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#lab partner strikes again
new hs history teacher(/basketball coach ofc) steve who is being shown around the school by gym teacher chrissy.
she takes him around the building to show him where the teacher's lounge is, the cafeteria, what bathrooms to avoid at all costs, and to where her office is if he ever needs anything.
"If I'm not here, I'm probably in Robbie's class over in the language department."
"Robbie?"
"Robin, my partner. She officially teaches ASL, but she likes to join in on the others' lessons whenever she has downtime."
Finally, once they've covered the whole length of the school, she brings him to his room. "So this is you, and right next door is Eddie, our Criminalistics teacher." gesturing to the still-dark window of the door directly across from his in the alcove. 
There's polaroids covering nearly every inch of the outside of the door, pictures of what he can only assume are students with the same dark-haired man.
"Criminalistics?"
"It's a science elective," she explains, "It focuses on the basics of forensic science!"
"Wow that’s…really?"
She nods enthusiastically, "It’s super interesting,” she nods, moving to unlock the empty what-will-be history classroom. “Eddie’s here on even days, and in the music room on odd days for the guitar elective classes."
"Anything I should know about my wall neighbor?" he asks as she pushes the door open.
It looks like she's going to say no, but something flickers across her face and she winces minutely.
"Oh god, what is it?"
She looks at him sheepishly, "How do you feel about metal music?"
--
Since his tour in mid June, Steve's completely overhauled his classroom. 
The only room available to him was the one down here in the science hall, but he made do, plastering removable whiteboard contact paper to the tops of the lab tables and a little reminder at each spot for the students about his less-than-stellar hearing, to make sure they speak up when answering a question from the back of the room.
And ever since he got his room, he'd been waiting for the day he finally meets his neighbor.
He met Chrissy's Robbie the same day he had the tour, and they clicked instantly (No seriously, how did he ever function before Robin?). Chrissy had made the comment about them being platonic soulmates one night in August when they'd gone out for one too many drinks, and it's stuck ever since.
Speaking of: "What are you still doing here, dingus? It's almost five."
"Yeah, I know, I know," he says, waving her off.
Robin comes in from the hall and plops herself down on one of the table tops instead of helping him hang a map behind his desk. "You're still adding stuff to your walls?"
"Well, I haven't been here for a couple years already, Bobs," he grits out as he stretches up on his toes to hang the far corner of his map. Finally, the eyelet hooks over the many-times-painted-over hook embedded in the concrete wall. "So yes."
"Well you can finish up tomorrow, we," she emphasizes the word by dramatically waving the same sign with her hand between them, "Have a burger date to get to." 
--
The following day, the day before the school year officially starts, Steve arrives early to his classroom, only to find his neighbor's classroom lit up as well.
The be-polaroided door is propped open all the way, the sound of heavy drums and guitar streaming out the door along with the faint smell of moth balls and a spicy incense.
His own room forgotten, Steve steps through Mr. Munson's doorway.
Eddie is standing behind his desk at the front of the room, but hunched over it scribbling onto something.
When Steve's shoe squeaks against the tile floor, Eddie says "Hey, what do you think, identifying skeletal remains, or blood spatter first?" without looking up at him.
"Skeletons, of course." Eddie's head snaps up to look at him. His huge dark eyes are much more striking in person than in a photo. "Much more interesting, yeah?"
Eddie blinks at him. "You're not Chrissy."
"You're correct."
Eddie blinks again, "Who're you?"
"Oh, sorry, hi. I'm Steve. I'm your new neighbor." he gives the other man an awkward wave when he still doesn't move. "Sorry, should I--" he says, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.
"No!" Eddie interrupts, standing straight and hurrying out from around his desk. 
He extends a hand and jogs lightly up to Steve. His pen is still laced into his fingers, the end of it chewed flat. "Oh shit, sorry, sorry," he tucks the pen behind his ear, "I'm Eddie. Munson."
"I know," Steve smirks, taking Eddie's hand. "I've been waiting to meet you."
"Oh have you?" he smirks.
"Yeah, Chrissy told me you're her best friend and I wanted your advice on maybe asking her out."
Eddie's face hardens immediately, the warm milk chocolate of his eyes curing into a solid dark, the easy smirk morphing into a cringe as he looks Steve up and down.
