snow. Still, just as he did with the door, he hangs back for a moment, clinging to the pillar, glancing over his shoulder at the shadows of the others behind him. Could he go back? Plead for some entry back into the freezing building with the grinding and smashing machinery? Or should he venture into this unknown freezing nothingness where the wind and snow could strip his flesh from his bones?

From the distance behind him, he hears a great shuddering groan and yeah, no, that’s his cue to get the fuck out.

He steps onto the ice and starts to trudge away from the pillars. They disappear in a swirling rush of ice and snow and he hunches around himself, just to keep going. Just keep going, just keep going. Where is he going? Where did he come from? What was in that building? What were the pillars for? Why was it so cold? Why is it so cold? Why is he here? What did he do? Why does the world hate him? Why can’t he be better? Why can’t they just tell him what to do to make all of this stop?

He loses himself in the snow.

After crunching through countless hours of mind-numbing limping, he glances up and sees a dark smudge on the horizon. He squints through the gale but can’t see anything more. He keeps going, having to shield his eyes and face every once in a while before looking back up just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the smudge. But it grows larger and larger and larger still, until he can make out a tree line slowly approaching from the horizon.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be excited about it. He just keeps trudging forward. The wind bites into his exposed flesh everywhere it can, sinking icy fangs into the cracking skin on his hands, his face, his ears. His head is splitting—or it should be, with all the cold wind rushing past, why can’t he feel his head hurting? He tries to raise a hand to paw weakly at his head but his fingers just slide off uselessly. He doesn’t even have the energy to panic.

From the distance, he hears the thud, thud, thud of massive footsteps.

He looks up.

Coming from the snow, he sees a hulking dark mass coalescing in front of him. Paws the size of his torso, a head that looms several feet above him, eyes that pierce through the wrath of the storm.

The wolf comes to a stop in front of him, steam billowing from its mouth and nose.

Remus stumbles forward, one of his useless heads making to stretch up to his nose, but his arm refuses to raise. A soft and frightened keen leaves his throat as his legs buckle into the snow. His head feels fuzzy. It’s so cold. It’s so cold.

The wolf’s maw opens, teeth the size of Remus’s arm, and leans down to close his jaws around him.

At first, he attributes the fact that he can’t feel the pain from how cold he is, only to feel a different rush of wind as he’s lifted up into the air. He manages to open one eye enough to see the movement of the paws as the wolf carries him through the storm. He lets his head flop the other way and comes alarmingly close to one of those giant piercing eyes. The wolf huffs as quietly as he can with him in his mouth and keeps moving, getting closer and closer to the tree line. His warm breath is the worst thing Remus has ever felt and he never wants it to go away, ever, and he slips into a half-conscious daze as the wolf makes it to the forest proper.

Out of the worst of the wind, the sounds of the wolf become more distinct. Twigs and branches alike snap as he picks his way through the trees, his massive head swinging back and forth to safeguard the precious cargo in his teeth. A hysterical part of Remus wants to cuddle one of the teeth, just to have something to hold onto. But his arms are still refusing to work and his hands burn every time he even thinks about moving them to get warm, so he just whimpers and lets the wolf carry him through the trees.

It suddenly occurs to him how funny this is. He’s being carried by a wolf. He’s in the wolf’s mouth. He’s in a snowy forest and a wolf is carrying him in his mouth like he’s a chew toy and he’s all cold like a piece of ice. Hysterical giggles start to bubble up out of his throat, each one falling like an ice cube and shattering against the ground as the wolf walks on. Babbles and snatches of what might be words start to slide from his blue-bruised lips.

“Wolf,” he mumbles, “forest, cold…stopping for me…stopping, stopping…carry me…carriage me…couldn’t stop, could not stop…stop for me…carriage held me…”

He’s not sure how much time passes but slowly, he realizes that the air isn’t biting into him anymore. The wind isn’t rushing past him anymore. The wolf’s paws aren’t crunching into the ice anymore. He doesn’t have the strength to turn his head and see where they are. The wolf lets out a soft growl and begins to lower him.

“Oh, what’s this?” He hears another voice. Who is that? “Did you bring me something to—Remus?”

The wolf growls again, firmer this time, and he hears the pitter-patter of footsteps and something touches his shoulder.

“Re? Re, can you hear me? Fuck, you’re freezing—“

Roman? Is that Roman? Remus tries to roll over a little bit, just to see him, and Roman’s face swims into view.

”Ro…”

“Oh, Re,” Roman says breathlessly, arms around him, “what have you done this time, huh?”

“It was cold.”

“I’m sure it was, you’re like a little ice cube.” Roman slides his arm under Remus’s knees and picks him up like he doesn’t weigh anything. “Come on, let’s get you all warmed up.”

Over his shoulder, Remus sees the wolf lie down and put his head on his paws. He lifts his useless fingers in a pitiful attempt at a wave and the wolf huffs.

