#cross posted

[soapgraves]

au where jasper got brain reset after being shattered. :)

#steven universe #art #steven universe future #fanart #steven universe fanart #su #suf #jasper #jasper steven universe future #jasper steven universe #jasper su #jasper suf #jasper fanart #steven universe au #su au #suf au #steven universe future au #cross posted on twitter #cross posted #help im becoming jaspers biggest fan #jk i was always her biggest fan #jasper is so cool

[acupofconure]

Tiki is very passionate about art. 😤

#birblr #birb #green cheek conure #tiki #.mov #tiktok #cross posted

[rippersz]

𝒯𝑜 𝒫𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃:

(A Larissa Weems x fem!reader fanfic) (Part 8)

(Part 7)

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“Nevermore Academy.”

You tilted your head. 

Nevermore… Nevermore… 

“The school for outcasts. In Vermont.” Larissa specified, tone growing sharper as she watched you with intense eyes - waiting like an Eagle for you to act like a mouse and twitch or shiver or run. 

But you were quite comfortable where you sat - and you weren’t too interested in leaving her alone - or leaving her at all, really. So you nodded and sort of unconsciously ran your gaze over her body. The tense posture, the intrigued but grave expression, the sparkling eyes, the pale skin, the snowy hair, the style, the height. Perhaps your brief thought from however many days ago, of Larissa being an outcast, was correct. Perhaps you ‘clocked’ her before you even realized. Though then again, her beauty wasn’t necessarily conventional. She wasn’t tan or small or dainty and she didn’t have wavy brown or blonde hair and she didn’t wear summery makeup and cute little sundresses or ripped jeans and T-shirts, no, she was… well she was so blatantly different that no one could possibly miss her. And appearance was a big part of outcast culture, you knew. Culture and crucifixion. Judged and bullied and hunted for their looks; desired and sought after and hungry for their beauty. Goodness, normies were horrid. You couldn’t even imagine the shit Larissa had gone through in life. 

“If that is going to be a problem-”

You cut her off immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“No- no no no, I’m sorry, no it’s not a problem. That’s actually really fascinating,” you made eye contact and gave her a small smile. You meant what you said. It was fascinating. You’d never met anyone associated with outcasts so strongly before. It was very interesting. “Is it hard? Having to do that?” You figured it would be - considering regular teenagers were hard enough to deal with already. 

And she seemed to agree, even as shock flashed through her frozen gaze. Clearly, your acceptance was not a thing Larissa was entirely familiar with - but you were glad to find that she recovered quickly and fixed you with a head nod and a small knowing smile. Her shoulder, briefly, bumped against yours. 

“Without a doubt. But - their happiness is something you can’t find everywhere. So to know that I contribute to their settling within the ‘real world’,” she used quotation marks, “is a reward of and within itself. And that’s all that truly matters.”

You tried to catch her eye- you even tilted your head close to find the blue- but she kept her gaze forward and herself silent. 

“You seem very proud of them.” It was the only thing you could think to say. 

Thank goodness it brought a loving smile to her face; lighting her up in a glow that wasn’t just caused by the buzzing lights overhead.

“I am. Unbelievably so,” and that’s when she turned to look at you, carrying the world in her eyes, carrying the weight of her livelihood in her heart. 

Clearly, she loved them. And her job. And all of the things that came with it- difficult and otherwise. And you knew, deep down, that some part of her missed it too. It swirled around in her eyes. In the way her lips quirked into a smile but never quite reached the very core of her joy. 

You hummed, giving her a small close-mouthed upturn of the lips, and looked back down at the paint on your hands. 

“...Why are you here, then? If you work in Vermont?” 

There was a bit of quiet - filled only by the chatter of the world and the callings of the station woman overhead. You wondered what she was thinking then. You wondered if, perhaps, she thought it was a bit too much at once. You wondered if, maybe, she was contemplating if you were trustworthy or not. Admittedly, it would be a bit too late if she decided that was the case after telling you she worked at Nevermore, but you’d accept it either way. The conversation was all hers, in the end - so you’d comply. 

As if you could ever deny her anything. Privacy obviously included. 

“A business trip,” your companion finally said. “Meetings and… such. Boring to you, I’m sure, but reports are the bottom line.” Her lips firmed into a line before softening.

You nodded.

Meetings and reports. A trip for business and not for pleasure. Merely a necessary evil. 

You felt your shoulders fall - drooping beneath the weight of a quick realization.

“So you won’t- I mean you’ll… leave again… yes?” 

Yes. She’ll leave again. And then you’ll be alone. And there will be no one to meet you at the train station. And there will be no one to admire. And there will be no one to feel close to. And there will be only silence and cold and the distinct loss of Larissa’s presence - which has managed to infiltrate your life so thoroughly in only a few months that you can barely picture what the days would be like without the excitement of being able to see her. 

Cruel. Cruel, it was. 

She was going to leave and there you were going to be, staying in the same spot as always. Never leaving even after the world changed. Like a fucking statue that grew from the familiar sheen of brown copper to the dull green of time spent in one place. 

Larissa was going to leave - and when she returned, you’d be there waiting for her. It would be poetic if it didn’t feel like a shot through the heart. And skull. And through every other organ, too.

“You sound hopeful,” she tilted her head to you, pouring blue oceans into the empty cup of your soul. “Do you want me gone that badly?”

You shook your head like a woman possessed while Larissa’s red lips turned up into a smile. 

“N-no! Gods, no! That’s not even- that’s- no! Why would you think that? That’s not even possible!” You waved your hands, eyes wide, heart pounding away behind the feeble skin of your chest. 

Hopeful? 

No. Absolutely not. In no world would you ever be excited for Larissa Weems to leave you. In fact, you silently dreaded the moment she’d go. 

Because what if she never came back? 

“I’m just kidding,” she nudged your side, her broad shoulders shaking with a small chuckle. “I’m not sure when I’m going. Probably in the next few days.” And then she went quiet. 

In the space of silence that followed, a little ding rang out to the strangers around you - and a muffled voice played over the station’s loudspeaker. The words were nearly unintelligible, you had to strain to hear them, but once the microphone crackled back into nothing, a tired sigh left the bones of the woman next to you. Your eyes shot to her profile - and you found her looking down at her phone, opening up the messaging app, tsking beneath her breath. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Larissa huffed. “I believe my train’s just been canceled.” 

“Oh.” 

Oh. 

Well…. That sucked. How would she get back to her hotel? Did she have cash on her for a taxi? Did you have cash on you for a taxi? 

Your hand ran to your pocket and cradled the gentle weight of your wallet. Yes - it was heavy with a few bills; perfect for Larissa’s ride home. Like a gift. From you to her. A thank you of sorts - to thank her for her presence in your life. To thank her for giving you a new muse. To thank her for talking to you, and giving you the time of day, and finding the paint on your hands to be something charming instead of something silly and careless and dumb. 

To thank her for spending her limited time with you before she had to leave again. 

A parting gift, yes. Just in case you didn’t see her tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. 

The money felt insignificant when you slipped it into your hand. Like it wouldn’t be enough - not for the cab but for the rest of everything else. You wished you’d thought to get her flowers or something; but then again would a stranger really want flowers from a rando? And what if she was allergic to flowers? And what if you got her roses when really she preferred daisies? Maybe it was for the best you didn’t get her anything at all. Maybe the money would be enough. 

“Here,” you murmured as you slipped your hand out of the warmth of your pocket and held out the money, folded and flat on your palm, facing the dull light of the train station ceiling. 

“Hm?” Was the distracted response you got as Larissa’s eyes never strayed from her phone’s screen. She was texting rather furiously, probably trying to figure something out with someone on the other side - a boss, maybe. Or a travel manager. Or a friend. Or a lover. 

“Here. For the cab.” Your hand pushed forward and brushed against her arm, begging silently for her attention. 

Which you got in the next moment - at full force - as she abruptly turned from her screen and looked into your eyes, then down at your hand, and promptly opened her mouth to protest. 

“Oh- no I couldn’t. Thank you th-” 

“Why not? C’mon. Please?” You loathed the whiny undertone of your voice, but celebrated internally as that blue gaze shot up to your face and looked at you with hesitance. It meant she was on the fence. Thinking about it. Maybe she was nervous about the city? Maybe she thought it was blood money? Or drug money? Or perhaps she just didn’t want to take it when she knew she couldn’t give you anything back? 

But that was absurd- because her company was enough. 

“As a gift,” you added, giving her a cheeky smile. 

“A gift?” A light eyebrow went up, and her lips pursed. 

“Yeah. For your time.” And your smile. And your laugh. And your attention. And your breath. And your existence, really. A gift for everything. Take it. Please. Please, take it. My heart may rupture if you don’t. 

You were pleasantly rewarded with a small snort and a roll of deep blue eyes. The phone was promptly forgotten about, and went black, as Larissa mirrored your smile. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she murmured. 

A gentle heat ran through your body, filling your skin from the edge of your hairline to the tips of your toes. Her voice was soft. Knowing. Absolutely evil as she let out a low hum next and considered the money in your hand. 

“You know you want it,” you sang, picking up your hand to wave the money around a bit in the air - and instantly let out a small squeak when a strong leather palm went wrapping around your wrist and applying the most minute pressure, stopping you mid-taunt. Her hold wasn’t restricting, and it didn’t hurt, and it actually felt quite… nice. The glove was cool and it scratched your skin ever so gently as she moved your hand out of her line of sight to get a clearer look at you. 

“Thank you,” Larissa said slowly, “but I can’t accept this. Please, keep your money.” And then she inclined her head and gave you a quirk of red lips as her hand gently set yours down back into your lap. Then she patted your knuckles and turned back to her phone. 

But I don’t want to!!!! You yearned to shout. I want you to have it because I want to do something nice for you! Because I want you to remember me! 

And perhaps, in the end, that’s all it really boiled down to. 

The people watching, the monotony of daily living, the small interactions you had with strangers - perhaps all of it was done in an effort to get others to remember you. To look back on that random woman they bumped into on that random day in the past. To picture your smile or your frown or your serious eyes as they interacted with you before going on their way without even a whisper of your name. And perhaps Larissa was just another stranger to add to the list.

Except she wasn’t a stranger at all and you actually really quite adored her name and you wanted to know her forever, outcast stereotypes be damned, and she was a woman of such beauty and intelligence that you couldn’t possibly even dream of forgetting her like she could dream of forgetting you. 

But would a taxi fare do the job? Would she remember your name from that alone? Or would she forever see you as the woman who watched her? Who sat in train stations at night and watched other people and got paint on her hands and had bags beneath her eyes and was clearly too caught up in her own mind to take care of herself? 

Or would the future hold something far worse? And she wouldn’t even remember you at all? 

No. I can’t have that. I can’t let her forget me. Not when I know I’ll remember her forever. 

“I’ll come with you, then. To make sure you get there safe. And then I’ll go to my place,” you spoke quickly, heart hammering away with anticipation. “Just this once because of the cancellation.��� 

That head of perfect snowy hair turned again- and she looked at you with amusement written across her features. 

“...Are you sure?” She spoke as she straightened her back and adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Because I can always find another-” 

“I’m positive,” you cut her off with a smile and straightened up as well, body suddenly coming alive with triumph. 

Yes! Yes, we got her! Yes yes yes! This is it! Gift received! Mission accomplished! Remembered! We’ll be remembered boys, wooooo! 

