#it’s verbal blindspots

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo being put into a situation where there is absolutely no fighting, just verbal manipulation and perception games, would be amazing to witness. We see a lot in the series how good he is at subterfuge and how he uses his perception to manipulate to great effect, so it’d be so cool to really see it put to the test even more.

Manipulation is one of the most effective tactical strategies of all time, so just imagine Leo putting this skillset of his to the full test. Imagine the boys slowly get up to busting bigger and more powerful criminals, including those with networks of crime under their belt, and a simple fight isn’t enough to take them down. For criminals like this, Leo’s skills in subterfuge would be deadly.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt headcanons #me back to talking about Leo’s incredibly high affinity for subterfuge #genuinely think it’s one of if not his best and most honed skill #AND IT’S A VITAL NINJA SKILL #above fighting battle tactics and the like #it’s verbal blindspots #Sun Tzu’s The Art of War literally states that “the greatest victory is won without battle’’ #and idk I think Leo would be so good at this and we see him do it in the show quite a bit but not to the amount I yearn for #but yeah like just think Leo getting sent in and his bros standing guard #of course he wouldn’t be the ONLY one involved but 100% he’d be the main player #man idk I just really really love when their specific skill sets that ARENT the fighting ones are used it’s so interesting to me #like we already know Leo can easily take in a whole room’s worth of people and know exactly how to avoid them all #we know he can manipulate manipulators into his schemes #we know he’s good at improv which is essential to the games of speech high end criminals like to play #it would be SO INTERESTING #OKAY HEAR ME OUT- #he’s asked by Big Mama to join her at a criminal ball of sorts #she needs to regain power and he needs to take down big name criminals #thus a deal #no but really it’s so cool seeing Leo specifically do his best tactics through thinking like his enemy and predicting how they’d act

[staliaqueen]

Wait do you think Annabeth Chase is abusive? Not trying to start an argument! Just genuinely curious because I never picked up on that before & I want to see if maybe this is a 'blindspot' I need to work on. Or did you mean a different character from the YA girlfriend poll?

No, I was talking about Annabeth. It's obviously not something RR intended, it's just a result of how fucking terrible he is at writing flirty banter (he just crosses the line into verbal abuse) and that he clearly thinks it's SO FUNNY when girls are violent against boys.

@hermesmyplatonicbeloved summarised it very well recently here but I've also gone more in detail about it with examples before here

Now, I'm not gonna pretend like all of my ships are perfect. I'm very familiar with the concept of recognising flaws in a ship and just deciding to like it anyway. I'm not gonna judge anyone for doing that with p/ercabeth. What baffles me is the widespread unawareness of those flaws. And what horrifies me is how often I see Annabeth's abusive tendencies actually encouraged by her stans and seen as something Percy deserves. Or just generally turned into a joke.

#i think she should date piper instead honestly she always treated her well and their athena vs. aphrodite dynamic is very fascinating to me #anti annabeth chase #anti percabeth #pjo #mal answers

[sleepless-in-southlands]

The House Always Wins (With You, I Never Lose)

Ao3

Summary: A look into both the pasts and presents of Grian, Mumbo, and Scar. Content: AU- Mob Bosses, violence, homoromanticism; betrayal, (neck) injury, trust issues, bad ways of addressing trust issues, threats, tension like you wouldn't believe, obligatory characters not CCs Pairings: Romantic scar/mumbo, fruity as FUCK grumbo + scarian they just refuse to say it Notes: Part four of the Bloody Fruits au, chapter three (scar) of The House Always Wins (chap1 grian - chap2 mumbo)

~

Past

“I think a toast is in order, wouldn’t you say, Scar? To the coming glory of the Glass Empire!”

Scar had a few choice words to say about that supposed glory, and if it weren’t for the fact he was nearly choking himself trying to keep his carotid from bleeding him dry, he might have made them known. Although he had a funny feeling his extremely fired right-hand could guess most of them.

In theory, the night should have been a celebration. The Empire had recently made a few well-placed territory expanses and suffered minimal blowback from the other organizations in town for them, their ranks had grown, their various fronts had been making more money- all good news! The perfect reason for Scar to settle down with his closest confidant for a night of light bookwork and congratulatory chatter.

And then Dolos had lunged at him with a knife, and the whole evening went downhill faster than a rollercoaster.

“Nothing to say, hm?” Dolos asked mockingly, overexaggerating a frown at Scar’s silence. “You’re usually so talkative.”

Even if he could speak right then, Scar wasn’t feeling very chatty anymore. Not verbally, anyways. But if Dolos were to just lend him his knife for a moment, Scar was sure he would be able to communicate a few points well enough.

A gun would have been helpful, but he had made the (in hindsight) poor decision to take off his holster, leaving it and its weapon hanging over the back of his chair. The only plus to this choice was the fact that Dolos had followed his lead, leaving both of them without a firearm. Technically Dolos could retrieve one if he so desired, but that would require him turning his back on Scar, and he wasn’t quite stupid enough to do that.

But he still had the knife, dripping crimson from where it had made a good mess of most of Scar’s upper half before hitting its favourite mark in his neck, and that meant Dolos still had the advantage.

“I know you might not want to see it my way, but you can understand how this is for the best, can’t you?” Dolos was steadily approaching where Scar had backed himself into a wall, unhurried. “I mean, really! Not seeing this coming? What sort of boss doesn’t even notice when their right-hand starts aiming for them?”

Scar gritted his teeth. So Dolos had been a blindspot. Isn’t that the point of a right-hand man? To take care of the threats that get too close? Excuse Scar for trusting him to do his job!

(A voice that matched Dolos’s in the back of Scar’s mind refused to do so. A mob boss, trusting someone? Had he really expected that to end any other way? He truly was unfit for his title.)

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now.” Dolos continued, ignoring Scar’s internal debates. He paused in his advance, close enough that he could nick Scar’s chin if he fully extended his arm. “Seeing as how I’ll be relieving you of your position posthaste.”

Scar dug his fingers into his neck, as if trying to meld his palm to the wound. He wanted to snap something about over my dead body, but given that seemed to be the plan, he doubted it would have much impact.

Dolos took another step closer, twirling the blade he was about to put through Scar’s chest between his fingers like it was a dinnerware utensil. “Any final words? Or would you prefer to go with some dignity, for once?”

The thought of spitting one last curse at Dolos, however effective, was a tempting one. It would be the last thing Scar ever said, yes, but his time was already up on that front. Might as well go out with a bang.

Before Scar could settle on something even slightly clever to say, however, both he and Dolos were startled by the sound of the office door opening.

“Hey, sorry to bother you two during the celebration, but there’s-” Bdubs looked up from the paper in his hand as he entered the room, sentence dying as he took in the scene before him. Within the half second it took him to process it, the paper was discarded, Bdubs’s gun drawn before it was even halfway to the ground. He aimed it at a midpoint between Scar and Dolos, gaze flickering between the two men. “What exactly is going on here?”

Dolos recovered from his shock at the interruption too fast for Scar’s liking. “Exactly what it looks like, I should imagine.”

Bbuds’s grip tightened on his gun, adjusting his aim to point more towards Dolos. “It looks like you’re trying to kill my boss. Which isn’t going to end well for you, I should imagine.”

It was with satisfaction that Scar noted the sarcasm in Bdubs’s tone as he echoed Dolos’s words back at him. If Bdubs was on his side, he had a chance. But only if Bdubs silenced Dolos before he started talking again. If Dolos was able to convince Bdubs to help him-

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so hasty. Think about this for a moment.” Dolos’s voice was charming, his words casual despite the situation. Scar slumped against the wall he was pressed to. “This Empire needs fresh blood. The boss always has to step down at some point to make way for the future. I’m just bringing the future on a little faster.”

“And if I’m happy with the present?”

“You’re not thinking of the big picture. Once I replace Scar here, I’m going to need my own right-hand. And you, Bdubs… well, I think you could be just the guy for the job.” Dolos explained, smirking like he had already won. “All that stands between you and that position is one Scar Chronos.”

Bdubs glanced over at Scar as Dolos finished his proposition, face unreadable. Not for the first time since Dolos had begun slashing at him, but possibly for the last, Scar wished he could speak. To make his case to Bdubs, make his own offers, whatever it would take to keep the only active gun in the room on his side.

But he couldn’t, the risk of worsening his injuries past the point of recovery too great to take. So long as Scar couldn’t speak, Dolos had every advantage, including Bdubs.

Scar closed his eyes, accepting his fate and bracing himself. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, Bdubs would suddenly become a terrible shot, and he’d have a chance to viciously fling himself at Dolos one last time and try to claw out one of his eyes or give him blood poisoning. If those were his last moments, Scar could die at least somewhat content.

He flinched when Bdubs’s gun fired, less from the sound and more in expectation of the usual pain that came with a bullet wound.

…None did.

Confused, Scar slowly opened his eyes, wondering if his last minute wish had come true and Bdubs had somehow missed. His gun was lowered, his stance slightly more relaxed than it had been, suggesting he had indeed fired. But his angle was all wrong if he had been aiming at Scar, his line of sight focused on the floor across from the boss. Scar followed his gaze.

Dolos was splayed on the ground, expression still smug despite the fact that his skull was shattered and his brain was splattered across the office’s cheap tile. The knife he had been advancing on Scar with was still in his hand, but his grip on it was loose, if the slight curling of a dead man’s fingers could be considered a grip at all.

“Oh.” The sound slipped past Scar’s lips, weak and gargled, as he realized what had happened. Bdubs hadn’t sided with Dolos. He hadn’t shot Scar.

Not that it mattered, Scar considered as his legs gave out on him and he slid down the wall, given he was still going to die. At least Dolos was dead too. 

Bdubs was at his side in a moment, Scar having missed the point where he re-holstered his gun and pulled out his phone. He was speaking to whoever he was calling, not Scar, which was likely a good thing given Scar wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. It sounded like orders.

Distracted by trying to figure out what Bdubs was saying, Scar didn’t notice Bdubs’s free hand reaching out until it was on Scar’s neck. Instinctively, Scar tried to pull back and out of Bdubs’s reach, but his employee just followed the motion through the few inches Scar managed to move. It took Scar a moment to realize that all he was doing was putting pressure on the wound Scar himself was covering, not trying to strangle Scar or cause more damage. 

“-ar? Scar?”

And in that moment, apparently, Bdubs had once again changed, phone put away and full attention directed towards Scar. He was frowning, concerned. “Scar? You with me?”

Scar managed what was less of a nod and more him bumping his head into the wall behind him.

“Alright. Try to stay conscious if you can, okay? I’ve called some of our people. Only the ones we can trust, who have the least connection to… your former business partner.” Bdubs's tone was professional and collected despite the situation, only dipping into disdain at the mention of Dolos. “I suspect the Empire may have to perform some spring cleaning after this, but that will have to wait.”

Everything Bdubs was saying made sense. Mob bosses weren't overthrown without backup, and Scar needed help, not a knife in his back. Any co-conspirators would have to be found and dealt with accordingly, but not while Scar was half-alive and weak, which was why Bdubs was focusing on deciding who could still be trusted rather than who had to go- although Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he learned Bdubs was also starting that list in the back of his mind.

What didn’t make sense was the fact that Scar was still alive for any of it to matter. The cut across his throat might not be fatal, but the person currently helping him hold it shut should have been.

After all, if Dolos would betray Scar, why wouldn’t Bdubs? Forget being a right-hand, Bdubs could take over the Glass Empire all by himself as long as he played his cards right, and Scar knew that Bdubs knew enough about their business to do so. Once again, all that stood between Bdubs and an entire kingdom to himself was Scar, and Bdubs was smart enough to know that too.

Which made it rather odd that Scar wasn’t yet dead. Bdubs wasn’t usually this bad at killing people. He took care of Dolos without any issue.