”Come on, Re,” Roman murmurs, carrying him inside the—cabin, they’re in a cabin, the wolf brought him to a cabin— “we’re gonna get you all warmed up, okay?”

“Cold,” Remus gasps, “so cold—“

“I know, Re, I know. Come on, I’ve got you now.”

The warm air hits him like a live wire, suddenly he’s shivering and twitching so much Roman has to tighten his grip just to keep a hold of him. Pain lances through his limbs and he whimpers, trying to hide in the lea of Roman as they move through the cabin.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Roman keeps murmuring as they make it to the bathroom, “I’ve got you now, I’ll take care of you.”

He lets out another noise when Roman starts to lower him, but it morphs into confusion when he comes to rest on something…soft? Roman kneels down next to him.

“We need to get these wet clothes off,” he says softly, “can I help?”

Well, considering Remus’s hands are about as helpful as a jackhammer for a migraine, he nods and Roman begins to dreadfully peel him out of his frozen clothes. Some part of his brain registers that this should be funny, shouldn’t it? Roman peeling him out of his clothes? But what makes it so terribly unfunny is that it hurts. It just hurts. It’s cold and then it isn’t as cold but then that starts to burn and so he wants the cold back but he doesn’t want the cold back because the cold hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore, he just want it to stop, make it stop, make it stop—

“Shh, shh,” Roman keeps whispering as Remus jerks and whines, “I know, I know, I’m right here…”

Even the warm air from the bathroom is too much; He’s still shivering like crazy which is…probably a good thing, because that means he still can shiver, but still, his muscles are protesting every time he jerks and shudders. Roman just hushes him again, patting the—towel, it’s a towel, that’s what Remus is sitting on.

“Hey, come on, lie down for me, okay? I’m gonna go get some blankets and warming packs and we’ll get you all warmed up, okay?”

Remus latches onto his sleeve when he tries to stand up. “D-don’t go. Don’t l-leave me.”

“I’m just going next door, I promise—“ Remus whines— “you’ll watch me the whole time, okay?”

But Remus just clings onto his, still whimpering and shaking and Roman closes his eyes for a long moment.

Shuffling comes from the other room and the door is nudged open by a still-large-for-a-normal-wolf-but-much-smaller-than-it-was nose as the wolf carefully deposits blankets and warm packs into the bathroom. Roman murmurs his thanks as he sets about getting Remus sitting upright against his own chest, pressing the warm packs carefully against his chest and neck.

“We can’t warm you up too fast,” he whispers as Remus shudders, “we have to be careful, okay?”

“Warm…”

“Yeah, buddy, you can be warm now.” Roman adjusts his hold to make them more comfortable. “What were you doing that got you so freezing?”

Remus shakes his head, turning to rest his cheek against Roman’s shoulder. “Warehouse. Office building. Giant. Cold.”

“You—you were in a warehouse? Or an office building? What were you doing in there?”

“Hallways. There were so many hallways. Big thing. Slam. Sounded close. Had to go.”

“You were in an office building with a lot of hallways, and there was a big thing slamming into something close to you?” Remus nods. “Okay, do you know what it was?”

He shakes his head, whimpering at the shock of pain in his fingers. “Had to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Roman soothes, turning his head and blowing warm air over the spot behind Remus’s ear, “you had to go. Where did you go?”

“Big door. Outside. Concrete pillars.” Remus shivers again. “Snow. So much snow.”

“Is that where the wolf found you?” Remus nods. “Okay. I’m glad he found you.”

“Is he…still there?”

“I don’t think he wanted to stay that size, I think he’s gone back to waiting outside for us. But he’s still there.”

Another pained whimper leaves his lips and Roman tightens his grip a little, rocking them back and forth. As he starts to come back to himself, he looks around the bathroom. The walls and floor are made of a soft gray stone, a bathtub right across from them and a shower tucked against the far wall. Behind him, he can see the shadows of the sink and cabinets. A basket sits at the base. He’s sitting on a peach towel with a blanket draped haphazardly over him. Roman’s ice packs are a dark blue.

“How are you doing,” Roman murmurs after another moment, “you feeling a little better?”

“Mm.” Remus tries to flex his hand and winces. “Hurts.”

“I know, bud. That’s probably a good sign, though, yeah?”

“Mmpf.”

Roman chuckles and nuzzles his head against Remus’s. “We’re gonna get you a little warmer here first, then we can move you to a bed and get you all bundled up. do you think you can drink something?”

“Cold?”

“No, I’ll get you some warm water. That’ll help.”

“Not hot chocolate?”

Roman laughs again. “No, Remus, we have to be careful, okay? Once you get a little bit warmer, then we’ll see.”

Remus pouts, not that Roman can see it, but lets himself be snuggled back against Roman’s chest. Roman reaches over to switch out the warm pack, the brief absence leaving Remus oddly bereft before another one comes to replace it.

“Can I close my eyes?”