If Larissa could see the excitement in your soul, she didn’t comment on it. Her red lips only went up into a small close-mouthed smile again - and then she was standing. Up to her tall tall height, legs straight and back straight and heels on and good gods she was something out of a museum. You couldn’t help the way you looked up at her as she went, eyes following like iron to a magnet, awe seeping onto your features. So beautiful… So something out of this world… Surely, you were crazy and she didn’t exist at all. 

But then a hand was reaching out to you, and your sluggish brain caught up a moment later to realize she wanted to help you up. 

“Fine then,” she spoke as you grasped her hand and were quickly pulled to your feet (very swiftly, mind you, and with no struggle on her part - god you could swoon-) “But if you get this one, I’ll get the next. It’s only fair. Deal?” 

As you shook her hand with a nod and a grin, all you could think about and wonder about and daydream about and wish about and fall over yourself about was the fact that there would be a next time. 

–

Watching Larissa Weems duck into the cramped backseat of a taxi car was one of the most endearing things you’d ever seen in your life. 

While you lounged against the door, holding it open for her with a smile far sappier than you intended it to be, she gave you a small “Thank you” before bending her knees, putting one leg into the car, grasping the top of the taxi with her right hand, and swinging herself in as best she could. It was graceful in a way you’d never seen before, but the shuffling that came afterward as she tried her best to get comfortable with her clothing, while simultaneously trying not to fuck up her hair, was adorable. You had to pull yourself away from the door and shut it quickly before making your way around to the other side- getting out your little giggle along the way. 

“Where are we goin’, ladies?” The woman in the front seat asked, peering back at you two in the rearview mirror. For a moment, you swore you saw her eyes narrow as she dragged her brown gaze over Larissa’s body, but the look was gone in a flash - too quick for you to be certain.

“The St. Regis, please,” Larissa replied with a quick smile before she leaned back into the seat and allowed herself to relax.

The St. Regis!? Damn! Woman had money! Well - you supposed that wasn’t too much of a surprise. She was the headmistress, the principal, of a well-funded school for outcasts. You couldn’t begin to imagine what her salary was. She certainly indulged in the finer bits of life, if her aesthetic was anything to go by. Usually people of money were an entirely different being; they tended to be rather unpredictable when interacting with those of the ‘middle to lower class’. But Larissa was kind. So kind. And so bright. The desire to ask why she was different, why she didn’t judge so much, was on the tip of your tongue, very nearly falling out into the silence - before you realized the answer was obvious. She was most likely an outcast herself. Of course she wouldn’t judge; at least not in the way you typically came to expect from the rich. Her mind was simply too open - a product of her own genetic being and probably whatever struggles she’d dealt with in her past. She was still capable of judgment, yes, but as you observed her and her closed eyes and her slow breathing and her red lips and her flawless hair and her gloved hands and her beautiful legs and the way she hummed out loud in a sigh that had your heart buzzing away inside you, the doubt seeped into your mind that she probably never judged unless it was absolutely necessar-

“I can feel you staring.”

It was said in a tone so velvety, so perfect and pristine, with that English accent of hers, that you quickly looked away and peered outside of the window to your left. Your cheeks were on fire with blush, and you so terribly wanted to respond with a hasty “I can’t help it!” but you kept your mouth shut and clasped your hands together in your lap. 

“Is there something on my face?” She asked, pulling your attention back to her - just to find her looking at the black screen of her phone, angling it to see what you saw. But all you saw was the kind of beauty that gripped the breath in your lungs and pulled it out through your throat, so she wouldn’t find anything aside from her own face. Which she was lucky enough to stare at everyday. 

You shook your head.

“No, no, you’re fine. Sorry.” 

Blue eyes peered at you from their corners, dancing over the curves of your face as you leaned closer to the pull down cup holders to get a better view of the road. 

Beautiful, was one word of many that flitted across Larissa’s thoughts as she looked at you. With the way the city lights rolled over those features, so unique and so brilliant, and how the shapes molded themselves to the curves of your cheeks and shelves of your brows and bow of your lips… it was something magical, she decided.

“Admiring again?” She covered her own tension-filled gaze by teasing, and silently delighted in the way you rolled your eyes and scoffed at her almost instantly. 

“You wish.” 

And if she did wish, then she most certainly didn’t tell you that. 

“So the Regis, huh? What are you two, on your honeymoon or somethin’?” The taxi driver asked, breaking the tiny tension with her gruff voice. 

You could smell smoke on her as you leaned closer to the seat, eager to admire the lights that you always loved. It was your favorite part of the city - but your attention was wrenched away as you nearly broke your neck turning to the driver. 

“What?!” 

“Why would we honeymoon in New York?” 

Both of you spoke at the same time. Your answer was perhaps the more normal response, and Larissa’s was- well. You whipped around to look at her, eyes wide and brows furrowed. You half expected her to be the one drowning in outrage or confusion or whatever emotion one felt when reacting to a question like that when you knew very well that you were not in a relationship - but she merely raised an eyebrow at you and otherwise appeared quite neutral. 

Does she get asked that question a lot? If she’s on honeymoon? Or what? 

“Ah, city that never sleeps and all that. Meh whatever- Forget I asked! How long you been together?” The woman followed up, her voice even louder than before. 

If you were a couple, it would have made for great conversation, but because you weren’t, all you could do was sit back in your seat and avoid looking at the beauty next to you as you responded with a quick “About two weeks.” 

“Two weeks?! So what, you’re newbies at this?” 

It was Larissa’s turn to look at you with surprise. Two weeks? What were you on abo- oh. Two weeks. Right. That’s how long it had been since you met. 

Because you couldn’t look at her, finding that the blush on your cheeks was way too obvious, you just listened in silence as she saved the conversation and steered it toward clearer waters. 

“Not newbies, no,” she said smoothly. “We actually met two weeks ago. This is just her gift to me.” 

Your eyes met. Her expression was unexpectedly quite warm, holding the entirety of summer in the way her laugh lines deepened and her eyebrows went up. God, you thought then as you smiled, she’s so dreamy. 

“Gift for what?” The driver interrupted, sneaking a glimpse back at you again. 

Larissa’s face turned in response to that. Her features faded into the shadows when you looked at her. Obviously, it was her way of saying ‘Your turn to answer.’ So you cleared your throat and shrugged, looking out of the front window again. 

“Just a kind gesture. I have to go home too so…,” you hummed, then heard the shuffle of Larissa tending back to her phone. 

The St. Regis obviously wasn’t her home, but the cab driver didn’t need to know that. Larissa certainly looked like a woman who could own a room at a place so elegant, so it wasn’t too far of a stretch. Unlike you, of course, who would have to pull many strings and work many long days to even manage a few nights at the hotel without worrying about money for the few weeks after. 

“So I’ll be doin’ two trips?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Oh yeah! As long as you get to where you’re goin’!” Her reply was overly enthusiastic, but you weren’t paying attention to her anymore. 

Instead, your eyes had fled to Larissa - and the tip-tapping she was doing on her phone. Texting someone again. How she managed to do that through the leather of her gloves had to be tied to some sort of talent - unless they were thin enough by the fingerpads for her to be able to fly across the screen so easily. When you squinted and couldn’t make out the conversation, you gave up rather quickly. It was rude to snoop like that - no matter how curious you were. Which was very. Very curious. But even before you could sneak another glance and ask if everything was alright, the phone was suddenly turned off and slipped back into her purse. 

“Thank you for doing this, Y/N.” She murmured, sliding her hand across the cup-holder pull out to gently squeeze your forearm. “You’re very sweet.” 

And at that exact moment, a flash of light from a neon sign fell into a slant across Larissa’s face. It cast a fuzzy glow of bubblegum pink over the bridge of her nose, her brows, and her eyes, changing the dear hue from dark blues to tinted pinks. It softened the lines of her face, and brightened her skin, and made her appear like a character straight out of a movie - and you found yourself staring, momentarily tackled by the nearly god-given framing of her features. The hills of her cheekbones, the fading makeup by her eyes, the slight weariness to her expression… she was utterly indescribable. 

You knew you had to respond to her as well, and that the time was spanning longer and longer between her words and your own, but there was nothing to say. You were very sweet - but only because something about her sparked a long-dead spark in your soul. 

And you weren’t sure what the fuck you were gonna do when she left and carried that spark with her.

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Slaps this down and trudges away. - Rip x

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Tags (keep in mind Tumblr won't let me tag some accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

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#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #principal weems #principal weems x reader #cross posted #cross posted on ao3 #ao3 fanfic #light angst

[scarycl0wns]

twitter full thread below cut

https://x.com/madhighlows/status/1755786762738192443?s=46

#mlp #my little pony #mlp redesign #applejack #rarity #fluttershy #twilight sparkle #sunset shimmer #rainbow dash #pinkie pie #artist on tumblr #art on tumblr #cross posted #mlpfim #mlpfimfanart #mlp fanart #my little pony fanart #fanart #ponies #horse

[straightforthefl00r]

the world in a breath

Laid at the base of a mountain of rubble, you could smell the sharp sting of iron in the air. It was a wasteland.

You could feel the even sharper stab in your side.

The hero you were fighting was just a little too fast; you were a little too slow and a little too cocky for once. Dabi always told you not to be so full of yourself. You always replied that he loved it, really. He always rolled his eyes then. However, it was too late when pain bloomed above your right hip.

You let out a breathless chuckle. You swear you saw him fighting close by you, but, now, he was nowhere to be found. What you would not give to hear his voice bantering with yours. You could imagine what he would say if he saw you like this.

“Well… I told you so, didn’t I? I said that if you don’t pay attention and actually - you know - think for once, you would end up like this.”��

Even in your imagination, he was an insufferable fuck. You let out a breathless chuckle. Oh, the good old times. You missed him.

After you escaped the hero, your wound had split and climbed. There was now a long tear in your flesh, running diagonally across your stomach. You could picture the trail of hot blood you left in your wake. Long cold by now.

You groaned in pain.

Too much blood. You have lost too much, haven’t you? Will you die? Are you finally tired of fighting? Heroes against villains and the likes, who cares anymore? A ringing noise that you did not hear before started to deafen your other thoughts.

Your head killed. Maybe you should have been more prepared. Maybe you should have told him. Time, after all, was never on your side.

Cotton started to numb your senses. It never felt so gentle before.

Closing your eyes, you fell into the softness.

You could have been laying there in a pool of blood hours, dipping in and out of consciousness, before you smelt the familiar smell of smoke. It always lingered around like a shadow, but it was stronger now.

“What the fuck happened to you?” An alarmed voice called out.

If you were not so tired, you would have replied with something drenched in sarcasm (“ I wasn’t stabbed at all, clearly,”) but you stayed silent.

“Oi, get up.” He sounded so far away, despite his close presence.

“Open your eyes!”

He was trying to lift you up now, You could not help the weak hiss that escaped your lips. Your eyes fluttered open.

Dabi was always sharp, as pointed as glass and as unforgiving as his flames. Seeped in the ways of a true cynic, he never cared. He held his secrets so close that they were stitched into the very fabric of his being. Dabi was an ass. He was never considerate and he never talked simply. His words were always cryptic and scathing.

“Touya.” You breathed. Your vision was blurred, but you could make out the cloud-coloured hair. He held you so urgently, as if you were the world that was about to slip from his fingertips.

“Thought I was going to need to kiss you awake.” He joked, voice trembling.

He touched your cheek; you were cold in his arms — frightfully so.

