#apologies for the fallout posting it probably will happen again

[yjposting]

me after finding out my real dad has been a woman all along:

#apologies for the fallout posting it probably will happen again #yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #jackieshauna #callie sadecki #fallout #fallout on prime #lucy maclean #rose maclean #lee moldaver #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #lgbt #yj posting #yj spoilers #fallout spoilers

[edaworks]

Wasteland Survival Guide: The Institute, Fusion Reactors, and M.I.T.'s Actual Basement

It's that time again. Periodically I make unreasonable longposts about Fallout-related topics (it's a good way to keep track of fic research). Today I'm tackling nuclear fusion, the Institute, and the real-world Massachusetts Institute of Technology's basement.

Yeah, Yeah, M.I.T. is the Institute, We've All Seen - Wait, What Do You Mean, "The Vault Laboratory?"

M.I.T. - the Massachusetts Institute of Technology - is a highly exclusive research university with a well-deserved reputation for hosting brilliant minds.

It also got its serial numbers filed off in order to host the in-game Institute. Why? Probably because of all the very real research into robotics, artificial intelligence, and power armor (no really). And because M.I.T. is actually doing now what the Institute tries to do in-game with nuclear fusion.

And, of course, because of the vaults in the basement.

You know what? I'll just start at the top...Read on below.

I'll be focusing on fusion-related research in this post, and comparing in-game Institute work on fusion to what's actually happening over at M.I.T. (We'll get to the Media Laboratory and robotics and AI and the, uhm, power armor stuff in a separate post. Or three.)

all actual M.I.T. researchers/faculty/students and/or nuclear physicists have my sincere apologies, I don't know shit about shit but I'm doing my best

I Didn't Sign Up for a Physics Class, but Okay

Here's the thing about nuclear fusion generators - y'know...the ones powering nearly** the entirety of pre-war in-game America?

Including self-contained, miniaturized reactors (fusion cores, fusion cells, microfusion cells, Corvega engines, assaultron and robobrain power supplies, recharger weapons, G.E.C.K.s, etc.) and full-scale reactors (powering vaults, the Lucky 38, the Prydwen (and Rivet City before Maxson Happened), missile silos, etc.)...?

We don't have them yet.

Of course we have nuclear power generation, what are you talking about?

Yes - but nuclear power plants currently operating use fission reactors! Fusion reactors, though? Well...

For the pre-war in-game universe, even more than for us, that fuel-to-energy ratio would have been absurdly important. Companies rushed to implement fusion for damn near every possible use, but waited until the Resource Wars left them no other choice. "No more (viable) oil reserves? Well, shit. Fusion it is."

Because of this, by October 23, 2077, pre-war Western markets were still somewhat new to adopting miniaturized nuclear fusion reactors.

For instance, Chryslus' first fusion vehicles - intentionally reminiscent of the absolutely wild Ford Nucleon concept car dreamed up in 1957 - came to market in 2070, less than a decade before the nuclear exchange.

As for the other benefits of nuclear fusion...Atom knows the in-game universe could do with less radioactive contamination:

It is no wonder the Institute wants to get the reactor in their basement up, running, and running better than originally designed.

Real-life M.I.T. is no stranger to running fusion reactors - they've been at it since the late '60s - but as it turns out, they are currently also "building a better mousetrap," and if they succeed they will be achieving all the Institute would hope for in clean energy production - without the moral deficit.

If nuclear fusion is so great, why aren't we using this technology yet IRL?

Because - and I cannot stress this enough - we are attempting to levitate bits of the Sun inside a donut to make really hot things boil water* so steam will turn a fan attached to a dynamo to power light bulbs.

*(there are two other ways to generate power using this heat)

Naturally...this comes with some complications.

We know fusion reactors can be the most energy-efficient form of power generation - we just need better reactors. That's where M.I.T. comes in.

The biggest problem right now is efficiency:

TL;DR - as of April 2024, all fusion reactors as a matter of course still consume more power to run than they are able to produce (meaning they do not reach "breakeven"). Many cutting-edge reactors also require tritium (very rare) as well as deuterium (very common) fuel.

We did not even see a fusion reaction that reached "breakeven" for power production until December of 2022. That reaction occurred at the National Ignition Facility in California, and their results just passed peer review in February of this year (2024).

Several in-progress reactors aim to improve on this, including ITER (the combined work of dozens of nations) in France, and SPARC: the new reactor under development by Mass Fusion Commonwealth Fusion Systems and M.I.T.'s Plasma Science and Fusion Center (PSFC).

Another big problem with this technology is that it involves plasma.

Plasma, as a particular song reminds us, is what the Sun is made of and The Sun Is Hot. That means plasma carries some very real 'we're-losing-structural-integrity, the-warp-core-is-breaching' risks, and we must jump through all kinds of hoops to work with it.

Why are we shoving the Sun inside a donut, again?

The most well-funded, well-researched way of smashing atoms together involves plasma and magnetic confinement fusion.

This shit is beyond cool. It may also look very familiar:

In-game, the Institute is trying to get what appears to be a spherical tokamak reactor up and running.

Bethesda's choice of reactor was no coincidence: M.I.T. operated the Alcator C-Mod, a spherical tokamak, while Fallout 4 was under development - but that reactor could not achieve "breakeven" IRL, and per Shaun's in-game dialogue, the fictional Alcator C-Mod couldn't either. (Weird given the miniaturized fusion devices everywhere in-universe, but okay, Shaun.)

However, M.I.T. stopped operating that reactor in 2016, a year after Fallout 4's release. SPARC, their planned replacement reactor actually has the sort of power potential we see in-game - and they aim to bring fusion power to market in this decade.

M.I.T., right now, in real life, is doing exactly what you're asked to help the Institute do in-game: build a fusion reactor that surpasses "breakeven."

What the hell is a tokamak and why does it look like half of a Star Trek warp core?

Your typical tokamak reactor is a great big donut-shaped vacuum chamber (the torus), traditionally surrounded by AT LEAST three sets of electromagnets (sometimes many more). M.I.T.'s design for the new SPARC reactor is a bit different, but let's start with the basics.

Why so many magnets?

Because plasma, being Literal Sun Matter, cannot come into contact with the torus containment walls or it will instantly burn through. (This happened in France in 1975. Following initial "well, fuck"s and a couple years' repairs, the logical next step was to publish a paper about it.)

The magnetic fields work to heat the plasma and provide current drive (keep electrons moving in a consistent direction through the plasma and around the torus), while also keeping it from touching anything, preventing a "warp core breach." I'll take a stab at explaining it but the Department of Energy probably does it better.

Meet the magnets:

Toroidal field magnets (blue, above): These enormous D-shaped magnets wrap around and through the torus, conducting an electrical current. This creates a magnetic field that keeps plasma from drifting horizontally into the containment walls.

Central solenoid (green, above): Inside the "donut hole" sits a massive, stacked electromagnet that generates enough electromagnetic force to launch two space shuttles at once. This heats the fuel to about one hundred million degrees Celsius so that it reaches plasma state, and helps "drive" the plasma current around the torus. (Radiofrequency or neutral beam injection heating/drive may be used as well for reactor prototypes aiming for power generation, because current drive from just the solenoid isn’t practical for continuous operation.) The central solenoid also creates another magnetic field called the "poloidal field," which "loops" around the plasma like a collar to prevent it from drifting vertically into the walls. The strongest central solenoid in existence was made for the ITER reactor...by General Atomics.

Outer poloidal field magnets (grey, above): A third set of electromagnets "stacks" up the outside of the torus, and helps maintain and adjust the poloidal field.

Together these three sets of magnets force the plasma to "float" inside the torus, shape it, and provide current drive. The stronger the magnetic field, the higher the reactor's power output.

Okay, and then what?

Given sufficient heat and drive/stability, the plasma fuel mixture undergoes fusion.

Neutrons released during fusion have plenty of kinetic energy (the kind of energy a kickball has midair before it hits you in the face), but no electric charge.

Since magnetic fields only affect negatively or positively charged particles, neutrons completely ignore the fields, sailing straight through and slamming into a "blanket" of metal coating the donut's insides. Neutrons passing into the 'blanket" lose their kinetic energy, which is converted to heat and absorbed by the "blanket." (ITER's "blanket" involves a lot of beryllium, which...behaves a bit differently IRL than it does in-game.)

Heat captured by the "blanket" is then used to generate power. For instance, a water cooling system can bleed heat from the "blanket," regulating temperature and creating superheated highly-pressurized steam to run turbine generators.

I notice you described a "typical" tokamak above -what's the atypical option?

Check out SPARC.

Its huge design departure is that it uses new high-temperature superconducing magnets (most existing types have to be cooled to vacuum-of-space temperatures using something like a liquid helium system to achieve superconductivity, which is a huge power drain) to create a monstrous magnetic field - and its size is tiny in comparison to its projected power output.

Neat. So why did you refer to plasma as a problem?

Well...between the heat and the neutrons, the "blanket," the "first wall" and all plasma-facing surfaces inside the torus take one hell of a beating:

"Neutron degradation of wall surfaces-" "Energy is released in the form of the kinetic energy of the reaction products-" In practical terms, that just means countless neutrons are doing THIS:

...but to the containment wall and other surfaces inside the torus, instead of to Batshuayi's face. And so:

Basically, this stuff breaks fast enough - and the only materials that don't break quickly are rare enough - to create a real barrier to commercial use.

And THIS is one of the problems they're working on solving in M.I.T.'s basement.

Now we can talk about the Vault. FINALLY.

M.I.T. is home to the Center for Science and Technology with Accelerators and Radiation (CSTAR). CSTAR's splash page announces:

Linear plasma devices? You mean like -

No, not like plasma rifles. Instead of weapons, we're talking about tools being used to solve the "plasma fucking destroys everything it touches" problem.

How does CSTAR do this? They've got CLASS. ...No, really:

This field is called plasma-surface interaction science, and if you want a really long but very informative read on how CSTAR's work helps move it forward, check this out. It involves the DIONISOS Linear Plasma Device - a "let's shoot it with plasma and see what happens" tool.

CSTAR also works to better undertstand how materials handle radiation damage, and how they behave after becoming irradiated.

And to handle this sort of work, one needs a...

The Vault Laboratory for Nuclear Science "combines high-intensity particle sources, precision particle detection, and a heavily shielded experimental area to create a facility for nuclear research in high-radiation environments." It contains, among other things:

the DT Neutron Generator, which is used in a variety of experiments, including radiation detector development (pretty damned important) and characterization, fast neutron imaging, and material activation (stuff becoming radioactive).

the DANTE Tandem Accelerator, which was "originally designed to produce high neutron yields for use in cancer therapy research."

And that is what's actually going on in M.I.T.'s basement: truth is cooler than fiction.

The takeaways:

Yes, M.I.T. really is building a revolutionary fusion reactor with parts from Mass Fusion Commonwealth Fusion Systems.

Yes, there really is a secure underground facility where incredibly advanced research related to nuclear fusion, radiation detection, irradiated materials, and degradation of materials due to radiation exposure takes place.

Yes, I really would spend eight hours researching nuclear physics instead of doing more dishes. Shoutout to @twosides--samecoin for tolerating my absurd hyperfocus on researching this.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk on what M.I.T. is really doing in its basement.

Tune in next time for M.I.T.'s Media Laboratory, and how it is related to real-world power armor, plus: the relationship between Langley, P.A.M.'s IRL cousin, and Vault 101.

** (Fallout is wildly inconsistent re: how widespread fusion is in-game and when it was developed. I mean we're talking a two-decade spread of inconsistency! And somehow the technology - first available to the military - was then miniaturized and made available to the general public before becoming widespread for commercial power generation? And somehow we both do and don't have impossible cold fusion in game? It's a mess. I reject this reality and replace it with a fish, hence this post. Also, I hate fission batteries. don't talk to me about fission batteries, "fission batteries" are small fission reactors but they are definitely not "battery sized" - the "fission batteries" in-universe are so miniaturized that they are more likely another kind of atomic battery like a radioisotope thermoelectric generator and those are subject to a law of diminishing returns as the fuel decays/not producing a reasonably useful power output after over 200 years due to the isotopes normally used/can be VERY dangerous if the shielding is breached or removed, and - you know what, that's also a whole different post.)

#actual insanity #fallout #fallout 4 #why am I like this #nuclear fusion #physics #institute #fallout institute #the institute #worldbuilding #meta #oneifbyland #wasteland survival guide

[six-costume-refs]

Hey so I’m a lil confused on what happened with the West End Alts situation, all I know is that because they reduced from 9 to 8 shows a week, the alts no longer consistently have at least one day a week on right? But then I hear about how there’s something up with the alt costumes too? Is it possible that you can summarise bc all I’m seeing is fallout across various instas

Hey! So...there's a whole lot. Quick note that I've been on hiatus the last few weeks so apologies for taking so long to reply to you (and I know I have many more unanswered asks on this to get to as well, so apologies to y'all and will do so when I have time).