He opens his mouth to say something particularly scathing, Steve's sure, but he cuts him off before he can. "I'm kidding, man, I know she's with Robin."
His expression softens just a bit.
"Plus, she's not really my type anyway, even if I were hers."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I'm more into brunettes." Steve winks, finally releasing Eddie's hand. "I still have a bit more to get done, but I'll check in with you later?"
"Oh--yeah, for sure, I'll be here." Eddie stammers out, his cheeks tinged pink.
Steve fist pumps in his head as he heads to his door, You still got it, Harrington.
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passiontruit · 2 months
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SHY
i wanna tell you but...
0.5k
horrible, tooth-rotting fluff. pre-relationship. based on this post and anon who said it was kuroo and me
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[16:46] kuroo: are you thinking about me?
you roll your eyes the moment the notification pops up on your screen. even from under the table, you don't need to double check the contact as you unlock your phone to reply back:
[16:47] you: no
[16:47] kuroo: then why'd you reply so fast?
you don't even deign to message him back. instead, you turn back to your lecture, your focus on retroviral replication suddenly renewed.
truthfully, you hadn't been thinking about him. not in that moment, at least. you can't say as much about the period fifteen minutes previously, but who wasn't thinking about literally anything else in microbiology ii?
[16:49] kuroo: i was just asking
[16:49] kuroo: because
[16:49] kuroo: i was thinking about you
the frantic buzzing in your lap only intensifies the onset of the pang in your chest. because what the fuck?
[16:50] kuroo: i *am thinking about you
you take a minute in that lecture hall to breathe, staring straight in front of you as your professor flips to the dozenth slide about reverse transcription.
[16:52] you: don't you have class?
[16:53] kuroo: no i skipped
[16:53] kuroo: stayed up all night studying for my midterm this morning
your brain wants to use that as a strike against him because, ditching class? not exactly the mark of a successful student. but you've seen his transcript and you know that he could probably afford to skip a lecture or ten.
so now that just leaves you here, in microbiology ii, with your tablet pen on the edge of your desk and every ounce of your focus on your ex-lab partner. maybe you could rationalize that he was bad for your academic performance.
[16:55] you: shouldn't you go to sleep then?
you don't know what his deal is. you suspected long ago that he was just a serial flirt, sending every other girl in his contacts 'good morning' texts and calling them cute for absolutely no reason at all. but in the months that you've known him, you've barely seen him engage other girls in conversation for longer than five minutes. and he'd never said such ridiculous things to them like—
[16:57] kuroo: but i want to see you
[16:57] kuroo: i bet you look cute today
heat rushes up the back of your neck and you have to turn over your phone to retain some sort of composure.
it just feels too easy.
he's always speaks so bluntly, flirts so shamelessly, and makes his intentions so clear that it gives you pause. because it shouldn't be this easy. there has to be some sort of catch, right?
your phone buzzes again.
right?
[16:58] kuroo: you're in the molbiol building right? 528?
you bite your lip.
you should hate that you're even thinking of giving in, but you just can't bring yourself to fight it anymore.
[16:59] you: yeah
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agustdiv1ne · 11 months
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˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹。🧪⋆°。2:54 p.m. — kang taehyun
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genre: kinda meet cute? idk they're lab partners (as a stem major i am projecting heavily), college au
wc: 998
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kang taehyun has terrible luck with lab partners.
he figures it comes with the territory — labs can be stressful, and sometimes the procedures written by the chemistry department are, at best, redundant, and, at worst, practically unintelligible. past partners have royally screwed him over by messing up the experiment halfway through, then banking on him to fix everything with the little time that is remaining. despite his annoyance, taehyun is well aware that he is not perfect; he has messed up experiments before, too, and he can easily admit that. however, unlike some of his peers (see: choi beomgyu, forensic science major), he will always clean up his own mess without anyone else’s help.
after last week’s class that only covered lab safety procedures, the first actual experiment day in his organic chemistry lab brings with it a looming sense of dread. he’s sitting outside the lab and waiting for class to begin, praying that he is not paired up with beomgyu again, not after the fiasco last semester in which he was seconds away from blowing up the science building.
within a few minutes, the lab instructor props open the door, announcing that partner pairings could be found near the fume hoods. once he walks up to the paper, he sighs, crosses his fingers, and searches for his name. directly next to his, he finds a name that he doesn’t recognize. despite this, he mentally fist pumps; anyone is better than beomgyu at this point.