“Something you want to say, Scar?” Bdubs said his name with an unusual stress on the ‘s’ sound, the remnant of how he used to call him ‘sir’ until Scar had personally requested he just call him by his name, twice. He was looking quizzically at Scar, and it took Scar a moment to realize that he was returning Scar’s own pensive look, having got so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed himself staring. “You look… troubled.”

Scar made a vague gesture with the hand that had been holding his neck together before Bdubs took over.

“I guess you can’t really say anything, huh?” Bdubs caught on. “Well, we’ve got time, and I need to keep you awake. Is it a concern about any of your injuries?”

Scar shook his head.

“Concern about how trustworthy the people I’ve called are?”

Another shake.

“Did you see Dolos’s hand twitch and think he might get back up? I can shoot him again if you want.”

Scar managed a small smile at the lightness to Bdubs’s voice before once again shaking his head.

“It can’t be anything too pressing then, which is good.” Bdubs shifted slightly, settling himself more comfortably without taking any pressure off of Scar’s injury. “Is it about Dolos? His betrayal, what it means for your empire?”

Scar shook his head after a pause. Dolos had started this whole mess, but he was no longer the focus of it.

Bdubs paused as well, taking a moment to think before he asked his next question. “Is it about me?”

A slow nod.

“Is it about how I could kill you, right now, and have the Glass Empire to myself? And you’re not sure why I haven’t yet?”

Scar didn’t move his head, as if it was a trick question and the moment that he confirmed his doubts Bdubs would turn on him and do exactly what he had described. But his lack of answer was just as damning as a yes, Bdubs nodding to himself in lieu of Scar’s, and Scar braced himself as best he could for whatever Bdubs would do next.

“The main reason is that I don’t want the Glass Empire.”

Of all the things Scar was expecting Bdubs to say, the idea that he wouldn’t want to take over as boss of one of Heremita’s main mobs was low on the list, if it was even on there at all. For the average person, sure, it was a perfectly acceptable response. For someone like Scar and Bdubs? Not so much.

“I don’t want to be one of the bosses in general.” Bdubs went on, what Scar assumed to be a clarifying statement only confusing him more. “And if I did, I’d start my own organization to run, not backstab my way into the position.”

Given their line of business, and given the slowly-cooling corpse sitting five feet from the two of them, the sentiment of wanting to make an honest dishonest living was oddly admirable to Scar. Foolish, perhaps, but it hadn’t seemed to have gotten Bdubs killed yet.

“Doesn’t mean I want to be a lackey forever. I do have slightly higher aspirations than cannon fodder, even if I don’t want to be boss. I think I could make a good right-hand.” Bdubs’s voice got tight, and he spared a surprisingly venomous look back at the remains of Dolos. “But not his.”

Scar let his head rest on the wall, the effort of keeping it supported on its own starting to become a strain. Part of him wanted to make a joke about what elevated Scar over Dolos- his charisma? his good looks? the fact that his name was objectively cooler? Part of him was starting to wonder just how much blood he had lost.

He settled for the middle ground of not thinking about it and instead fixing Bdubs with as puzzled of an expression as he could manage, hoping it would be enough to prompt the rest of the explanation from him.

It worked, Bdubs noticing his look as soon as he had turned back towards Scar. “Let me guess: ‘what’s so wrong with my traitorous deceased right-hand?’ I didn’t think I’d need to explain that one to you, Scar, given the situation.”

Scar lightly tapped his own chest, doing his best to indicate yeah, that’s why I don’t like him. Why do you care so much that he tried to kill me?

As if Bdubs could hear Scar’s unvoiced question, he shrugged. “If he’s willing to betray his boss as a right-hand, what would stop him from betraying his right-hand as a boss? I have better odds running errands in enemy territory than standing at his side.”

Mentally, Scar conceded to Bdubs’s logic. A traitor didn’t just make for a bad subordinate.

“Besides, it’s one thing for a lackey to try and go after a higher up. But a betrayal between a boss and their right-hand man?” The casual tone Bdubs had carried for most of the one-sided conversation dropped suddenly, voice hard. “Dolos deserved worse than a bullet to the head.”

Scar raised an eyebrow but didn’t try to push Bdubs to say anything else. He could tell it was personal. He didn’t need to pry.

The sound of cars coming to a fast stop in front of the building seemed to snap Bdubs out of his thoughts. He put his free hand on his holstered gun, seemingly more as a precaution than a necessity.

“That should be our people.” Bdubs informed him, giving Scar a quick once-over as if to remind himself of his condition. “We’ll make sure you get through this, and hold down fort until you can take back over. And I’ll make it clear as glass that anyone who wants to take advantage of the situation can join Dolos in whichever empty lot or dirty harbor he gets dumped in.”

Scar managed a slight nod before the office door was opening, people Scar could recognize as some of the Empire’s filing in and Bdubs launching into directing them about. The sudden uptick in activity and noise was too much for Scar to focus on, and he let the ruckus wash over him as Bdubs handled it. Despite the blow his trust had just taken, Bdubs’s conviction against Dolos and inexplicable lack of desire to be a boss seemed sturdy enough for him to rely on.

Plus, assuming he truly did survive the next few days, he’d be the one needing to replace his former close confidant. And Bdubs had said he’d make a good right-hand man. Scar could consider this his test run.

And even though he had no reason to, Scar had a good feeling about how Bdubs would do.

Present

“Mumbo, dear, as much as I appreciate the thought, I really don’t need you to have your waiter tortured and killed for me.”

Mumbo, who, unfairly, seemed more upset about the situation than Scar was, frowned. “It won’t be any trouble.”

“I know it won’t be, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessary.” Scar leaned back on Mumbo’s desk, one hand braced against the wood. His cane rested beside him. “Accidents happen! Not every injury is the result of an attempted murder.”

“Maybe accidents would happen less if those who caused them were… made an example of.”

“They tripped, Mumbo, that can happen to anyone.”

Mumbo crossed his arms, seemingly unwilling to let Scar’s lighthearted mood get to him. “You’re hurt.”

Scar bit back a joke about how he hadn’t forgotten that. He could tell from Mumbo’s tone, and the way he was looking at Scar, that he wasn’t just referring to the physical cut.

And, yes, perhaps he should have realized how obvious he was being. Despite his own attempts to write off the injury as nothing more than a scratch, his hand was pressed over it hard enough to bruise his neck, as if he might bleed out if he loosened his grip in the slightest. And while he had allowed Mumbo to lead him into the End Crystal’s office, he had pulled away from him almost as soon as they were inside the room, rushing to put space between the two of them.

A space Mumbo hadn’t tried to enter, standing across from his own desk at a respectful distance, looking the entire time as though he wanted to step closer but knew it wouldn’t end well. The similarity of the situation to the one with Mumbo’s former bartender was not missed by Scar.

“I’ll be alright.” He said instead, trying his best to sound reassuring. “I’ve survived worse.”

Mumbo’s eyes flickered the slightest bit downwards, right to the proof of Scar’s claim, and his frown deepened. Scar shifted his hand slightly so as to cover more of his neck as he looked away from Mumbo.

Now neither of them were feeling reassured. Scar was doing spectacular.

The door to the office quickly opened and closed, and Scar turned his gaze towards Grian as he approached the two of them. He came to a stop next to Mumbo, easily picking up on the purposeful space that had been put between him and Scar. Similar to Mumbo, Grian looked more agitated than Scar felt he had the right to.

“Everything’s been cleaned up, and security detained the server without issue.” Grian informed them, glancing at where Scar’s cut was hidden underneath his hand. “Once we attend to you, Mr. Chronos, me and Mr. Eris can… discuss what happened today with them.”

“You know how much I love seeing you two beat up people and call it a discussion, Grian,” Scar put emphasis on Grian’s name, still in the process of trying to convince the South (namely, his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s not-boyfriend) that it was ok to use his first name, even when none of them were actively dying, “but it’s really not necessary in this case.”

Grian frowned. “It won’t be any trouble.”

“That’s what I said.” Mumbo grumbled.

“Yes, yes, it’s impressive how in sync you two are. Have you ever tried the newlywed game?” The only response Scar received were two near identical unamused stares. He decided not to comment on how they weren’t exactly proving him wrong. “Hey now, I don’t think you’re allowed to be angry at the injured guy.”

Mumbo sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want us to do anything to them?”

“Positive.”

“What if we do something anyway?”

Scar tilted towards Grian. “The End Crystal needs to maintain a somewhat nice reputation, doesn’t it? I feel like bleeding someone dry for tripping would achieve the opposite effect.”

“We’d be fine,” Grian replied, sounding sullen as he continued on with, “but I suppose I can tell security to let them go this time. Though they’re still fired.”

“They probably already quit.” Scar pointed out. Grian shrugged.

“I’ll leave them to squirm a bit before finding out.” 

“You may as well hand them their termination papers now.” Mumbo said, looking apologetic when Grian glanced over at him. “I was refilling the office first aid kit when Mr. Chronos came over and left it in the storeroom. If you wouldn’t mind grabbing it, you can also let our former employee know their services are no longer needed here.”

Grian rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked the typical annoyance that came with it. “You’re a spoon.” He told Mumbo before turning back towards the door, heading off to do as he had been indirectly asked.

Scar shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t, uh, need to do that. The Glass Empire has sufficient resources.”

“As does the South.” Mumbo responded, bemused. “Similar to our reputation, our supplies will withstand you using a few.”

Again, Scar looked away from Mumbo. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mumbo’s frown return right before he took a single step toward Scar.

In an instant, Scar’s eyes were back on Mumbo as he flinched back, pressing closer to the desk, body tensing and gaze wary. It suddenly didn’t matter that Mumbo was his ally and his partner, that he had no reason right then to hurt Scar, that both he and Grian could have killed Scar a dozen times over on any given day he spent with them and had never tried. All that mattered was that he was too close to Mumbo, physically and otherwise. All that mattered was that he trusted Mumbo.

A mob boss, trusting someone? Had he really expected that to end any other way?

Scar dug his fingers into both wood and flesh. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Whatever Mumbo did next, he was ready for it.

…Admittedly, he was not ready for Mumbo to immediately step back, raising his hands placatingly.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to get in your space.” Mumbo apologized, as if there still hadn't been a solid five feet between the two of them, as if Scar wasn’t in the epicenter of what was most certainly Mumbo’s space, not his. “This is going to make bandaging your neck a tad tricky, though.”

"I can do that myself." Scar replied, confused but no less defensive. 

"Are you sure that you should?" Mumbo asked, rushing on before Scar could respond, "I think- I think you want it bandaged right, and that's hard to do on your own."

Scar floundered. Mumbo was right, as much as he didn't want to acknowledge it (Mumbo knew him; Mumbo knew him). The cut wasn't very big, and for anyone else, it'd be easy enough to handle, but it wasn't anyone else. Scar needed help. Scar couldn't accept any help.

“Bdubs.” Scar forced out after a too long moment of silence. “He can… he’ll know what to do.”

Mumbo graciously didn’t point out the fact that wrapping up a small cut wasn’t very complicated to figure out. “Alright. Do you want to call him over here? Or, er, do you want to go back to your shop and meet him there?”

The way Mumbo paused on the second option made it clear which of the two choices he preferred, and Scar hated that he agreed. He would be safer in his offices over the End Crystal’s, but the journey to get there posed its own set of risks. He had the advantage of limited entrances and limited possible assailants in the room, and the fewer people who saw him clutching at a scratch like it was a fatal wound, the better.

You’d be safer taking an unarmed nightly stroll than you are here, a voice that had never stopped sounding like Dolos’s reminded him, snide and rotting, danger’s part of the job; trust is what gets you killed.

“Can you get him?” Scar asked, keeping his eyes on Mumbo despite wanting to look away, “He was pretty busy when I left. I don’t know if he’ll pick up my call.”

It was a lie, and a bad one at that. Bdubs was a right-hand, it was his job to drop everything to answer Scar's calls. But he needed an excuse to get Mumbo out, to get him away from Scar, and it was the first one that came to mind.