I did briefly hop in from hiatus to post this, which I would suggest reading. I was light on details because I simply did not have time to go into it more, but it gives a base for a lot of what I'll say here. First things first, the show schedule. Most West End shows perform eight shows a week: 6 days of shows with 1 day off, and 2 of the days have an extra matinee added. It's meant to be optimal for tourist audiences and families. But Six is a much shorter show with an unconventional format that originally wasn't really trying to appeal to those traditional musical theatre audiences, and so a lot of their marketing promoted them more as a fun night out pop show rather than a West End musical. With that and the shorter show in mind, they operated a nine show per week schedule (they've also had some similarly unique scheduling and marketing in the US, particularly for Broadway and the Vegas run). However, the way that pay is set up under the UK actor's union (Equity) is based on the more conventional West End schedules, with actors contracted for either eight show weeks or twelve show weeks. So Six has had all their actors on eight show week contracts, and covered the one show disparity between eight-show-contract and nine-show-schedule by requiring that all actors have to have one show off per week. This meant that each role would have to have a cover perform for at least one show per week. Hence, the West End alternate system was born! But it's been almost five years now, and the outlook for Six is very different. The West End production is very successful, very established, much more polished, and hugely appealing to a more conventional tourist audience. They don't need to focus on setting themselves apart like they originally did; they've long since established themselves as a tenet and huge force of the West End, and much of their marketing now focuses on that status. (A really good comparison for anyone who is from the US and was into theatre about ten years ago is how Hamilton shifted their marketing - they started out as another unconventional, "risky" show that really leaned into those features as part of their marketing, but as the show became more popular and mainstream they've long since started to focus on ongoing success and tourism.) So, yes, right now, they are trialing an eight-show-per-week schedule. Without the ninth performance, they do not need scheduled alternate shows and so they are temporarily not happening during this trial period. Which sucks, but the switch to eight shows is a good thing and is one of many examples of how they're shifting their operations for that longevity by optimizing financials. It's also much more sustainable for everyone involved with the show, because Six is very intense and overuse injuries are rampant. But, again, they are promoting this as a trial period. It gives them time to see how it works financially and to see how the cast functions with this performance schedule (including if more covers could be needed in the future). They'll re-assess, probably in Jan/Feb, and see what happens then. I'm personally expecting that they will keep an eight week schedule, but it's also wholly in the realm of possibility that they might do so and still re-introduce some level of scheduled alternate system, depending on what needs/concerns they find. (Right now the UK Tour principals each have a show off every other week with alts scheduled for their first covers on alternating weeks, while Broadway/NCL swings out each principal for one show every few months, so there are definitely systems for some scheduled swing-ons that are significantly reduced from the weekly alt system. And of course the alts will be on for any injuries/illness/vacations, of which there have already been many). It's also worth noting that because this is a shorter trial period, the contracts will likely have to be renegotiated in some form. So....the costumes.

We've seen some pretty clear evidence for them in the theater, starting in tech week. Naomi and Hannah both posted their makeup; both of them got glitter eyeshadows for both of their principals plus a third glitter that matches the color of an alternate costume (Naomi orange, Hannah light pink). They also both got palettes that were inclusive of both their queens colors' and those alternate colors: for Hannah it's a pink palette that some other Howards have used in the past, but for Naomi the dominant color is oranges and it's a very blatant departure from what makeup they've given Cleves principals/alts in recent years so I really don't find there to be an easily argued alternative explanation. And Hannah got three lipsticks, in the exact same shades that they normally assign for Howard, Parr, and pink alt. We've also seen blue, orange, and pink alternate costumes in the theater, but weeks after the previous' cast's costumes were loaded out and stored in one of their maintenance areas. I've posted about all of that a fair bit in this thread, although note that it hasn't been updated in about a month and is now out of date. But starting about two weeks into this current cast's performances, there have been a couple messages/statements about both alt costumes and covers that seem to imply they don't exist, which I think is what you saw. However...I think they've all been worded oddly and far too carefully, plus the very tangible evidence of alt makeup, plus the existence of alt costumes was also denied in 2021, so I've been incredibly skeptical. But earlier today on live Hannah said they aren't contracted to have second covers for the moment, which is pretty clear but with a providence that that may not always be the case. That also ties in with a theory I've been forming over the last few weeks: that Six is still undecided on whether these alternates will have additional covers, but has had the costume team make all the provisions necessary so that covers can be very quickly added when those decisions are made. This also allows the costume team to move on - most of them are working on Starlight Express these next few months and likely wouldn't be able to return to Six at the drop of a hat for all the prep needed to alt costumes later on. Setting everything up in advance for that possibility is just more efficient for everybody and would allow the alts to quickly learn/debut new tracks if needed. To me, those plans most likely mean: - That the alternates were fit with pre-existing alternate costumes that are now altered for them and stored in the theater - That the alternates were given makeup for all three queens, such as the glitters/palettes/lipsticks that I talked about above - That the alternates were given wigs/hairstyles that intentionally have more versatility in their rigging/cuts to be repurposed for a wide variety of queens if needed (which does seem to be the case, and is not how they'd be set up if they were purely intended to be worn as we've seen them used so far for their first covers) (Also noting that if they're not formally contracted for any additional covers, they cannot be formally rehearsing them; that's why I expect that if they were to add any additional covers it would be finalized and contracted when the performance schedule is for convenience's sake) However...again, this is purely a speculation/theory of mine based on what I've seen and some of the very careful wording (but does seem supported by Hannah's). And even if I'm correct, Six preparing for the possibility of second covers/alternate costumes does not necessarily mean that that will actually wind up in use. Once again, Six is moving to a longer-term focus and in some trial periods to see how they can maintain the show going forward, so some of the production management will still be in flux in the coming weeks/months.

[lavalampstealer]

Okay, I’ve made a compiled dump of lore on my interpretations/versions of IEYTD characters (mainly Phoenix and Handler so far) so I can pin this and ppl won’t have to go looking for old posts. I’ll be updating this as I figure stuff out or if anything changes with them. Apologies if this is a little hard to read, I kind of word-vomited info here and I’ve tried to clean it up a little. Spoiler warning for IEYTD 1 and 2

Buckle up it’s gonna be a long one

First up: Handler, he/him (tumblr doesn’t have yellow text so orange will have to do).

He wears a sleeveless yellow turtleneck over a short sleeved shirt, square glasses, and a yellow headset. Originally a Field Agent for the Agency, he made quite a name for himself and was given the internal/honorary nickname of Agent Moray due to his knack for slipping away from Zor’s clutches while also leaving carnage in his wake (little did people know, he usually ran on pure adrenaline, fear, and general clumsiness that worked out in his favor). He eventually had to retire from field work and become a handler due to him breaking his right leg during his last mission and it not healing properly. Before he had to hang up his spy gear, he was selected to be an early implant tester for the Agency, and the one he got was a rudimentary version of the telekinesis where he could float things in place but not grab objects from afar. He has kept it and it has proved especially useful during his time as a handler for hovering important documents like dossiers and building blueprints/layouts nearby during missions. As for his actual work as a handler, he acts as support to Phoenix, mostly with work related things, but sometimes emotionally as well. He acts as an anchor for Phoenix and is there to bring them back to reality should he notice them getting that glassy-eyed, million mile stare every once in a while. He was very concerned for them in the fallout of Operation: Death Engine and after that he became more attached to them, resulting in him being devastated after Rising Phoenix. If there is anything between him and Phoenix, it leans more towards him being like a father figure than anything else. He usually works from his office in the Agency building (the one from IEYTD 1), but occasionally for more urgent/important/overseas missions, he opts to be nearby (in the crowd in Stage Fright, above Phoenix somewhere in Eaves Drop, outside the chateau in Party Crasher, etc.). If I come up with more I’ll add it to here, 10/10 character.

Next (and probably much longer): Phoenix, they/them.

During IEYTD 1, they had short hair and wore a long sleeve dress shirt and their cyan tie. They were able to do more action-intense missions (hijacking Zor’s sub, sneaking into a cargo plane to steal a car, sneaking onto a shuttle to the Death Engine, etc.) and were generally more aloof about their own safety and pretty much saw their job as just a fun game. However, in the aftermath of Operation DE, their left leg was badly injured and needed to be replaced from the thigh down, so the Agency provided them with a robotic prosthetic. It took them a while to get used to it, and while they can walk, run, and stand with it just fine, it’s a bit difficult for them do more intense activity like, say, hand to hand combat (although a good kick to shin usually has foes doubled over) or dodging projectiles. They also got their facial scars from the DE Incident, with the one on their left cheek coming from the beam that shot into their shuttle when the Death Engine fired for the first time. The other two are just general nicks and gashes from crashing back to Earth. Because of their robotic leg, someone in the Agency gave them the nickname “Tin Can” and it stuck (Phoenix pretends to hate it but thinks it’s amusing). After months of recovery, they were cleared for field work once again where they were given slightly easier missions that have most of the action happen while they’re seated (an exception to this is the implied fight with Gibson before Party Crasher because him being there was unexpected). This time around they prefer to roll up their sleeves because it’s more comfortable, allows for more movement, and it keeps them from getting singed/dirty, but they still wear a cyan tie (a new one since their old one was torn). Their hair grew out during their stint in Medical and they liked it, so they decided to keep it longer. Not much happened to them physically during IEYTD 2, but after Rising Phoenix they had their right arm replaced from the elbow down and got an updated leg (their og prosthetic was shattered in the fall).

I don’t have a design for them as they are in IEYTD 3 yet, so for now just imagine more scarring, longer hair, and a metallic arm from the elbow onwards.

Now, enough about their physical description, now it’s time for more on their mental state(s). After the DE Incident, Phoenix refused to actually dive into their emotions about losing a leg and nearly dying and instead preoccupied themselves with learning to use their new prosthetic and getting well again so they could return to field work. They don’t like to be alone with their thoughts for too long otherwise they start to spiral to a bad place so they’re always listening to some kind of music (a radio, headphones, humming/singing a song to themselves, or just replaying songs in their head). Handler helps them with this and pulls them back to the present every so often. Phoenix also once received an anonymous gift package that contained some very comfy and good quality earbuds (three guesses as to who sent them). They weren’t too surprised by Juniper’s twist of actually being evil (they had an icky feeling about the slimeball ever since they heard his tone in his call during their mission briefing for Jet Set). During Safe and Sound (and by extension, the tutorial), Phoenix gets a sinking feeling that Handler was never truly with the Agency and had betrayed them until Juniper revealed his act. Phoenix is furious with him for toying with them like that and mentally kick themselves for falling for it and for allowing themselves to get that attached to Handler (it’s like a taboo/rule at the Agency for handler and agents to not get connected (they don’t have the budget for employee therapy)).

More random tidbits about them and some other stuff that I couldn’t work into the above paragraphs:

- JJ carries a comb in his pocket at all times because he wants to make sure he always looks good (the smug look on his face undercuts the effect)

- JJ’s hair is more on the side of fluffy/soft but when he slicks it back it looks thinner and more wiry

- Phoenix’s color before getting their TK was a darker blue

- Handler’s favorite flowers were marigolds but after Jet Set, he refuses to have any near him

- Before becoming a handler, Handler’s color was more of an orange before mellowing out to a golden yellow after his retirement from field work

- Phoenix and Handler are injured in opposite legs, to which Handler teases them about them becoming an old man like him (he’s not old, about mid/late 40s-ish, idk)

- Phoenix is around 5’8 while Handler is a little under 5’6

- The Agency trains agents with the implant to use a sort of pointing finger gesture to use their powers but they can develop their own hand sign/gesture that better suits them. The pointer finger is generally effective for everyone but is limited in the sense that the user can’t pick up/float heavy objects. Once agents find a gesture that works best for them, they’re able to lift larger objects (like other people, crates, chairs, etc.). Phoenix has yet to find their gesture

- Background characters do not get a color and are either solid black if they’re with Zoraxis or black with grey or muted gold accents if they’re with the Agency

- Phoenix can and does use their powers in their daily life when they’re off the clock. They use them while cooking to hover ingredients nearby, picking out clothes so that they don’t end up wrinkled on the ground, looking through reports on previous missions to study Zoraxis’ preferred attack methods (explosions, guns, darts, etc.), to grab things from high shelves or faraway, etc. They’re really casual about using it and have to stop themselves from doing it when they go out in public (unless no one’s looking)

- Phoenix isn’t a bad cook, they just like to burn their food on purpose (they like the taste and it annoys Handler)

- Handler is a good cook and gets ticked off whenever Phoenix burns food

- Songs that fit Handler: From The Start by Laufey, The World We Knew and My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra, No More by Manfred Minnich, Nothing by Bruno Major, Slow Summer Swing by Essential Jazz Masters, The Lamp is Low by Laurindo Almeida

- Songs that fit Phoenix: Skeleton Song by Kate Nash, Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny, Leave Me Alone by IDKHOW, Debt Collector, Bad Luck!, and Pressure Bomb 3?!?! by Jhariah (Beginner’s Guide versions), My Way by Frank Sinatra, This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory (thanks @dieing-lilac for sending me some of these <3)

The songs are a mix of songs from ones that fit their general vibes to ones where the lyrics are accurate (to some degree) of their emotions (Phoenix’s especially). 10/10 songs go check them out if you can

Also the way that character colors work for my style/designs is that it’s an artistic choice to color characters’ details rather than their scars/eyebrows/tongues literally being something like blue or green. A character’s color is a reflection of their personality, characteristics, and general feel that I get from them, with the exception of if a character already has a canonical color (like John Juniper and Roxana Prism). Handler is golden yellow because he seems warm and he likes/liked scotch and marigolds, as well as his subtitle color in IEYTD 1 being yellow (albeit a different shade). Zor is red and gold because Zoraxis is also red and gold so it just makes sense that they would have the same colors as their corporation (also the cliché that red=evil, that whole thing). Phoenix is cyan because of their powers and it fits their personality more than red or any other color would. I don’t really have a reason for why Fabricator would be indigo other than her polaroid pic’s lighting looks dark blue/indigo and that it just makes sense to me. Solaris would be orange because of her love for lasers and because her name makes me think of a glowing ember orange. The more of an impact a character has on the story, the brighter/more saturated their color is (Ex: Daniel Sans would have a muted yellow-green and Anna Ulanova would have a muted maroon because they both don’t appear much but aren’t unimportant).