“Let’s get you back to base, okay?”

He tried as delicately as he could to pick you up bridal-style, careful not to jostle you too much. Your blood stained his clothes and dripped onto his arms, mingling with his own. He started to run.

He had just finished burning up a hero and left to look for you since you had run off. Dabi was not worried about it — he would never let himself be — but Touya was. He was nauseous when he saw you lying there surrounded by rubble. The mask he tried so hard to curate and keep up was now shedded.

You gazed hazily up at him. Touya’s face was contorted into one worry and concern. Your normally animated face was still and there, in place of it, was a small frown. It looked as if you were trying to burn his face into your memory. Your eyelids started to flicker; you were getting awfully tired. You wanted to sleep.

“Hey, idiot. Keep your, fucking eyes, open.” His voice raised slightly, panting.

“I-I don’t think I can.”

He could barely hear your voice. You sounded so fragile, after all this time knowing you, you were never fragile, far from it.

“Abso-fucking-lately you can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Listen to me for once!”

He slowed down. You let out a breath and breathed in again

In and out.

“Okay, doll. You don’t want to open your eyes fine. Fucking fine, but keep breathing.”

In and out.

“Yes, that’s it. We’re almost there, in and out.”

Your breathing began to slow. Touya was so soft and warm, you leaned your head closer to his chest — so warm.

You tried to wrench your eyes open. He looked so pretty and red. Your frown deepened. Touya was never red, always blue. You lifted your hand to touch his cheek. Blood. Your heart sank. He cried blood.

“I love you.”

It was so quiet that Touya could hardly hear it.

His eyes darted back down to you again, shock was evident in his eyes. Your hand was freezing against his cheek.

He was not about to let you go. You could not just do this.

It sounded like goodbye.

“Fucking save your breath,” He muttered almost as quietly as you, “Don’t say that.”

“I love you…”

“Stop!”

Your eyes were shut again, breathing even slower and weaker than before.

In and … out.

“I love you too, you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Get those eyes open now!”

Touya stopped in his tracks, shaking and praying to any god out there, begging to anyone for you to still be there. Your body in his arms was a cold comfort. He could barely gather his strength to look down again.

You were still.

So, utterly, still.

He looked down, eyes lingering over your features one by one. He saw you breathe in, then out.

In, then, out.

And then, you did not breathe in again.

Touya dropped to his knees, feeling light headed and like the earth had just collapsed on him. His bloody tears dripped onto your face. He wiped them off of your beautiful face, his other arm still clutching you. He could not help but stare. He stared and stared at you.

He thought of all the times you smiled at him, a beaming smile, as bright as fire. Teeth and all. He thought of all the times you frowned at him for overusing his quirk, the pained sighs you made as you stapled him back together. His chest was heavy with all the memories he had of you. He thought that he was being crushed by the weight of everything.

He was in agony.

He screamed.

The world in a breath.

Gone.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #mha #bnha #ao3 fanfic #cross posted #headingstraightforthefl00r #angst #no comfort #lysa.xo writes

[lordsmaf]

Fiona eating a transgender pride cake send tweet

#shrek the third #shrek #fiona #princess fiona #screencap #cross posted

[silvergolddraco28]

Part 3 LMK x Hazbin Hotel

Comments are welcomed!

()()()()()

“Charlie!” a voice called behind the young woman as she looked over her shoulder to another woman with grey skin, a single gold eye, long silvery white hair ties back with a large red bow a pink blouse shirt and a grey skirt came charging out to the balcony her single eye scanning for threats before rushing to the young blond’s side. “Charlie! Are you alright?! You're not hurt are you?!”

“I'm... I'm fine… just… I've… I've never seen a sunrise before… Vaggie… this is going to change everything!” Charlie rambled with happy tears continuing to flow down her face while the other, Vaggie, looked towards the sky her single eye going wide.

“That light is going right for the Heaven Embacy!” Vaggie exclaimed while more beings came out to the balcony, a tall pinkish-white arachnoid, a winged bipedal tuxedo cat, a small dark pink cyclops, a black and yellow naga heavy on the snake side, and rounding out the crowd with a tall grinning man with deer-like ears a small rack of antlers and bright red hair tipped in black.

The golden ‘star’ slammed into the tower at the heart of the pentagram causing it to implode while the earth bellow their feet shook so hard it knocked everyone to the ground with the earthquake-like force. Charlie hissed as she felt a magically enhanced mental pressure reach out. She felt the mind being a trained magic user like her Dad, she could feel the old and ancient magic that was stemming a mixture of panic and pure distress while images flashed in her head.

A hollow and dark cave littered with softly glowing chains that reeked of divine magic each link as thick as her thigh while pressure pressed into her back, the solid weight of thick stone leaving all but her head and her hand free. The image shifted to golden marble pinning her down, her body immobile, pressure along her back with dim divine light from the rubble of the building. Her eyes shifted like a filter being added as gold tinted her vision with her panicked mind looking for anything to help her escape from the rubble. Her gaze pieced through the rubble and deep into the earth before her eyes focused on a single object that radiated the all too familiar safety and security. A long white feather that faded to a crimson red with soft yellowish gold magic still pulsing strong from it. She reached for that feather feeling her magic reach for it while her body was pinned and watched at the feather reacted twisting itself into a simple apple seed. She poured her magic into the seed thinking one thought. ‘Grow! Grow and help me!’

#lmk au #fanfiction #shadowpeach #lmk rp #six eared macaque #lmk sun wukong #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #vaggie #angle dust #alastor #hazbin hotel husk #niffty #apple tree #cross posted #ao3

[mouse-carpenter]

back to back

#trigun maximum #trimax #trigun #vashwood #my art #I've been listening to guilty gear ost and this happened #cross posted

[home-of-renn]

Summary:

Dash isn't a bully, at least not anymore. He's trying, and he's been trying for a while now, everyone can see it.

But there’s something wrong with Fenton, and that’s something nobody can ignore.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Casper High Students & Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter & Danny Fenton Characters: Dash Baxter, Danny Fenton, Casper High Students (Danny Phantom), Kwan (Danny Phantom), Mr. Lancer (Danny Phantom) Additional Tags: Dash Baxter gets Character Development, Dash Baxter Redemption, Kinda, Creepy Danny Fenton, One Shot, Angst, Danny is strange and everyone knows it, POV Dash Baxter, POV Outsider, Fight or Flight, there's something wrong with fenton, Danny Fenton Needs A Hug, Uncanny Valley, Cross-Posted on Tumblr Series: Part 1 of Dribble Drabble [Ecto Edition]

#home of renn #danny phantom #Renn has written #ao3 fic #dash baxter #danny fenton #casper high #dp #dp fic #one shot #cross posted #point of view

[credince--writes]

Humble Beginnings

AN ACT OF ARSON

JITTERS AU

AO3

A/N: IT IS HERE! I SPLIT IT INTO TWO. WELCOME TO THE CONTINUATION OF JITTERS!

WARNINGS: SA Themes are discussed. Not fuckin around on that note.

At first, it started with the shitty online tutorial classes. Following Reddit threads and watching hours of YouTube videos as if she were learning an entirely new language. She was scraping up as much information as she easily could to harass her high school's IT guy. 

Maybe he allowed it because she was interested.

Maybe he was a pervert.

Either way. She had started to get what she wanted- feeding the beast, soon enough it changed from reading Reddit threads not understanding what was happening to selectively strangling the internet connecting in a class she didn’t want to work in, maybe even remotely triggering the fire alarms in a separate building if there was a test. 

Then, it morphed into more.

When she was sixteen, she had begged her friend who had her driver's license- and such a rickety and old piece of shit car that it was a wonder they got to their destination in the first place- to take her to a college party. For them both to slink around the background of the party to rub elbows with a computer science major she barely knew- one she was fascinated with. 

He spoke with sweet, honey-like words that made her feel like she was special. Like she wasn’t a stupid teenager that he could easily manipulate because the simple concept of his attention made her giggle as no one had ever gotten her to do before.

The way he softly touches her shoulder lures her into a sense of safety. 

The way he would pick her up after school and take her to get food before dropping her off at home- not that her parents were home to notice that she wasn’t walking home anymore. That it wasn’t her friend taking her home and dropping her off.

The time that he was unconscious, in the back seat of one of his friend's cars while she sat next to him. Leaning down and reached into his book bag because he’d come straight from the university- there was no time to stop and drop his things off. Just toss the bag in the back of the dar, drive to the party and then move about his night with it in tow. Sticking her hand into his back and pulling the USB drive that held all of his TA documents, logins, files, and grading information. Quietly tucking it into her pocket and playing dumb and innocent when he couldn’t find it the next day.

And he would fade from her life, when she was no longer fun to play with. When she didn’t put out enough she supposed. When she wasn’t going to reach that goal of another pin in the wall for him to brag to his friends about. As if all of those sickly sweet words never meant anything- which she realized now never did mean anything.

It made her feel a lot less guilty about all of the drives, files, passwords, and more she’d stolen from him.

It marked the change.

Her realization.

The malicious intent blooming in her.

She knew his fucking birthday - what his first dog's name was. 

It was the first time she’d felt so alone- her friends could only do or say so much. Not that there were many for her to console her pain in. Horrified of admitting her faults outward to her parents in fear that yea, maybe she would be reprimanded and punished on top of her emotional suffering.

It was the first time she had wanted to give that pain right back to the person that brought it onto her.

And what a dark, dirty feeling that was. It scared her- it really did. To look into the mirror and to be able to say ‘I want to ruin his fucking life for breaking my heart’. 

But she didn’t.

It was her pain.

Not anyone else.

Maybe that was her way of wallowing in her own sorrow. For her to say ‘This is it, I’ll never do this again because I’m gonna make sure it really hurts this time.’ Like she was little, sticking her hand on the metal coil burner on top of the stove wondering why it had turned red.

Or that she was terrified- terrified of hurting the same man that hurt her. That maybe those sickly sweet words still had some purchase. That she was still worth something in his eyes and that all of it wasn’t a lie- even though she knew it really was.

But life lives on.

She graduated high school and started her work on classes at college at seventeen.

Then her parents got divorced. They just wanted to wait until she was old enough to move out- she was the only reason they were together in the first place .

And she had to move into the dorms.

And they stopped talking to her.

Her grandma died-

Then her grandpa.

Said he couldn’t live with a broken heart.

Couldn’t blame him.

The familiar light blue of her bedroom walls turned into white-painted cinderblocks in the dorms. Where they hid a air fryer under their bunk rather than a bottle of wine so that they could fry up snacks late at night while she crunched on a topic, going above and beyond as she always did because lackluster wasn’t a fucking option in her mind. She was proving herself, proving that she could set the curve without any remorse to those behind her. That she was able to build friendships- build bonds with the people around her.

Searching IRS documents and finding the home address of Zoe’s- her roommates- professor. Some staunch asshole who taught physics. The two of them made a trek out early in the morning- timing it out with maps from the rough time it took for him to arrive in the university parking lot every morning, calculating the rough time of his sitting in a coffee shop line, to leaving his house safe some traffic. That his TA would unlock the door, drop some shit off, and pick up papers before leaving for the printer room. Just so that she could plan the perfect time to go in for office hours- catch that TA and bat her eyelashes in a way that made Jayme want to vomit.

The way Zoe’s eyes followed the TA, trailing down as if she were going to drool onto her dark purple top and stain the basic cotton fabric.