Mumbo took it without question, as if it was a reasonable thing for Scar to ask, as if it wasn't just Scar pushing the boss out of his own office. "If that’s what will help you, then of course. Do you want me to take Mr. Penemue with me?”

Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs himself, not by sending a lackey to fetch him. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs and leave Scar, alone, in his office. Mumbo was willing to get Bdubs with Grian and leave Scar completely alone in the heart of his organization. Scar was starting to feel like he was the one who needed to be warning Mumbo about trust. Scar couldn’t make a sound. “He wouldn’t like that.”

“He’d understand.”

“He still wouldn’t like it.” Grian trusted Scar more than Scar had ever imagined he would- given Grian was actually willing to leave him alone with Mumbo- but Scar knew there were some things that never changed. Grian would spend the entire trip to fetch Bdubs thinking through every possible thing Scar could be doing in their absence, and the second he got back he’d rewatch his eyes’ footage five times over again just to be certain Scar truly hadn’t done anything more exciting than shift in place.

In response, Mumbo switched tactics. “Are you going to be alright if he stays here?”

It was a fair question. Scar was clearly flighty with only Mumbo. It didn’t make sense for him to be better off with his right-hand. He didn’t know Grian as well. He didn’t trust Grian as much.

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Scar didn’t trust Grian, not like he trusted Mumbo. He wouldn’t be nearly as surprised if Grian tried to take him out now. That made Grian safer.

“It’s ok, Mumbo. I won’t mind.”

Mumbo studied Scar’s expression, trying to see if there was any sign of him lying, as if it wasn’t better for him if he left Grian behind to keep an eye on everything. Then, he nodded once, a self-confirmation of whatever he had determined in that moment. “Alright.”

Before Scar had a chance to argue Mumbo’s acceptance- why was he so willing to do what Scar asked? didn’t he understand the danger?- Grian returned, so well-timed Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he had planned it. He was carrying a dark case that looked about the right size to fit into a desk drawer, sleek and unassuming despite the reinforced lock on it.

Mumbo turned towards Grian as he stopped beside him, once again giving Scar a wide berth of space he had no right to. “I have to go fetch Mr. Centuria for Mr. Chronos, won’t be long.”

Grian inclined his head, glancing at Scar, glancing at the distance still separating him from them. “Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, because even Mumbo’s over-protective-to-a-fault boyfriend of a bodyguard was willing to put Scar above logic, for some damned reason.

“No need. I’ll be quick.”

And Grian accepted that, with a nod and a small touch as Mumbo passed him and headed out of the office, as if it was logical, as if anything they were currently doing made any sense given who they were. Grian switched the case between his hands, looking thoughtfully at Scar.

“You seem… perplexed.” Grian said after a moment, stressing the word to imply the inherent understatement in it.

“If Mumbo had asked you to come with him, you would have… just gone?”

“I always do what Mr. Eris asks of me.”

A lie, unless Grian didn’t count Mumbo asking him to rest as a real request- but that was beside the point. “And you think that would’ve been safe?”

The corner of Grian’s mouth turned up in the slightest indication of a smirk, though the expression didn’t seem amused, more perfunctory. “You’re hardly a threat, Mr. Chronos.”

Scar glared at Grian, though it wasn’t strong enough to elicit any reaction from him. Scar had the sneaking suspicion even a truly harsh look wouldn’t inspire much more than a raised eyebrow from the right-hand. “I’m not Mumbo.”

“You’re not.” Grian acknowledged gracefully, ignoring the low-blow in Scar’s words. Scar almost wished he hadn’t. It’d be easier to be fighting, to know Grian was against him, rather than going through the polite business motions Grian was so good at and Scar so hated. “And I’m not Mr. Centuria-”

“Bdubs, just call him by his name, it’s Bdubs-”

“-yet you didn’t mind me staying.” Grian finished, shutting Scar up. Grian tilted his head, gaze piercing. “I’m neither your right-hand man, nor your partner, but I’m still here. You had Mumbo leave, but you’ve passed the opportunities presented to you to have me do so as well. You want me here, for some reason, but your interactions with me are currently bordering on hostile.”

The unspoken why? in Grian’s words was loud, but Scar couldn’t bring himself to answer it. There was no good way to explain that he didn’t trust Grian, that he was waiting for even the slightest indication Grian was going to turn on him, and that was why he could stay but Mumbo couldn’t. There was no good way to explain that, despite all that, Scar couldn’t bring himself to jeopardize the safety Grian so carefully cultivated for himself and Mumbo in the End Crystal. There was no good way to explain any of it, so Scar steadily met Grian’s eyes instead, saying nothing.

A long minute passed like that, neither of them speaking or breaking eye contact. Scar’s fingers dug deeper into his neck with each second that passed in the silence, waiting for the tension to snap, for Grian to make his move. It was a perfect time to strike, and Grian wouldn’t catch Scar by surprise.

Grian sighed. “Do you want help stemming the blood?”

Alright, that caught Scar by surprise. He tamped down on the highly irrational urge to ask Grian to just stab him already. “What?”

“I could bandage it too, but I presume that’s why Mr. Centuria is coming over.” Grian’s tone was largely professional, but the usual edge on it was soft in a way Scar knew was deliberate. “And I won’t get close unless you want me to.”

“I won’t move my hand.” Scar said, in lieu of I can’t move my hand, of did you hear your own double meaning, of why would you want to.

“Your palm isn’t very absorbent.” Grian replied, not missing a beat, not giving away anything outside of the exact words he spoke. “I can clean up what slips through. Up to you.”

Though his behaviour spoke to the contrary, Scar knew the cut on his throat wasn’t nearly bad enough to warrant such attention. At most, a few drops of blood had trickled past his hand, and Scar wasn’t particularly worried about them.

Grian knew that too. His demeanour was unrevealing, unreadable, but his manner didn’t change how he was trying to produce any reason to get close to Scar. It was suspicious. Dangerous. Untrustworthy.

And wasn’t that exactly why Scar had been fine with Grian staying?

“You don’t have to do that.” Scar waited a beat, trying to gauge any reaction from Grian. Predictably, there were none. “But you can get close anyways, if you want.”

“You’re certain?” Grian asked, even as he took a step forward, testing the waters as he dropped the case in his hand into one of the chairs facing Mumbo’s desk.

“Positive.”

Grian continued his approach, each step measured, lingering a second longer than necessary with each one. He went further than Scar entirely expected, only coming to a stop when he was directly in front of him. The space left between them was courteous, but slim compared to the wide margin that had been there. A good distance to attack from.

With his hands free, Grian crossed his arms, fingers visibly splayed over the fabric of his suit. Not a very pragmatic stance- it would take him a moment to reach one of his weapons and actually use it, and that would give Scar an opening.

“Can I ask how you got it?” Meanwhile, Grian apparently remained intent on using his strategy of blindsiding Scar without so much as raising a finger. “The scar.”

“...You can ask.”

Grian huffed, eyes crinkling just enough to make it a laugh. “Can I know if they’re dead, at least?”

“What if I said I tripped?”

“I’d know you were lying. But I wouldn’t push.”

“How accommodating.”

“The End Crystal offers only the best in service to our voluntary visitors.”

Scar looked away from Grian, watching him from the corner of his eye. True to his word, Grian didn’t push, didn’t try to make a move while Scar was feigning distraction. Why had he even wanted to get closer? What was he going to do?

“He’s dead.”

“Was it slow?”

“As slow as a bullet to the head is.”

Grian tsked. “Pity.”

Scar turned his gaze back to Grian, a half-teasing, half-provoking comment dying on his tongue when he realized that Grian’s focus had dropped from his face to his neck, looking at the scar in the same way Mumbo had. But that couldn’t be right. That would mean something Scar hadn’t calculated for.

“Back in our old town,” Grian started, and if Scar didn’t know better, he’d describe the words as halting, “Mumbo’s first right-hand tried to have me killed.”

Scar’s eyes widened. Grian’s fingers twitched, still staring at the remnants of the large cut that had nearly taken Scar’s life, and for a fleeting moment Scar imagined him reaching out, tracing the line of the scar.

“I know what betrayal looks like.” Grian added, gaze drifting back up to meet Scar’s. “What happens when someone gets too close.”

Scar’s chest felt tight. Why was he so close? “Are they dead?”

“Yes.”

“Was it slow?”

Grian smirked, the sharp edges of his teeth showing as he leaned forward, resting some of his weight on the desk. “Agonizingly.”

Grian had a hand planted on each side of Scar, boxing him in between Grian and Mumbo’s desk. Paradoxically, Scar’s grip on his neck loosened from the point of near strangulation, some of the tension ebbing from his body. This he understood. This he was ready for.

“Are you going to kill me?” Scar asked, just to have it out in the open.

“If I was going to kill you, Mr. Chronos,” Grian’s tone was smooth, like he wasn’t surprised by the question, like he had seen it coming, “you’d already be dead.”

“My first name, please.”

“Why do you think I want you dead?”

Because everyone does. Because that’s the business. “You wanted to get close.”

“And you thought it was so I could attack you?” Grian didn’t leave enough time between his sentences for Scar to provide an answer to the question. Not that Scar would have given one. “Can I not want to get close just for the sake of it?”

Too late, Scar began to realize he had miscalculated again. The situation they had entered was dangerous- more dangerous than Scar had thought- but not for the same reasons. Grian wasn’t building up to a fight.

“Grian-”

“Do you consider us enemies?” Grian took a step into his space, nearly pressing the two of them against each other. “The South and the Glass Empire are friendly, but are we?”

“Why would you think we’re enemies?”

“You know what they say.” Grian shifted his balance, lifting one hand from the desk to raise it to Scar’s neck, fingers layering over Scar’s where he was pressing down on his accidental injury. Scar made to flinch, reflexes not nearly as fast as they needed to be, but Grian didn’t start choking him, didn’t produce a short blade to bury in Scar’s throat. He matched the pressure Scar was applying, not an ounce of malice in the gesture. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

Scar’s mouth was dry. He had lost his footing, stumbling past the point of no return without even realizing, and now Grian’s face was directly in front of his, hand on his neck, and yet the snide voice that usually rang out in the back of his mind, pointing out his every weakness and blind spot, was dead silent.

For less than a microsecond, Scar’s eyes darted down, looking directly at Grian’s lips.

“Are we enemies?” Scar barely managed to ask, hushed, anticipation almost sounding like fear.

“That depends, Scar,” Grian dragged out his name, so close Scar could practically feel it, fingers curling around the back of Scar’s neck to keep him from pulling away, “how close do you keep your enemies?”

Scar’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Grian had him trapped, literally and metaphorically, no space left for Scar to try and escape into even if he felt capable of moving, but for the first time since Scar had entered the office with his neck barely bleeding, he wasn’t waiting for a hidden blade to find purchase in his flesh. The hand Grian still had on the desk was pressing into Scar’s thigh, but Scar couldn’t imagine it doing anything other than moving to his hip, another point of connection as Grian did more than just hold him still, as he moved in a little bit closer as he pulled Scar with him, as-

“Are we interrupting something?”

If it weren’t for how tightly coiled he was with tension (a very different kind of tension then had been keeping him frozen five minutes ago), Scar would have jumped a mile in the air at the sound of Mumbo’s voice. While Grian smoothly turned away from Scar to face the door, hand still damningly on Scar’s neck, Scar forced his gaze in the same direction.

Standing in the doorway were Mumbo and Bdubs, whose arrival Scar apparently had missed. They both seemed slightly out of breath, as though they had been in a hurry to reach the office, but they weren’t nearly winded enough to not also be looking at Scar and Grian like they had walked in on something extremely amusing.

“I can turn around for a minute, if you need me to.” Bdubs offered. Given the reason Mumbo had fetched him, Scar couldn’t exactly immediately dismiss Bdubs back to their offices, but the thought of doing so was tempting.

“We’re not-” Scar’s voice came out three pitches too high and more guilty sounding than a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He shut his mouth immediately, stringing together some colourful curses in his head in the meanwhile. What the hell was he supposed to tell Mumbo that would explain why he was so close to his right-hand? Especially when said right-hand was still holding his neck, a choice that was starting to feel rather shameless.