“looks like we’re partners,” he hears from next to him. the finger he was using to search for his name lifts from the paper, and he swivels his head over to find you, donned in similar attire of a white coat and safety goggles, a small smile spread across your lips. you extend your arm, introducing yourself more formally. “i’m looking forward to working with you.”
“same here.” he moves to shake your outstretched hand, though he’s not sure if he means it yet, unsure of how you operate in a lab. really, it all depends on how well you work together.
“what’s your major?” you ask in an attempt to strike up conversation while you grab all of the necessary flasks and beakers and other tools required for this experiment. synthesis of aspirin — should be simple enough.
“biochem, and i’m also pre-med,” he says, before he’s asking for your own. your answer colors him shocked: you’re the same major, and on the same pre-med track? then…
“how come i’ve never seen you before?” he questions as he sets up some of the apparatus. you simply shrug in response while you finish setting up the other half. it’s impressive how quickly, how accurately, you complete it. is his bad luck finally gone? are you the lab partner that he’s been wishing for?
“i tend to keep to myself. ‘m not a fan of most people.” you’re already starting the experiment, scanning over the procedures to ensure that you’re doing everything correctly. “is the steam bath ready? the salicylic acid is all dissolved.”
“yeah, give it here.” you carefully slide it over the benchtop and he places the flask in the bath. as you wait the proper amount of time, he can’t help but ask, “am i most people?”
“i’m not sure yet. we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” and you’re almost smirking, a teasing lilt in your voice. it should be annoying after getting a total of three hours of sleep, and yet it only serves to intrigue him. you say that you don’t like people, and yet you’re basically a master at conversation; you can tease and crack jokes but still keep track of everything that is going on in front of you. it’s impressive. so far, he really likes you — in the most platonic, professional way possible, of course. you just met, and you're only lab partners. nothing more, nothing less.
the two of you work in almost perfect tandem until the experiment is finally complete, all data collected and post-lab questions already answered for the report that’s due next week. relief floods his veins the moment the two of you exit the stuffy, humid lab, stripping yourselves of your coats and groaning at the sensation of the post-experiment grime that clings to the skin of your faces. you haphazardly shove the article of clothing into your backpack, unbothered by potential wrinkles. you give him a playful salute before you’re moving to leave.
“good work, kang,” you comment, grinning tiredly as you walk backwards. you spin to face away from him and call over your shoulder, “see you in lecture!”
“actually,” he starts. you spin on your heel, a curious quirk in your brow as you stare at him. “you wanna grab some food? i’m sure you’re starving, too.”
and you’re smiling wider, and his heart is beating faster and no, he’s absolutely, positively not forming a little crush on you. he just admires your competence, the rational part of his brain supplies. you’re lab partners, completely professional, newly acquainted lab partners that barely even know each other, though he finds himself strongly hoping that you’ll say yes.
your fingers loosely grip the straps of your backpack, eyes lighting up, as you respond. “yeah, i'd like that. wanna get chick-fil-a?”
“it’s like you read my mind,” he quips, celebrating internally. “i’ve been craving that all day.”
as he falls into step next to you — the two of you complaining about the professors that you share and promising to sit next to each other and study together from now on — taehyun begins to think that luck is finally on his side.
“soooo,” he draws out, one eyebrow raised in an inquisitive expression. you glance over at him through the corner of your eye, urging him to continue with an impatient wave of your hand. “am i most people now?”
chuckling, you jostle his arm with your elbow. “nah, i think i might be able to tolerate you.”
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masterlist
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© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.
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long-distance-muse · 3 months
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Ever After High Nimona Au WHOOO!
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More info on design and story under the cut. :)) and disclaimer, most of their stories are ones I completely made up cause I didn’t wanna butcher some old story and I couldn’t find ones that neatly fit so this also counts as original story time, I guess.
Ballister Blackheart- the next Belladonna Blackheart from the tale The Poisoned Princess.
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Starting with the Boss, Ballister Blackheart is a rebel with a royally complicated past.