“Hey.” Jayme hissed.

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” Zoe would whine.

The two of them, sat on the floor of their shared dorm room. 

“We need to make a blood pact if I’m going to do this.” Jayme said, casually.

“We aren’t making a blood pact.” Zoe sighed.

“Then I’m not helping you.”

“I’m going to fail the test.” She whined.

“Maybe you should have, I don’t know, studied?” She questions.

“Oh shut up, you hermit.”

“Just saying. Why would you take a physics class?”

“It’s in my major!” She protested.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be majoring in underwater basket weaving.” Jayme snarked.

“Not everyone gets to sit with the stinky computer nerds all day long.”

“Submissive and pliant men, ripe for the picking with mommy issues.” 

“Maybe you can lure one in with a sun dress and a pot roast.” Zoe joked back.

They laughed.

Then it fell quiet.

She hated the quiet- Zoe was just fine with it.

It meant an empty house.

It meant being alone.

It meant she could go down a rabbit hole of thoughts.

“Please? ” Zoe whined, again.

Jayme glanced up at her, from her laptop screen. As if her glance was going to break her determination- she was sure she’d grovel at her feet even in the showers if she had to if it meant she could get her help.

“How do you know I can even help?” Jayme questioned.

“You found his tax return- I’m sure you could find something to help me with a test .”

She wasn’t wrong.

Jayme sighed.

“Yea. I can help. Just go to class and be normal- I’ll figure it out.”

She honestly felt like a burglar. She’d done this before, didn’t know why it would be so nerve-wracking to do now. The cameras on these hallways didn’t work- she had checked. Always double checking, sometimes triple checking if it was going to be something really sketchy. This wasn’t something horrible- she wasn’t burning down a server room or anything. She was simply triggering a fire alarm- cutesy little gadget tucked into her pocket she’d already mimicked the frequency the trigger would emit when the original handle was pulled. 

It was a good purchase, she’d scrounged around for the cash to buy it- doing others' homework and projects for them until she was able to obtain enough funding to buy the gadget all the way back in high school. Which was the first place she had managed to do it. Even though it wasn’t entirely on purpose, sitting in the back of the class fidgeting with the little gadget- accidentally locking it onto a frequency and suddenly all of the fire alarms start going off.

She was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her face, a black fabric gater pulled up from her neck covering her nose and lips. Striding out, keeping her steps even as she walked down the hallways meeting the most important factor of the whole thing- look like she was supposed to be there. It was a little scary how complacent people could be, even if the person was a little suspicious- how could they be suspicious if their steps were entitled? If they weren’t nervously walking around, as if they were about to commit a crime?

Was it a crime?

She’s pretty sure it’s a crime.

She glances down at her watch.

Thirty seconds-

Twenty.

Then seven.

Three,

Two,

One.

Her hand slides into her pocket, feeling the slightly warm plastic- smooth with some small notching on its corner. Pushing down on one of the buttons as she keeps walking, keeping her steps even and her eyes on the prize- the doorway she would be walking out of in no time.

The lights on the fire alarms flash first, following the piercing, chirping noise that lets anyone within earshot know that the building is being evacuated for a fire. Drill or not- the teachers never mentioned anything about a drill. Maybe a stoner set the trash can in the bathroom on fire again.

She keeps walking forward, and the doors in front of her push open, lines of students filing out into one giant sea of people heading towards the same door as her. They mesh around her, and she blends into the crowd as she keeps walking.

Went smoothly, and if she keeps up her pace, she won’t be late for class across campus.

“ It is a crime called "identity theft" when a fraudster acquires vital pieces of "personal identifying information" (PII), such Social Security numbers and license numbers, and utilizes them for their own financial advantage. ” He speaks.

He’s older- at least to the point where his hair has begun to grey.

“Our data can be formatted and transformed using cryptography to make it more secure when traveling between computers. Modern mathematics is added to the technology, which is founded on the fundamentals of secret codes and safeguards our data in powerful ways. The manager in charge of security needs a methodical approach to identifying security requirements and characterizing options to satisfy those criteria in order to analyze the security demands of a company effectively.”  

Professor Wills.

Cold hard bastard- with a seeming soft spot for gingers. That’s at least what she noticed when she stalked his social media accounts. Well, maybe not his social media accounts. Found photos of women he was seen with taking them out to dinner- no doubt paid by him with his tenured salary.

He had started out the first day of class introducing himself, as well as his ‘resume’. He’d apparently worked for the CIA- counterterrorism projects since the seventies. When he retired- he decided to un-retire himself and crawl his ass back to work. So now he sat here, droning on about the lecture she wasn’t sure why he was giving it- this was all surface-level information.

Maybe this was another one of his tests.

“The Playfair Cipher, which treats diagrams in plaintext as single units and converts these units into cipher text diagrams, is the most well-known multiple letter encryption cipher. The Playfair algorithm relies on a 5x5 letter matrix that is built using a keyword. Let "monarchy" become the crucial keyword. The matrix is created by first filling in the letters of the keyword (after removing any duplicates) from left to right and from top to bottom, and then completing the matrix with the remaining letters throughout alphabetically.”

He projected himself across the room, strides forward, sideways. Maybe if he was feeling especially spicy he would throw something across the room at someone seemingly drifting off.

“One Time Pad Cipher.” He drawls out, meaning he will be starting an important topic- or spiraling into a tangent about Panama. “A secure cryptography system. The message is represented by a series of 0s and 1s. This can be achieved, for instance, by writing all integers in binary or by utilizing ASCII. The key is a coincidentally long random sequence of 0s and 1s. A key is never utilized again after it has been used once. And….” He pauses, reaching over for a whiteboard marker, and stalking up to the board. “Is represented as such.”

‘C/i = P/i K/i C/i - i^th binary digit cipher text P/i -^th the binary digit plaintext K/i - i^th binary digit key ’ Is scribbled onto the board- in his nearly illegible handwriting. 

“An extremely lengthy key is needed, which is expensive to make and send. Reusing a key for a second communication after it has already been used is risky since any knowledge about the first message would also reveal information about the second…..” He starts again, her eyes slowly closing as she starts to drift off in the lecture. “Developed by IBM, the digital immune system is a thorough method of viral defense. The growing threat of Internet-based viral spread has been the driving force behind this advancement. Recent years have seen an increase in the effects of two significant Internet technology advances on the viral spread: Integrated mail systems: Programs like Microsoft Outlook and Lotus Notes make it very easy to send anything to anyone and deal with received objects. Systems for mobile programs: Programs can transfer themselves automatically from one system to other thanks to features like Java and ActiveX.”

She swore to herself she’d never fall asleep in class.

She almost broke.

She didn’t quite a few other people did though.

“Remember class. Detection, Identification, Removal .”

…

The SQL Slammer worm first appeared in early 2003. A buffer overflow flaw in the Microsoft SQL server was used by this worm.

She sat- more correctly lay in her bed. Her eyes were tired. Past that point where she had been staring at a screen to long. Feeling cry- maybe borderline itchy. Zoe had offered her eye drops the first time she had complained of it. 

She’d never take them.

God, she hated eye drops.

Just the concept of it freaked her out.

Well, it made sense. She couldn’t even open her eyes in the pool.

The sound of the door knob jostling, the jingle of keys, and then the door being thrown open broke her from her trance. She should really be studying. She should really be doing something other than feeling sorry for her dry eyes and actually being productive.

“Jayme!” Zoe charges forward, arms reaching up as she scuttles over the small ladder leading up to her bed, climbing on top of her.

“Fuckin- What?” She half hisses out, moving Zoe over to her side and rolling over to look at her.

“He asked.” Her mouth was split open into a huge grin.

“What?” She asked.

“He asked me out! To coffee!” She squeals, throwing her head back.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jayme grins, raising her hand up and pinching Zoe’s cheek. “See? I told you it would work.”

Zoe lifts herself, pushing off of the bed and jumping down onto the ground, starting to rummage through her things. “No, no you didn’t. You spent the entire time telling me how bad of an idea this was. Because A, you’re bitter and lonely, and B-” “Wanting to fuck your TA is on par with sucking your professor's dick?” Jayme asks aloud.

“No, oh my gosh.” She groans, throwing her head back. “I’m filling in for a coworker at the store until closing, so you’ll be all alone.” She grins again.

Zoe worked at a run-down, stinky, Office Depot. Her uncle was the manager- and sometimes, he’d offer up free school supplies to them. Cutesy little pens, sometimes Journals and notepads. They usually had some kind of flaw about them that made it so they couldn’t be sold on the floor, but regardless. She’d gotten a few nice binders out of it and she wasn’t one to complain. Even if the man's constant wheezing raised her blood pressure and made her swear to herself to never pick up the habit of smoking.

“I’ll enjoy every moment,” Jayme replies, rolling back over, grabbing her pillow, and covering her head with it in hopes it’ll drown out the buzz of people walking down the hallway outside.

It never does.

The buffer overflow vulnerability that the worm took use of was first identified by David Litchfield, whose proof-of-concept code was used to present the worm at the Black Hat Briefings. The only thing this short bit of code does is generate random IP addresses and transmit itself to those addresses. A computer that is running an unpatched instance of Microsoft SQL Server Resolution Service listening on UDP port 1434 and receives a specified address becomes infected and starts spreading the worm program throughout the Internet.

She should really be studying, not working on other people's projects.

But, she was hungry. What could she say?

In all honesty, it wasn’t that hard. As dirty as it was, she was feeding it all through an AI system to generate the text, she would read through it and dumb it down because there was no was this asshole knew how to use the word ‘eloquently’. Then feed it back through, generate some filler to get some dings on his grade, all to make it more believable and then give it back to him. Grab the cash, and go buy something for her and Zoe to eat for dinner. 

She owes it to her, really.

Without Zoe she wouldn’t really make it. Yea, she was being supported by her parents and whatever pocket change she made off of working at that stinky ass office supply store went to her crippling shopping habits-

But Zoe took care of her. And Jayme would try to help in any way she could back.

Even if it meant stalking a professor to get the perfect window to insert Zoe into a TA’s life so that he would fall in love with her.

As if love were a real thing, she’d muse with herself. Her parents were in love- or at least they said they were. It left a horribly bitter taste in her mouth to be thinking about it. To be thinking about how it was a long haul to wait until she was old enough to move out- out of high school so that they could move on with their lives as if she were a burden.

Not that they ever called her a burden, it was just how she took it.

She was probably right to take it that way.

It would happen the way it normally does.

Zoe gripped the doorknob and jiggled it a bunch of times as if Jayme ever forgot to lock the door. Not ever- never once in their continued stay in these dorms had she ever found Jayme in the room- unlocked. It was like a paradox.

Pushing the door open after she clatters around with her keys for a good while, throwing the door open giggling and squealing about how amazing the coffee date was, and how he was ‘soooo hot’, he had even opened the door to the coffee shop for her, and pulled out the chair.

Jayme would nod, trying not to rain on her parade with her bitter outlook on the concept, and allow her to ramble, at no one in particular if not her about how great it was. Oh, and how she has to try out this new mocha-chai-something-bullshit concoction that he had recommended she taste. Leaning forward and letting her take a sip out of his cup as if it was the same thing as them aggressively frenching out in the bathroom.

She’s back in the classroom, staring at the whiteboard spacing out as Professor Wills rambles about the importance of the autonomy of American citizens- as well as their online privacy.