I think that’s all I have for now, but some of Handler and Phoenix’s characterization can’t really be accurately described without just showing them in their element, so I’m thinking of maybe writing a little story about how Phoenix joined the Agency, how their training went, how they got the implant, and how the events of IEYTD 1 and 2 went with them :) No promises though as I’ll have to find time to plan it out, but if I ever do it I’ll be sure to put it on wattpad or ao3 or something, I’ve never posted a story anywhere before so we’ll see how it goes

Enough of my rambling, I set you readers who made it this far free <33 also here’s something for having made it all the way to the end: 🍬

#ieytd #ieytd2 #i expect you to die #agent phoenix #ieytd handler #agent phoenix ieytd #ieytd fandom #john juniper #I am so sorry if this is disorganized #I did say it was gonna be a dump of info didn’t say what the quality would be #also your honor they are in love but neither wants to fully admit it can I bonk them over the head with a squeaky mallet? #it’s now canon that Phoenix has some kind of brain damage #I gotta research how irl trauma works bc I don’t want to write about it/represent it inaccurately by accident #that’s why I was kinda vague abt it in the post #you’re still reading. why. also also while I have your attention go drink some water :) #lava’s rambles

[bloomingdead]

it’s so weird to me how oblivious people are to the reason why adam mcintyre took so long to be taken seriously by the whole internet. i keep seeing posts questioning why this was all swept under the rug three years ago, but the answer is so obvious to me. adam was a child during his relationship with colleen and was still a minor when he came forward about his experiences. most of colleen/miranda’s fans are all underage. most people “grow out of” miranda sings as they get older, and likely never interact with her content again. i have friends who have and i myself grew out of miranda’s content, forgetting about it rather than processing how weird her videos and live shows were. 

 obviously the other people in the same position as him were too young to understand how truly odd it is for a THIRTY+ YEAR OLD WOMAN to be engaging with her underage fans the way she did. they all either had been in or would die to be in adam’s shoes! every teenager would probably shit themselves to directly interact with someone they consider famous or even more so their idol. but as you get older, and you start to understand “oh, actually, that was really weird,” it’s harder to ignore what you or others have gone through. the people adam considered friends who turned against him were all still confused about their position and importance in colleen’s life, but more than half of them probably got dropped (if not all) after her apology in 2020. and that probably made them think, “wait, if colleen thinks our relationship is inappropriate enough to abandon me, then maybe it was inappropriate the whole time.” 

i wouldn’t be surprised to find out that less than 10% of colleen’s fans are over the age of 18. in fact it would be interesting if through all this she is pressured to, or someone does the hacking to, release her analytics information showing that a majority of her fans are ages 12-16. i know i stopped watching her at about 15 years old. i was embarrassed of MY humor, not hers. i closed that chapter of gross, inappropriate, sometimes offensive humor and never looked back. even though she was a grown ass woman promoting the humor she does to a “pg13 audience,” i never thought about it for how serious it was. because i didn’t know, because i was just a kid.

i feel like the internet has just started realizing in the last 5, maybe 7 years, that NO adult/minor internet relationship is appropriate. unless there’s a reason, like work/school/family, there’s no excuse for a famous internet personality to be speaking almost daily with a minor. a minor doesn’t need to know about your relationship issues, work drama, or any weird miniscule details about your life. there’s no reason, with such different stages in each person’s life, to be interacting with one another. 

the reason adam was ignored all those years ago was because an adult who was directly involved called him a liar. to which other adults who see no reason to interact with a minor because they’re not fucking weirdos, went “okay, this minor is not my business” and disappeared from the situation. while other under-18′s who didn’t have the life experience to know better, went along and destroyed adam’s internet presence in favor of colleen. and now, that same adult who was directly involved (kodee tyler) admitted they lied (to save herself from impending fallout), so this situation is back in the spotlight because adults will only listen to other adults. and now, because adam is an adult too, other adults feel comfortable getting the story straight from him.

but anyway, i think we need to stop asking why he was ignored for so long and instead ask ourselves how we can prevent this from happening to other teens on the internet. to me it’s obvious this was able to go on so long because colleen’s internet personality is targeted directly towards minors and so only minors were involved in or witnessed the drama. now they’re old enough to conceptualize what adam (or they themselves) went through, speak out about it, and actually be taken seriously because they have grown into adults themselves.

#adam mcintyre #colleen ballinger #miranda sings #rae rants

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Hi! How are you? I am the one who thinks about the impossibility of looking at the "Fatal Outcome", etc. (August 29), I must have been laconic. I apologize for my rudeness. I really really like your blog and I like your theories about the plot.

Just to see what you are doing in a foreign language (Russian) is also not often seen on Tumblr or Twitter. As far as I understand, do you use an online translator? Since your text in Russian is very easy to read and even gives the impression that you speak it as your native language :)

So, we will see "Mission Impossible 8" only on May 23, 2025, and this suggests that in recent years there have been fewer and fewer films featuring Tom Cruise. Of course, I understand all the reasons… Nevertheless, I am a little sad that if earlier films with Cruise were released annually (and sometimes it happened that two films with him were released in one year), now only three new films will be released in this decade until 2025 inclusive.

I am also interested to know what they will do with part 1 in the title of the seventh film, since the eighth part will have a new subtitle. I wonder if they are doing this to distance themselves from the failure of the seventh part?

The news notes that most of it was shot on IMAX cameras, and I'm very happy about it. I don't really like what the seventh part looks like. It's like shooting a movie after a large-scale IMAX camera shooting in Fallout. I hope Tom and Christopher do the right thing this time.

Hi! You were not rude at all, don't worry. It's all part of conversation. Did you manage to watch the film since you posted (i think you said you didn't have the opportunity at that time)? what's you opinion on the film in general?

Thank you! Me and Andrea - we speak 5 languges between us and we know the fans are from many diffrent countries and continents (me and Andrea are on different continents as well) so if they feel more comfortable expressing their opinion in their language we try to support that. Plus international press and interviews are usually more in depth than the english-speaking ones (not to offend anyone here, of course, depending on the person conducting the interview and what is allowed to be asked:) so we try to translate those as well.

Yes, we have to wait longer for the new Mission. As you mentioned there are reasons like Covid with Part One and the strike with Part Two (or what it's gonna be called now). But it's also the fact that Missions and Maverick are big budget blockbusters that are expensive to film and take up a lot of time. Like you know a24 films shoot for a month and a half usually. So it's partly outside circumstances partly Chris and Tom shooting long for perfection. But they are talking about new projects they have in mind after Mi8 so hopefully more films with Tom in the future for us to enjoy in the cinema.

I don't know what they'd do with the title. honestly, but I do think it's the right move on their part. Having Part One in the title from the start was probably not a good idea esp since they didn't shoot back to back. Unless you are Lord of The Rings (or other popular quality adaptation *cough* Dune *cough*) people are not really inclined to show up for movies in two parts that have a year between them. So it's a good call to change the strategy and change the title.

And yes, a big plus that the film will have 3 weeks exclusive IMAX screens. Again we see they learned something from MI7 release and the importance of IMAX exclusives for the film and it's BO.

#anonymous #ask

[zensations35]

Together (Part 3)

More cute sneeze tease scenes with a side of wholesomeness. Thanks to this post for the ending idea of this scene. ;) See part 1 here and part 2 here! We’re wrapping things up!

Skye

I’m dressed as well as I can be. I have a few flowy dresses that make me feel sexy. Ren seems to like this one: a cherry colored bell dress with short flared sleeves.

When I see Ren outside the restaurant, my breath catches. He’s wearing a green suit. Shamrock green. A solid black tie, with a white undershirt. Wow. He rarely wears color. But damn he looks good in it. 

We’re supposed to be having a ‘first date’. We’re pretending we don’t know each other. My idea. I found it on google when searching for ‘fresh start’ romance ideas. 

Ren gives our names to the hostess and we are led to a booth, quite a distance away from any other patrons. Lucky us. I slide in and listen to the specials. I also order wine.

“Glass or bottle?”

“Bottle,” Ren answers for me. “I will be indulging as well.”

I try not to stare at him as he browses the menus. Gods, he looks good. My heart skips when he meets my eyes.

Act like you’re just on a date. 

“I have heard good things about the…” he sniffles softly, “the mashed potatoes.”

Oh yeah, I heard that sniffle. In fact, my brain shut off after it happened, instead filling my head with what if scenarios. 

Ugh, Skye, don’t be a horny bitch. Not on your ‘first date’. 

But I can’t stop thinking about it. And as if summoned from my desires, I hear him inhale. 

“Hhh…htt….” His fingers have crept up to his face, one hand patting his pocket for his handkerchief.

He doesn’t get to it in time. “HRRZZZ’ieu!” His teeth chit together, head tilting mid-sneeze as if he were tearing off a bite of food.

I blush deeply and hide my face with my menu. I try to focus on the words printed across a picture of a steak.

Porterhouse. Port…er…house.

Ren puts his menu down. “I think I shall order the filet.”

I shake it off and smile. “That’s my usual. I’ll probably have the same.”

Our wine arrives and we fill our glasses with a dark cabernet. Then we place our orders. Ren does get the mashed potatoes.

Once the waiter leaves, Ren peers at me. “So, Skye Hawthorne, what are your interests?”

“Board and video games. I’m actually running a small gaming channel at the moment.”

Ren blinks and I see a flitter of surprise in his gaze. Something he didn’t know.

“Is that so?”

I nod. I started playing games on YouTube and Twitch recently. It’s not really taking off as fast as I’d hoped but Leo has mentioned a desire to join in.

“Yep. I can send you a link to the channel if you like.”

He tilts his head, a quarter smile playing across his lips. “I would enjoy that quite a lot.”

I tap on my phone a few times. “Sent.” 

“My thanks.”

“So what about you?” I ask, propping my cheeks on my fists.

“I also enjoy games, both video and board. But as of late my free time is few and far between. I am watching my niece half of each week. Not forever, just long enough to work through some legal hiccups.”

My eyebrows lift. He’s got custody of Maka? I want to push but it would ruin the vibe. I can ask him later, when we’re not roleplaying.

The thought flies from my head when I see him rub his nose. Now, he doesn’t just casually rub it. He massages it with a thumb, enough to make it crinkle. 

“E-excuse me,” he turns to the side and draws out the handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Hnk-CHZZieu!” 

I swallow and jerk my gaze away. 

This is a first date! He wouldn’t know about my fetish!

Ren sniffles and faces me again. “Apologies. My allergies have been acting up all day.”

Uhhh…what??

“Uhh…what?”

“Yes, they become quite unruly in the fall.”

“Hmm-mhm,” I’m pretending to peruse the drink menu. I sip my wine. I’m vanilla. Hello, fellow vanilla!

He takes a drink himself and then looks at me. “What games do you like to play, Skye?”

I accidentally slap my menu on the table. “Wha-oh, uhm,” I suck my teeth, “World of Warcraft, Cuphead, Fallout. Lots of kinds.”

“Do you play with a partner?”

Is he asking because he knows Leo is going to join me?

“Not yet,” I say as casually as I can.

“You would like to branch out then? Perhaps have a team?”

I think about that for a moment. We all four love games. Sasha wants to stream her artwork, too. This might be a really good idea.

I twist my pinkie ring. “Maybe.”

“I would like to see that.”

I try to interpret what that means. Does he want to be part of the channel? Me and Ren…playing games together. Like we used to. 

“I wish I could be a streamer.”

Ren looked at me. “You could be.”

I laughed. “Nah. I’m too much of a depressed mess.”

“You have the personality for it. You can post what you want, when you want. It would be good for you--a less structured environment.”

I brushed my hair out of my face. “But what if I spiral and don’t post for like, months?”

“Your fans will understand.”

I tucked my head over my knees. “Maybe…”

He still supports me after all this time.

I gulp some more wine. Ren has barely touched his.

Our salads arrive and I use that as an excuse to not speak. I’m nervous. I don’t know why. I feel like I need to make a good impression, even if this isn’t a real ‘first date’.

Ren makes a few comments about the salad and I nod along, lost in thought.

I’m fighting a losing battle with a stubborn crouton that will not get on my fork. 

Finally! 

“Hh--RSSZHEIU!” 

I jerk with a start, the crouton doing a victory flip back into my bowl. 

“Uhhh,” I fix my gaze on his pinking nose. “Are you…okay?”

He holds up a finger and my thighs flex. 

Fuck. He knows how hot that is. 

The finger bobs a few times as he drags in breaths. “HNk’RZST! HET-ZZHH!” Another ragged inhale as he dips into his handkerchief, “HMPSHZZZ-UUU!” 

I glug my wine, eyes downcast as if I’m so interested in the rich color. 

“My apologies,” he says with a sniff. “I do believe I will be doing that quite a bit.”

My hand tightens around the glass. Asshole! He’s doing this on purpose!

Anger flickers in my gut. Why is he doing this? Is he not taking this first date thing seriously? 

“I need to use the restroom,” I say. I get up and hurry away but I can still feel his gaze on me as I flee.

There are three restrooms: men, women, and family. I consider using the family restroom but all I need is the sink. I walk into the women’s restroom. There are two stalls and two sinks. I splash my face with water. Refreshing as fuck. It cools me down after the heat of the previous moment.

I stand, bracing myself on the sink and exhale. 

Can I do this? Can he do this? What if things don’t go well? What if we just keep pissing each other off and it ruins the whole polycule. 

Fuck. I need to get ahold of myself. I need to just roll with it.

When I return, our steaks have arrived. I settle in and cut into mine. The knife they gave me is particularly sharp.

Ren ordered his steak rare. It’s red and juicy. He tucks the red meat between his lips, eyes on me, a half smile making his blue eyes dance.

“Is it to your liking?” he asks.

“Perfect.” I eat my piece and it is a symphony in my mouth. Gods, I love this place. 

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m not sure how to fill it. Which is weird. I’ve never had a problem talking to Ren.

My baked potato hasn’t been cut open. Weird. I take my knife and use my free hand to smush the sides. 

“KH-ERRRSZZZHHH!” 

My eyes fly up to Ren as he folds his napkin over his face. “HSSShhhRRR! EK’TssZZRRuuuuu!” 

He wipes his nose, eyes glassy and wet. He drinks in a sniff and looks at me. His eyes go wide. “Skye--” He reaches over to grasp my hand. My hand that’s covered in blood.

Fuck. I wasn’t watching where I was cutting and sliced it open.

Ren is standing now, grabbing all of the napkins to stem the flow.

“Bathroom,” he says as he helps me stand and guides me along. I'm still stunned as we wind around the bar where a few patrons give us strange looks. Ren pauses to speak with a server. She nods and hurries off. 