Roman sighs. “If I were Logan, I’d be able to tell you if it was okay if you fell asleep, but I don’t know.”

“I said close my eyes, not fall asleep.” There’s a telling moment of silence. “…fine.”

“Come on, you want to stay awake for your hot chocolate, don’t you?”

“That’s cheating.”

Roman laughs and gives him another gentle squeeze. “Come on, Re, you’re doing great. You can do it.”

Remus grumbles half-heartedly, but Roman’s right. The cold is slowly giving him his body back, even though the pain has yet to fully abate and he’s still fucking freezing. But Roman has him, he’s inside now, and he’s actually safe.

Something twinges in his chest.

After a while Roman pronounces him safe enough to move and coaxes him to sit up. He quickly wraps another blanket over his shoulders so none of his warmth escapes and ruffles Remus’s hair.

“I’m gonna go get you some warm water, okay?”

Remus mumbles some form of acquiescence and Roman smiles, getting up and walking out to the rest of the cabin. Remus hears a sink turn on and the sound of a cup being filled, and after another moment, Roman returns with a mug and a straw sticking out of it.

“Slowly, now,” he says and he couches down and holds the straw up to Remus’s lips, “take your time, okay?”

The warm water feels fucking great as Remus drinks it. It pools in the core of him and he can just imagine it’s like a hot spring, making him thaw from the inside out. Which was probably the point. Would be better if it was hot chocolate, though.

“Patience, Re.”

“Doesn’t a hot chocolate spring sound great, though?”

“We can work on that when you’re not a little Remus ice cube.”

“We’re literally the same age.”

But Roman makes him drink the warm water and sit there for a little longer until he can at least move around without feeling like his limbs are about to shatter off. Then he’s picked up, swaddled in blankets, and carried off through the cabin.

“Since when are you this strong?”

Roman just laughs at him. “You haven’t been paying attention then, hm?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman laughs again. “Don’t laugh at me, Roro, answer me!”

Roman does not, in fact, answer him, but he does put him down on a fucking huge bed. It’s literally half the size of the bathroom they were just in, covered with blankets and furs and pillow and Remus is letting out a soft noise before he can stop himself.

“It’s okay,” Roman says softly, pulling back the covers and coaxing him under everything, “there, that’s better, isn’t it? You feel okay?”

Remus is most definitely not okay, because now he’s in this big warm bed with all these blankets piled on top of him and it’s the most comforting warm weight he could possible imagine and it’s all soft and cozy and it smells like pine and cinnamon spice and he’s with Roman and he’s safe and he’s still so so cold but he might be able to be warm now and he’s crying and sobbing and shivering.

“Oh, Re,” he hears Roman murmur, and then warm hands are bushing tears from his cheeks and ruffling his hair, “hey, hey, shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now.”

‘Wan’—wan’—wan’ you,” Remus gasps out, “come—please—please!”

Roman pulls away and he lets out a broken whine but then the bed is dipping and the blankets are shifting and warmsoftsolidsafereal Roman is sliding in next to him and opening his arm and Remus wraps himself around him like a Kraken.

“Fuck, Re, you’re still freezing.” Roman pulls him close and lets him curl up under his chin. “You come here, I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I was so scared,” Remus sobs out, “it was so cold, I was so scared, so scared—“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay—“

‘“There was nothing! There was no one, it was just—just so cold and so grey and everything hurt and—and—“

“Hush, Re, shh, shh, shh…”

“—it’s gonna keep happening, everyone’s just gonna l-leave and I’m gonna be on my own and cold and it’s gonna come smash me apart ‘cause you won’t—won’t want me anymore and I’m so cold, I’m so cold, don’t leave me there!”

Roman goes quiet. His grip never wavers even for a second, Remus still sobbing and clinging to him like a wet cat. He can feel Roman’s chest shudder under him and then a warm mouth presses against his ear.

“I’ll never leave you there, you hear me? Never. You’re my brother. I’ve lost you too many times already. You’re fucking stuck with me, okay?” He presses a fierce kiss to Remus’s head. “I’ll come get you every time if I have to.”

“I’m so scared, Ro,” Remus whimpers, “I’m so scared.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you can be scared, I’ll be here to help.”

The thing in his chest unspools ever further and he just collapses into a heap of tears in Roman’s arm. The bed is warm and his brother is here and that’s all he needs to worry about right now.

“Hey,” Roman murmurs into the quiet room, “you okay?”

His head hurts from being cold and from crying, his chest feels like he’s run a marathon through a frozen tundra, and his body aches like nothing he’s ever felt before.

But he smiles weakly and nods, nuzzling his head under Roman’s chin.

“Can I have my hot chocolate now?”

Roman chuckles warmly. “Tell you what. Let me get you some more hot water, you have a little nap, and then when you wake up, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“Can I have a warm shower too?”

“And a warm shower too.” He ruffles Remus’s hair. “Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Your face is a menace.”