Was this how Grian was going to get Scar killed? If it was, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to be mad about it.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Grian said, sounding as though he were discussing the weather, completely composed save for a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks that even right beside him Scar could only barely see, “I’m merely helping Mr. Chronos with his injury.”

Mumbo, who Scar presumed could pick out Grian’s exact skin tone in a crowd from a mile away, seemed to catch the flush and grinned. “How… professional of you, Mr. Penemue.”

“Yes, well.” Grian finally took his hand away from Scar’s neck, slowly at first so as not to startle Scar before speeding up, turning fully to begin striding towards Mumbo and picking up the first aid case as he went. “Mr. Centuria, I’ll leave Mr. Chronos in your capable hands. Mr. Eris and I will be outside if you need us. Take all the time you see fit.”

Bdubs took a step into the office, startled, as Grian brushed past him. Grian grabbed Mumbo’s arm, tugging him out of the doorway and pulling the door shut behind them in one fell swoop.

After staring at the suddenly shut door for a moment, Bdubs shook his head, looking back towards Scar as he began to approach him. Tucked under his arm was one of the End Crystal’s grab-and-go first aid kits.

“I was going to apologize for not arriving sooner,” Bdubs came to a stop slightly to Scar’s side, moving the kit to his hands as he unzipped it. He seemed entertained by the situation, which Scar really didn’t appreciate, “but I guess I should have arrived later instead.”

“I don’t know- I don’t know what you’d expect to be different. If you had been later.” Scar very deliberately avoided meeting Bdubs’s eyes. He hadn’t told a lie that audibly flimsy since long before he had become an organizational head.

“Would you like me to describe what I had expected?”

“Would you like to find yourself rapidly unemployed?”

Scar’s (admittedly hollow) threat fell flat if Bdubs’s following chuckle was anything to go by. “I’ll leave it to your imagination, then. Raise your chin.”

Doing his best to not let his imagination run off on its own track, Scar did as asked. He took his hand away from his neck when Bdubs prompted as well, Bdubs applying pressure to the spot with a cotton ball in lieu of Scar’s palm.

Bdubs didn't say anything further about the matter (although Scar was certain he wanted to) as he went to work cleaning and disinfecting the site of the wound. No sound from outside the office made it inside, which meant that any conversation Mumbo and Grian were or weren’t having was unavailable for Scar to eavesdrop on.

“Do you think Mumbo's going to try to kill me?” Scar asked half-seriously, more to the room itself than Bdubs. Killing over Grian's honour would be extreme, but that was hardly a deterrent for the South.

“For what? That?” Bdubs scoffed. “Would be a bit hypocritical of him.”

“Hypocritical?”

Bdubs paused in his ministrations, shifting his focus from Scar’s neck to his face with a frown. “Wait. What are you worried about?”

“As much as I would like to pretend you went briefly blind upon entering the room, I know you saw, er, that, and I know Mumbo did too. And you know how they are.” Scar shot a glance in the general direction of the South leaders. “He’s teased us for some of our banter before, but admittedly we… looked….like we were doing a bit more than that.”

Bdubs blinked once, twice. “Scar, please. I can’t do this again.”

“Do what again?”

“When you finally accepted the South’s offer of a partnership, and you came back to our office and made a joke about business partnerships with benefits,” Bdubs was speaking very slowly, as if making sure Scar understood each individual word, “that was referring to Mumbo and Grian, right?”

Any concerns Scar might have had about blood loss went out the window as his entire face flushed red hot at the speed of light.

“Right?” Bdubs repeated, sounding desperate. When Scar remained embarrassingly silent, he dropped his head into his free hand, covering his face as he groaned.

“I don’t-” Scar paused to clear his throat. It had been a very bad day for him, in terms of acting like the intimidating mob boss he usually was. “Why did you think the deal was with both of them?”

“Because I have two eyes.” Bdubs deadpanned. “I don’t know if I should be more upset over that, or the fact that it means, of the two of them, you sent the one you aren’t dating to get me.”

“You know exactly why I did that.”

“I do. Doesn’t make it any less stupid.” With a sigh, Bdubs lifted his head again, turning his attention back to Scar’s injury. “But it worked out this time. This doesn’t need stitches, and the worst thing Grian did was forget to lock the doors.”

“Bdubs.”

Unperturbed, Bdubs went on with his work, bandaging Scar's neck. “And as to your question, no, Mumbo's not going to try and kill you. He also has eyes, and if he had a problem you would have heard about it by now.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“You’ll like it less if I say it directly.”

“Got me there.” Scar muttered, letting the conversation lapse as Bdubs finished up. His attempts to put his thoughts in order, regarding what had nearly happened and what Bdubs had said, were sabotaged by the distracting concept of what could have been had Mumbo and Bdubs arrived five minutes later.

By the time Bdubs had taped down the edges of the bandage, the only thing Scar had really managed to figure out was that Mumbo most likely wasn't going to kill him. If he was, Scar doubted he would have granted him the courtesy of waiting until Bdubs left to strike. As to everything with Grian, well- Scar had given up trying to think any of it through.

“Good as new.” Bdubs replaced his remaining supplies in the first aid kit, zipping it shut while looking at Scar meaningfully. “I’ll head back to the shop now, assuming you don’t need anything else.”

“Actually, I think I’ll come with you.” Scar took his weight off Mumbo’s desk for the first time since he had entered the room, putting his cane back to use. His other arm ached as he stretched it out, cramped from having been bent towards his neck for so long. “I’ve had my fill of the End Crystal for the day.”

“You don’t want to stay a bit longer? Maybe talk with your business partners first?”

Scar pointedly ignored the obvious implications of Bdubs’s choice in wording. “I’m sure Mumbo and Grian have more important things to be doing right now.”

“...Alright.” The disappointment in both Bdubs’s tone and expression was so thick Scar could have kicked it. Scar chose to ignore it too.

The walk from one end of the End Crystal’s main office to the other had never felt so long, and only partially because Scar was dragging his feet for it. Heading back to his shop still required passing by Mumbo and Grian, and Scar feared it was a little too soon for them all to pretend like today had never happened.

Bdubs, who Scar suspected wanted to leave him at the End Crystal for (at minimum) a fortnight before seeing him again, didn’t seem as concerned with the incoming interaction and pushed open one of the doors without any hesitation.

Mumbo and Grian were idling near the center of the waiting area, Grian leaning against the back of a couch that was much too nice to be used so casually with Mumbo standing next to him. Both were already turned towards the office doors, likely having cut off whatever conversation they had been having when they heard the sound of the doorknob turning.

“I hope you’re feeling better, Mr. Chronos.” Grian’s voice was professional, polite, devoid of any personal emotions. His countenance was the same, carefully closed off in the way it always was, in the way Scar was used to, in the way Scar was starting to hate.

“Much.” Scar answered with an enthusiasm he didn't entirely feel. “Now, while the South's hospitality has been as refined as ever, I'd hate to put you out more than I already have.”

“Your company never puts us out any.” Mumbo, in direct contrast to Grian, made no attempt to hide his continued amusement with the situation. Scar decided to hate that as well. “You're welcome to stay longer, if you wish.”

“I don't want to impose. And I really should get back to my offices.”

“If you must.” Mumbo said reluctantly, and Scar took a small comfort in the fact that at least some of his disappointment was genuine. “Safe travels.”

Without looking away from Scar, Grian tugged on one of his sleeves, straightening out the edge of it. Scar resolutely did not think about how it likely got rumpled when Grian had been holding his neck. “The South looks forward to your next visit.”

“You make it sound so impersonal, Grian.” Scar mindlessly quipped, a mistake he fully intended to blame on being distracted by Grian’s sleeves.

Granted, Grian entertaining him with a response was probably a mistake on his own behalf, but given Grian delivered his with a single raised eyebrow and perfect composure, Scar felt as though he was faring better than Scar was. “Would you prefer I make it personal, Mr. Chronos?”

Using what scant wisdom he currently had access to, Scar opted to not try and answer the trick question and hastily pivoted back to the main point of the conversation. “Ah- until next time, gentlemen!”

Scar made his departure with as much dignity as he could- which, admittedly, was not nearly enough. Bdubs followed a step behind him, and although Scar was no longer looking at them, he was certain Mumbo and Grian’s eyes were also following him out.

For a brief moment, in the stint of time between Scar opening the door to leave through and Bdubs closing it, Mumbo and Grian’s voices slipped out.

“‘Would you prefer I make it personal’?”

“Shut up.”

Bdubs gave Scar the courtesy of waiting until they were back on their own territory to treat him to the same. “‘You make it sound so impersonal’?”

“Shut up.” Scar replied with no bite, making a beeline for his office to hide in as soon as they were inside the jewelry shop. He heard Bdubs sigh, but his right-hand didn't try to pursue him, which meant the matter was as good as settled as far as Scar was concerned.

(It wasn’t, and Scar knew that. Not when he could still feel where Grian had touched him, white hot yet leaving his skin uncharred.

Grian could kill him. Grian probably wanted to kill him, all things considered, and certainly would without hesitation if he had any reason to suspect Scar of being a threat. Mumbo wouldn’t stop him. In the event of Scar’s bloody demise at Grian’s hands, Mumbo would- at best- be mildly disappointed. No, the South was as great of a threat to the Glass Empire as it ever had been- even more so now that they were allies, now that Scar had gotten so close.

The part of his mind that Dolos’s mimicry perpetually inhabited recoiled at the thought of Scar learning nothing and letting trust pave the way to the destruction and downfall of his empire. Dolos was a traitor, but he had understood that trust was best for use as a weapon and little else.

The part still focused on the burning, in counter, played on repeat the moment where Grian had wrapped his hand around Scar’s neck and hadn’t so much as dug his nails in.)

Scar slumped into his chair and dragged a hand over his face. Without even meaning to, his hand dropped from his chin to his neck, fingers curling around the back exactly as Grian’s had.

Fuck.

#hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #bdubs #mumbo jumbo #grian #mumscarian #scarianbo #scarian #m.y funky words #bloody fruits au #mfw: thaw(wyinl) #boys this is NOT how u deal with trust issues #anyways. everyone shout out to bdubs the long suffering

[hearsayhorizons]

Perihelion Freed

My apologies to the original poster to whom I'm going to respond--I didn't catch your name or reblog your post when it came across my dash because I didn't expect to keep coming back mentally to your stance on Perihelion, free will, and the University's potential blind spot between their ship and their... discrete... work, out in the borderlands. I don't even know if it was a recent post or something that someone I follow reblogged. If you find me, hi!

Another blogger posited that Perihelion doesn't have free will, that things are hard-coded out of its mental architecture, and that the Newtideland crew may be hypocritical for using basically an enslaved ship to free basically slaves.

I'm not sure whether this was "a take on the idea" or whether it was "this is canonical and fucked up," so I apologize if you (cool previous blogger) were just investigating the concept!

It stuck with me, though, the idea that Perihelion (as opposed to The Perihelion, the ship+mind=entity that is akin to body+mind=soul) may or may not have free will, and how there's a lot more to investigate in the interactions if it doesn't, and the crew is either oblivious or "one must imagine Perihelion happy," and in a state of grace, as I believe the blogger mentioned.

Sure, there's a lot of mileage in "even the best have their blindspots," and the edges where what Peri does with and for Murderbot might run against its programming, and whether it would adjust its programming or whether it even could contemplate doing so.

But from my recall of the text, I don't believe the coding and architecture for enslavement is present in Peri.

It makes the choice to let MB on board because it IS bored: it is capable of boredom; if someone were to design an entity with specific reactions and capabilities, both the Bad Designers and Good Designers would skip the capacity for boredom and tedium, wouldn't they? To do otherwise is either pointless or cruel.