Ren takes me into the family restroom. There’s a changing table with supplies, a large chair, a bowl sink, and a stall.

Ren sits me on the chair and grabs some brown paper towels.

“Ren, I’m fine,” I say as he presses them to my wound. It’s still bleeding. 

Ren sniffles and absentmindedly rubs his nose with his wrist. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, drawing back from me. He keeps his hands around my bleeding wound and jerks to the side. “H’REzhu! Hn’ketZZZH!! AK’Tszzzhhh-ieu!!” 

My heart swells. I feel something stirring in my chest. Sure, it was hot, but it was more than that. I’m just not sure what.

“Ren, are you okay? Really?”

“Mmm…yes. I, ahm, sprayed cologne on my wrists. Cologne I am allergic to.”

I gasp and smack him. “You cheating ass!”

“I was not cheating. I used resources available to me.”

I roll my eyes. There’s a knock on the door. Ren moves to open it with clean paper towels. He mutters a thanks to whoever it is and closes the door again, now holding a small first aid kit. He sets it on the changing table and starts picking through it.

“Ren, this is really unnecessary.”

“Have you stopped bleeding?”

“No.”

He lets that answer speak for itself. When he comes back to me, he has a packet of bleedstop. 

“How does that stuff work?” I ask.

Ren shrugs. “I am certain Leo could tell us the intricacies of it. It seems a simple application.”

The stuff does manage to stop the bleeding but now there’s a powdery mess all over us. Ren is wrapping my hand now, his fingers drifting up to rub his nose every so often. Okay, pretty damn often. 

He’s also getting the powder all over his face. 

I grab a tissue from nearby and use my free hand to wipe the powder off his cheek. His eyes flick to mine and we stare at each other, still and silent. There’s something unspoken in our eyes. Something broiling on the edge, ready to spill over. Crash down.

His lips move. “Thank you, Skye.”

“No problem.”

The tension is thick enough to make a rope out of. Gods…what am I doing? I love him. I know I do. Why is this so hard? I’m supposed to be pretending I don’t know him. Don’t feel like I could spend every waking moment with him. And I can’t remember why that was a good idea.

His nostrils twitch. And the memory comes back. This is what’s making the date so hard. 

He draws in a small sniff, then a short exhale. It’s his softest buildup. The one he does when he’s trying not to make a fuss--trying to fight off the sneeze.

Sniff. Exhale.

Sniff…longer exhale.

Ugh, I can only stand it so long.

I fold up two more tissues and press them to his nose. 

Ren looks alarmed but not for long. Tears leak out of his eyes. I feel his nostrils widen under my fingers. The rush of air from his lips in my palm. He tries to pull away, but I jerk him back by the nose and he dissolves into a fit in my palm.

“Hxngsh! H’SHH! Hgnk-EK’tzzzieu!!” 

In the back of my mind, my fet brain is freaking out. This is the shit, it says. But feeling him like this, doing something so intimate--that I wouldn’t think twice about doing a year ago…

Pressure hardens in my stomach, and I feel the sting of tears. 

I let him grab the tissues to clean up and turn away from him. He finishes wrapping my hand and cleaning us both up. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

I shake my head. I don’t know why I feel so melancholy. Like this date was our last chance. And it’s ruined. We can’t be a normal couple. 

Ren finishes cleaning and tossing the trash.

“Ren,” I circle a lock of hair with my finger. “Why did you use the cologne?”

He pauses. Considers. “I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. I…” he stares down at the medical kit. “I wanted you to want me.”

“We were supposed to be strangers. Have a normal date.”

“I don’t want a normal date.”

I slip off the chair and wobble to my feet, “W-what?” He’s getting emotional. Very emotional. I can see his pained expression in the mirror.

“Skye,” he says, composing himself, “I wish to be with you. I agreed to this date because it is what you wanted. But I would rather be with Skye.” He licks his lips and turns to face me, his eyes a piercing blue. “I cannot pretend I am not in love with her.”

My tears fall and fuck…Ren! Fuck! All I want is to be with him. And he says this? I want to scream. I want to rage. I want to throw the damn medical kit at him and shout Why aren’t we just making out, then??

But instead, I find myself in his arms, kissing him. Kissing him hard--Oh gods his lips taste so good! His hands move up my back and I don’t know how we are suddenly entwined but his lips crush mine, I nip at his lip, I am drinking him in and gods…YES! I love him I love him I love him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” my voice is barely a whisper but each time I say it, he drives his kisses harder against my neck, my jaw, my lips.

Then, he lifts me up against the wall and shows me how much he loves me too.

#LSSR ship #Ren and Skye #allergies #snz fic #snz #snz tease #whump #caretaking #falling in love #fluff #drama #I love these two and I'm glad they're finally back together #It's going to be fun going on in the future #ZenOcs #mywriting #LSSR

[thepoliticsofexisting]

Dear Kai,

I don’t know why I’m writing this now - it’s hardly the first time I’ve wanted to. For me, this is part of healing and self-affirmation. Since August 2018, I’ve contracted COVID twice. The first time (winter 2019/2020) left me with substantial cognitive long-haul symptoms which I’ve only begun to heal from in the last 9 months or so. Recently, I’m rediscovering memories and accessing some of my “advanced” conversational vocabulary, among other things that I haven’t been able to do for a couple years. I’ve also been working through the mental health fallout resulting from the brain damage and other life circumstances. Writing this is a part of my recovery. (In case you do end up reading this, I will try to keep it as short as possible.)

Your exit from my life transformed it. I want to be clear - it’s not that you didn’t want me in your life that really got to me - it’s the specifics of how you chose to leave. I just dropped you off at home one night and never heard from you again.

At first, I just assumed family life was happening, and you’d get back to me. Then, for at least a couple weeks, I was legitimately scared that you were seriously ill or injured; I assumed you hadn’t died simply because no one had sent me an obit or a funeral/memorial time. I respected you and your ability to communicate your needs. Understand, from my perspective, I had no reason to think you were angry or unhappy with me, we’d spent years quasi-living together, and we had plans to eventually have a household together.

I respected you as a partner, and, as such, I assumed you’d at least inform me that you were no longer interested in our partnership. When I opened Spotify on my computer one day and saw you were listening to some of your favorite music, I was relieved (that you were safe/healthy enough to be listening to your  music) and devastated (that you’d apparently ghosted me). I remember our discussions about how disorienting and hurtful ghosting could be; I was stunned that someone I’d respected so deeply, who knew how much I hated to be ghosted, would choose that particular method to end our partnership. It seemed to me like you chose the method of maximum damage.

Like others who’ve been ghosted, I spent hours/weeks/months dissecting each recent interaction that could have possibly given me a clue as to what was about to happen. I know I wasn’t perfect; I made mistakes that I was not mature enough to apologize for at the time.

(If you’ve ever wondered, I am so sorry for partially un-koshering your kitchen, for the time I accidentally partially outed you, and for the multiple social faux pas I managed to commit at Philly THC. I’m sorry for scratching/denting that rental car in California, and for being late to the Rose Bowl. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay the full time house-sitting in Philly with you. I could go on.)

For all my analysis, I couldn’t find an answer that warranted ghosting. I thought there was a good chance that there had been some sort of parental ultimatum. But then I thought, “Kai is so smart, and we are connected online through so many platforms. Their parents are smart but they would have to completely strip Kai of any internet-connected device to keep them from communicating with me if they wanted to - even if it was just to send a final goodbye message.” And, because of Spotify, I knew that was not the case.

You could have emailed me (like we did when you were in Italy), messaged me on Steam, Tumblr, Snapchat, Telegram, and probably ten other ways I’m forgetting about right now. Even without electronics, I trusted you could scribble something on a scrap of paper, put it in an envelope, and drop it off at a post office discreetly. So it seemed to me that no matter what the exact circumstances, you chose to end it maliciously.

More than once, I considered messaging Joey to ask what happened, but I was so ashamed. And it felt so middle school.

I’d built so much of my self-confidence (and discovered my personality) alongside you, and because I truly believed that you respected me enough to send a message - even one sentence - part of my brain just couldn’t handle the malice I perceived. I will always wonder why you chose that, but now I’ve accepted that I’ll never have an answer. 

I abandoned Tumblr, Snapchat, computer games, and anything else that reminded me of you. I avoided picking up my phone for any reason. I’m still trying to relearn how to take pictures at appropriate times - so often I was taking pictures to share with you. I completely withdrew from anything queer or gender-fucked - the last Pride-related event I attended was with you. The last musical I attended was with you; the last movie I attended was with you (unless you count Frozen 2 in China - obviously not my choice). For the first six months or so, any reminder of you or what we had together (like 75% of my life) was a gut punch.

I haven’t made friends partially because when I tried, it was so much work and no one could even begin to compare to the way we understood each other. Or, at least, the way I thought we understood each other. I will never know how much/little of that understanding actually existed. More than anything, I knew I never wanted a partnership to end like that again, so I was desperate to avoid social mistakes. All of that just made friends draining and depressing. Friends are something that I hope to someday reincorporate into my life.

You still appear in my dreams sometimes; not every night, just occasionally.

In conclusion, this writing has two main goals (I don’t know if these matter to you now, but they would have mattered to the Kai I knew): (1) if you’re close to someone and you want to end contact without causing more damage than necessary, just give them a message, even if it’s short, saying you’re out/done/whatever; and (2) I need to honor myself and my experiences - the good and the bad and the ugly - I deserve to record my experience so it lives somewhere more than my mind. This is actually my first written record of what happened, and I’m extremely proud of myself for writing it.

@eternal-blank-flank @showmesomeoneinnocent @handmeacoatifyoureinthere

[weebsinstash]

Doubt // yandere Batman x afab Reader

Warnings for post noncon fallout, angst, pregnancy, abusive/controlling relationship

‐---------------------------------------

You can't even look at him.

Being in the same room as him feels like you'll choke.

Every single rational thought and word leaves the second you see him.

And him? You live with him.

Bruce watches you silently pick at your food at the dinner table, the pair of you nearly on opposite ends. Your expression is subtle, but sullen, dejected, depressed. "We should talk about what happened." He says, and your eyes barely flick up to look at him with disgust.

"No, we don't." You say assertively, putting an agitated emphasis on your speech. There's bile threatening to fill your stomach as he pushes, "Yes, we do."

Hands slam against the table as you're on your feet. "Just leave me the fuck alone!! Haven't you done enough?!"

His jaw clenched tight, brow furrowing slightly with frustration. You hurt him with that. Quietly, he gets up from the dinner table and walks away, leaving you to sink back into your chair and begin to cry.

Bruce had raped you. There was no other way to say it. The pair of you had been following a lead on Poison Ivy when one of her plants had attacked, spraying the caped crusader with a full blast of some sort of gas. Next thing you knew, he was pushing you down, tearing your clothes, inside of you. You'd been completely helpless to stop it all.

At first you tried to tell yourself it wasn't his fault. Who knows what a brilliant biochemist like Ivy had cooked up in her lab? It was like she had essentially slipped your crime-fighting partner a mind-numbing aphrodisiac that completely took away control of his body.

Or... so you were led to believe. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help but feel... doubts. Doubts that a man known the world over for his self-control really would have lost his composure, or that he wouldn't have had some sort of contingency, or antidote, or something. He was always one step ahead. He was always prepared. He was always a hero.

So why had he hurt you? Why couldn't he have stopped himself somehow to save you?

Why had he been drooling when he was inside of you? Why did it look like he was enjoying it so much?

You wanna throw up.

He just wants to act like things are normal, his behavior barely changing since the incident, and that's one of the things that pisses you off the most. You'd been hurt, by him, someone you trusted, and he hadn't done so much as apologize, offer to pay for therapy, anything.

Sometimes, it feels like he's watching you. Often, you wake up unprompted to your empty bedroom, as if you had sensed someone there. The paranoia and terror at the thought of being attacked in your sleep had become so overpowering that you set up a sound alarm with wires and cans, and more than once, the rattling awoke you, only for no one to be there when your eyes opened.

Really, it almost seems like Batman's hovering around you more. That's the only change you've really noticed: the staring. Part of you wants to run away and never see him again, but you live at the Wayne Manor, with nary another place to go. You didn't exactly get paid for your crime fighting, and Bruce always footed the bill for your food and shelter. In a sense, you'd learned to become dependent on him. Helplessly so.

Part of you wonders if that had been the intention. You just dont know anymore.

----------‐------------

The club is loud, too loud, too bright, too claustrophobic, but anywhere had to be better than the manor, stuck at home avoiding making eye contact with Bruce. You're drunk, maybe too drunk, feeling a little woozy as music blasts in your ears. At least alcohol can bring you some illusion of joy and comfort.

You've been trying to think about what you're going to do, about Bruce, about yourself, about your life as a superhero. At one point you probably could have made the Justice League. Now, you can barely look your more-experienced, more knowledgeable partner in the eye, can barely go a day without beginning to have a panic attack, barely eat any food because you're just so constantly stressed and anxious.

By the time you leave the bar, you're stumbling, but you don't care. Nothing matters to you at this point as you stagger down the alley, barely noticing that a couple of men had followed you out of the bar. You're too drunk and apathetic to care, even as you stumble and trip, on the ground as the group of four approached, whispering among themselves, smirking, sneering about how drunk you are, about what they could do to you without anyone around.

For a moment, you close your eyes, telling yourself you wouldn't mind if they killed you.

There's a series of sounds resembling dull thuds, grunts, and groans, and your eyes flutter open again to see the would-be attackers all lying on the cold concrete with your rescuer slowly approaching.

Batman.

You're still woozy as he kneels down to pick you up, practically a limp doll in his arms as the caped crusader takes you further down the alley, around a corner to where the Batmobile was parked. Ever so gently are you loaded into the passenger seat and safely buckled in, and you let your eyes drift closed again when the warm air conditioning hits your clammy skin. It's quiet as Bruce begins to drive, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your regrets, your guilt.

"'m sorry," You slur quietly. "It wasn' your fault. I shouldn' have... even been with you."