His mother was a villain who dutifully fulfilled her destiny despite her reservations against it, but when running away from the royal guards as the story goes, she accidentally took a wrong turn in the enchanted forest and was never seen again. With only a Baby Bal who bore her striking resemblance found from the long chase.
Queen Valerin Suremeyer, his mother’s cousin and ‘nemesis’ felt guilty at the boy’s situation and determines to raise him alongside her daughter, Meredith Suremeyer.
So Bal grows up with Valerin as a mother figure, Meredith as a lab partner and sibling, and enters his second year of Ever After High confused and conflicted on what he must do to fulfill his destiny, or if he even wants to fulfill his destiny at all. It doesn’t help when he rooms with the cute golden royal and befriends the strange pink transfer student.
-v-
Ambrosius Goldenlion- the next Gloreth Goldenlion in the tale The Lion Wall
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Ambrosius is the grandson of the acclaimed Gloreth Goldenlion, guardian of the Lion Wall and protector of her kingdom’s borders. She was also known to have banished an evil monster that was threatening the entire Fairytale World.
Despite living with her, Ambrosius is distant with her and has a complicated relationship with his grandmother who trained and raised him. Does he want to be her? Or is his heart secretly pushing him towards a different destiny?
He is closed off other people with his charming smile and tendency to not answer any questions about his wellbeing. Everybody knows of him, but like the walls he is destined to guard, his inner thoughts are impenetrable. Unless, of course, you are his cute rebel roommate with a penchant for engineering and a hidden talent in swordfighting.
-v-
Nimona Shifter
Exchange student from Monster High
Scaritage: ???
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Nimona awoke to find himself in New Salim without any memories. After being chased by a mob, rejected by the animals, and hiding in old libraries pouring over stories that felt oddly familiar, they finds themself in Monster High under the care of Headmistress Bloodgood. In her studies, she learns to socialize with others, push her powers to limits, and embrace her freaky flaws. Hearing the adventures of stories of the other students from places near and far, and her constant fascination with fairytales, she becomes an enthusiastic 1st year candidate for the exchange program for Ever After High, along with C.A. Cupid.
They rooms with Meredith Suremeyer, an eccentric scientist from one of her favorite stories, The Poisoned Princess, and soon befriends both her and her brother, Ballister Blackheart. She avoids Ambrosius Goldenlion, feeling a strange sense of familiarity from him every time he smiles and bites into an apple.
Still, he feels ecstatic at all the secrets that are waiting to be explored on the new campus, and a certain underground librarian more than willing to help him unlock them.
-v-
If the long hair surprised you, that’s because all three of them are going to have it rough after Legacy Day, and what better way to deal with stress than chopping off your hair?
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229zmi · 3 months
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SHYNESS GIRL
PAIRING: Yachi Hitoka/Reader
CONTENT: reader is implied to be taller than yachi, using a plastic knife to cut a leaf for a science experiment, honestly 99% of this is just yachi’s inner monologue
WORD COUNT: 1.6k
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“What the fuck, it’s so hot and humid in this room. I think I’m gonna melt.”
You really aren’t exaggerating. It would even be an understatement to say that you feel like a sweaty, pungent mess right now, especially after running here from your dorm just to hear that the AC in the entire building is temporarily down. You yawn, fanning your face with your hand to keep yourself from dropping dead onto the tiled floor, although your efforts are futile.
When your lab partner does absolutely nothing in response to your pointless narration, you send an aggrieved look in her direction. Normally, you don’t mind when people feel inclined to not talk to you, especially since you like hearing the sound of your voice and you prattle on enough for all parties anyway, but at least a nod of acknowledgement would be nice to let you know that you aren’t alone in your suffering.
“Do I stink?“ You figure maybe she’s too scared to speak ‘cause your godawful stench might waft onto her tongue.
“Of course not!” Immediately, Yachi peers up at you and shakes her head so fast, you’re worried it’ll fall off. You find yourself enjoying the way her star-shaped hair clip nearly slips off her blonde strands from the movement before she reaches up to swiftly fix it back into place. “Sorry,” she stutters out, like that inconvenienced you in any way.
“No worries,” you say. Briefly, your eyes scan the tabletop, taking note of each item laid out in front of you. “Ooh, a hair-dryer.”