I guess you could say that boredom is the other side of the curiosity that Peri needs to help its crew and students with class and scientific endeavors, but that gets into the weeds about what is and is not programmable or required for specific emotions; we can't guarantee that you need one to have the other.

Peri chooses to accept MB, rather than actually being enticed and/or ignorant like a regular bot pilot. It chooses to help MB customize itself, messes with its recycler logs, and forges its captain's signature at least once; I can't imagine even the most Star Trek utopian creator, if able to lock in specifics to the point that an AI has personality and goodwill but not free will, would leave in operating code that would permit that sort of gross overstep (not that it was morally wrong, but it's something no one ever contemplates ART is capable of because--it shouldn't be?)

It lies by omission when it doesn't relate what KIND of construct MB is even when it chooses to tell its crew. giving MB privacy and opportunity that an enslaved AI might not be able to do (and after it went to the effort to change its logs, which makes me think it's choosing also to tell port authorities one thing and then choosing again to verbally tell its favorite people other things). It has a "debris deflection system" which comes off to me as... "using the label as robotically an as possible as another lie of omission" BECAUSE its intentions are beyond the scope of what it "should" be capable of doing/thinking... if it was a supercharged but enslaved AI.

The tabletop game Eclipse Phase has "AGI" that have to grow and be developed like people in order to BE proper people (metapossibly to lighten some of the strangeness between PC and player, since if you grow up in a simulation, you've got more in common with your player...).

There's nothing I can recall in TMB to indicate this is the case--we know MB is Athena, formed fully-shaped from cloned tissue, parts, and pre-trauma, but MB has no idea what ART is or how it could be the way it is--MB considers at one point that it might be a construct, but the vibe I get from ART is way too... glassily alien, sometimes, for human tissue.

What if... Newtideland laid down the basic code and parameters of "this is a person," maybe yes, seeded in some "curiosity," or "willingness to figure things out," but maybe no more than any kid starts with parents' nature and nuture to shape their own trellises...

And then they presented the thing-that-would-be-Peri with options, maybe even classes, and it coasted through History of Economy because this is a utopia, damnit, and didn't find much to grab its attention in... Inventory Management, but then.

Then it slips into a small drone ship completely covered in "student driver" stickers and it spreads its stubby sensors out to encompass... everything. And it moves, and the more it moves the more there is to move through, and it feels this sense of rightness.

It comes back, and a kid, human classmate, asks it what's it like out there and through Peri's eyes, but you don't have eyes--. It explains, and the kid asks a question that young-will-be-Peri doesn't know how to answer. They look it up together, and over time and all and once (as you might find in a sim) it has synergized its own career, its own goal and passions.

I posit that Perihelion has free will, serves WITH its crew rather than for its crew, and that its happiness and pleasure in its position and life are genuine, as they can only be if it can choose otherwise. We can conjecture a world in which the designer could be so granular in programming that ART is capable of all it can do while also unable to do what is locked out, and ignorant of the painful irony of using enslaved labor to free enslaved labor (which, again, is valid as an interpretation! ) but I think it is... important, that there might be a kinder, more star-spangled world, if the University comes from a world in which even bots truly, actually have freedom that MB doesn't see even after getting Preservation Station.

The Perihelion MUST have free will because

"You are incorrect, Iris, I can bomb the colony."

#murderbot #mbd #perihelion #i guess i missed english class #long post #fanfiction kind of?

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

“Reckless,” Cyrus chides, easily dodging underneath Herald’s swing and grabbing his arm with one hand, the other one coming up to mercilessly strike at the underside of his elbow. Herald bucks with pain, and he uses the opportunity to lift him onto his shoulder and throw him to the ground. “Not to mention sloppy. And also…”

“I get it,” Herald interrupts, rolling away from Cyrus’ incoming stomp and quickly leaping to his feet—too quickly. He raises his fists to strike, but Cyrus takes a step back, stopping him.

“You’re cheating again.”

“What?” To his credit, Herald looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

Cyrus crosses his arms and does his best to look properly ticked off. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”

“Realize what?”

“You’re hovering, Herald. Again.” The last word is uttered with no small amount of contempt.

“I…” Herald swallows, his mind lighting up with a flash of hurt that he quickly stomps down on, mindful of Cyrus’ telepathic abilities.

The gesture almost makes him smirk. As if there was any emotional reaction Herald’s unshielded mind could keep secret from his scouring gaze.

He can’t afford to smirk, though—that’s not the role he’s playing today—so he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes further, doing his best to seem genuinely irritated.

“I swear, it’s like you don’t even want to get better,” he complains, shaking his head for effect. “If I’d known you were gonna be like this from the start, I never would have agreed to train you.”

Another direct hit. Though he’s doing his best to hide it, he can tell that the constant verbal abuse is hurting Herald, genuinely hurting him, diminishing his confidence and taking the spring out of his step with every one of their sessions. A better man would be ashamed by this realization, but all it does is make Cyrus feel amused.

Good. Hurting Herald was the entire point of this.

“I… I’m sorry,” Herald says, swallowing again. He does his best to make himself look steadfast, though it’s a quickly cracking facade these days. “I promise I’ll do better this time.”

“I hope so,” Cyrus says, making no attempt to hide his skepticism… trying to amplify it, really. “Because if you can’t even follow simple instructions…”

“Look, it’s not that simple,” Herald tries, scratching his arm. “I am trying, I swear I am, but sometimes I…”

“You’re too used to flying. Too used to having it as a crutch. Is that it?”

“No!” Herald protests fiercely, before shaking his head, calming himself with sole difficulty. It’s a real effort not to smirk. “I… maybe. It’s just that… you know, the leg…”

Cyrus lets a smidgeon of sympathy show on his face. “You mean the one Blindspot broke?”

“Y-Yeah,” Herald says, surprised by his sudden switch up, but also visibly relieved. “It hurts sometimes, and I’m trying not to, but I…”

“You can’t stop remembering,” Cyrus nods, taking a step forward. “Can’t stop feeling phantom pains whenever you move.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Herald gives him a curious look. “How did you know?”

“I watched a recording of your fight,” Cyrus explains, sighing. “It’s one of the reasons I agreed to train you, honestly.”

“You… saw that, huh?” Herald’s cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. It’d be cute if it wasn’t anyone but him.

“I did. It was pretty sad stuff,” he continues, earning another direct hit. “I mean, the way he just grabbed you… like you were a rag doll… it was…”

“I get it,” Herald interrupts, sounding genuinely annoyed. “I was there. You don’t need to remind me.”

Cyrus raises an eyebrow, decently sure that’s the first flash of actual spine he’s seen from Herald. Better stamp that out fast. He doesn’t accidentally want to actually make the kid better through “tough love”. “Don’t talk back to me, kid. I’m doing you a favor by agreeing to this.”

“Sorry.” Herald flushes, scratching the back of his neck. Right back to insecurity, like a switch. Cyrus tried not to feel too proud of himself. “It’s just… hard.”

“I get that.” He takes another step and placed a hand on Herald’s shoulder, trying not show his amusement at the way he almost flinches. “Do you want to know what I did when I went through things like this as Sidestep?”

“I…” Herald seems surprised he had gone through things like this as Sidestep, but the eagerness on his face is unmistakeable. “Tell me.”

Cyrus leans forward, making Herald’s face go carefully blank.

“I walked that shit off,” he murmurs in Herald’s ear, his breath tickling his skin, “and did my fucking job.”

When he pulls back, Herald looks stricken. Cyrus finally allows his smirk to surface as he claps Herald on the shoulder and takes a step back. “Same time next week?”

Herald seems distracted. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good.” Cyrus turns away without another word, amused. “I’ll take the stairs.”

#fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #fhr #fhr sidestep #fhr herald #cyrus brown

[clintismoved]

-> The Bartons, alcoholism, and violence

Harold Barton verbally abusive to Barney

Clint and Barney as children

The Barton boys parents died in a car crash as a result of Harold's drinking

Barney Barton after beating Clint and almost killing him (Hawkeye: Blindspot)

Harold Barton verbally abusive to Clint

Clint telling Barney while he's standing over him after beating him that "Dad would be proud" (observation that Barney is mirroring what their father use to do)

Edith Barton being taken to go with Harold

Harold Barton, drink in hand, screaming at his son

Harold Barton drinking

Do not reblog unless you are me

#headcanon spam #alcoholism cw #drinking cw #car crash cw #car accident cw #child abuse cw #domestic abuse cw #alcohol cw #addiction cw #verbal abuse cw #violence cw #[ ABOUT ] I guess I just need something or someone to believe in or maybe I just need someone who believes in me #[ MUSINGS ] Go out fight hard screw up save the world a few times; just keep taking the shots okay #[ COMICS ] Now in ink and color ! #[ STUDY ] Clint Barton and Alcoholism

[rapeculturerealities]

Ashley Johnson Filed a Restraining Order Against Brian W. Foster

Foster was verbally and mentally abusive, calling her names and limiting her contact with family and friends. He was physically aggressive during arguments, frequently shattering glasses and damaging property. He carried a bag of weapons around with him. He locked her out of all her electronic devices, including her phone and Ring camera. She claims he was constantly intoxicated. It appears he threatened both her safety and that of her dogs. Johnson told the court it took 2 1/2 years to finally break out of Foster’s control. Johnson was granted a 500-yard restraining order after police escorted Foster from their home. Foster has since deleted his Twitter account.

#Johnson #Foster #Domestic violence #Intimate partner violence

[psychosomaticdeicide]

The more I think about the writers’ group, the more I don’t really want to go back. It’s fine but it feels like there’s an over-emphasis on technical skill over authorial intent.

One of the people in the group, I realized as he read his work, was writing the way he’d tell a story to someone verbally. What he had done was copy it down to paper the best he could, having not been one to write often before. He had described himself as “green” and had some minor issues with punctuation and grammar. Some of his sentences were fragments but they evoked pictures in one’s mind like broad brush strokes in the hand of a near-sighted painter.

The published author of the group had several editorial critiques and the group seemed to “need” a beginning, end, and mission statement for each work spoken about.

It feels like that only really matters if you’re getting published. And even in that case, getting published through traditional means.

Additionally, catering to a target audience may not work depending on authorial intent or a general hobbyist perspective.

I don’t know if I can share my work with this group because a lot of it turns into weird personal shit that requires several layers of analysis and hindsight to understand.

I write a particular way on purpose because sometimes I need certain words to enhance the flow or personality of the work. I say shit like “big-huge” and “piece of shit motherfucking loser GET OUT OF MY BLINDSPOT” and writing may involve more use of the word “had” to make the sentence structure feel more like a character’s perspective.

I also write for an audience of just me. People enjoying a story about some guy’s descent into madness is not an intent but a side-effect of posting it online.

It feels like I’m talking in circles to myself but I promised to go back a second time and have these people my contact information so perhaps I’ve fucked up. I just wanna go back to my cave and write werewolf porn and hide away the vulnerable parts of myself so they can’t be dissected into mere diction and syntax.

#incoherent screeching into the abyss

[raygeorgedias]

Entry #221 dated March 04, 21’  

Many of you believe (my) poetry is a battle rhyme. All the wars I’ve waged, I’ve lost. In the name of love. I have a god complex for redemption through salvaging others from the shipwreck of myself ? Poetry is a way to be found, in this labyrinth of loneliness; to be seen, in shades of intimacy; to be loved, when one is lost…

I shut my laptop again, when I hear her footsteps approaching. My mother enters my room with an air of entitlement. “It’s prayer time”, she says. “Give me five ?” I ask her. She lingers by the door. Unlike my nature of reticence, my mother cannot sit with her thoughts without spitting them out like sapota seeds hitting the back of a spoon. “Did you upset that poor girl again ? She’s going through a great deal of stress, now is when you can actually be supportive; you see your sister going through the same thing. It’s not easy.” You see, my mother sees what she wants to see; my side of the story is usually a blindspot. “She’s just studying. I’ll speak to her, don’t worry.” I reassure her. “I pray for her often and I think of her like my own daughter.” Only cause she’s Christian. “Okay Ma” I tell her. She turns to leave the room, I jolt my laptop back open slightly. Mother harks back “Why are you so indifferent to us ?” “What did I do? I didn’t even say anything”, I plead. “That’s the problem isn’t it ? You don’t do anything. You barely ever step out of this room. Your father is anxious about your future. All I get are a few words out of you. The only real thing you ever say is within those blank pages you share with your internet friends.” My tongue is stuck in her rat trap, I make a home in that discomforting silence. 