"It was Ivy's fault, not yours." Batman replies. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Even with his words, you're still beginning to cry, shoulders bouncing with little sobs. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I ruined everything... I ruined everything...!"

Through your closed eyes, you feel a hand gently take yours, thumb rubbing circles into your skin in an attempt to provide comfort. You squeeze his hand back, using the touch to ground yourself as you continue to cry.

That's right... this is the Bruce you remember. This is your mentor, your comrade, your friend, being your rock even when you can't pull yourself together. You don't know where you would even be right now without him. He's... he's your lifeline.

As you drift off, the last thing you remember is the purring of the car engine and the warmth against your hand, lulling you off to peaceful sleep.

-------------------

Days pass, and you're beginning to improve. There's light in your eyes again, Bruce has noticed. You're not as severely depressed as before, still somewhat shaken by the incident, but slowly, slowly, coming to terms with it, letting it go, coping with the pain. He's instructed Alfred to keep an extra close eye on you, for your own sake, the kindly servant like a grandfather to you as he made sure you were eating your meals and getting a proper rest.

You're still hurting, but... it's getting better. You can look at your partner again, and of you could do that, you feel like you can do anything.

"Hey Bruce?" You pop your head into his office, intending to ask about something planned for later that evening, but only silence greets you. He must have gone to the bathroom, you figure, seeing some papers on his desk as if he was just here. Surely he won't mind if you sit in his chair for a moment until he comes back, though as you round his desk, there's something that catches your eye. A bottom desk drawer, one with a lock on it, only just slightly ajar. You're instantly curious. Batman lead such an unbelievable life that your inquisitive nature is piqued at the idea of super secret plans, confidential documents. Was it blueprints for a new piece of equipment? Was it research on a villain? Was it--

a binder? Thick and black, filled with pages, bearing a hefty weight as you pull it out. It has an ominous air to it even with the colorful sorting tabs peeking out of the top. You open the binder and see... yourself. Photos of you from inside the Manor, clearly taken from a barrage of hidden security cameras. Your stomach feels uneasy as you flip the page to find more photos, most of them innocuous in nature with you playing on your phone or reading a book or simply... existing. Why would he keep photos of that? And why so many?

Turning the page again, there's a series of dates, and you can't figure out what it's for. Every entry is roughly a month or so apart, give or take a week or so. The newest addition is penned in red, a date that was about a couple weeks ago. The rest of the page seemed to be names, split down the middle between male and female. The name 'Damien' is circled.

You don't understand. You're still in a state of mild confusion. You don't even realize that someone had snuck up behind you until the binder is plucked from your very hands. Bruce's jaw is tense as he glances between the book and you, who was currently backing away from him. "What is that?" You ask, voice shaking. "Why do you have so many pictures of me?"

"You shouldn't be in here." He deflects. "Go wait in the Batcave. We have another mission tonight."

You swallow hard. "No. Not until you tell me exactly what that is."

His brow furrows. "It's just some records from when we first met. I had to confirm you were trustworthy before bringing you into the fold."

Your eyes narrow. "I don't believe you." You hold out your hand. "If you want me to trust you, then let me see it."

It's subtle, but his grip on the binder tightens. "What's in the binder, Bruce?" You swallow. "And who is Damien?"

It's quiet, eerily, eerily quiet, and then--

"Our son. You're pregnant."

Horror is all over your face. "No," You gasp. "No, that isn't right! You're wrong! I would know!"

He reaches out a hand for you, but you take one look at that binder and step back. "But.. those-those-those dates go months back..." You stammer. "You... you were tracking my period before all of this even happened?"

"For Alfred. He needs to know when to buy more--"

"LIAR!!"

You lunge for the binder, managing to fit your hands around it, tugging, pulling, even as Bruce fought you, trying to keep it from your hands without hurting you. The book gets knocked to the ground, pages and photos going everywhere as it smacks against the floor.

Pictures. So, so many pictures, all of you. Smiling, laughing, sleeping, bathing, in your room alone at night, masturbating--

You rush over to the small wastebasket beside the desk and quickly empty the contents of your stomach. There's a hand on your back, rubbing circles to try and provide comfort, and you quickly whip around to smack his hand away. "Don't touch me!" You snap. "How long have you been stalking me?!"

"I've been looking out for you," His tone is firm, confident. "I'm the only one that is."

That hurt. Your bottom lip wobbles. "If you're the one who's 'looking out for me', then I'd rather be alone!"

You storm out of the room before he can say anything else, leaving the billionaire to call after you, following behind, watching as you march straight to your room, pull out a backpack, and begin filling it with clothes. Bruce blocks the doorway behind you, his expression growing darker by the second as you pack, and pack, and pack, and can't even look at him. He's still standing guard by the time you're finished, having thrown together only your most needed personal effects, things like your wallet and ID. "Get out of my way." You demand, voice shaking. "It's over."

Bruce's jaw clenched. "You can't be out in Gotham by yourself. Not with most of the villains having it out for you, and not as someone who's pregnant."

You reach back and backhand him as hard as you physically can. "And why am I pregnant, piece of shit?! Did you plan that too?! Did you know?! Did you know that... that THAT would happen when we went after Ivy that night?!"

"Of course I didn't!" He replies immediately, looking offended.

Tears are streaming down your face. "Yeah, well... I don't trust you anymore. I don't... I don't ever want to see your face ever again."

His expression falters, stare boring holes into you. Surprisingly enough, he leaves the room, freeing your path to finally depart. You're still crying as you start making your way to the grand foyer with the front door, each step hurting your heart more than the last. What are you going to do? What if you can't find some place to get an abortion? What if villains find you out on your own? What if you can't get a job right away?

What if seconds before you reached the front door, blast shutters descend from the ceiling and lock you in? They slam shut resolutely against the floor, like a death toll, leaving you shocked, trapped, gawking and speechless as you turn around to see Bruce and Alfred standing there. The old butler looks at you with an unreadable expression, whereas Bruce looks... upset. "Don't do something you'll regret." He warns. "Let's just talk."

"The only thing I'm regretting is ever getting involved with you, you psycho freak!"

"Madame, please," Alfred pleads softly. "Master Wayne is only looking out for your best interests. Why don't I make us all a nice pot of tea and we can--"

You're not even listening. You're beginning to hyperventilate, frantically looking at the door, the windows, how you're trapped like a rat. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.

You sink to the floor, sobbing, defeated, broken. You're limp and wailing when Bruce scoops you up into his arms, firm but carefully gentle, carrying you, not back to your room, but to his, placing you into the bed much larger than your own, tucking you in, sitting at your bedside as you roll over to cry, unable to face him, unable to accept reality, unable to believe this was really happening to you.

At least... if nothing else... you like the name Damien.

#yandere x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dcu #sinprompts #did a quick double check so hopefully its all grammatically correct lmao

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Words, Words, Words

Prompt: Hey, prompt idea! I would love some roman angst where after POF he stops talking and the other assume that he's mad at them when in reality he is unable to speak. As a selective mute myself, I would love to read a fic like this! - anon

it's been a while since I've posted fresh Roman angst and WOW did this jump out at me and go hey do you wanna project really really hard onto a character? 

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Roman is nonverbal for a lot of this story and some of the things he does when he’s upset by that are self-destructive, nothing explicit

Pairings: the found family kick aint stopping

Word Count: 4128

He didn’t do it on purpose. He swears, he—he didn’t do it on purpose.

  He just couldn’t talk.

It—it hurt, of…of course, it hurt to—to see the fallout of his bad decision explode with such…disastrous consequences. It hurt to see Patton so upset and confused because everyone was expecting him to have answers that he didn’t and—and Roman will take the blame for that, that’s his fault. And it hurt to see Logan so upset even when he was just there in his lowdowns and he—he didn’t have to be so cruel to Logan, that’s his fault too. And it—

  …it hurt to see that he really is just as awful as Remus, even if J—

  No. It doesn’t matter.

  Roman messed up. Really, really bad. And he’ll take the blame for that, he will, he—he knows he hasn’t been the best at accepting the blame in the past, but…he’ll take this one.

  But he didn’t do this on purpose.

  Roman doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s Creativity, or whether he’s the Ego, or what, but sometimes he just…can’t speak. Sometimes his words machine will just…stop working and he won’t be able to speak. He can normally still write or text, and he can understand when others talk, he just can’t say anything.

  The others don’t know, at least he’s never told them. He doesn’t want to be a bother—or have them start to make fun of him when he can’t defend himself—so he normally makes his writing days the ones where he can’t speak out loud. It’s a good way to make sure no one’s worried about why he’s shut up in his room all day or why he’s not speaking much at dinner. Plus, what kind of a prince would he be if he couldn’t talk?

  Don’t worry, he knows he’s not a prince.

  But the others like Prince Roman. Or rather, they like the narrative function that Prince Roman fulfills. So he does his best to make sure they…get that.

  But he didn’t mean for it to happen, not like this.

  He…he knows he messed up after the wedding. He sunk out and made it to his room and fell to his knees, hurt from everything and then some. The bruises hadn’t shown through his costume or gotten too far down his sleeves, but he—he still felt them. He tried to get up and make it to the shower to just wash off the day—the week—the month but getting his arms up to peel away the costume left him panting and he just wanted to curl up and sleep until everything stopped hurting.

  He managed to get himself into the shower and felt his tongue become lead in his mouth.

  He cleared his throat to try and make a noise but all that escaped was a soft rush of air.

  It…hurt.

  It wasn’t gone by morning. Most of the time he can sleep it off or—or if he just gives it some time he’ll—he’ll be fine but it wasn’t gone. His tongue lay there, useless, and he couldn’t say a word.

  That was okay, though, he could—he could make this a writing day. He wouldn’t dare touch anything he wanted to make for Thomas, his hands would shake too much and he—he doesn’t know what Thomas wants anymore so he wouldn’t get it right even if he could try.

  No, no, he could…he could write things for him today.

  Not as a reward for his atrocious behavior, not anything that would be read by anyone else or be useful in any way, but just to…to get some of the worst bits of him out so he wasn’t absolutely abominable when the others wanted him again. Yes, today he could…write.

  ‘Writing,’ what an interesting word for being willing to sit and bleed for others to see.

  Roman’s words don’t so much as pour out of him as much as he sets his fingers on his keys and then can’t control his typing. He just—it hurt and he knows that no one else would want to hear about his hurt so he pours them out into the blank spaces in the white page and tries to imagine that maybe, maybe, someone would read them and see how badly it hurt and pull him close and tell him that everything would be okay.

  If maybe, if he wrote a story good enough, if he made it hurt enough, someone would care.

  He sits there and pours into the blank document until it’s panting and weary from the torrent of words, until his hands ache and the tips of his fingers are worn warm and raw from the click-click-click of the keys. Until the hurt he feels gathers up into a small, dark well just under his tongue, right in the bottom of his jaw, itching and screaming to get out. It leaks out down his arms, making the inside of his wrists tingle as he types.

  No one will read this, no one will see it. These words won’t see the light of day anytime soon.

  And Roman’s tongue is still made of lead.

  He takes his words and lets them tumble clumsily out of his hands, trying in vain to scoop them up and shove them out of his mouth instead but his tongue won’t cooperate. He knows he can’t talk, that he can’t force it, that trying to make it happen will only lead to more pain.

  But he wants to try.

  When his words aren’t back by the next day, he swallows what’s left of his pride, which isn’t much, and goes out to face the others.

  He finds Patton first. Patton doesn’t acknowledge him, so he sits politely down on the couch with a notebook and waits, trying to see if his words will come out through the pen instead of his tongue. But Patton doesn’t talk to him unless he’s asking if Roman wants a drink and well, Roman doesn’t—doesn’t need words for that.

  Patton looks so disappointed in him.

  He wants to try. He wants to open his mouth and tell Patton he’s sorry. Sorry for everything. He wants to. He wants to.

  He opens his mouth and his tongue deflates, useless, just enough for him to sigh and hunch his shoulders in defeat.

  He doesn’t want to disappoint Patton, he wasn’t trying to disappoint Patton, he wants to apologize and be better, but he can’t.

  Perhaps that is the true disappointment.

  Logan is next to appear because Logan is Logan and Roman loves him and Logan always gets his cup of coffee in the morning before breakfast. He walks down the stairs and also does not look at Roman which is fine because that is what Roman deserves but he wants to try.

  He opens his mouth to call out to Logan or Patton but his tongue is so heavy and he can’t. He can’t speak. He should be able to speak, he should be able to say something to Logan, he should be able to tell him how sorry he is but he can’t and he’s useless.

  His pen stands frozen on the notebook pages, leaving a big, dark, useless well of ink.

  Logan sits down on the couch with a book and his coffee. He doesn’t look up at Roman. Roman stares at him, pleading, hoping that Logan will look up and meet his gaze, and maybe, just maybe, he can see how sorry Roman is and it will—something will be better.

  “Don’t stare at me, Roman, it’s rude.”

  Roman’s cheeks burn as he looks away. Logan didn’t move his eyes from the book once.

  He picks up the pen and watches it drip onto the page. The pages are wet, now, so much so that when he tries to pull them apart they stick together, the lines threatening to tear as he tries to separate them.

  He leaves them be.

  The next few hours are spent in a loop of trying to open his mouth to say something and only a soft rush of air escaping. He tries to hold it behind his hand and say please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so awful, I’ll be better, I promise, but the words won’t come. His tongue is taunting him, he decides, by pressing insistently up against the back of his teeth until he has to open his mouth only for it to refuse to produce words.

  He wants Logan to explain to him that talking works for him too. That the vocal chords and the muscles of the throat moving together build up pressure behind the larynx, which then chops up the stream of air to produce a steady oscillation for a sustained sound. He wants Logan to say it in that voice of his that makes it so everything makes sense so of course, Roman, you can speak, it’s okay. Everything is okay.

  But Logan would never say that, not to Roman, because Roman’s words aren’t worth Logan’s time.