“See, that’s how we know you’re tired, because you’re resorting to the ‘your face’ jokes.”

“Your face is a your face joke.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense—ah! Hey!” Remus yelps as Roman tickles up his back. “No, no, no!”

”Are we done with the ‘your face’ jokes?”

“Your face is—eep!”

“Are we?”

“Yes! Yes, okay! I’m done, I’m done!” Roman chuckles and rubs firmly at Remus’s back to soothe any phantom tingles. “How am I the menace?”

“‘Cause you’re my brother and those are the rules.”

Remus grumbles but doesn’t pull away. Roman keeps running his fingers up and down his back, humming slightly.

“Shh, Re. Go to sleep now, okay? Hot chocolate and warm shower when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“…promise you won’t leave?”

Roman tightens his grip and tucks their heads together. “I promise that too.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[queer-overwatch]

THANK YOU FOR WRITING FOR VENTURE!!! I’ve been trying to read more x readers for venture BUT THERE IS BARELY ANY!! Anyway, is it okay if i can request Venture as a parent? How would they take care of a child with reader? fem reader preferably. If not then gender neutral wound be okay too! I’m loving your writing already <3

Parent Venture

Omg of course! Thank youuu, we 100% think Venture would LOVE kids <3 -Frisk & Xorn

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

best parent ever 10/10

While you're young they'd play with you ALL THE TIME, even if you didn't ask them too, they did

Would totally abandon their work for you, and they are VERY passionate about their job so it takes a lot to get them to take a day off

The biggest sweetheart ever, has photos of you everywhere and I mean EVERYWHERE, probably hid one in an compartment in their drill just in case

Raves to everyone and anyone about how awesome you are

Desperately wishes for you to be interested in history just like them, would buy you a little play dinosaur fossil kit

Once you're old enough they absolutely take you to explore caves with them

Only wide, open, safe ones though. They may be super awesome and laid back most of the time but they are well aware of the dangers that come with being underground at all, so they don't play when it comes to your safety

Would try and teach you to use their drill but only under their supervision, they know how heavy it is and don't want you to like drop it and break something, or yourself-

Absolutely LOVES dressing you up, no matter what your aesthetic is you are gonna match with them and you are gonna like it or they will be so sad

Would wear a dress or suit or whatever to match with you if you wanted them too, they don[t give a FUCK as long as you're happy

If you try on their clothes they will cry real, loud, embarrassing tears /pos

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

and now, a blurb! -Xorn

Venture had decided that today, since the dig site was meant to be cleaned up in the next couple of days that today would be the best day to bring you along with. They've had so much time to ramble to their co-workers about you and this finally gives you a chance to meet them in person!

You were strapped into the car happily given a couple devices to entertain yourself, along with music that your parent played.

Arriving at the dig site was interesting. All of the buildings while big were crumbled, old and destroyed in one way or another. And you got to see it all in its own beauty.

Venture quickly unbuckled you and picked you up carrying you in their shoulders, a grin plastered on their face as they walked up to the dig site.They shouted immediately holding you up for the world to see.

"Guys! Look it's my kid! They're seven, and they're really interested in archeology, like me!"

Venture grinned as they held you up to their co-workers, before resetting you down beside them, their hand holding yours.

"C'mon, (Y/n) I'm going to show you where I found a creature bone!"

Venture chuckles , as they bring you along happily telling every coworker they come across about your presence, a small fact about you, and just exactly how precious you are to them.

"Alright (Y/n), did ya bring your jar? It's so you can save some dirt from the dig site , that way you can keep this memory, and maybe, just maybe, you can start an ecosystem in it one day."

They bring proudly as they speak, watching you pull a small Mason jar from your bag. They help you fill it with dirt. This is going to be the start of a wonderful collection no matter what path you take.

[ghoulzencrypted]

Fable Smp characters as Fears from TMA (the Magnus archives) and why we think so.

WARNING THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FROM TMA AND FSMP DONT READ IF YOU DONT WANNA HAVE SPOILERS, as well as some triggering topics refrences from TMA so be warned

Icarus/Sherbert Morningstar

- The spiral and or The Slaughter

HEAR ME OUT-

In the lore, when The Quixes things start, Icarus tries to learn more correct? And they started seeing the Rave room during dreams and resets and such, when it got more prominent in season two Icarus seemed focused on learning about it, but Quixis started causing more harm than good, not answering questions in the way Icarus had hoped for, it gets worse in season three when even more things start changing, such as things on Icarus’s physical body like the gloves, and possibly their eye (?). (Another warning for spoilers btw cause of recent lore) when Icarus’s wings turn into amethyst and gold and break off, as well as the blocks changing around them reminds us of the downwards mental spiral of looking far to into things to the point you can get confused and it effects your mental and physical state, when the large Fence and obsidian wall show up it reminds us of the yellow door, basically a metaphor possibly of how Icarus has dug to far deep and the door is now closed,they can’t go back to what it could have been if they didn’t dig into Quixis information. The spiral manifests as Illusions, Hallucinations, Patterns, Spirals and fractals. Which is like when Quixis changes the color pattern of Icarus’s house, their house, the area around it, the animals and so on so forth. That is our main reasoning but we will deep dive more into it.