“I've made light of the fact that I don't really care if the NSA can read my emails during class. They will not be bothered about whatever I have. There are, however, bigger issues involved. ” He starts, standing up and starting to pace, back and forth and back and forth in a way that makes her motion sick.

“ Our best look at how a government can employ computer surveillance to monitor and control its populace comes from the Chinese government, most likely. ” He snickers at the end of it, as if it were some kind of joke the class would get. No one else laughed, because they didn’t get it. Only he would understand it- probably doing his fair share of rooting through, crossing that fine line in the name of evidence. “ The goal is to compile all online data about Chinese businesses and individuals in one location, score each of them based on their political, commercial, social, and legal "credit," and then compile the results.”

“I bet a lot of you in this room would fail on the social aspect, with those Instagrams of yours.” He teases. 

There's a light- may be forced in the name of politeness laugh that fills the room. 

“ The three V’s !” He yells, throwing another object somewhere in the room.

“Volume – The amount of data. The size- quantity. How many gallons of dirt do they have on you? 

Velocity- The speed at which data is produced is known as velocity. Different processing approaches may be employed depending on the velocity.

Variety- Data might be structured or unstructured. The processing of structured data is ideally suited for computers. Not so with unstructured data. A passenger manifest is an illustration of structured data. Unstructured video from a CCTV camera shows passengers leaving and entering a passenger terminal.

And last of all?

Veracity – Your accuracy.”

There was a stiff silence.

“Um, Professor.” One of the guys in the front pipes up. “That was four.”

“At least someone was paying attention! Class is dismissed!”

The recognition of the worm spreading was recognized too little, too late.

Jayme sits on the cold linoleum-tiled floor, scratching at some kind of chart when the telltale sign of footsteps up to her door breaks her from her train of thought. 

The sound of keys jingling first- not the jiggling of the knob. And the distinct sound of her choking on a sob at the door.

She stands, ready to hear about how horrible the date went- that he was talking to another girl. It had happened what- six times already in the few years she had known Zoe? It wasn’t anything new. They’d go somewhere- Trader Joe’s probably. Buy a bunch of snacks and shit talk and pig out until Zoe felt better.

Walking over to the door and opening it up, she’s met with the dark mascara splattered down her face from Zoe’s tears. She opens the door more, stepping out of the way as Zoe drops to her knees- at Jayme’s feet and lets out a sob. One she’d never heard before- ever. She sheer amount of fear- rage- hurt. She blinks, kneeling down with her to realize her horror.

She’s back in her childhood room, sobbing, staring up out of the window, and watching the stars. Her heart aches and the feeling of her puffy eyes and stuffed-up nose do nothing to fight against the horrible headache that blossomed in her head either from the stress, or the dehydration of crying like a baby for this long.

She's standing up, walking into the little bathroom connected to her room, and looking in the mirror, smearing the snot and tears off of her cheeks and seething.

She didn’t want to inflict the pain for her own sake. To make her feel better.

But she would, she will, she would inflict pain for her sake. 

The hospital is cold.

Quiet.

The buzz of people moving about doing their jobs. Sipping on stale coffee and listing to the chatter in the radio or clicking on a poorly hidden tab of solitaire.

It makes her itch. The kind of itch you feel when there's a spider crawling up your arm in the dark- you can’t see the spider but it’ll wake you from a dead sleep to freak out. She picks at the skin on her thumb, bites her lip, and taps her foot. Anything while she waits. 

One of the nurses brings her a soda from the vending machine.

It was a nice gesture, but she ends up with the tab cracked, listening to the sound of the carbonation fizzling off while she stared off into space feeling nothing but anger- and guilt.

How it was all her fault-

She had started the spiral,

The snowball.

Had she not of given in- had she not of let Zoe blindly chase tail as if she were a neurotic dog. She’d be ok- she wouldn’t have been kneeling at her feet sobbing .

The police arrived. One young male officer, and one female. 

The female stepped behind the curtain.

The male officer sat down next to her.

He tried- awkwardly. To try to coax information out of her, what happened? What really happened.

The condescending words as if she had been lying.

As if it was just a jest .

So she calmly, even if she had to stop a few times breaking down crying. Explaining the situation.

He took his notepad and fucked off a while later.

It was three weeks later.

The Disciplinary board ruled in favor of the TA- put him on suspension with no pay due to the circumstances.

She never saw Zoe again.

She Just kind of… Left. One night. She woke up the next morning. She had packed up some clothes, and left in the dead of night.

Leaving her alone.

In Silence.

Again.

Soon enough, one in four computers connected to the internet was affected.

#Jitters Au #Simon Riley #john soap mactavish #john price #gaz garrick #Kate Laswell #Cod #call of duty #call of duty mwii #simon riley x oc #simon 'ghost' riley #john soap mactavish x oc #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #John Mactavish x Reader #SA Implied #I'm serrious ab that warning #JITTERSVERSE #Cross posted #Jitters is a OC

[lip-gallaghers-cigarette]

I am about to infodump about why steven universe has BPD (and cptsd but thats canon)

later in the series and in SU future is when all the trauma has already happened and hes finally safe is when it manifests itself heavier. hes very people pleasing, putting other peoples needs ahead of himself, even if the other person is in the wrong, his emotions spiral so out of control that he becomes corrupted or goes "pink mode", he has identity issues (bc of constantly being told hes his mother) to the point where he cant tell if he is her, if he is himself, if hes a he, if hes a she, if hes a gem or if hes a human, good or evil, etc.

has bursts of intense anger and feelings of guilt, would go to any length to keep people in his life (connie for example) and when she rejected his proposal his symptoms spiraled out of control, which is typically what happens w bpd, its triggered, his symptoms started presenting when he hit 16 / SU future. as for the ptsd though thats actually canon, there is an episode where he visits the doctor and she doesnt directly call it ptsd but shes asking him about his trauma and how far back it stems from (and he begins recalling traumatic events starting all the way from the beginning of the series to the middle of the series before connies mom interrupts him and tells him that he p much has c-ptsd) and steven starts having intense flashbacks and then falls into an episode when he is reminded of connie rejecting his proposal, his body starts physically reacting to it as if its happening again. (which by the way the proposal was very impulsive and spontaneous and mainly based in fear of abandonment, and solidified when garnet agreed. very bpd like.)

he views small issues as life threatening, which is seen in ptsd and bpd. hes been in a constant state of trauma since childhood, never knew his mom and constantly i n peril fighting monsters he doesnt even know the origin of protecting himself from a battle his mother forced him into, bpd and ptsd are inherently traumagenic. he changes himself and overextends himself to fit other people's perception of what he should be or to fit his own idea of perfection, hes terrified of being alone and will go to any lengths to keep his loved ones around him.

when people offer him support he pushes it away because he doesnt want to burden his loved ones with his problems or intense emotions or trauma. in fact, he bottles it up SO much that he falls into an episode where he starts fixing other peoples problems to distract himself from his own, as if fixing other people will in turn fix himself, which only makes it worse and worse until he explodes. he talks about how hes worthless, how hes a bad person, how he doesnt deserve his loved ones, and then becomes corrupted when the trauma become too much for him gem to handle anymore. (Him splitting on himself after bottling his feelings up for so long)

this was only soothed when his loved ones reminded him how much he was loved and cared for. he lacked a voice his whole life and once jasper taught him to fight and defend himself and he became all big and strong his personality changed completely and he ended up becoming aggressive in the same way jasper was and literally purposely and v violently shattered her because of it (which is obviously very out of character for steven who has healing powers)

he also takes control of and attempts to shatter white diamond when he has trauma flashbacks to her almost killing him despite working through those issues previous

he has a "the grass is greener on the other side" mindset

He has bouts of uncontrollable rage because he has no form of grasp of his emotions due to alienating them.

He creates narratives sticks to them then he is unable to change these thought processes.

after shattering jasper he has an intense panic attack, thinking he is a violent killer or bad person, his guilt spirals and he makes a very desperate and emotional attempt at bringing her back.

he also takes control of and attempts to shatter white diamond when he has trauma flashbacks to her almost killing him despite working through those issues previous.

he has a "the grass is greener on the other side" mindset

He has bouts of uncontrollable rage because he has no form of grasp of his emotions due to alienating them.

He creates narratives sticks to them then he is unable to change these thought processes.

He creates a happily ever after in his mind and then when the outcome isn't perfect or what he imagined he freaks out.

he has frequent flashbacks to issues from his past and tends to block the thoughts out when they show up or dissociate himself from them, or, alternatively, he hyper-fixates on them so much that it takes over every aspect of his waking life. he also thinks in black and white a lot, with things being either all good or all bad, and becomes paranoid about other peoples intentions or the way they perceive him. he also is CONSTANTLY on edge expecting bad things to happen and prepares himself for danger that might not even come.

Also throwback to the time where he crashed the car and split on his dad when he realized his dad got the childhood he always wanted and that he was neglected, he quickly went from idealizing his dad to feeling spiteful toward him and putting their own lives in danger.

also the time when he realized all of his friends were moving on without him and subconsciously trapped them in a giant bubble that he had no control over

oh and the NIGHTMARES!!!

- sincerely, a Steven kinnie with BPD and C-PTSD. (Cross-Posted)

#steven #steven quartz universe #steven universe #steven universe future #su #suf #bpd #borderline #borderline personality disorder #cptsd #complex post traumatic stress disorder #complex ptsd #headcanon #headcanons #theory #cross posted

[soapgraves]

Sometimes you need comfort from thr giant space lady who tried to kill you 2 years ago.

do not repost or use my art for personal reasons without asking or credit. and do not use this art for any personal reasons.

#steven universe #steven universe future #art #fanart #steven universe fanart #su #suf #jasper #jasper su #jasper suf #jasper fanart #jasper steven universe future #jasper steven universe #self indulgent #cross posted #cross posted on twitter

[nancygillianmvp]

i love him on purpose

1,756 words. rated t. summary: After a long week, Carlos plans a cozy date night of reading and comfort food for his husband.

Living in the heart of downtown, most things are within walking distance of Carlos, and TK’s loft, including some of the best queer nightlife Austin has to offer, TK’s favourite Chinese takeout place, a Trader Joe’s and a great bookstore. 

Unlike most of the bookstores in the area, this one isn’t a chain but a little independent place with a coffee shop that makes some of the best coffee in the city. As it’s only half a block from their apartment, TK and Carlos are frequent visitors. 

When Carlos stops to pick up an iced latte on the way home from picking up groceries, he has an idea.

It’s been a long week in the Reyes-Strand household, and the majority of Carlos’s opportunities to see his husband have been passing greetings as they head in and out the door for their shifts on opposite schedules and a few shared lunches at the firehouse—all of which ended up interrupted by calls. 

But they both have the next two days off together, and Carlos’ shift ends earlier than TK’s, so he makes plans for a date night while waiting for his coffee.

They’ve both been working overtime since the wedding and the honeymoon to make up for the time off, so a date night is more than overdue. After a long week, Carlos has just the thing in mind for date night. Nothing fancy; after the week they’ve had, Carlos figures a quiet night is just what they need.