  When Virgil comes downstairs, he tries. He really tries. He opens his mouth and everything and takes a deep breath and—

  Virgil marches straight over to Logan and sits down, his head on Logan’s shoulder and the two of them could not be paying any less attention to Roman.

  The wind gets knocked out of him. His mouth falters closed. He tries to open it away but his jaws are stiff and gummy, his teeth aching in his mouth as he tries to just talk. He just wants to say something, he just wants to apologize, he just waits to be sorry and have them all know he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, but they won’t know because he doesn’t have words.

  The words he wants to say are queuing up at the back of his throat, weighing his mouth down and he wants to say them, but he—he—he can’t. He wants to tell Virgil that he’s sorry he’s been the worst friend ever, that he’s sorry he’s so awful to their famILY, that he’ll go away and leave them all alone if that’s what they want but he can’t say a damn word of it out loud and he’s going to cry.

  But he can’t because crying isn’t words and the only thing the others want from him is words.

  If Virgil notices him trying, which he probably doesn’t, he’s kind enough not to say anything.

  Roman is terrified when Remus comes.

  Because Remus is loud and loves nothing more than to make Roman’s life harder. If Remus knew he was nonverbal right now, his best bet would be to leave as quickly as possible because he—

  Wait, no.

  If Roman wanted it to be best for him, he would leave as fast as possible. But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore so he doesn’t move.

  Remus, as it turns out, doesn’t care about Roman—which, why would he?—and instead flops proudly onto the floor and begins to talk animatedly with Logan about something.

  Roman wants to say sorry. Sorry that he’s never done anything right when it comes to Remus, sorry that he thinks being compared to him is the worst thing possible, sorry that he’s Roman and Remus is stuck with him.

  But his tongue is lifeless.

  So he is quiet, flipping aimlessly through his notebook, looking for something to give his words back.

  Was he selfish yesterday? Did he use all of them up on something no one would ever see? No, no, that’s not how it works, he just—he knows he should be able to talk, maybe if he just waits a little longer, his words will come back.

  But then Janus appears.

  And Roman needs to be able to talk now.

  Because he needs to tell Janus that he’s sorry. That he messed everything up and he’s awful and he knows it and he’s so, so, so sorry. And he needs to know that it isn’t a lie, that Roman is genuinely sorry and he just needs to speak, if he could just open his mouth and say something and say that he’s sorry and—and—

  Janus stops and looks right at him.

  Roman’s breath catches in his throat.

  Janus’s eyes narrow.

  Please, please, I’m sorry, let me say I’m sorry, I can’t speak, I want to speak, let me speak—

  Janus’s face cools into stone and he deliberately turns away.

  Roman wants to scream.

  He scrambles away from the living room and his hands fly to his hair, squeezing, pulling, trying to rip the sound from his throat because it won’t come otherwise. Trying to reach deep inside and find something, some word, some sound, some thing just to make it so he can talk, say he’s sorry, say anything.

  The computer screen blinks mockingly at him. Come on, it taunts, where was this agony when you were pouring your words out onto me yesterday? Why do you ache so badly now when you know you can’t do anything about it? Is it worth it?

  Nothing will ever be worth this. To have them there, right in front of him, and not be able to tell them how sorry he is.

  A silent scream is the best he can do.

  It doesn’t stop. His tongue doesn’t flicker back to life. Even after two days, three days, four, he still can’t manage to speak. He can’t manage to open his mouth and make a single word come out. He tries. He sits down in front of the computer and glares at the screen, forcing his mouth to make the shapes and forcing his vocal chords to make the sounds.

  He never gets further than a single word.

  He rushes, slurs, cheats in any way he can, and doesn’t even manage to get to the end of a sentence.

  He’s panting, in tears, trying, trying, trying so hard to say something, anything, because if he can say one thing, he can say more, and if he can say more, he can tell them how sorry he is.

  Roman would gladly give up all the words he doesn’t have to be able to say ‘sorry’ again.

  (Logan, downstairs, glances up from his book.

  Virgil is sprawled next to him on the couch, his head resting against Logan’s thigh. Patton is sitting on the other end, Virgil’s legs in his lap as he talks to Janus. Janus sits in the chair, his own book forgotten on his lap. Well, almost forgotten as he tugs it out of Remus’s grasp as he makes…something on the floor.

  “It’s been quiet recently,” he remarks to himself, “almost…peaceful.”

  Virgil shifts. “Yeah, I know. I kinda like it.”

  “So do I.” He glances down and, after a moment of hesitation, slides his hand into Virgil’s hair. “Is this alright?”

  “Yeah, L, that’s fine.”

  “Aww, you two are cute.” Patton grins at them. “It’s been nice lately, hasn’t it?”

  “Mm.” Janus tugs the book out of Remus’s reach again. “Remus, I certainly understand what you want with my book.”

  “Art, Janny.”

  Janus rolls his eyes fondly but his gaze softens as he takes in the room. It has been quiet. A good kind of quiet.

  He doesn’t know it didn’t happen on purpose.

  That Roman isn’t being quiet on purpose.

  He didn’t do it on purpose.

  Because when has anything Roman’s done on purpose been right?)

——————————————

Thomas sighs, his hands on his hips, as Patton and Logan begin to bicker for the third time in the past ten minutes. Across from him, Virgil is fidgeting uncomfortably as his gaze flicks back and forth between Janus and Thomas.

  “Guys, are you really not going to do anything about this?”

  “Oh, yes, because that’s how we solve every problem, just make me deal with it.”

  “Okay, first of all, I said you guys meaning you and Thomas, second—“

  “Oh, here we go, another lecture, oh goodie.”

  “That is not what I’m doing—“

  And now Virgil and Janus are fighting too. Thomas resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. Barely. Just barely. He shakes his head. The Sides aren’t normally this hard to manage, typically it’s just a matter of everyone actually understanding what’s going on and then one of them will propose a solution and they’ll all wrangle it around from angle to angle until he finally gets a workable one.

  Not this time.

  He’s not sure why nothing’s working, but everything that’s been proposed just sounds like another problem, not a solution. Why coming up with ideas is so hard today, he doesn’t—

  Wait.

  Has…has Roman said anything today?

  Thomas glances at Roman. Roman stands where he always does, watching the others with a strangely blank look on his face. Thomas frowns. Roman…Roman doesn’t look great. He looks paler than usual, his face is a little poofy.

  “Roman?”

  Roman looks at him, his brow quirked.

  “Do you…have any ideas?”

  Roman’s face falls and he swallows. Thomas’s frown deepens when Roman shakes his head sadly.

  “Hey, wait,” Virgil says, turning to face him, “Thomas is right. You haven’t said anything all meeting.”

  “You have been remarkably quiet. Especially for you.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “Have you not come up with a single idea?”

  “Okay, guys, wait—“ Thomas tries.

  “No wonder we aren’t making any progress,” Virgil cries, throwing up his hands, “it’s because the guy whose job it is to come up with ideas isn’t doing anything!”

  “That…would explain it.”

  “Come on, kiddo,” Patton says, looking at Roman, “you must have something.”

  Roman just shakes his head again.

  “Of course he doesn’t want to share it with us,” Virgil growls, “he’s probably waiting for us to figure it out for him because he’s still mad.”

  Patton sighs, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips. Even Thomas wants to flush from the disappointment in his voice. “I understand being mad at us, kiddo—I’m not happy about it, but I understand it—but taking it out on Thomas? That’s really selfish of you.”

  Roman flinches, his hand going to his chest. Janus rolls his eyes.

  “Oh, Roman doesn’t know what that word means, remember? He’s all about selflessness, not selfishness, no, not a single selfish bone in his body, Roman.”

  Virgil snorts.

  “I am also disappointed,” Logan sighs, “but not surprised. But seriously, Roman, I think this temper tantrum of yours has gone on long enough.”

  “Watch out, he’s gonna say it’s not a temper tantrum.”

  Is…is this how they are to Roman all the time? Thomas stares at the other Sides in confusion. Has he just never noticed how mean they are to each other before? Or is this…new? He looks back at Roman and opens his mouth to say something when he notices Roman’s hand is still on his chest.

  And…moving.

  His thumb is tucked against the top of his fist and Thomas watches as it circles once, twice, and stops. Once, twice, and stops.

  “Roman,” he says softly, cutting through the growing voices of the others, “Roman, why are you sorry?”

  “What?”

  “Thomas, what’re you—“

  “That—this—“ Thomas makes the sign himself—“that’s the ASL for ‘sorry.’ Remember?”

  Logan looks back at Roman who does it again. “So it is. But—Roman, why are you communicating using ASL, which none of us are fluent in? Most of us aren’t fluent in, my apologies, Janus—“ Janus waves him off— “why not just say that you’re sorry?”

  “Roman,” Thomas asks, still quiet, “can you speak?”

  They all watch in silence as Roman slowly shakes his head.

  “What do you mean you can’t speak?”

  “Probably just that, Virgil.” Logan adjusts his glasses.

  Thomas spares him a glance before refocusing on Roman. “Are you okay, buddy?”

  Roman looks at the ground. Virgil watches him for a moment before leaning to Logan.

  “I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no.’”

  “How long has this been happening?”

  “Yes or no questions, guys,” Thomas reminds, “and…not too many.”

  “Right.” Logan takes a breath and when he speaks again, Thomas furrows his brow at how much softer Logan sounds. “Roman, has this been happening since the beginning of the meeting?”

  Roman nods.

  “Has it been happening for longer?”

  Another nod.

  “How long,” Virgil asks warily, only for Logan to hiss ‘yes or no’ in his ear, “right, um…has it been happening for longer than a day?”

  Roman nods, studiously avoiding eye contact. Janus bites back a curse.

  “Roman, have you not been able to speak since the wedding?”

  When Roman nods again, Thomas has to bite back a curse of his own. Virgil doesn’t.

  “Fuck, Princey, why didn’t you tell one of us?”

  “With what words,” Janus spits, “and who’s to say we would’ve believed him?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs, reaching for him, “I’m so sorry.”

  At this, Roman shakes his head furiously.

  “Hey, hey, easy, Princey, it’s okay, what was that for?”

  “He seemed to really dislike the idea of Patton apologizing…”

  “What were you apologizing for, Roman,” Thomas asks instead, “before we—before?”

  Roman nods.

  “Yeah, bud, you were apologizing, do you remember what for?”

  A nod.

  “He’s saying ‘yes,’” Virgil murmurs.

  “Yeah, we got that.”

  “No, I mean—“ Virgil sighs— “you asked him what he was apologizing for and he’s saying ‘yes.’ That means anything you could ask him if he’s apologizing for, he’d say yes.”

  “So…” Logan looks back and forth between them. “He’s apologizing for…everything?”

  “Yeah.”

  And Roman nods.

“Oh, sweetie,” Janus says softly and whoa, that’s…unexpected, “you don’t need to do that.”

  Roman’s mouth hardens stubbornly as if to say yes I do.

  “You can’t be blamed for not being able to speak, Roman,” Logan says gently, “it’s not your fault.”

  “Kiddo,” Patton calls when Roman still looks unsure, “are you mad at us?”

  Roman’s head snaps up and he shakes his head frantically. Patton holds out his arms to soothe him.

  “And we’re not mad at you, sweetheart, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Let’s call it here,” Thomas says, giving Roman a nod, “we can figure this out later.”

  “What do you need, Roman,” Virgil asks, “how can we help?”

  “That’s…definitely not a yes or no question.”

  Thomas frowns. Then he reaches out a hand.

  “Hey!” Remus pops up, manic grin and all. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

  “I do not think bacon shakes, Remus.”

  “Sir Francis Bacon?”

  “What?”

  “You two gotta stop watching Phineas and Ferb,” Virgil mutters.

  Remus just grins and turns, freezing when he sees Roman. Thomas blinks and Remus’s entire demeanor changes.

  “Ro-Bro? Roro, you okay?”

  Roman looks up at him. Remus lays a hand on his shoulder.

  “You nonverbal?”

  Roman nods. Remus wraps his arms around Roman’s waist.

  “I’m taking this,” he announces, “bye!”

  Thomas chuckles as Remus sinks out, Roman in tow, even as Patton and Virgil rush after them going ‘let us help!’ Logan just rolls his eyes fondly and follows them. Thomas catches hold of Janus’s cloak before he can leave too.

  “Are you guys always like that to Roman?”

  Janus gives him a strange look. “You mean are you always like that to Roman?”

  “What?”

  “We’re you, Thomas,” Janus says bluntly, “we’re the physical manifestation of what goes on in your head. Or have you forgotten that your main way of problem-solving is to summon metaphysical color-coded versions of yourself and talk to them?”

  “Your point?”

  “The way we act is how you see us. We behave how our respective parts of you behave.” Janus gives him a look. “If you think we’re being mean to Roman, what does that say about how you feel about your Ego or your Creativity?”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

  “Take better care of yourself,” Janus says, softer now, “and it might surprise you.”

  “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I think,” Janus says, looking far too smug as he pulls away, “you mean that you can’t help yourself.”

  Thomas scoffs as Janus disappears but after a few seconds, his words start to make sense. He turns to grab his laptop and opens it, finding a blank document and watching the cursor blink.

  The others might not be able to listen to Roman, but he always can.

  “Alright,” he mutters to himself, “let’s see what Roman’s got to say.”

  General Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @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  @aularei @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

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #virgil sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders #logan sanders

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Series (Fallout AU)

Post-Apocalyptic Frankie x F!Reader (no y/n, no physical description of reader, established backstory)

Rating: E (18+) for future chapters

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, talks of nuclear war, language, kinda kidnapping, kinda not (nothing aggressive or anything, but they kinda force reader to come along) So whatever warning that is.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Lost Myth

You wondered when the clock on the wall stopped ticking. Was every single one in the house like that? Were they all permanently stuck at ten and two? 

They had been interrogating you for what felt like hours. You ran through the story, over and over and over again. The sirens went off, you went into the vault, got put on ice and woke up a few days ago - and apparently two centuries later. 

Not such a quick process, huh dad? 