Rae Morningstar

Rae is the Eye, a perfect example. But in skulk arc he could also be a form of Corruption and the Lonely. As we all know Rae is a very big book person, he craves about finding knowledge but not because of that : because of how he constantly thinks he needs to know more because he knows something is beyond him, no matter what it is, if it’s a person or a god or anything like that: and there are plenty of examples of that in the fable Smp series: now for corruption and lonely. The entire skull arc/Warden arc for him. Need I explain more? But he could be the buried as well

Axx

He’s the Hunt no questions asked, the way he cares about his friends and family to the point he’s constantly willing to fight for them? Him fr

Ocie

She’s the hunt, same reasons as Axx but also more about the chase part.

Wolf

He is the stranger, not knowing who he was before everything happened, barely anything of his past- ALL OF THAT? STRANGER CODED

Centross

The hunt, slaughter, vast, lonely- choose your pick hes so many-

Ven

He’s the Vast we don’t make the rules- look at him and tell us he isn’t- (Rae could be vast to we’re not sure but DEFINITELY Ven) but he could also be Eye coded as well.

Athena

The Desolation or possibly lonely? Not quite sure

Caspian

CANNOT CHOOSE FOR HIM-

We’ll go into more depth later cause brain juice is gone

[zirawrites]

Can you do a fallout 4 companions react to a sole survivor who be put back into cryo, whether it be it by a weapon (the cryolator) or into a machine (like the vault tech pods) temporarily and dealing with it and the aftermath? I can just imagine a sole survivor would be terrified to be put back and lose another lifetime again against their will

Sole’s pre-war immune system was too weak for the new world. The smallest click on a geiger counter had them downing RadAway. They needed a stimpack for every rusty cut or the scar immediately scabbed over with mysterious hives. But when they developed a rare abnormality in their chest, the only cure was slowing -- or stopping -- their heartbeat for what the doctor affectionately called a factory reset. And the only cryopod capable of curing Sole was the one they stepped inside over 200 years ago.

Cait: Cait was drained of all her usual aggression, instead replacing the emotion with gentle sincerity that soothed Sole’s nerves like a cool balm. She knew stressing Sole with her own anxieties wasn’t good for their health, and so she only spoke encouragement as Sole stepped into the cryopod. “I’ll be right here when ya wake, love.” The last thing Sole saw was her hand pressed against the glass. When they eventually awoke, Cait was attentive and full of vulgar stories to cheer them up. She even teased that if Sole hadn’t made it she called dibs on their Pip-Boy.

Codsworth: He was the biggest mess of anyone as Sole was loaded into the cryopod. “As General Atomic’s finest machinery, I have impeccable memory sir/mum.” His voice modulator shook worse than his rattling metal body. “It feels like only yesterday you were sent to this vault. Please come back to me again.” Sole felt too bad for Codsworth to think about their own fear. When they awoke, Codsworth was the first to pry and prod at them during their health exam.

Curie: “Do not worry, Sole. Vault Tec’s cryostasis capsules use the safest technology available.” Curie hurried alongside Sole as they approached the cryopod. She hugged the stacks of notes and textbooks she’d been reading on the subject to her chest. “It will only feel like just a moment. Well, I suppose you already know. But this time, you have friends waiting for you on the other side.” When Sole awoke, Curie was just as diligent in assisting with their recovery -- both physically and mentally -- as any other doctor.

Danse: Danse hardly trusted pre-war technology, let alone something from the wretched Vault Tec. However, he wasn’t about to fill Sole’s head with his conspiracies and ravings about the unsavory corporation. And Sole probably agreed with him anyways. Instead, Danse stayed positive and told Sole they would be perfectly safe. It felt an awful lot like lying, but Danse didn’t want to stress Sole further. When Sole emerged from the cryopod, Danse made sure they got adequate mental health treatment for what he assumed would be a tumultuous time for their PTSD.

Deacon: “Did anyone order a vault dweller on the rocks?” Deacon tried to keep Sole’s spirits high with his usual jokes and antics. But when his joviality started to come off as being uncaring, Deacon pulled Sole aside to assure them that everything would be fine. The doctors and scientists knew what they were doing, and he’d stay near the cryopod for as long as it took for Sole to get better. Just as he watched them emerge from the vault, Deacon would have their back from inside. After Sole was released from cryostasis, Deacon was back to his joking self, even claiming Sole talked in their sleep while frozen.

Hancock: Hancock found the entire idea of cryostasis interesting. The adventure of being frozen felt like taking a chem and knowing you’d be ghoulified. Sole didn’t share his sentiments. Instead of dwelling on the whole getting re-frozen aspect, Hancock distracted Sole with a night out. The two drank and sang off-key at the Third Rail, and even rolled into the vault hungover. When Sole emerged from the cryopod, Hancock made sure to stay both gentle and sober towards them in case they needed to talk.