When he gets home, Carlos thumbs through the recipe folder on the counter until he finds what he’s looking for—a simple chocolate chip cookie recipe he’s made before with TK’s help. Carlos has always preferred the freedom and art of cooking over the exact science of baking. Still, cookies have always been one of TK’s go-to comfort foods—it’s not unusual to find him baking cookies at odd hours if he’s had a hard shift or wants to feel closer to his mom—cookies and Chinese takeout.

keep reading on ao3 or under the cut

By the time the cookies go into the oven, Carlos has flour in his hair—though he couldn’t possibly tell you how it ended up there—the kitchen is a mess. TK is due home in twenty minutes, which Carlos hopes will be enough time to clean up and have the whole apartment smelling like freshly baked cookies.

As Carlos takes the cookies out of the oven, TK texts to say a call ran over and he’ll be a little late. Carlos finishes the last of his washing up, and although they’re still hot, he can’t help but sample one of the cookies before settling into the couch with a magazine. Of course, it’s nothing like the cookies TK makes with Gwyn’s secret recipe—nothing will ever compare to those—but they’re perfectly crisp with a soft, chewy interior and chocolate that melts in his mouth. If nothing else, they’re made with love and make the apartment smell inviting.

“Hi, husband,” TK says as he walks into the apartment, throws his keys in the bowl on the end table and shrugs off his backpack. “It smells incredible in here, Carlos.”

“Hey, babe. How was your shift?” Carlos asks, standing and leaning against the arm of the sofa to greet him.

TK leans in to hug Carlos, momentarily burying his face in his neck. “Long. How was yours?” 

“Uneventful.”

“Where is this delicious smell coming from?” TK asks. 

“I made you cookies.” He says and watches his husband’s expression soften.

“You made me cookies?”

“It’s nothing special, just chocolate chip.”

“Nothing special? Taking the time to make me cookies is special, babe.” TK says, planting a kiss on Carlos’ cheek and crossing to the kitchen. “Thank you.”

Carlos stays resting against the back of the sofa as TK crosses the room and hops up to sit on the kitchen counter beside the rack of cookies. 

“So what’s the occasion? I haven’t forgotten an anniversary—at least I hope I haven’t—and it’s not my birthday, so what’s the occasion?” TK asks as he takes a bite of the cookie in his hand. “Babe, these are delicious.” He says through a mouthful. 

“No occasion. I don’t need a reason to spoil my husband, and besides, we’re overdue a date night.” 

“I don’t know if I’m up for a date night, baby. It’s been such a long week. I was hoping we could just chill at home tonight.” TK says, and Carlos gets it; he feels the same, which is precisely why he planned a lowkey night in, not a night out.

“Who says a date night can’t be chilling?”

“What have you got planned?” 

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you,” Carlos tells him with a wink.

“Do I get a hint?” He pouts, but Carlos shakes his head, his curls bouncing as he does so and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“No hints, babe. Grab your coat.” 

TK hops down from the counter, grabbing a second cookie, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

It’s a crisp fall afternoon, and the leaves crunch beneath their feet as they walk half a block to their destination, hand in hand. 

“Are we going for coffee?” TK asks as Carlos stops outside the bookstore & coffee shop.

Carlos shakes his head. “We’re here to buy each other books, and then we’re going home to read and order Chinese for dinner.” 

“So I get to pick your book?” TK asks.

Carlos nods. “And I’ll be picking one for you. Meet you outside when we’re done?”

TK steps inside and starts searching the aisles for the perfect book. On the other hand, Carlos already knows exactly what book to pick for TK and only takes a few minutes to collect the pink paperback he had in mind from a display of queer book recommendations put together by the staff.

He’s not waiting outside long before TK appears, grinning and holding a paper bag.

“It’s about a handsome Texan who falls in love with an even more handsome outsider. I thought you might relate,” TK says with a flirtatious wink as he pulls a familiar pink paperback out of the bag and presents it to his husband.

“That’s funny because I thought you—a handsome outsider—might relate to a book about falling in love with an even more handsome Texan.” Carlos laughs as he takes out the same pink paperback from his own bag, a copy of Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston.

“We’re definitely on the same page today,” TK says, taking Carlos’ hand in his own to walk back to the apartment.

“Must be why we make such a good team.” 

When they get back to the apartment, TK kicks off his shoes and changes into a soft pink hoodie, Carlos sets out tea and cookies on the coffee table, and they settle in to read. They start out at opposite ends of the couch. Carlos is wearing his reading glasses and maintaining impeccable posture as he sits up straight against the back of the sofa, while TK is curled with his knees up to his chest in the corner of the chaise, book in one hand and a cookie in the other.

After about half an hour, Carlos looks up from his book to see TK seemingly zoned out. His gaze is fixed above the book in his hands. “Why aren’t you reading your book?” 

“I prefer watching you read,” TK says, dog-earing the book—earning a wince from Carlos—and placing it on the couch beside him, “I could watch you read all day. You look so peaceful, and you’re so damn sexy in those glasses.” 

“Shut up,” Carlos responds playfully.

“You love me.” 

“That I do.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Carlos replies, putting a bookmark in and closing his book.

They order Chinese and eat on the couch when it arrives, discussing what they’ve read and how Carlos can’t get over the similarities between TK and Alex Claremont Diaz so far. When TK clears away the takeout containers and puts the leftovers in the fridge, Carlos picks up his book to resume reading but is soon interrupted by TK planting himself right beside him, resting back against his chest. 

“Read to me?” He asks, relaxing further into him and looking up at him with those green eyes softened into an expression Carlos finds damn near impossible to say no to. 

Carlos nods and wraps his arms and the book around his shoulders. “Where were you up to?” 

“Chapter two,” TK responds, and Carlos starts reading.

By the time Carlos starts reading chapter three aloud, TK looks like he might have fallen asleep, but he insists he wasn’t.

“I was just closing my eyes and enjoying the story. Your voice is so soothing. This was exactly what I needed tonight, babe. Thank you.” TK says, turning to kiss him.

Several hours later, Carlos is once again sure TK is falling asleep on his chest, so he closes the book softly and starts to take off his glasses.

“One more page?” TK asks, opening his eyes to look up at him.

Carlos can’t resist that look, “One more page.”

Later that night, as the moonlight peeks through the curtains, Carlos lies awake, enveloped in his husband’s comforting embrace. Like most nights, TK drifted off quickly while Carlos lies awake with the world's weight on his shoulders. Some nights, even being wrapped in his husband’s arms isn’t enough to quieten his anxieties. 

As if he can sense how Carlos feels, TK, now awake, whispers to him. “He’s like you, you know.”

“Who?” 

“Henry.”

Carlos is surprised at first, but for the most part, he understands the comparison other than one huge point of difference. “Yeah, maybe, except for the fact he’s a prince .” 

“You’re a prince too, my very own personal prince charming,” Though he can’t see TK’s face, Carlos knows he’s grinning after delivering such a cheesy line.

“You are so cheesy,”

“But you love me,”

“I do,”  Carlos says; he loves TK more than he ever felt possible or than he ever thought he could allow himself to. He thinks over a quote from the book that reminds him so much of his own relationship, ‘I love him on purpose,’ because despite everything in his own past, in TK’s past, he loves TK— all of TK—on purpose. So he whispers back to his husband, “I love you on purpose.”

#9-1-1 Lone Star #911 lone star #911ls #tarlos #fanfiction #9-1-1 lone star fanfiction #my writing #my fic #ao3 #carlos reyes #tk strand #cross posted #fluff #soft #married tarlos #carlos reyes pov #read on ao3 #ao3 link #mentions of rwrb #red white & royal blue references

[patchedrabbit]

Resplendent or Anxious, Come Hither

Pairing: Gregor Samsa (Limbus Company)/Fixer!Reader

Warnings: Vague and brief mention of gore, Entomophobia

Commissioned by @wizardofwoof Previous | Next

“You alright?” “I’m fine,” you laugh, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

A collective sigh falls among the Sinners as they mourn the loss of their latest Golden Bough hunt. You couldn’t help but sigh along with them — you had been with them the whole time as their guide, narrowly avoiding death at seemingly every turn. And you could swear you could see the panic in their eyes when you did so, despite having met them not even a day ago.

But you were the only one who did. There were three of you Fixers in total; one seemed to get lost in the labyrinth of the L Corp. branch, while you were forced to hear the other die. Hear, and not watch, luckily, as a Sinner with an… insectoid arm had pulled you to him and shoved your face into his stomach, refusing to let you go until the sounds of squelching had ceased, no matter how much you squirmed. Gregor was his name if you recall correctly. You’re kind of thankful for his actions.

You had lingered by him from then on, which meant you could now overhear him trying to convince the group’s manager to let you onto the bus, at least until they could call for backup to bring you back to your association. The only responses he got were in ticks, so you could only assume that there was some unique kind of communication between the two. “Sure, bud, but listen— if Herr Vergilius has any issues, I’ll take the fault again… it worked a little the last time!” He doesn’t seem to be very convincing. Or very adept at acting. You can’t help but smile at it. How charming. Eventually, with a hang of their head (clock?) the manager seems to allow you to follow them onto the bus. You can overhear the aforementioned Vergilius chastise them when he sees you board, but you simply collapse into the nearest seat. You’re too exhausted to do more than passively pick up the information. The other Sinners seem to agree, as you can hear all but Faust — whose name would be impossible not to memorize, considering she spoke in the third person when referring to herself — following your actions. Gregor decides to join you in particular, though he seems less tired, and more anxious. He noticeably has his right arm behind his back, almost military-esque, though nothing else about his posture seems as uptight. 

“You alright?” He huffs, eyes squinted as he seems to take in every scratch littered across your skin. You’d be embarrassed being scrutinized so deeply if you didn’t know better. This was probably just to gauge your injuries, you knew, though it was hard not to imagine it as more. “Yeah, you don’t need to worry,” you assured, though he doesn’t seem quelled yet. “You sure?” “I’m fine,” you laugh, “I’m alive, aren’t I?” He stops inquiring and stops facing you entirely for that matter. As the remaining three still standing stop bickering and announce that the Sinners are free to have their 12 hours of rest, they all return to the back of the bus. Everyone except Gregor, which you’ve come to predict.

You decide you should ask the questions this time. “You can rest your arm, you know,” you tell him, “it doesn’t scare me.” Though he doesn’t turn to look at you again, you watch his expression turn from far-away longing to puzzlement. “You think it’s there to look scary?” “Well, no, of course not, but I just thought—” He laughs and shakes his head, having to adjust his glasses afterward. “Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. I just…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You find yourself raising your hand. Gently, you place it on his shoulder. You’re shaking a little as you pull his forearm away from his back, and just hold it for a moment. The exoskeleton is cool to the touch, and smooth, except for the hairs that begin to fray out from the bottom. He watches you with wide eyes. “Yeah, you’re alive. You’re the only one who’s come with us and came out with us alive. I’d like to keep it that way.” You smile warmly and look up at him, and he’s not as good at hiding his embarrassment, immediately breaking out in a sweat and averting your gaze. “You did,” you whisper, ignoring the sudden switch in his mood. “Then I should keep doing that, right? Don’t want to hurt you now that we’re out of all that trouble.” You laugh at his concern, and he makes some German exclamation at you, though it doesn’t sound harsh enough to be a swear exactly. As if to prove your point, you pull the arm closer to you, running your fingers down the chitin and feeling tickles run across your fingertips as you reach the hairs, and as you continue your movements, you slowly feel him begin to relax. You don’t notice him leaning to rest his head on yours until he already has, and before you can say anything, he’s already fallen asleep. Must’ve taken a toll today. In the morning you’re certain your association will be banging on the bus’s doors and reprimanding you for being out longer than the mission entailed. But, for now, the night and the slight rhythm of his breathing lull your worries away.