I fathom the words in compliance. “I only want a moment to breathe” I tell her. She lays it on me with a left hook. “You’re at your best when you’re rife with excuses.” Most of my scars are from her words; I tell no one. An uppercut. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she demands. 

Ma, you know you do that thing where you bog me down with this verbal onslaught and I forget to speak; no chance of being heard. The faculty of listening is lost on you, which has made it incredibly difficult for me to navigate this terrain of communication in my relationships too. I burrow inside this hole of my own which most people don’t understand, so I invent language all over again. I try to make them understand but no one stays long enough to learn. It’s difficult living the same cycle of misunderstanding but I’m trying so hard and I’m tired all the time. I step out of the safety of my mind, I scrunch my toes and answer. “No, I’m just tired”, I tell her. “It must be because you were doing the dishes all day, walking the dog and cleaning up after, going to the doctor…” she pokes at an open wound. “Ma, please”, I beg her. Another laceration, close to an artery. 

In a perfect world, you would be standing at the edge of the horizon besides me, holding my hand, seeing how far we can throw our voices into the ocean. It’s ironic how you should be an abode for love, yet all I want to do is run away from home. I hold myself together in refusal to be vulnerable in front of her. “You got to make your choices, be with the person you love, build the life you dreamt of. Why don’t I get the same chance to be… happy ?” I ask her. “You can’t make a choice. You’re a confused boy. Now, please just talk to that girl. Make us proud and do it right.” she snickers. I choke on blood and words. 

I rub the corner of my eye, from where a stray tear wants to escape. No woman has ever broken my heart, quite the way she has. My mother. Tears erupt over the landscape of my skin. Love has always been too far out of reach for me. “It’s just not fair,” I whimper. 

She kisses my forehead and whispers slyly, “Life isn’t meant to be fair.”

[motivationisdead]

Have you guys ever given serious thought about what Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan would be like as parents? So I know a lot people when writing fanfictions like to act like Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan would have been great parents if they’d lived but we’ve literally seen how they handle their interpersonal relationships and I have my doubts. And this is assuming Jin Guangyao wouldn’t have just simply had Jin Zixuan assassinated later.

Now, I have no doubt they would love Jin Ling, that’s not what this is about, it’s not even in question. But, in the novel specifically, Jin Ling is insecure in himself and constantly feels the need to prove himself because he feels the need to make up for the gap his parents left in his life and no one has ever given him the validation he needs.

If his parents had lived I imagine Jin Ling would have the opposite problem.

Both Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli never allow members of their family to face the consequences of their actions or stand up to their families. Just like Jin Zixuan never addresses Jin Zixun’s unpleasant behavior neither did Jiang Yanli with Jiang Cheng or her mother even when they disagreed with them. In fact, Wei Wuxian was often made to take the fall or be the excuse of their families behaviors. And Jin Zuxuan is already shown to be classist.

So instead of insecure Jin Ling would be arrogant, secure in his place within the sect, haughty, used to getting what he wants when he wants it, and never having to face any consequences for his behavior. Maybe he’d still feel the need to prove himself as a sect heir or to his father or uncle. Maybe he’d grow up listening to whispers about Jiang Yanli’s poor cultivation and how that might have affected his cultivation being her son. I doubt Jin Ling would just be free from outside pressure after all.

But Jin Ling is shown to be an inherently good person so even while I say this I think he wouldn’t be too bad. Jin Ling is an empathetic person so while he’d undoubtedly be rude and look down on certain people I doubt he’d ever truly go further than that beyond some abuse in power. The behavior would still be correctable is what I mean.

Pretty similar to his canon behavior actually but with just slight differences behind his behavior and the intent of it.

What really gets me though is the thought of two year old Jin Ling crying to his mother about how mean Uncle Jiang Cheng is and how he threatened to throw Jin Ling out and him getting the same talk she gives to Wei Wuxian about how ‘he didn’t mean it A-Ling’ and ‘that’s how he shows he cares’ and I just. Am horrified because I can see it happening. I can see her passively letting Jiang Cheng verbally (and maybe physically if it can be brushed off as training or discipline) abusing her son and her making Jin Ling be the one to apologize for his reaction instead of making Jiang Cheng correct his behavior and words—just like she did with Wei Wuxian. Because Jiang Yanli would rather avoid a confrontation than address the problem.

And Jin Zixuan, because he loves his wife and Jiang Cheng is a sect leader he can’t get on bad terms with, would, of course, never think to question her judgement. Or do anything about it.

Because the two of them are used to enabling their families bad behaviors. They probably don’t even think about it like that because they have such huge blindspots when it comes to their family. Jiang Yanli probably thinks of it as keeping the peace and Jin Zixuan probably only thinks of it as showing loyalty to his sect. And outside of their family Jin Ling probably gets to do or say whatever he wants to whoever he wants and never get anything more than a mild scolding. They probably don’t even realize how damaging their own behavior is to their son because it’s just… normal to them.

So no, I don’t think Jiang Yanli or Jin Zixuan would make great parents. But I also don’t think Jin Ling would really be any worse than he was in canon if they’d raised him. Which isn’t really a glowing review honestly.

#mdzs novel #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #jin ling #parenting #sometimes loving someone isn’t enough if you’re not able to do right by them #or they won’t do right by you #once again lan wangji and wei wuxian need to give everyone parenting classes #character analysis #this isn’t meant to be a character bashing btw

[bbysamu]

#HAIKYUU BOYS TEACHING YOU TO DRIVE

featuring:: BOKUTO Kotaro, MIYA Atsumu, YAKU Morisuke, AONE Takanobu, NISHINOYA Yu, OIKAWA Toru 

genre:: slice of life / fluff 

warning:: none 

a/n:: am I Y/N in Oikawa’s? yes, absolutely. Can I not tell my left from my right? yes, sometimes but I don’t want to hear about it. 

⤷BOKUTO Kotaro babyboy is so excited when you ask him to teach you to drive. Tries his best to explain things to you but ends up confusing you more with the weird terms he has. Doesn’t call the “gearshift” a gearshift, refers to it as the “PRNDL”. Is so nervous when you guys finally go on the road, yells encouragements but you see his knuckles turn white from holding onto his seatbelt too tightly. You appreciate it but its honestly more distracting than helpful. “GOOD JOB BABY! NOW TURN LEFT!” “YES FANTASTIC! NOW TURN RIGHT!” “Bo could you please stop yelling?” “I’M NOT YELLING! YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” Gives you the biggest hug afterwards. Aside from the yelling, he’s surprisngly a pretty good instructor. 

⤷MIYA Atsumu also very excited to teach you to drive, but unlike Bokuto who genuinely excited to teach you, Atsumu is using the lesson as a chance to show off his driving skills. You’ll probably drive very little because he’s too busy “demonstrating” for you. “let’s switch places, babe. I’ll show ya how to reverse.” “Tsumu, you can just verbally say it.” “nah, nah, princess, ya gotta see for yerself.” Not that you’re complaining though because he definitely does that hand on the back of your headseat thing as he reverses and you know that’s hot. swoon

⤷YAKU Morisuke will go into full-on instructor mode the moment you ask him to teach you to drive. Sits you down and gives you a presentation of the entire makeup of the car before you’re even allowed to sit in the driver’s seat. Very strict and expects you to follow his directions to the t. “alright, now use the turn signal right here. Make sure to check your side mirrors, once, then twice. Now turn your head to check the blindspot. I SAID TURN YOUR HEAD TO SEE THE BLIND SPOTS!” “STOP YELLING AT ME YAKU!” “TURN YOUR HEAD!” Will apologize to you for the shouting, but the next day you guys go out to drive, it’s the same story all over again. 

⤷AONE Takanobu Aone teaching you to drive is probably pretty nerve-wrecking because man doesn’t speak much. You’re not sure if you’re doing things right because he’s not saying anything but you see the wince in his face when you accidentally sped past a speed bump. “sorry babe, I'm supposed to go slow right?” He nods, slowly bringing a hand up to the handlebar. When you brake too slow and almost hits the car in front of you, Aone again doesn’t say anything except, “brake faster next time.” A lot of uncomfortable silence because you’re both nervous about your driving. He will give you a little head pat afterwards and mutter, “good job.” Not gonna lie, he probably will try to avoid you the next few days so you don’t ask him to teach you again. Not that you were planning to anyways. 

⤷NISHINOYA Yu now this one teaching you to drive is certainly entertaining and lowkey a life hazard. Will give you a very very brief overview of the car, points to things and just go, “that's the brake, that’s the gas pedal, the D is drive, the N is neutral, the R is reverse. Okay go.” Once you’re on the road he’ll urge you to go faster, probably force you to go on the highway on the first day. Crazy man will even open the window and scream at passing cars, “FIRST TIME DRIVER WHOOP WHOOP!” When you’re more comfortable, he’ll try to convince you to reenact some fast and furious scene. By the end of it, you’ll thank God you both made it back alive. Instructor Nishinoya is a fun time guaranteed and you will learn how to drive just at the risk of potentially losing your life. 

⤷OIKAWA Toru is so pleased you came to him for driving lessons, he’s always thought himself a superior driver. If only he knew the sole reason you came to him was because Iwaizumi, Mattsun and Makki were all busy. Anyhow, in the beginning, Oikawa is very patient and kind, full of encouragements and praises for you. But the longer you drive and the more times you couldn’t distinguish your left from your right, the more he wants to tear his hair out. Tries his best to stay patient but you can tell he’s losing his mind the higher pitched his voice gets. “Okay, good job. Now go left. No Y/N, that’s your right signal. I said left. That’s the side you don’t write with. LEFT! GO LEFT!” Will cut the lesson short with some lame excuse about needing to use the restroom. Texts Iwaizumi afterwards, “I’m never taking Y/N out to drive again. It’s your turn next.” Hey, at least you tried your best. 

stay fetch, xoxo! 