MacCready: “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” The thought of Sole afraid of anything made MacCready’s stomach churn. He would never tell Sole to tough it out or pretend they were fine with going back into cryostasis. Instead, MacCready lets Sole vent about their fears up until the day they go inside the pod. Once Sole is thawed, MacCready takes their mind off it with a day shopping in Diamond City. He even buys Sole some of Takahashi’s noodles, which was touching because MacCready never shares his caps.

Preston: Preston double, triple and quadruple-checked with Sole’s doctors that the cryostasis would be safe. Didn’t they know how triggering this would be for Sole? Didn’t they care? Regardless, Preston made sure that Sole knew he would be there every step of the way. He was the last person Sole saw while being frozen, and the first when they were thawed. Preston let Sole vent to him about the horrible memories the entire procedure dredged up. He knew what it was like to be pushed beyond his limits with no one to catch him.

Piper: Piper was a little disappointed Sole wouldn’t let her cover the story for the paper, but was still very supportive of Sole throughout the process. Vault Tec reminded her too much of the Institute for Piper to be anything but nervous for her friend. When Sole was taken from the cryopod, Piper personally vetted anyone who came to visit her favorite companion. “Can never be too careful, Blue,” she explained. “The Institute had you once. I’m not letting them take you again.” Piper also donates stacks of old newspapers for Sole to read while recovering.

Nick: “You’re the bravest of us all, kid,” Nick Valentine assured. “If anyone can get back in that pod, it’s you.” Perhaps Nick coddled Sole through the process, but he didn’t care. If Sole wanted to cry, he lent his shoulder. If they needed to vent, he lent his ear. When Sole eventually emerged, Nick was patient with Sole’s emotional outbursts. He struggled with hard memories, too. And always wanted someone to be just as kind with him.

X6-88: “I still think this technology is too archaic for your intended use with it. If you gave the Institute a few years, we could develop something much safer.” Sole reminded X6 that they didn’t have a few years, so the courser did everything to make the ordeal easier on them. He needed the future leader of the Institute at their best. When Sole woke up, he was quick to make sure they were properly fed and tended to by doctors.

[ya-boi-haru]

(Buckle in, this will be a long one)

So I went back and watched a couple vods, specifically "Old Recepies pt 1" and "Reconnection" even more specifically Quixis interactions with Icarus on those times....

I'm going to give a VERY rough script summary then, tell you my thoughts...

(Not quoted verbatim)

Scripts first:

"Old recipes"

Icarus is sorting and making their Potion lab when Quixis arrives glitching their pond to lava (it changes to obsidian due to the lava/water interacting)

After a bit of adjustment, Icarus makes a deal with Quixis that they'll make them a pond they can talk with without the spread affecting anyone. The two have a very brief chat, interacting as best they can.

Detailed Notes:

When Icarus first sees the pond changing, they talk to Things (chat) and they suggest they're trying to communicate. Icarus says "I guess it could be worth trying to talk with them again" and Quixis changes the pond to Slime.

Icarus expresses their disapproval of "Being gooped" and Things dare them to jump on/ touch it. Icarus hesitantly does so saying "I can, but you'll probably change it to lava when I'm on it-" Quixis promptly does that.

Icarus races to the water to out themselves out, laughing, "Ha ha, yes, you're very funny! Good to know you can hear me at least"

Later on Icarus says how they have mixed feeling about Quixis and how they don't appriciate them triggering a reset and the pond changes to crying obsidian, Icarus responding "No, dont cry about it, I don't want to hear it"

Reconnection:

- By this point Icarus has the Wack Pond for Quixis and they have key words/blocks -

Icarus asks if Quixis is from Fable smp, they very quickly respond no then change to Quartz and Icarus says "So you're in the rave room"

They then say, "So there is other stuff out there" getting another Moss/Yes from Quixis and it's changes back. Icarus adds "but I guess that's what you've been trying to tell me" and Quixis responds Moss/Yes again.

Icarus then asks if Quixis is in danger and they respond Yes. Without any promoting Quixis then says: Brewing stand, Redstone block, Lava

Which Icarus figures it's them saying They're in danger

They then leave not wanting to push the wack more.

Two ways I see this:

1) The first watch

• 'Reconnection' shows Quixis being the silly goofy lil guy I know/headcannon they are and is just chatting with Icarus with a little prank and trying their best to communicate with the new pond feature. (You bet I'm making an interpretation post about that later)

2) Second watch, knowing what we know now:

• Quixis was trying to warn them

Throughout S3 Quixis has used redstone blocks to show/say danger. Quixis used this again at the pond when trying to express that Icarus is also in danger.