#limbus company #gregor samsa #project moon #commission #fanfcition #x reader #cross posted #2nd person pov #thank you for comming me!

[cosmicallant]

my banri dress dreams came true

#a3! #act! addict! actors! #fanart #doodle #banri settsu #a3! banri #a3! fanart #i am sooo sane and normal about this i promise #cross posted

[typewrite-dragon]

Ghosts Get Lonely Too - TMA Lonely Ghosts AU

[AO3 Link]

Jonathan "Jon'" Sims has discovered a new statement left behind on Gertrude's laptop. In an effort to stop the Unknowing, he reads it in the hope of finding clues to stop the Ritual.

The Statement of Vlad "Plasmius" Masters in regards to the relationship between Gerard Keay and himself.

Statement Begins

[Click]

I’ve come home from the States. I was definitely being followed. I am not sure what was following me, it looked like an officer but it felt… wrong. I think something else distracted it or perhaps something happened to it after the stop on the way to Washington D.C. I had not seen it since.

I’ve tried to find more information from the laptop that Gertrude left behind. What was curious was that when I turned it on, there was something new in the emails that had not been there before.

Or perhaps I missed it entirely because I was looking for something else…

In any case, when I had intended to comb through the device again for anything I had missed, it connected to the nearest printer and started printing out what looked like… emails between a Vlad Masters and Gertrude. It may hold clues or at least… another piece of the puzzle.

I never was able to find out what really happened to Gerard. Not beyond what the hospital staff mentioned. Though from what they said about Gertrude’s arrest and the odd book that vanished, I could hazard a guess. Perhaps that information is in these emails as well. Perhaps this won’t be another dead end.

Statement of Vlad Masters regarding the relationship between Gerard Keay and himself. Original Source from Email Correspondence between Vlad Masters and Gertrude Robinson found on her Laptop. Audio recording on July 05, 2017 by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Begins.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Gerard Keay Sent: November 27, 2014

Dear Ms. Robinson,

I hope this finds you well. It has come to my attention that you are the one that may have the answers I seek. I am aware of your working relationship with Gerard Keay. I am also aware of what that work entails. I have attempted to contact him many times to no avail.

I have something of his that I believe he would like returned to him. If you would be so kind as to assist me in getting into contact with him, I would appreciate it.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

November 27, 2014

Mr. Masters,

How did you get this email?

I am afraid I cannot help you. It is best you dispose of whatever it is. I recommend the latter if you know what is good for you. If you truly know of our work, then you are aware of the risk it may hold.

- Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

November 28, 2014

Ms. Robinson,

As I said, I know of your working relationship with Gerard. I made an educated guess. I know very well what is good for me, and at this moment it is getting in contact with Gerry. I imagine he would like his coat back. Please ask him to contact me.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

November 29, 2014

Mr. Masters,

Gerry, hm? Interesting.

He must have been quite distracted to forget that ratty old thing. Perhaps you may be in too deep now, but that still does not change the fact I cannot help you. I recommend you forget him. It is for the best, Mr. Masters.

- Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

November 29, 2014

Ms. Robinson,

I know you are working to stop some grand ritual, The Unknowing. Perhaps you will make sense of what I have found. It is not just the coat I wish to give him. I had offered to help him with his research. A solution that contained as much certainty as dealing with any primal source such as Fear has to offer. Especially one that falls into the Uncanny.

I do not understand your insistence to ‘forget’ him. I assure you, I have no intention to do so.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay  

December 1, 2014

Mr. Masters,

You are a persistent man, I will give you that. I suppose at least one person ought to remember the boy.

So, he has told you about the Fears. There is a price to Knowing such things like that. Tell me what you know, Mr. Masters. About Gerard and about The Unknowing.

- Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 1, 2014

Ms. Robinson,

What do you mean by ‘remember’?

Yes, yes, I know how capitalism works. The Fears carry little difference to any other predatory being, they are simply bigger and nigh unfathomable.

You want to know what I do? Tell me how to reach Gerry.

Please.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 1, 2014

Mr. Masters,

Hm. Very well.

You will want to find the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead. Then you will want to read the last page. It should still be in police evidence so you may have trouble getting to it. Or perhaps not if you have a propensity for getting into places you shouldn’t.

Though it is said that those who are bound to the pages aren’t themselves. So you may not really be speaking to Gerard.

- Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

You abandoned him.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

Mr. Masters,

Here I thought you had taken my advice and forgotten about me. Did you find what you were looking for? Are you going to tell me what you Know?

- Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

You had best hope that our paths never cross, Ms. Robinson. You are, arguably, a smart woman. I am certain you can figure out the Unknowing yourself.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

Mr. Masters, You will have to try harder than that to scare me. Better than you have tried and they have certainly failed. You will do no better.

Now then, if you are done posturing: Will you let Gerard's death be in vain? Let the world, that he tried to save, end by yet another ritual?

Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

Ms. Robinson ,

He preferred to be called Gerry. Do not pretend now that you care . If you had, then he would not have been left unclaimed as he had been.

You will get nothing more from me.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

Mr. Masters,

I dislike having to do this, but you have left me little choice.

A Statement, if you would please. Tell me what you know, Vlad Masters.

Gertrude Robinson

—

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Gerard Keay

December 19, 2014

Ms. Robinson,

I know many things, Gertrude Robinson . I am aware of your power of compulsion. That ever-burning desire to know things, even as you work to resist using such abilities to find your answers. You find the power repulsive, even when it removes such troublesome barriers.

It would be easier for you, wouldn’t it? To sink into that which your position allows. You are the Archivist. The one who focuses so much on her own work that the rest of the world goes away. You pretend altruism, but clearly those who work with you are expendable. You wish to keep you precious humanity as if anything Other is detestable.

To you, Gerry , was expendable.

He was not .

He was mine .

So badly he wished to trust you. Wanted someone he could perhaps rely on. That did not simply look past him and truly saw him. You saw your work and you saw how he could be useful to you.

I saw him.

The first time I saw him was in Chicago, you were with him. I was burning time while in the area on business. I imagine you must have been searching for books then. They are a common enough find in an Antique Shop. Sometimes I have come across such strange books. Not your Leitners, but other tomes with secrets that others would consider fantasy. Things that would have been tossed aside as some sort of fairy tale. I believe they overlapped; your Leitners and my Occult.

It was that small shop, easily missed, tucked between towering buildings as though it was left behind while the modern era rolled in. It was what drew me to it, that distinct feeling that called to me. Perhaps it was not even that shop that drew me, but those who were within.

I no longer recall what I had been looking at when we met. Not really. Something among the dusty piles of books in the back corner made my entire being itch. I ached to find the reason. Picking up books and a passing glance over each one. Page through them to see if anything caught my eye. Most had been mundane and disappointing.

I hadn’t gotten a chance to touch the source of what made me itch. The next thing I knew, a scarred hand covered in eye tattoos on every knuckle flashed out and snatched it before I could grab it myself. It would have been easy to be indignant, I was feeling the emotions bubble up in my chest. Nearly lashed out at this unknown who so rudely pushed his way into my space.

Then I saw him. Tall. Pale. Thin. He looked even paler with the long black leather coat and the hair. The hair was dyed black, although badly. Patches of roots missed, mostly towards the back where he could not see. The color faded in places that didn’t become saturated enough and some portions washed away with hot water.

I knew immediately what he had done wrong, I recognized the effort that was made to dye pale hair black. Clearly, he had not been ready to give up as I had already done. The color stopped taking to my hair a long time ago.

He must have sensed the impending ire, I remember his eyes meeting mine, looking far too tired. I recall wondering how often he actually slept. The smile that he gave had caused my core to stutter in a way I had not felt since college.

It was just a simple thing. A smirk in my direction as he held up a leather-bound book with a cover so worn, the letters were difficult to discern. A little quirk of the lips as though it were just simple happenstance. It should not have caught me off-guard as it did, but there was something about him. As though perhaps in that moment, he saw me too.

“You don’t want this one. Boring read really. I suggest something more exciting, like that encyclopedia set. Heard the Encyclopedia Britannica is a real page turner.” He told me. His voice was soft and sounded as tired as he looked, but there was a certain intensity to it. Its effect was startling to me as his smile had been.

Clearly, he was just trying to keep me from taking home a cursed book. I think it was something along the lines of corruption. Some cursed copy where a man slowly became a cockroach if I recall correctly. Probably for the best, as I wouldn’t want to have to spend the next decade resolving that. They don’t make suits for giant cockroaches.

My brain still had not caught up with my mouth and all I could do was stare at him in dumbfounded silence. Not my proudest moment, although not my worst. It wasn’t until he was walking away that I found my words, though my brain had not yet engaged enough to place any filters before I ran my mouth.

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t already read that edition. Absolutely riveting what lies within Q and T. However, I was looking for something perhaps a little more my speed.”

It sounded terrible, and I knew it did the moment the words left my lips. Yet… he laughed. It wasn’t a particularly loud one, but that smirk became something a little more real . It touched his eyes when he huffed a small chuckle.

“I suppose someone has to find whatever is between Quilts and Trains interesting.” There was that core stuttering smirk again, playing at the corners of his lips as he spoke, “What is more your speed?”

I had really wished my brain had enough function to stop me before I said anything stupid. Yet, with full confidence, I found myself uttering the words while holding up one of the encyclopedias, “U, if you can keep up with me.”

If I could have died the rest of the way, I would have. The way he stared at me made me nearly vanish then and there. It was a very near thing, but I managed not to blow my cover in public. Then he laughed . Not the soft short breathless chuckle. Not the soundless single huffs that someone may do. A full, albeit short, laugh. I think he was surprised he could even make the sound. As if he had forgotten he could.

He wasn’t the only one who forgot himself. For the first time in my life since college, I had completely forgotten about the woman I had claimed to love in exchange for the man before me. I am not saying it was love at first sight, but there was something that… drew me to him.

It certainly didn’t stop me from making a fool of myself, and I recall feeling my cheeks burning and I nearly vanished on the spot. I very well could have, despite the fact I had made such an effort by then to have control over that aspect of myself.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.” He finally told me. His accent became a bit heavier with his amusement. It was then that I noticed that the book looked heavy in his hand. It wasn’t a terribly thick book, but it simply seemed to weigh more than it should. It demanded to be seen.

I wanted to pull it out of his hands. Lighten the load.

Somehow, I had enough self-control not to. He must have noticed where my gaze was going and moved it out of sight. I tried to busy myself studying the book I was clutching onto like a prop.

“Really? Well, most people want a name first, if you would please.” I countered, trying to save face. It wasn’t working.

“Does it really matter?” He countered, seeming amused by something he was seeing. I realize now that it wasn’t really me he was looking at then, but whatever was around me. Whatever aspect of your Fears that was drawn to me.

I don’t know why that question brought me to my senses. What about it sobered me up so much? Perhaps the deceptive simplicity of those four words uttered while two complete strangers stood in an antiques shop had done it. It was a question I had asked myself often as I had grown.

Perhaps variations on the same words, a rearranging of the phrase to fit more closely with whatever fresh hell in my life made me ask myself that question. Endless debates on if anything I did was worthwhile. If anything, I did would ever change my situation.

Finally, I told him, “No. I suppose not.”

I think he realised the mistake he made as I had suddenly schooled myself and had started to try and make my escape from the awkward situation I caused.