#ceci.writes #haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanon #Bokuto x reader #Atsumu x reader #Yaku x reader #Nishinora x reader #oikawa x reader

[the-sun-princess]

there is some lack of logic in starting to make your victim in torture/interrogation deaf when you are asking them verbal questions

#'lets destroy her eardrums' #continues to ask verbal questions #vip #also i HATE thin pointy things going into human body parts they Should Not Be in #i cant look at it #i cant #like i'm not Bad with needles but i also cant look at them #emi watches blindspot #patterson doesnt deserve this she's a darling

[strandsofgold]

i've noticed that a gripe a lot of people seem to have with mary is that she's "perfectly willing to have arthur do her dirty work and then turn around and shame him for living a life of crime and violence".

but?? she doesn't???? ask arthur to do any "dirty work" that is.

like, she asks for help twice:

the first time, she asks for him to talk to jamie and to try to convince him to leave the cult he's joined. she explicitly states that she's asking arthur because she believes he's the only one jamie will listen to. in other words, mary asks arthur to talk to jamie. nothing else. she doesn't ask him to hurt or threaten anyone. in fact, she's asking arthur to make sure no one – specifically that jamie doesn't – get hurt.

the second time is different and (in my opinion) a much more tasteless request. asking arthur to help her find her father and get him home when we know her father has - both in the past and in game - explicit disdain and hurls verbal abuse at him is definitely a much less sympathetic request than her first.

with that in mind, arthur was once again probably the only person she could turn to. she could've gone to the police, yeah, but let's be real, they would've laughed her off instantly. and, most importantly, she once again doesn't ask him to do anything illegal or violent or threatening.

the violent/threatening things he does are things he chooses to do himself without mary's input (or against her wishes, depending on whether you play high or low honor).

he threatens and manhandles the stable boy while mary's talking with her father in the stable - you trying to tell me mary used telekinesis or some shit to make him do that? or did he do it, you know, because that's what he does in his life? it's what he's used to after twenty years as an outlaw.

going after the man to get back mary's broach was also not something she asked him to do. he sees how upset she is and so, when she begins to confront her father about it (a thing that seems to be the final straw for her as she asks arthur to run away with her if you say yes to her date), he decides to get the broach back for her. because he loves her and wants to help her. when he starts running after the man, mary yells out "don't hurt anyone, arthur" once again underlining that what mary really wants from arthur is to stop his violent, criminal lifestyle (a thing a lot of people in this fandom seem to want for him too, if all of the 'fix-it-fics' where arthur survives and lives out his days in a nice little farm undisturbed by his former life are anything to go by). here he can either be violent or not (depending on how you play him).

at no point in the game does mary ask him to any dirty work. the only people doing that are people from the gang (for varying reasons, obviously).

mary asks arthur to do stuff that a woman in her time would probably ask of a husband: help me with my brother whom i know you like, help me with my abusive farther whom i still care about despite everything because we often have blindspots when it comes to our family and especially our parental figures (you wouldn't know anything about that, would you arthur?).

the thing is, arthur is a violent man who does bad stuff. mary herself says that there's a good man inside him, but she's also honest and says that that good man is wrestling with a giant.

mary is, throughout the entire game, the only person who not only doesn't expect him to be violent for her, but also the only one who wants him to not be violent.

once again, i encourage discussion, so feel free to reply to this or message me with your thoughts on the matter. i'm always up for a fun conversation :))

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #mary linton #mary gillis #this has been on my mind for some time

[mnstrfcker]

someone said ‘I want y/n x Ye’yin’ so YE’YIN SIMPS COME GET YALL JUICE

So have some Y/N x Ye’yin AU headcanons! 

(We’ll keep her name Ye’yin for conveniency’s sake)

-In this scenario, you’d be a freshly kidnapped prisoner put in a cell next to her. When she sees you she’d most likely burst into tears- because she hates that yet another person has to suffer.

-Ye’yin will teach you all the tips to mitigate your safety. How to act, what to say and blindspots around the cameras. If you get in trouble, Ye’yin will instantly do something much worse to move the attention from you to herself.

Its always better her than you, in her eyes.

-When the lights turn off, the both of you bathed in the cold white lights of your cells,  late at night- you talk. You talk about your life before being kidnapped, the stars and the sun and grocery stores, parties and jobs. 

She listens to you, enraptured. She falls in love with the way you smile, the way your eyes light up- how strong you are and your fiery spirit.

-Ye’yin wishes she could hold you sometimes, even with all of her efforts to keep you safe, the both of you were still trapped and at the mercy of the Institution. After every experiment or punishment, you would cry silently to yourself. 

-The two of you became eachother’s solace, finding comfort in either’s presence. You fell in love with her misheivious grin as she was chased around the room, the way she laugh at every single joke you cracked, as if she’d never heard one before.

-During your escape, after you pried her cuffs off and the two of you went sprinting through the halls, adrenaline high, there was a moment when the two of you thought you wouldn’t make it out.

And you looked at her, her bright blue eyes and trempling lips and you kissed her. As if it was the last time you’d ever see her, you kissed her as if saying goodbye.

-Safe to say Ye’yin refused to let either of you die, and popped the roof like a soda can, and just like that, you were free.

-Leaving the terror and pain of that place behind, the two of you stole a shuttle and found a commerce planet far away, where the two of you became infamous for your heroism- whispers of the planet you inhabited being protected by two guardian spirits.

(The two of you were very much alive, but you found it so funny neither of you ever attempted to correct anyone)

-Ye’yin loves to surpise you with kisses, spider-man kisses are a regular occurrence. Also depending on her mood, you’ll either be lightly kissed or left breathless and half-dressed. 

#winning

-She is very touch-starved (having only known pain and violence for most of her life) so expect her to be very clingy and romantic with you after the two of you are no longer in danger.

-Scary dog priviledges. As per usual, Ye’yin’s heart is the size of a star and burns just as bright. Your home ends up a small zoo, the majority of these animals being large and deadly creatures.

You had to go find a way to show her disney movies after she got confused when you called her ‘snow-white.’

-Ye’yin is fiercly protective of you. When in public, she always walks behind you so your chances of getting jumped or ambushed lessen considerably. Usually walks close enough to have a hand somewhere on you- shoulder, waist or arm, doesn’t matter as long as she’s touching you.

And even if someone manages to get the drop on you, you’d likely barely suffer a scratch before the offender is torn off of you by an invisible force and is given three reasons to cry every night.

-On that same hand, you are just as protective of her as she is of you. Ye’yin has been through hell, all nine pits and you promised yourself to make sure the bullshit she has to deal with is minute. 

While Ye’yin is an incredible fighter and is a savant when it comes to handling violence, she lacks confidence in verbal/emotional confrontation. You however, have a mind sharp as a tack and a wit to match, and you’d rather die before you let someone mouth off to your wife.

You’ve made some life-beings cry before, grillling them for being rude or nasty to Ye’yin- and no matter how many times she says you should’ve ignored them, you can tell she appreciates it.

Needless to say Y/N and Ye’yin are SO FUCKING CUTE I AM SOBBING AND THROWING UP AND PASSING OUT

(And just to throw in some spice, Ye’yin is a true switch, so good luck when she’s topping because y’all have definitely fucked on the ceiling.)

#Ye'yin #My writing #my OC #My Story

[heyitsphoenixx]

I Wanna Get Better

Chapter 4

When Zach Stone’s lifelong goal to get famous is achieved, ten years later he’s still dealing with the consequences.

TW: implied drug use, death mentions, physical fighting, blood, alcohol. lots of angst.

AO3

Written by @mickeysjones and myself. Gif by @mickeysjones​

New updates every Wed. and Sat. 7pm EST. 

“Zach, just stop, you’re gonna-”

It was too late, Zach had already backed up into the car parked behind him.

“Oh, god damn it,” said his father as he jumped out of the passenger seat, slamming the door as he went to assess the damage. Thankfully, the other car was unharmed, but a long white scratch had formed on the bumper of his father’s car, framing one of the taillights. Zach steeled himself as he stepped out, already on defense.

“Hey, not bad for a first time crash!” he said. His misplaced optimism only deepened his father’s anger.

“Not bad?” His father raised his voice, clearly on the edge of fury. “Are we looking at the same car here?” He gestured towards the taillight and Zach refrained from outwardly cringing.

“You are gonna pay me for every cent, is that clear?”

“Yeah dad, but I’ve gotta say, I think you are letting my talent for leaving the other car completely unscathed go unnoticed here,” Zach said.

Mr. Stone took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to keep himself from throttling his son.

“I mean, I think this has some potential. I could give lessons: ‘How To Damage Your Own Car So It Looks Like The Other Guy’s Fault.’ We’d make a fortune!”

“Get in the car, Zach.”

“Right, ok,” said Zach, hearing the warning in his tone.

They were both tense as they shut the car doors. Zach was preparing himself for an incoming verbal beating. Mr. Stone exhaled, trying to pull himself together.

“Ok. Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to go step by step, and you’re going to do exactly as I say, understand?”

“Yeah,” Zach murmured. He saw his father’s hands clenched into fists and then released again.

“Ok. Ten and two.”

“Right,” Zach adjusted his hands on the wheel.

“Check that you’re in drive.”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Now keep the wheel straight and pull forward, slowly, until I say so.”

Zach did as he was told until his father said to stop.

“Do you see how close you are?” Zach nodded.

“So we’re gonna back up again so you don’t hit the car in front of us too. Put it in reverse. Turn around and watch as you back up. Good, now stop. Put it in drive again and pull forward to the left. Check your mirrors and around your shoulder for your blindspots for any cars coming. Now go straight into the road and pull around the car in front.”

Zach followed his instructions and managed to finally get them onto the road. They were still in their neighborhood so they were in no real danger of any high speed limits or oncoming traffic, but it felt like its own small achievement anyway. Zach’s father led him to park alongside the road a few feet away.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Zach broke the silence, hands still gripping the wheel and eyes locked onto the road. “I should’ve listened to you first. I’ll pick up another shift…”

“Hey,” said his father, and Zach looked over at him with embarrassment on his face.

“You’re learning,” he said, a smile forming. “You did… good. I should’ve been more clear anyway, I need to get a handle on my own temper, and I can’t blame you for responding to me freaking out. You did good, really. I’m proud of you.”

He put a hand on Zach’s shoulder, trying to encourage him. Zach let out a small laugh in relief, straightening his hunched posture.

“Thanks dad.”

“And we’re gonna practice every day this summer to make sure that doesn’t happen again, right?”

“Well, Greg and I actually have plans tomorrow and then after that me and Amy were-”

“Zach.”

“Yeah, right, of course.”

His dad seemed to soften as he released Zach’s shoulder.

“Look, I know I’m hard on you Zach, but… I just want you to be okay. I’m only hard on you because I want the best for you.”

“I know, dad.”

“You know, you’re gonna be an adult soon, you’re gonna be in college soon, and I’m just… I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that,” he said with a laugh. “But you’re gonna do great son, I know you will.”

Zach gave a thin smile and his head hung low. His dad shook his head like he was trying to come back to reality.

“Alright, go over to Greg’s or Amy’s then before training starts for the summer.”

“Yes,” said Zach, pumping his fist. “Thanks dad,” he said again, running out of the car before his father could offer to drive him. Mr. Stone laughed to himself and shook his head as he watched Zach run down the street. Zach had so much potential, he just desperately hoped that his son could channel it into a life that made him happy.

*****

Zach was grateful that it was a closed casket service as he sat in the back of the pews, a few empty rows separating him from the rest attending the funeral. His mother and brother sat together in the front row and Zach noticed that even sitting down, Andy was now taller than their mother. He had his arm around her, and a woman beside him was resting her head on Andy’s shoulder. Behind them, Zach recognized the back of Amy’s head on the shoulder of another man. Zach’s jaw clenched, and he tried to focus on the litany of people who spoke at the podium, from the priest to his father’s brother and sister, cousins, and other non-immediate family members. Each one eventually widened their eyes as they spoke and caught sight of Zach by himself in the back, hunched over his knees and trying to be invisible.

By the fifth time a relative looked like they had seen a ghost, the man next to Amy turned around to see what was spooking them all. It was Zach’s turn to wonder if he was seeing ghosts as he recognized Nick’s face.

“What the fuck?” he saw Nick’s mouth form the words. Amy, knowing what he saw, tried to calm him. There were a few seconds of hushed words between them before he heard Nick’s voice rise.

“No, are you serious? Why the fuck is he here?” Everyone heard Nick clearly now as he stood up, interrupting the cousin who was speaking.

“It’s his dad, Nick,” he heard Amy, still trying to keep her voice low.

“Yeah, and it’s always been his dad, but he only shows up now when he’s dead?” He turned from Amy to Zach.

“Why the fuck are you here? No one wants you here man, you have got to know that.”

Zach watched as every face he knew from his childhood turned in unison to him, each one shocked, ashamed, furious, or a mixture of both. He saw Andy with his brow raised, looking relieved that someone had finally said what he was thinking. Zach noticed the stubble on his face that refined his jaw and his perfectly coiffed hair. He saw Nick, who looked even more muscled beneath his suit than Zach remembered, and then he saw Amy.

She had grown out her hair, the ends in loose curls down to her chest. She was still growing when he knew her and had been just as awkward as him, but now she looked like she finally fit her frame. Her jaw had softened into a delicate curve, and Zach forgot how to breathe as he looked into her eyes for the first time in ten years, the shade of blue he would know at the end of the world.

He could tell she was doing her best to hold herself back, but he saw the pained expression on her face.

“You’re right,” he said, straining to speak as he looked at her. “I’ll just go.”