What I find interesting is why use the lava as well. And if Lava is another way Quixis is saying "Danger" then that makes "Old Recipes" a whole different interaction.

Quixis made their presence know by using lava (again turned to obsidian due it being coded onto water)

When Icarus said "I guess it's worth a try to talk to them again" Quixis changed it to Slime, which later is their way of saying no.

I believe Quixis (and other Multidimensional beings) know some things of the future (such as Centross' death), so maybe Quixis just used Slime to say no, knowing it was something Icarus wouldn't be too fond of and would use to say "no" later.

After they changed it to Slime they changed it to lava and while Icarus laughed it off as a prank, it could have been a delayed way of saying "No don't, it'll be dangerous"

However another way to see it is the lava representing what the danger is, just like how Brewing Stands represent Icarus.

Brewing Stand (Icarus), Redstone (danger), Lava (what the danger is)

What if Quixis is trying to tell them why they're in danger, though I can't think of what/who Lava would be.

The only thing that comes to mind is Kinaxis, since they're in the Nether Lava, and since Fable wants to go and start war with the primodials, it could be a sign of that?????? Though I'm not sure how much I believe that

Maybe I could be reading too much into it...

What do you guys think?

[fraugwinska]

My wonderful friend @macabr3-barbi3 is currently writing one of my absolute comfort fics. I know, I raved about her 'Heart Reset' series a few times on this blog, but my fingers itched and produced this: A little tribute oneshot for Vox and her OC Kora, which I gifted to her. She graciously allowed me to post it here, but please, show her and the fic the love they deserve <3 ILY Barbie!

"What about poker? That's easy, and I have a full deck lying around somewhere..."

"Only if we make it interesting, doll...", he wiggles his brows at Kora suggestively, who in return throws a pillow into his flat face. Vincent and Kora had been trying, for hours it seemed, to find a game for them they both enjoyed, as it was a rare evening they both had time off of work and other obligations. A 'Game Night' sounded fun in theory, but it proved to be aggravatingly complicated to find something to play that neither of them both enraged so much that they had to flip the table.

Vincent suggested Monopoly, but it quickly became apparent that it only got out the worst of him - after fifteen mere minutes Vincent had already bought various streets, sent Kora to jail and built hotels, draining her fake account and getting her to the brink of tears with snide remarks. It had taken another fifteen minutes of him apologizing profusely and a big fat chocolate milkshake for Kora until they decided to pack the game away and never touch it again.

Kora's choice was Yahtzee, but the dice were not as kind to Vincent as they were to Kora, and two frustratingly bad rounds later they flew through the window with a crash, along with the dice cup and his point sheets and pencil.

Now he was sitting, still brooding, at the dinner table with a strawberry milkshake of his own (made by a half-guilty/half-bemused) Kora as she was searching in her worn-down trunk for another game that wouldn't end their fresh relationship.

"Mh... I have a fake copy of Candyland, but it looks like some of the pieces are missing...", she mumbled, ruffling through the carton and picking up a chess piece that was painted like a candy corn. Vincent just had to laugh - leave it to this dollface to pay good money for the dumbest badly-made counterfeit game ever. His milkshake was nearing it's end and with his mood slightly improved, he leaned his face onto his hand, gazing at Kora and chuckling when another piece flew out of the carton and clashed loudly on the tiles.

"We could just get hammered tonight." He suggested, to which Kora shook her head in defeat, slamming the lid of the trunk closed and dropping heavily on the seat opposite Vincent's. "We still have the bottle of Brimstone's Fire-Liquor we got on sale... maybe you're more up to my poker idea with a little buzz?"

Her ears perked up, and for a split second Vincent thought he had actually convinced her as her tail began to wag. "No to the poker thing,", she tutted, jumping up to retrieve the dusty bottle from the depths of the kitchen cabinet, along with two shot glasses. "But we can play a drinking game! Do you know 'Never have I ever'?"

As he shook his head, she went on to explain the rules of the game as she filled up both glasses: One player makes a statement starting with 'never have I ever', followed by a simple statement like 'Never have I ever ate a grape in a supermarket'. They would have to drink if they ever actually did it, then it's the next player's turn to make a statement. The whole concept was stupidly simple, Vincent understood pretty fast and he agreed immediately to give the game a try - he was curious to find out more about how and what Kora used to do and be in her life.

As it turned out, their first turns didn't uncover much about each other that they didn't already know. Vincent drank at Kora's "Never have I ever smoked a cigarette.", which wasn't a surprise as he still sometimes had a smoke on the fire escape when work became too much and he had to pull an all-nighter. Kora drank at his "Never have I ever bought a bra.", grumbling about him cheating the system, to which he just smirked at her, cheering his empty glass at her full one and cooed "Bottoms up, sweetheart."

After a while and a few rounds of shots, things got more silly and personal.