Then he told me his name. Blurted it as though he was revealing, perhaps, that he was just as nervous about making a fool of himself. Perhaps from the outside we were not nearly as awkward as we perceived ourselves to be.

Perception is funny that way.

“Gerard.” He said it quite suddenly and almost forcefully, as though being louder took more effort than he was used to using.

Fate rarely has ever cooperated for me when I wished it to. I had been about to respond in kind when my phone started to go off. I was running late for my meeting. Somehow, I had lost track of time and I had begun to curse myself.

Thought I was being clever when I answered, throwing a glance his way when I greeted whoever was on the other line with my name before I left the shop. With that infernal encyclopedia I might add. Found out later that he paid for it. I would have liked to think he thought I was being clever, but I was sure he just thought I was an idiot.

I thought that was the end of it. Nothing to come of a chance meeting between two strangers. We simply knew each other’s names and continued on with our lives.

Never had I been so glad to be wrong.

Unfortunately, the short time between our paths crossing did not lend me an ability to conduct myself in a more charming manner. Somehow, I was destined to act the fool in front of the man. Looking back on it, I supposed it worked in my favor, though I would not be able to begin to tell you why.

It was just a couple days later. I imagine you were busy with something else. I had vaguely recalled you lurking about somewhere near him in the shop. At the time I had thought you were his mother. How wrong I was. Though I suppose there was little difference between the two of you in the end.

There was a local cafe I had begun to frequent during my stay, the coffee was strong enough to wake the dead. It held the right kind of bitter notes. It was a decent enough start to my mornings.

It was made better when I had walked in that morning. I would have never expected to run into the same person twice in a place I did not live. Yet, there he was, standing alone by the counter while he waited for his order. Somehow, he looked even more tired where sunlight could reach him. Accented just how pale he was in contrast to the black leather coat.

Yet… he was still quite beautiful.

It was early enough to not be too busy. I hadn’t needed to wait in line too long. I must have caught his eye, well, one of them. He seemed to almost… brighten when he recognized me.

It is nice to think so, at least.

There was a companionable silence as we stood together, the kind that comes from the mutual agreement that it was too early for conversation. Anything said before caffeine would have likely been a nonsensical disaster. He had no reason to wait there with me, as he was already holding and sipping his coffee. Yet, I imagine he was graciously waiting for me to have my own source of liquid wakefulness.

Though as I said, neither time nor apparently caffeine graced me with any charm.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you came here just to see me.” I told him.

He laughed at me and pointed out that he had gotten there first. I hid my embarrassment by drinking my coffee. Surely more caffeine would have made it better.

“But I may make a point to come here more now that I do know you come here.” He mused.

The moment he said those words, I swore I had heard it wrong and managed a stuttered, “O-oh?”

The answering smile made me try to find my footing. I knew I would not be in the area that much longer. Perhaps a week at most. The caffeine must not have yet kicked in, as I hardly knew the man, yet I proposed we go on a date. The cafe we were in was well and good, but I suggested perhaps there were better settings in which I could make a fool of myself.

To my delight, he agreed .

The next thing I knew, I was giving him my number and he sent me a text message with a little book emoji. I had his name. I had his number. 

I had his number .

I had not gone on a date in an embarrassingly long time. Circumstances prevented it at first, health reasons. After that, it was no longer a focus of mine. Sure, I have flirted from time to time, but there was no real interest involved. Just pretty words to get others to swoon and oblige to my asks.

The rest of the day had gone by far too quickly after that. I hardly remember it. Same old business meetings and my thoughts drifting off to what I would wear. What I would even say? I could plan a business meeting down to nearly every beat. Anticipate what would be argued about and how to counter them. How to win deals and continue to gain wealth.

Yet with him… he was different. He caught me off guard in a way I had not allowed myself. However, I was firm to remind myself that it was simply a date. Not to get my hopes up for anything more than a night I was bound to stumble through.

The date had gone surprisingly well. I had picked somewhere quiet. While I was no stranger to fine dining, something convinced me to pick something that was more of a hole-in-the wall. The atmosphere was far more relaxed which seemed to bode well for both of us. I do not think he would have cared for any of the places I tended to frequent for business dinners.

Do not misunderstand me, I still feel like I made an utter fool of myself. I had half expected him not to show. I would like to think I would not have faulted him for it, but I know I would have tried to rationalize things to make myself feel better.

I think he knew that too.

Yet, there he was. He really showed up and, well, at the end of the date actually kissed me.

I hadn’t been expecting it, and I was rather glad no one but him noticed my faltering control. The loss of control had been the way my hands went intangible and I dropped what I was holding. Completely unable to get ahold of myself for far too long. My eyes flashing into an intense red that he later, affectionately, described as ruby.

I remember kissing him back. I remember the taste of our meal on his lips, the aftertaste of cigarettes that would always be there from the sheer frequency of his habit. I remember finally getting my hands back in order so that I could feel how soft his hair was.

It was a wonderful kiss.

It was a wonderful night after the date. We had agreed to finish our date at my hotel.

I had not realized he had noticed the lapse in my control until there was a lull and he asked me, rather bluntly, what I was. That I, in his words, ‘Feel like I was touched by the End, but not’.

You would think that would have ruined the mood, but he was calm as he asked. Genuinely curious and not overbearing like some I knew. So… I risked letting someone else in on the secret. Showed him the man behind the curtain as it were. Showed him 'Plasmius'.

Except what many would not understand is that the Man behind the curtain is the same as the one outside of it. For I am what one calls a ‘Halfa’. The only one as far as I am aware. A result of a college incident with a small scale interdimensional portal that was turned on by my so-called best friend, exposed me to a burst of ectoplasmic radiation.

I suffered from radiation poisoning or a “kinder” term, ‘Ecto Acne’ for two years. Two years alone in a hospital. Two years slowly dying as my body continued to reject my existence. Treatments did nothing but perhaps take the edge off. I was angry and hurting and easily forgotten as an unfortunate casualty of science.

At the end of two years I died and I… became something else. Stewing in the emotions of abandonment, a broken heart, and anger with the ectoplasmic energy turned me into a ghost. Except I was not entirely a ghost. No, I was also alive. I imagine it had to do with being exposed to what was effectively a threshold between the living and the dead.

When I showed Gerry what I was, I had expected skepticism or shock. Instead he was relieved. While he was no ghost, he seemed relieved that I was not among the “normal” masses. I admit, there was as much comfort as there was confusion in realizing that he too was part of a small circle who “Got it”.

The awkwardness melted away near instantly when he asked me how I came to be this way. It was not so much invasive as it was curious. The memories hurt, certainly, but there was something… freeing… about telling someone .

In exchange he told me about his mother. His childhood. Why he was in Chicago. About you and this Unknowing Ritual. He explained the Fears and explained that I felt, well, like a prime candidate for something called The Lonely.

I wanted to scoff.

I wasn’t afraid of being lonely . I knew plenty of people. Yet… as I found myself trying to argue it, I realized he was right.

Admittedly, it was a painful realization. Especially as his list of what I could focus on to combat it would help me none. Anyone I could have possibly relied on was absent from my life or not worth my time. I didn’t even have a pet to speak of.

I could see there was some recognition in his eyes. Loneliness was something he was all too familiar with. For the first time in… such a long time… there was warmth that came from someone outside of myself.

He offered, then, to be my focus should the Lonely come to try and isolate and drown me. He asked me for nothing more than to call him Gerry. That, if he had friends, he would have liked to have been called such.

What could I have done but offer something in exchange. I had plenty of resources that may not have been tapped. May have had some unexpected overlap with what they were searching for. So I offered to see what I could find for him.

Then we stopped thinking about all of that for the rest of the night.

There were a few more dates after that. We snuck in more time together between my work and his research with you. I was… happy. We had never put a label on whatever it was we were doing. Friends with Benefits did not quite seem like it covered it, but dating almost seemed too far a stretch. Though perhaps it was just because we were both afraid of losing something again.

I stayed in Chicago perhaps longer than I should have. I gave myself more reasons to stay. My initial stay of couple of weeks turned into a month. He didn’t seem to mind it. At times we were researching together… pulling out old books and records to find anything that would solve his particular problem. It reminded me of the old days… of college. I always enjoyed that aspect of work. Of figuring out solutions to problems, and it was better having someone to bounce ideas off of.

Then with no leads there, he had to go to Pittsburg. With you.

I wish I had noticed it sooner, the symptoms. I imagine we had attributed some of his sensory issues with the near full body scars from burns. The headaches from staring at books too long and forgetting to eat.

We had one more night together before he left with you. I promised to keep searching back home. To find the answers he sought. Perhaps some part of his unconscious knew something was going to happen. Perhaps it was just the simple fact that we knew it may be a while before we would see the other… if we would see the other again.

I am sure we would have found a way, if given the chance.

I didn’t want to let go of him that night. I had held him tight against me, my face buried in freshly dyed hair that I had helped him with.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have let go at all.

He had forgotten his coat in my hotel room. His pack of cigarettes too. Though I now wonder if that was intentional. An anchor. A reminder of him if the Lonely were to come for me. Perhaps it had already come. Perhaps its method was to simply consume my anchor.

I recall texting him, and he simply told me that I could give it back the next time we would meet.

You left his body unclaimed. Abandoned by the one he would have followed to help stop the end of the world.

I should not have let go.

I will not do so again.

As for your little Unknowing Ritual. Its basis has nothing to do with logic. It is meant to confuse and twist things unto the unreal.

You want to stop it? Shatter its fantasies with cold hard reality. The louder the better. Thorough destruction.

I am sure you can figure it out if you apply yourself. Perhaps your answer lies hidden in whatever storage unit Gerry had mentioned.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must find this so-called Catalogue. It was not where you said it would be.

Do not contact me further. It is for his sake that I do not hunt you down. The world can burn for all I care.

Instead, I simply leave you with this reminder: He wanted to trust you.

He was right not to.

Sincerely,

V. Masters

—

Statement Ends

Well that was… certainly something. Perhaps I should have stayed in the states longer and investigated more of Chicago.

Ghosts. Halfas. The latter was not something I could find concrete evidence on. The name was familiar and I asked Martin to dig into some records, and it seemed as though Vlad Masters had indeed claimed Gerard’s… Gerry’s body.

Martin tried to find out more on Vlad Masters. It seems as though he was CEO of a large company and was based in Wisconsin. It appears that he suddenly went missing sometime last month, in June. It was linked to several other disappearances of that of old college colleges of his and their children. Apparently his work revolved around a new energy source based on this ‘ectoplasm’.

Research about that seems to have a lot of missing records. At most, anything that survives at this time were written by those missing colleagues, Jack and Maddie Fenton. They were from Amity Park, Illinois and it seems they all vanished as well. 

There was reports of something called a Phantom. Perhaps that is a Lonely Avatar.

Anything other leads we have tried to follow seem to turn up cold. I could go back and search Vlad's home for more clues, but I have a feeling it would just be another dead (heh) end.

Perhaps the Lonely did finally get to him.

I suppose I could look into that storage unit angle. See what this key goes to. I’ll ask Martin and Melanie to help me look into it as well.

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#DP x TMA #DP x TMA Crossover #Danny Phantom #The Magnus Archives #Fanfiction #My Writing #Vlad X Gerry #Vlad “Plasmius” Masters #Gerard “Gerry” Keay #Cross Posted #This has been gnawing on my brain all week #There is an entire playlist I made for this for the vibes #Lonely Ghosts AU