He pushed through the church doors and shuffled down the steps. He squinted at the shock of the glaring sun, wondering how he wasn’t used to it by now. He paced the sidewalk as his thoughts hurled explosives in his mind.

Nick was right, how could he possibly think it was in any way okay for him to come back here? After everything he’d done? Of course he wasn’t asking for forgiveness from any of them, but he knew just the sight of him alone was offensive at this point. He was a stain on his family and the entire town. He had no right to ever be here again.

“Zach.”

He heard his mother behind him and he stopped beating the sidewalk. She had a grim smile on her face and it looked like the tears were about to return.

“I’m sorry mom, I should never have come,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to deal with my mess on top of this.”

She walked down a few of the steps until she was eye level with him.

“I’m glad you’re here, Zach. It’s what your father would have wanted.”

“I don’t think dad would have wanted that,” said Zach, gesturing towards the church.

“He would have wanted you here. And here you are.”

She passed her hand down his arm and squeezed. He still couldn’t believe he was close enough to her for her to be able to do that.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said as the tears began to fall. “For so long, the only way I’ve known that you’re still alive was to Google your name every day and check for any news that you might be gone. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you, I wasn’t sure you were really coming until I did.” Zach shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, mom. You don’t deserve that. I’ve wanted to reach out for years, I just…”

He trailed off, knowing that whatever excuse he gave wouldn’t be enough.

“I know, honey.”

Zach looked up and down the street, doing anything not to look at her.

“You can stay, you know.”

His head whipped around, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“You don’t have to stay at a hotel. The house… well, it’s not as full as it used to be. And I’d love some company.” He shook his head at her again.

“I can’t do that to you mom-”

“You’d be doing it for me.”

Her eyes were almost pleading with him to accept. He couldn’t believe after all of that that she actually wanted him to stay with her. She took his hand in hers as she let out a choked laugh. He thought about what she said, how for a decade she didn’t know if her son was alive or dead. He pressed his lips together, staring at their hands. If this was what she wanted, then he supposed after all this time this would be a small way to pay her back.

“Alright, if that’s what you want.”

She smiled at him in earnest now.

The church doors flew open again and Zach saw Andy dragging along the same woman on his arm, looking like he was going to kill something or someone.

“Mom, don’t talk to him,” said Andy, stepping in front of her, coming nose to nose with Zach.

“Angela, this is Andy’s brother, Zach,” said his mother, “Zach, this is Andy’s wife-”

“Don’t you say a word to her,” Andy spat in his face. He saw Angela give a small wave, clearly embarrassed.

“What the fuck is your problem?” said Andy, pushing Zach away from him. Zach stumbled, catching himself on the stairs’ railing.

“Andy-” he started, holding his hand out in front of him.

“You think you can just come back and everything’s alright again? Do you know who’s been here this whole time while you were gone? Who had to pick up the pieces when you left without a word, who had to be the shoulder mom cried on every night when she thought you were dead, who found dad in the middle of a heart attack and had to drive him to the hospital? That was me, you son of a bitch!”

The last word stung, but it didn’t sting more than when Zach felt Andy’s fist hit his jaw, multiple rings drawing blood from his skin. The blow blinded him for a moment out of shock, and he bent over himself on the concrete as he took a moment to get back his breath and spit some blood out of his mouth.

“Andrew!” his mother yelled, trying to hold him back.

“I… I deserve that,” he panted, tasting iron.

“I’m not here… to ask you to forgive me, Andy… I know we’re well beyond that.”

“You bet your ass we are,” he growled, his mother holding him by the waist to keep him from pouncing again.

“I know that ‘sorry’ will never be enough, but I am, Andy. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care. Get out of here, don’t you ever come back.”

“He’s staying with me, Andy,” said his mother, and Andy wrenched free from her grasp.

“Are you kidding?” he said, his face wild with adrenaline and rage. “Why would you ever want him around again?”

“Because he’s my son too,” she whispered. Andy looked at her and then back at Zach, and shook his head.

“Fine. I hope you two have a lovely family reunion. Come on, Angela, we’re leaving.”

He left them all behind as he stomped away, leaving Angela to process what she’d just seen before quickly running to catch up with him, making sure to avoid Zach’s eyes.

Zach looked at his mother, spitting out more blood onto the pavement.

“You’re still sure you wanna be involved in this?” She walked toward him, got out a handkerchief from her pocket, and started dabbing at his wounds.

“I’m your mother,” she said. “I’ve always been involved in this.”

*****

Zach held a glass of ice to his face as he motioned to the bartender for another beer. His mother wanted to treat him at home but he gently pushed her off, telling her he’d be back in a couple hours. He needed some time alone after that.

He had discarded his suit jacket in his car and currently had his white shirt sleeves rolled up. The combination of his disheveled appearance and his quickly swelling jaw made him look like he just got back from a brawl at a wedding. It certainly got him more looks than usual in the bar, but he was far too familiar with that by now.

The bartender gave him his second beer and Zach nodded in thanks, catching her questioning look.

“I’ll have one too, please.”

Amy sat down to his right, smiling at the bartender.

“You got it, Amy,” she said.

Zach looked down at his drink, wishing for the hundredth time that day that he had the power to turn invisible.

“You can say it. I know you’re thinking it,” said Amy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zach feigned.

“Yes, I do come here often,” she answered his unasked question. He heard the smirk in her voice and looked up to see he guessed correctly.

She was wearing a 90’s style black slip dress, gold bangle bracelets, and small gold hoop earrings. The only silver piece she wore was a thin ring with a small round diamond on it. He wanted to run out of the bar at the sight of it.

“You look great,” she said. Zach wheezed out a laugh.

“No, I don’t.”

“No, you don’t.”

“But I’ll give you points for saying that with a straight face.”

She visibly winced now, her eyes on the glass held to his cheek.

“Andy, right? I saw the blood on the ground,” she guessed.

“Yup,” he said, defeated.

The bartender gave her her beer and Amy nodded thanks to her. The bar was filled with noise, televisions played at full volume as patrons talked and laughed and hollered, but Zach and Amy sat in an awkward silence.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she laughed, looking away.

“Me neither,” he said, his eyes traveling down to her hand.

“Maybe we can start with when that happened,” he said, gesturing to her ring. She looked at him and then held up her hand.

“Four months ago,” she said. He watched her mouth smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Congratulations,” he said, holding up his beer before he went into a coughing fit. He held a napkin to his mouth to cover the blood that escaped.

“Thanks,” she said warily. “Where’s yours?”

Zach froze. That particular memory changed in his mind many times over the years, but her question clarified that it did actually happen. He spared her the details.

“It didn’t work out.”

Her face fell but rose again into a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“When did he propose?”

“Oh, four months ago, this is just the engagement ring. The wedding is in two months.”

“Ah.”

Another silence descended. Zach saw the men in the bar behind her shamelessly gazing at her. He didn’t blame them, but he still wanted to curb stomp them.

“Sorry about him by the way, Nick,” she said after a swig of beer. “He was just… surprised. Your mom told me you might be coming but I just didn’t tell him. I figured…”

“Figured I probably wouldn’t come?” he finished for her. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure I would either until I was on the plane. I don’t blame him, I probably would’ve done the same thing if I were him.”

They each took another drink, dancing adeptly around the countless number of subjects they couldn’t bring up.

“So, how long are you staying?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I’m not sure. I was thinking I should head back tomorrow, I have a dog at home. But my mom asked me to stay with her. I don’t know how long, but I figured after being gone, I could do that for her. So, I guess… however long she can stand the sight of me.”

Amy smiled at that and it made him shiver. He hadn’t seen her smile in so long, it only really hit him in that moment how much he had missed it.

“Well, I’m sure she’s happy to see you,” she said, and he heard her voice straining.

“I, uh,” he stuttered, wanting to say more than he was allowed. She looked up at him expectantly.

“I’m… I’m happy for you. For you and Nick.” He plastered a smile on his face hoping to convince her. His jaw protested the effort. She smiled back.

“Thank you.” She took a long drink from her bottle and then stood up to leave.

“Amy,” he started, leaving his glass of ice on the table as she walked off. She stopped mid-stride and slowly turned back around.

“Yes?”

He tried one of the banned subjects.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you-”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she interrupted with a smile. “Have a nice night. I’m sorry for your loss.”

*****

“Well this brings back memories,” said Zach as he held a bag of frozen peas to his face, lying on the couch. His mother stared at him pitifully from her armchair across from him.

“Every man in this family has an awful temper, I swear. He can’t control it most of all,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure my track record proves that wrong,” Zach objected. She chuckled.

“Yeah, probably.”

He looked over at her. She was wrapped up in multiple blankets. She had gotten out ice cream for both of them, and she was still spooning hers, his had been left abandoned a while ago.

“How are you doing?” he asked. She took another bite.

“As you’d expect. Grieving widow and all. I’ll be fine.” She pointed her spoon at him. “How are you?”

“No worse than you I’m sure.”

“Come on, Zach. Distract me. You were always good at that.” He blew out a long sigh.

“I talked with Amy at the bar.”

She raised her eyebrows and he saw that she was trying to hold back a smile.

“Nothing like that, mom, come on. She’s engaged.”

“I know,” she said smugly. Seeing her expression, he quickly changed the subject.

“When did Andy get married?”

She shook her head in disdain.

“Three years ago.”

“When he was twenty-three?” he asked incredulously.

“Yup.”

“How long had they been together?”

She looked up at him.

“Three months.” Zach sat up straight in his seat.

“What?”

She nodded, but clearly disapproved.

“They met in college, he got her pregnant. He told us he wanted to ‘do the right thing.’ So he married her.”

Zach shook his head, the peas long forgotten.

“Andy has a kid?” She nodded again.

“Yup, a boy, called David.”

“I can’t believe I missed so much,” he said, mouth open in shock.

“A lot happens in ten years.”

He looked at her and she smiled.

“I should go to bed,” she said, standing up and gathering the ice cream. She turned away but paused before leaving.

“She’s not happy with him, you know.”

Zach’s brows furrowed. “Who, Angela?”

His mother laughed at that. “Well yes, her too, but that’s not who I meant.”

Zach’s gaze turned down as he realized her meaning.

“Goodnight, Zach.”

“Goodnight, mom.”

Zach sat on the couch, trying to process what she said. He was an uncle, and Amy wasn’t happy with Nick. How could his mother know that?

If she’s close enough to come to the funeral then I guess she’s close enough that my mom can tell, Zach thought.

He laid back down, pulling a blanket over himself. There was no way he was going back in his old bedroom, if it even still existed, at least not tonight. He stared up at the ceiling after he turned off the lamp, his one track mind focusing in on a single thought.

She’s not happy with him.

#bo burnham #zach stone #zach stone is gonna be famous #zsigbf

[petre-talks-minecraft]

Roommates headcanon: they are both genius fight anisists, but in slightly different ways.

C!Technoblade reads tactics. He sees your stance and your tool and almost immediately knows all what you can do in this situation. He expects your every slash, thrust, kick and prepares accordingly, so his counter attacks are perfect.

C!Dream reads people. I know this sounds edgy as hell but let me explain. Where c!Techno sees what someone can do, Dream sees what they can't do, where they fall short. A heavy breathing, wounds that didn't close completely, blindspots, an imperfection in your stance and center of gravity that could be taken advantage of. C!Dream looks at you and know where to strike so you can't defend yourself, how to hit where it hurts the most.

Reasons for this c!Techno HC is that he is v paranoid and it plays into that, but also, since he favors the old school, 1.9 or "sword dueling" fighting style he is more accustom to dodges and parrys sine with this style you can't just stand there and take it.

Reasons for c!Dream HC is because his verbal jabs as on the fricking point and that he prefers 1.16 "axe and shield" fights where you can just stand and wait for the perfect opportunity to arise.

Of course I also HC them as uncontested masters of their preferred fighting style.

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #dreblr #technoblade #bladeblr #headcanon