You didn’t give them any details, nothing about your family or what you’d seen. You weren’t about to spill your guts to a group of men who’d just held you at gunpoint. You didn’t trust them, and the feeling was definitely mutual. 

If not for the picture above the mantle, they never would’ve believed your story. Even with proof, they were still struggling to wrap their minds around it. But then again - so were you. You’d gone over it a hundred times and it still didn’t make any sense. 

Frankie stepped out from the shadows, away from the corner he’d buried himself in since the start of the interrogation. Up until now, he’d been silent. “Where is this vault of yours? Must be close by.” 

You let out a haughty scoff. You couldn’t believe the nerve of him. Of all these guys, honestly. You would’ve gotten up and left, if this wasn’t your fucking house. Just because they scattered their crap everywhere and muddied up the couch cushions with their boots didn’t mean it was theirs. 

And seriously - who wears muddy shoes on a velvet couch? Barbarians. No way you’d could get these stains out. 

You had decided you’d had enough of them treating you like an intruder. So, you huffed and shook your head. A silent protest. 

Frankie ripped off his ball cap and ran his fingers through his sweaty curls before plopping the old hat back on his head. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

You narrowed your eyes, “Why do you even care-” 

“Why do you?” He challenged, but you wouldn’t play into his hand. He probably wanted to rile you up to get you mad enough to spill. Too bad. Not gonna happen. 

“Unless you work for Vault-Tec, I’m not telling.” It sounded brattier than you intended, but you didn’t care. These guys deserved it. 

“It’s been two days.” He huffed out a deep chuckle that almost sounded mocking. “Hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t seem like they’re coming back. So if you want, you can wait here, but it sounds like you’ll be waiting forever.” 

His words felt like salt in a fresh wound. Of course, you’d considered that possibility, it was a newfound fear. But you tried not to dwell on it. You couldn’t. The idea of being helpless again was too much. 

Frankie must’ve noticed your distress because he shut his eyes with a sigh. For a second, you thought he might apologize. Instead, he retreated back into the corner you wished he would’ve stayed in. 

The silence stretched around the yellowed crown molding. Foolishly, you hoped the muteness would make them give up and just leave you alone. 

You weren’t that lucky. 

Santi was staring out the bay window, and appeared to have some epiphany. He tapped on the glass. “It’s up on that hill, isn’t it?” 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. 

-----

Frankie stood in the cold and damp vault, unable to believe any of this was actually happening. He’d never been inside a vault like this. He didn’t even know they existed until today. Sure, he’d heard rumors, the gossip and campfire stories. He knew them well. Everyone in the Commonwealth did. 

Vault-Tec was the fucking boogyman. 

Frankie scanned the hall of frozen statues and scoffed. So, this is what wealth and power bought? A metal box in a basement freezer. 

After the bombs dropped, nobody really knew what happened to the Vault-Tec elites or their investors, or even those million and billionaires who could afford the best treatment. Clearly, they went underground, but where? Everyone knew they couldn’t just be in the regular vaults. No, they would’ve been too good for those. Until today, all people had were theories: luxury vaults, cloning, and some people threw out the idea of cryogenics. 

Frankie had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The girl at the end of the hallway was real, though. Atlantis in the flesh. 

For a moment, he intently studied her. Upon closer inspection, she didn’t quite look like other women in the Commonwealth. She was like someone from a shredded billboard or movie poster or a crusty magazine. Her skin had a different texture, her hair was shinier than he’d ever seen. 

He didn’t allow his gaze to linger long enough for her to notice. “Stay with her,” he told Benny before leaving to check on Will and Santi. 

As Frankie walked towards the main lobby, he glanced down at the pearly floor tiles. There was hardly a blemish on them or the walls. Despite its age, this place was in pristine shape. Mint condition. He’d never seen a vault without the grime. He was used to the halls smelling like BO and misery, not moist dust. For the first time in his life, he could actually see some of the original appeal of the vaults. 

When he rounded the corner, he spotted Will hunched over the computer. Santi’s jaw clenched at something on the screen. 

“Any luck?” Frankie asked, even though he had a feeling the answer was no. 

Will slumped back in the chair and dragged his hand over his face. “I’ve never seen security like this. Whole thing’s pretty locked down.” 

“We got some files on the data stick, but just don’t know what, yet,” Santi added, “There could be something there.” 

“Or nothing,” Frankie grumbled under his breath. Usually, it was nothing. 

He did realize this was probably their biggest discovery to date, but the number of failed expeditions that were notched in his belt had worn him thin. For years, they’d been out here chasing their tails and only finding dead-ends. He hoped this wasn’t another one. But without any more details, it was just a single piece in a puzzle. Unsolvable. For all they knew, these people could just be some rich fucks without any real ties to Vault-Tec. 

“You know, maybe we won’t need it,” Santi perked up. 

Will popped open one of his eyes - suspicious “What’re you saying?” 

“Maybe we won’t need whatever is in here.” Santi patted the top of the chunky desktop. His lips curled into a smirk and oh no. “Maybe she’s all we need.” 

Frankie sucked the air through his teeth, and shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Just think about it, think of all the information she could have.” 

Frankie did think about it and it seemed way too damn easy. A little too good to be true. This woman just so happens to be let out of the vault at the same time they’re here. It was either fate or something more sinister. When dealing with Vault-Tec, it tended to lean more towards the latter. “What if it’s a trap?”

“They wouldn’t let us come down here and get this far if it was a trap.” 

“Why not?” Frankie questioned. “It doesn’t matter if we know their secret if we’re dead. Shit. They could even be out there now waiting for us.” 

“You know as well as I do that they would’ve killed us by now. They never would’ve let us touch this computer.” 

“Still, he’s right, man,” Will said. “This would be a pretty big fuck up. Especially for people who don’t fuck up.” 

Thank God Will had some sense. Frankie felt like there had to be a catch. There was always a catch. 

“Maybe they want someone on the inside. Maybe they wanna know our secrets. She could work for them.” 

“Well, I don’t think she does,” Santi answered with such assurance that even Will rolled his eyes. They barely even knew this woman. “Come on, we all saw her-”

“She could be acting.” Will suggested. 

“Then she’s the world’s best fucking actress,” Santi said. 

“For all we know, she could be.” Frankie shuffled his feet. That was the problem, she could be anything. There were too many goddamn possibilities. Over half ended up with them dead. He didn’t like those odds. 

Santi sighed. 

“Look, I know there’s a risk, but how many years have we been waiting for something like this? Huh? We need this. I can’t - we can’t go  home empty handed again. Come on, she’s right here. She could be the jackpot.” 

Frankie didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all, especially since he could see Will was swaying towards Santi’s side. 

Santi appeared to notice as well, and doubled down his efforts. He licked his lips and looked at Frankie dead in the eye. “Besides, we can’t just leave her here. She’ll be dead by morning.” 

Frankie didn’t trust her, but he wasn’t a monster. On the slim chance she was telling the truth, he didn’t want her blood on his hands. He had enough of it already. 

Fine. 

“One wrong move and she’s gone.” 

Deal. 

—

“I’m not going anywhere with any of you.” She marched down the hill, trying and failing to kick off the litter that stuck to her shoes. 

Frankie disapprovingly shook his head as the guys chased after her. Begging her to reconsider. 

Frankie didn’t expect her to come easy. And maybe that was the catch - their big break was a massive pain in the ass. He was starting to think he might prefer if she was a spy. 

“You can’t stay here,” Santi reasoned with her, “It’s dangerous.” 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay in another house, but I’m not leaving.” 

“We don’t have enough supplies,” Benny said and Will added, “Or ammo.” 

She shook her head and kept walking. There was no time for this. Maybe he was paranoid, but Will had messed with that computer for too long. He wouldn’t be shocked if it triggered some alarm. 

Frankie was not about to beg her, though. He’d lug her across the Commonwealth with her kicking and screaming before stooping that low. “Look, either come willingly or we’ll drag you out of here. Your choice.” 

Abruptly she stopped, then spun around to face him. “Excuse me?” 

The others took a big step back, leaving only him in her wrath. So be it if he had to play bad guy. They needed to move. 

“You heard me. Now, what’s it gonna be?” 

“How generous of you.” She threw up her hands and let out a wild laugh. “I get a choice on how I get kidnapped.” 

“I’d hardly call this kidnapping.” 

“Then what would you call it, huh?” She stepped closer, nearly chest to chest. The space between them was practically non-existent.

“It’s called keeping you alive. You have no idea what’s out there.” He lowered his voice, and it appeared to scare her. Good. She should be scared. She was ill-equipped to handle this world. 

Despite the flicker of fear in her eyes, she hesitated. Still resisting. She glanced at Benny, who gave her a small smile. 

She huffed. 

“Fine. But I swear on my life if you don’t bring me back -” 

“Trust me,” Frankie cut her off with a harsh snort. “I’ll bring you back here myself.” She had to be insane if she thought he’d want to keep her around. 

She seethed at him, her rage furling into her tiny fists. For a second, he thought she was going to sock him in the jaw, but she didn’t. Instead, she spun around and yelled, “I want my gun back.”

In her dreams. 

Frankie watched her storm down the hill, knowing it was about to be a long trip home. 

Taglist: @littlemisspascal @seasonschange-butpeopledont @pascalisthepunkest @heythere-mel @mando-amando @justatiredpotato

#pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal #frankie x reader

[cinnamonest]

I got these and more asks regarding the post from last night so I wanted to elaborate and explain some things, and also make another point about the anniversary thing and clarify for anyone confused. After this I promise I'll shut up about this lol sorry

1) yeah please do NOT come after the VAs for any of this, not even the actual developer side either is at fault. This is largely an issue with the PR and marketing and higher up people. It's really awful that some people are harassing people who have no responsibility here. And thanks to the original asker's reply, I feel like I'm really bad at conveying my thoughts so I tend to overexplain lol, but thanks that means a lot.

2) I have seen people confused on this so if you didn't already, you should know that this isn't just about the anniversary so much as the anniversary was a final straw. While Honkai has similar rewards/exchange for irl money as genshin, mihoyo itself has some of the worst in comparison to other gachas from other developers. Games like Arknights, Granblue, Azur Lane, Dragalia Lost, hell even a cutesy casual gacha app like LoveNikki have much better real money to game currency ratios, huge anniversaries where they give out tons of free shit, and much more generous systems (such as Arknights giving free 10 pulls with a lot of events/new characters/etc). All despite being smaller, less profitable games. There's major glaring issues with the game that have gone unresolved for a long time despite people asking over and over to change it. It's a combination of the rewards, general stuff, and mihoyo's refusal to solve certain issues for a long time that has people upset.

In any industry, any company is going to be held to the standards set by the mainstream industry, which is what is happening here. It is natural to hold a company to it's competitors for comparison and expect them to match standards, especially when the company that is lacking is the richer one and could easily meet the standards if they were willing to.

This is especially true for people who put money into the game. Due to the nature of gachas/online games, companies that produce these games are usually very adamant on rewarding players because whales/P2Ws, people who buy welkin and similar stuff, etc keep the game alive. When they do not match the standard of the industry, those people will feel unappreciated and go elsewhere eventually, which means they will not be able to afford much progress, then even F2Ps won't have content, and the game will burn out.

3) I probably should have clarified this last post but, I know review-bombing does seem like a kinda shitty tactic at first and I get that, but the reason people are doing that now is because mihoyo has completely ignored people complaining for months normally, and even now has started to censor and ban people, deleted critical posts, etc. Basically it's clear that mihoyo will just ban and censor criticism until people do something that actually forces them to listen, hence review bombing. Banning/censoring criticism is a really, really bad move for any company, historically speaking, it's insulting to players who keep the company afloat and results in losses. The review bombing + a lot of people uninstalled the app apparently + people who usually pay refusing to do so anymore, all of that hits them to where they can't afford to ignore it when people do it en masse. Because it will cost them money/players.

What people are kinda really upset about, even more than rewards itself, is just the silence and censorship on their end, which is more frustrating than the lack of rewards itself. I did have some sympathy for them up until they started censoring and deleting criticism on their site. At that point they're doing this to themselves by doing that.

4) Also, notably, this has worked with plenty of other game devs. You may remember the disaster that was Fallout 76. Bethesda also responded poorly at first, but spamming bad reviews and horrible coverage for Fallout 76 got Bethesda's attention, and they went the whole nine yards formally acknowledging the complaints and more or less apologizing to the whole world of players at E3 and even gave refunds, which is a very surprisingly humble thing for a company of their level of fame to do. The situation calmed down because people felt listened to, and while Fallout 76 was kinda a lost cause and didn't get fixed, the idea is that the refunds/open and honest communication restored the consumer base's relationship to Bethesda. That was a big blow, but Bethesda was willing to take that hit to maintain the sense of communication and mutual respect/value between players and devs.

In contrast, with mihoyo, what most people have been trying to beg/bargain for for an anniversary rewards is a free permanent banner 5 star, which would cost mihoyo essentially literally nothing.

So far they have responded by banning people for literal years on hoyolab, deleting posts, banning people from various social platforms etc, for criticism. Even putting whether or not that's ok aside, it's very unusual and not how game companies usually handle these things, and can only end badly for them.

Also mihoyo has had time to fix this -- it's not like Fallout 76 where they released the game and then the backlash came very suddenly and they had to scramble to prepare a response/plan and needed time. People have been complaining about these rewards for well over a week, so they could have easily fixed it by now if they had any intention of listening to people's complaints, especially considering the proposed fix of a single free permanent 5 star would be very simple and quick to implement.

5) also? it's extra unfortunate and really a marketing team issue bc they could have *profited* from giving more, if they opened rewards to new players as most gachas do. Genshin is incredibly popular right now, to the extent that a lot of people in the gaming/weeb sphere who don't play it, but still know of it, and even know a bit about it.

If you were someone who had never played genshin but had been considering downloading it for a long time, but just kept putting it off or forgetting, and heard "hey join now and you get free Diluc/Keqing," that would have convinced a lot of people to go ahead and join, and they would inevitably get sucked into the game and bring mhy profit. So it's a little strange imo that they chose not to do that, it would have been beneficial to them.