"Mmmmh. Never have I ever... slept with a dude!", Kora giggles, granting herself an easy shot. The liquor already starting to affect her small, pliable body with flushed cheeks and with it apparently her healthy sense of self-control. Vincent looked at his glass and then up at her, narrowing his eyes a bit to scrutinize her before sighing and emptying his glass in one long swig. When he looks up, the faint blush that had tinted the cream color of Kora's cheeks had deepened, she stares at him with startled surprise and Vincent clears his throat as he looks away. He knew she wanted to ask, and he was thankful that she had some of her mind left to not pry into that sensitive topic and instead opens a bag of her beloved (and disgusting) chicken and waffle-flavored potato chips, munching obviously loud while rambling about the scarce selection hell had when it came to snacks. He felt too sober for that particular conversation, even eight shots in.

"Alright. My turn,", he leans over the table, elbows resting on the varnished top and his face near hers. "Never have I ever used a sex toy on myself." With a sly smile he lets himself fall back on his seat, turning his empty glass around, eyeing the blushing girl across the table with smug interest. She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him as she downs the drink, shivering profusely. "Firstly: Unfair, again." She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. "Secondly - this stuff gets worse with every round, doesn't it?"

Vincent can't help but chuckle as he watches Kora clumsily reaching over the table to pour the rest of the dark amber liquid in the two empty glasses. "Okay, big guy, just enough for one last round. And at least try to be less obvious in wanting only me to take a swig."

"Alright, but only if you play by that rule too, sweetcheeks."

"Deal." She holds the shot glass up and looks at him curiously. "So, hit me."

Vincent looks at her, thinking hard about what he'd like to know about her. There are questions about her that are eating at him, especially now as the booze loosened his mind, questions that started out innocuous enough, but ended with either embarrassing or really hot imagery - fuck, get a grip, Vin, he thinks and hums. Something in his circuits was going haywire as a thought comes to him, a chance this stupid game offered right in this moment, there for the taking - if he would be brave enough.

"Never have I ever ...", Vincent's speech is slower, carefully choosing the words before saying it aloud - he couldn't follow through, not yet. But maybe he could start with a compromise."... lived together with a beautiful, clumsy, adorable and nerdy girl." He quickly drank, ignoring Kora's touched expression, so fucking sentimental and mushy, before quickly adding "...with great tits and shit taste in home decor. I mean, look at that ugly porcelain duck you bought last week at the gnat market. Seriously." He rambles, seeing her mouth curve up into a bemused smile. No, it was too early to say, even to think... that he was falling in love, slowly but surely and steadily. The whole corny thing wasn't him, but maybe, one day he could...

"Hey, as far as I know, this duck was made by Lucifer himself. The vendor said so." she laughes, her nose crinkled a bit with a teasing grin on her face, breaking the somber thoughts swirling in Vincent's head. He grumbles and makes a noise, slapping his head. "Right, because a rugged lizard with an eye patch surely knows his way around the king of hell."

"Hey, you know what they say... never judge a book yada yada." Kora scrunches her face as she leanes on the edge of the table, eyes closed and brows furrowed. "Okay, now let's see... Never have I ever..." Her hesitation and her quiet, dulcet tone makes Vincent curious, the drink he took burning lowly in his circuits and stomach as he leans forward once more.

As he waits patiently for her to continue, he notices that she's wringing her hands under the table, tail swishing behind her and ears flicking back nervously. Eventually she huffs a quiet sigh, shaking her head as if to chase a thought away, not unlike he did just minutes ago. Vincent wonders what statement she discarded, if it would've been the same as his, but was interrupted when she finally speaks up.

"Never have I ever been glad that I met you, Vincent." He feels the strange sensation of his screen overheating, staring at her as she takes the last shot with a genuine smile. He watches her stand up on wobbly feet, rounding the table and taking his much too big TV head in her hands. He wants to say something clever or witty, but before he can really react Vincent already feels the gentle press of her soft, smooth lips on him, a touch of skin to screen that had become so familiar to him, yet it feels heavier with much more unsaid words than it ever did before.

She tastes like Brimstone's, like vanilla and those god awful potato chips she loved, like home and like an emotion he was almost scared of facing, but happy to stay lost in for now. The buzz from the alcohol combined with Kora's tender kiss is almost dizzying as she moves back to see Vincent's response - the soft rumble in his chest and a claw coming up to gently pat her head is apparently the right answer as her own purring increased and her eyes drooped a bit.

"...well, doll, that makes two of us, then."

She huffs when he pulls her into his lap, relishing in the soft warmth of her body against his, kissing the ticklish spot in the crook of her neck which earns him a whined yelp and a writhing, cursing Kora in his arms. He grins against her skin, teasingly blowing one raspberry after another and laughing wholeheartedly at the creative insults thrown in between panting breaths and giggles. The rumble in his chest builds furhter and his circuits flutter pleasantly with the thought that it could all be just them, like this, for eternity...

He was glad for what they had right now and for what was to eventually come, glad for the life they were slowly building together... and he was even glad for the fucking ugly duck.