6) also, be aware that the glider we're now getting was supposed to be paid originally. Releasing it free now is damage control. It's also, well, a glider. Again, while it is pretty, it's paltry in comparison to the industry norm and does not have much use to most people.

Finally, criticizing all of this/the game/mihoyo does not mean people hate the game. I do see some people lashing out in defense of mihoyo and I get that bc they produce something we all really like. I really really do not want to see genshin become "that one game that was super popular for a year or so and then died" -- that's why people want improvements, because if improvements aren't made, that's where it's headed. What people are asking for right now is stuff that is very easily in mihoyo's capability and would not cost them much of anything. It would be one thing to ask them for something that would cut their profits or take time to develop, but that's not what's happening. People are asking for very little in the scope of their capabilities/the norm.

[youre-in-my-sights]

Seeing that Hanzo and Mccree sometimes butt heads about Jesse’s aggressiveness with their darling in your McHanzo posts... What would happen if Jesse REALLY fucked up with the darling someway in a fit of unwarranted rage? What would the fallout look like? Would things ever be the same again? Would Hanzo ever forgive him?

Really it depends on what exactly Mccree has done. Regardless, Mccree's in for a rude awakening from his boyfriend if he royally fucks up.

Any type of abuse that would leave a bruise on you Hanzo would accept under the guise of it being your punishment, even if it pains him to see you like that

Anything that leaves scars, or open wounds, or lasting psychological trauma, Hanzo will intervene immediately

If he's present for the extreme abuse, he'll quickly knock Mccree out and tend to your wounds, all the while apologizing and rethinking his relationship with Jesse

If Hanzo isn't present and finds out, he's even angrier at Mccree. Might even threaten him within an inch of his life when he gets back

Regardless, Hanzo would want to get you away from his abuse asap, but that would mean letting you go, and he can't have that

Hanzo will take you to a new dwelling, preferably a place far away from Mccree, and keep you as his own

Mccree calls and tries to apologize to Hanzo, saying he didn't mean to hurt you, but Hanzo's immovable.

Really hurts Hanzo and Mccree that they can't see each other probably makes mccree a bit more obsessed but at least Hanzo has you, and will treat you like the prince you are

#yandere hanzo #yandere mccree #yandere mchanzo #yandere overwatch #overwatch

[sashannarcy]

hi op what are your thoughts on uhhhh *spins wheel* sasha's season 2b arc (hope that's not too broad a subject)

edit: putting this under a cut bc it got LONG but. enjoy (???)

okay I gotta start by saying I didn't expect the depth of it at ALL; I knew Sash was featured prominently in the ending episodes of s2 based off of what my friend informed me, but like. I was not expecting 4.5 episodes to be almost ENTIRELY centered on their character arc and design (the .5 being the first half of True Colors).

that being said, I think Sash's 2b arc is PHENOMENAL bc of the way the nuance in it is written so incredibly well. this character is about to perform the most antagonistic move that they've pulled in the whole series so far, which is the act of betraying both Anne and Marcy in order to support Grime and get them home safe, if they so choose to go home (as an aside, I think at this point Sash has probably decided that she likes it more in Amphibia than back home, and there's one line that I'll get to that seems to be VERYYYY indicative of that. and if this is the case, it makes sense to me why Sasha would want to help Grime at all and why they don't really seem quite eager to follow Anne and Marcy back home. but! important to note that they still give those two the choice to go back if they wish, because at the end of the day Sash loves them and wouldn't try to force them to stay). and yet we see!! this back and forth!! this FIGHT that's happening in their mind, the way there's a flash of guilt they express at the very end of The Third Temple directly after confirming to Grime that things are still going according to plan, their convo w Anne at the end of The Dinner, the entire plot arc of BotB, and ofc the Sashanne duel in True Colors. I want to make an analysis post for each of these episodes because they're so fucking PACKED w shit to analyze, but I'll try my best to touch on all points here.

obviously we first learn of Sasha's plans to betray Anne and Marcy in The Third Temple. but what's important is that throughout the entire episode, there's several points where Sash switches back and forth between manipulation and honesty. I can talk abt this w confidence just based off of the whole. *gestures vaguely at myself.* but Sasha's initial apology in this episode was sheer manipulation, I think we all know that. however, when Sasha has to do their final test in the temple, those few lines they exchange w Anne in the moments before they raise themself up off the floor and launch themself into battle... those were genuine. they know they've been a shitty friend, and they're willing to accept that. so you have this game, almost, where Sash keeps flipping between putting on a mask to ensure they can keep up their facade until Grime secures the city and genuinely acknowledging their behavior and knowing that what they are doing is not going to sit well w Anne and Marcy.

so with that, The Third Temple sets the premise for the rest of the episodes of the season as far as Sasha's character arc. The Dinner is such a good fucking episode to follow with, because it hammers in the fact that Sasha has not changed. what it ALSO hammers in is she is still acting in her own self-interest - to put it in her words, she wants to get the friendship back under control. they still lash out, they still have a short fuse, they're still heavily opinionated and rough around the edges and prickly because this is an environment where they feel threatened. they're finally reuniting with the two people that mean the absolute most to them, only to realize they've been left out of the narrative. also not for nothing, but their trauma in Reunion got joked about in this episode which led to them blowing up over it, and like. I'm giving that one a pass bc man. anyway. at the end of the episode they say they like who they are, but it's said with a frown, which I think is fucking GENIUS. because there's an actual meaning to this line - they don't ACTUALLY like who they are. we have plenty of evidence that they don't like themself. what they MEAN is that they don't want to change, because that would mean giving up a security that they need in order to keep themself together. AND THIS IS DEMONSTRATED CRYSTAL CLEAR IN BOTB. they literally PURPOSEFULLY detach themself from Anne and Marcy bc they know they want control but they ALSO know that their behavior is just going to hurt the other two, so instead of compromising, they just go hey I'm gonna do my thing and you guys can do yours. and we'll both get what we want. and if that's not evidence that this character is fucking GRAPPLING with how to grow and change as a person, idk what is

and then. sigh. we get to True Colors. ofc Sash goes through on their betrayal - they're loyal to a fucking T once you dig beneath the surface, and they wouldn't just not follow through for Grime. what is absolutely KEY here is the fact that they are still leaving room for their friends' best interests, as in they're not trapping them in Amphibia but rather explaining how they're gonna help Grime take over, implying they'll go back home once they're done, but if Anne and Marcy wanna go back now, that's cool. if she didn't give a fuck abt their wellbeing, she'd just keep them there w her. but she doesn't. and then Anne starts retaliating, and. well. we ALL know Sasha does NOT do well with criticism of any kind. so they just go okay I'll send you back now then (and this is STILL an action motivated by what they think is best for Anne). BUT THE LINE. OHHHH THE SUPER IMPORTANT LINE THAT MADE MY HEAD SNAP UP AND MADE ME PHYSICALLY GO "YIKES" OUT LOUD. is Sasha saying "say hi to your parents for me." it's like a goddamn full-on sucker punch packed into one sentence - seven words, and all of a sudden we know for sure this kid does not have a good home life. I could go into elaboration on Sasha and the way she views familial ties throughout the show, but I won't bc that's gonna take this already super long answer and make it even worse. regardless, Sasha has once again flipped the switch and is indulging in their worst behaviors, which is full on controlling and holding power to act on what THEY think is best in the moment. and the moment Anne snaps, the moment Anne yells about Sasha being a horrible person, literally EVERYTHING shifts and the reaction from Sasha is VISCERAL. and what I mean by that is. it's not just the look in their eyes at those words. it's not just the sudden and complete loss of meaning, of self, of motivation after they've lost Anne's support. it's not just the way they stare at their own reflection in a sword that represents the color of the person they're trying their hardest to protect. it's the way that for the rest of the goddamn episode, they spend it trying to do the one thing they fear the most: giving up control. I'm gonna elaborate on this whole aspect in a different ask bc I was asked abt it, but the way Sasha acts towards Anne after the fallout, especially at the beginning of the duel and during the confrontation w Andrias, is fucking monumental. they struggle so much with how to change their own behavior, yet the very moment they lose the support of the people they've been trying so hard to love and care for in their roundabout way, they can change the way they act. because who the fuck is Sasha Waybright without Anne Boonchuy and Marcy Wu? in her mind, no one. she doesn't have any idea of who she is outside of this, so ofc she can act differently when she's thrown out in the cold. after all, it doesn't take much to warp an identity that doesn't exist.

tldr; god. how do I sum this up. Sash's 2b arc is smth that's incredibly intricate and complex from the way they constantly flip between desperately needing control and feeling guilty that this is the way they need to live. and True Colors is able to finally demonstrate to us the final piece in how they operate - without their friends, they lose sense of who they are, and their personality comes undone. in 4.5 episodes the writers managed to give us 1000 aspects to their character that we hadn't gotten to explore, and we can see that Sasha was never meant to be the villain. so. final review is that's some good shit👍

#this is so so so so long holy shit anon I am sorry #but the s2 2b arc is like. oh my god it sure is smth #PLEASE GOD IT'S 2:56 AM. I HAVE CLASS AT 9:30 GMFMDMDM #why do I do this shit to myself #sasha waybright #amphibia #anonymous #ask #long post

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries. 

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened. 

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

 A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable. 

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother. 

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.  

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable. 

He will do what is right. 

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow. 

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves. 

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded. 

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

 He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement. 

Get a hold of yourself . 

A breath.

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling. 

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human. 

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes. 

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie." 

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back.  Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

 They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?” 

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing. 

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!" 

Jade. Cold. Flawless. 

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling. 

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing. 

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul…he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes. 

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing. 

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him. 

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.” 

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly. 

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly. 

And disobeys. 

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose. 

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….” 

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?” 

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar. 

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.” 

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….” 

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself? 

 When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long. 

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear. 

Did they leave him? Would they be back? 

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

#3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff #my fic #3zun #I say if all goes according to plan because I have a few other scenes that need to happen #and those have a tendency to be a lot longer than I think they will be #But it should be very soon #Also I promise I'm gonna fix it next chapter 😬 We all know what happens. We all know he is Dad™

[josjournal]

Full Moon Ficlet #452 - Drama

Written for @fullmoonficlet

Derek opened the door to the house, stopping in his tracks when he saw what greeted him. His husband stood next to a dark brown llama. Derek looked between the two as Stiles turned to him with a big grin on his face and wide eyes. “This is not what it looks like,” he greeted.

Derek raised his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. Part of him wanted to ask, the other part of him knew better. “Nope. Just nope,” he said, sounding more like his husband than he thought he ever had in his life. He moved around the strange pair and headed for the stairs, stopping when a slightly familiar scent filled his nose.

He sniffed again and looked around him. It had been a long time since the scent had been there; ever since a big fallout just after Stiles and Derek got married. “Is Scott here?” Derek asked.

The llama snorted and swung its head at Stiles who leaped backward with a huff. “It’s not my fault, asshole,” he snapped, his eyes on the llama as it tried to hit him with his head again.

“Is...is that Scott?” Derek asked. “Did you turn Scott into a llama?”

“I didn’t do it!” Stiles said. “I would never use my magic to do something like that!” Derek raised his eyebrows and the llama snorted again. “Fine, so I might play a trick or two but this one is completely not me.” Derek’s eyebrows went higher and Scott managed to stomp on Stiles’ foot, giving a sound like laughter when Stiles cursed at him.

Sighing, Derek sat down on the second from last step, rested his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. “Explain everything to me from the beginning.”

Groaning, Stiles huffed. “This idiot came here to apologize.” He sneered and did sarcastic air quotes around the last word. “His two-second speech was along the lines of ‘I’m sorry you thought I was an asshole at your wedding.’”

Derek remembered the fight that had broken out between Stiles and Scott just before the ceremony. Scott had never gotten around to liking Derek and told Stiles he was an idiot for marrying Derek. He even offered to marry Stiles himself if he was that afraid of dying alone. Stiles had been hurt and thrown Scott out before Derek had even found out what happened. He probably wouldn’t have found out until days later if Jackson hadn’t stood at Stiles’ side during the ceremony instead of Scott.

Scott had tried calling for a few weeks after the wedding, but Stiles wouldn’t take his calls. Derek had tried to encourage him to mend fences, but Stiles’ anger on behalf of Derek wouldn’t let him even entertain the thought. Eventually, Scott and Derek had both given up on changing his mind.

He wasn’t sure what had brought Scott back to try again, but it had to have been something big. He still wasn’t sure how that had ended up with Scott as a long-necked wooly beast. “So, after you refused to listen,” Derek said, knowing Stiles well enough to know that had to have been the next step, “what happened?”

“Well, in the middle of explaining to Scott just why I wouldn’t accept his ridiculous unapologetic apology, he held up a hand and told me to ‘save the drama for your llama!’”

“So, instead of following his advice, you turned him into a llama?” Derek asked, pressing his lips together, unsure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“I didn’t turn him into a llama!” Stiles shouted, very nearly stomping his foot like an enraged child. “I told him that ‘he was a llama’ and tried to storm away. The next thing I knew, I was knocked to the ground by that!” Scott looked like he was ready to knock Stiles to the ground again.

“It seems to me your words would be directly responsible for Scott’s current condition,” Derek countered, fighting the urge to rub his temples. Werewolves weren’t supposed to get headaches, but he’d discovered that sometimes Stiles and his antics were capable of causing one.

“It’s totally not my fault that a fairy happened to be passing through the woods when I said it,” Stiles muttered.

“Fuck,” Derek said, dropping his head. It was going to be a long, drawn-out, and dare he say it, overly dramatic night as they searched for the fairy to reverse the spell. Hopefully, by the time they were done, Stiles would either forgive Scott or Scott would choose never to speak to Stiles again.

Cross-posted to AO3

#fullmoonficlet #sterek #eternalsterek #sterekficlet #my writing