You flick the switch to turn it on, only to wrinkle your nose and quickly turn it off when the hair-dryer doesn’t seem to have the desired effect of a cooling fan.
“What do we even use this for? In this experiment, I mean.”
“We use it to simulate a warm breeze for one of our treatment groups. That way, we can see if it’ll influence the transpiration rate.”
“Well, aren’t you smart.” Your teasing remark has Yachi flushing a bright red colour as she shakes her head vigorously again and points to a paragraph in her lab manual as though to deflect the compliment. Regardless, you choose to ignore her, concealing your amusement behind a stony guise. “What do we do first?”
“Put on gloves.”
“Ew.” Resisting the urge to gag at the sensation of latex against your sweaty palms, you tug on a pair of blue disposable gloves with considerable effort. She does the same, although with significantly less reluctance. “Next.”
“Get two lettuce leaves that are similar in size,” Yachi reads. Nervously, she looks to you, prepared to offer to retrieve the aforementioned leaves herself so you can relish in the great honour that is staying in the same spot. However, you’re already turning around before she can say anything and walking to the front of the classroom, happy to do as told.
When you return to your work area, there are two lettuce leaves pinched in between your gloved fingers, though they’re different sizes, unlike she asked. You set them down on the table with an expectant expression on your face as you stare at her.
“Good?”
NO! NOT GOOD, her subconscious says.
Yachi knows this is wrong, yet she can’t find it in herself to speak up as she chews on her bottom lip and furrows her eyebrows. After all, as respectful as you have been so far, you do have a certain reputation around campus. She hears it from Yamaguchi, who hears it from Hinata and Kageyama, who hear it from Tsukishima (who likes to lie to them for shits and giggles sometimes). Apparently, you spend your free time throwing rocks at people’s windows at the dead of the night, make people you don’t like do your homework for you, and shove professors’ faces down the toilets whenever they give you a bad grade. Very intimidating.
She’s torn between two options. The thought of possibly offending you strikes such terror into her that she’d almost rather risk getting a bad grade on this lab than correct your mistake. But then there’s the chance that if she lets this mistake go and the both of you get points docked, you’ll find out that she knew all along. And then what?
What if you’re livid because she caused you to have a low score, so you start making her do your homework in order to raise your grade? What if you tell everyone of the one (1) horrible thing she did and then everyone starts making her do their homework to punish her for her dishonesty? What if she ends up having too much homework to do and people start getting mad at her for not being able to do their homework on time? What if they start throwing rocks at her window? What if you start throwing rocks at her window? What if, what if, what if?
She can’t let that happen!
“Actually, that’s not…”
“Huh?” This elicits an eyebrow raise from you. Assuming your confusion is a matter of you not quite hearing her rather than her deliberately trailing off out of apprehension, you turn your head to the side and lean down slightly so that your ear is level with her mouth. “Can you repeat that?”
Yachi squeaks, backing up.
“Never mind!” the words rush out of her mouth before she can think. With her heart pounding in her chest, all she can do now is hope that the two leaves being different sizes won’t make that much of a difference in your results. (Oh, who is she kidding? It’s a science experiment — of course, it’s gonna impact the results!) “I think the next step is to cut a thin slice off at the bottom of each leaf!”
“With this knife?”
“Yes!”
“Okay.”
A couple moments pass, and Yachi exhales, feeling somewhat relieved that you don’t seem to catch on to her ginormous fib while also feeling like a criminal at the same time. Maybe she’ll have enough time to change her name and move to another country before you realise. Yeah, that seems like the smart thing to do.
Your voice sears through her thoughts, pulling her back to reality. “This is kind of fun.” You point the plastic knife at her. Yachi feels like she’s going to wither away. “You wanna try?”
“No thank you!”
“Suit yourself.” With a half-hearted one-shoulder shrug, you go right back to what you’re doing.
Wait, Yachi suddenly thinks. What if that was your way of indirectly telling her to do something for once instead of just standing there and doing nothing aside from giving you commands like it’s her birthright? Now she just looks like a horrible person! Perhaps she should take the knife from you and do it herself. But what if that offends you, making you think that she thinks you’re not doing it right? Are you even doing it right?!
Warily, Yachi glances at the table.
Oh no. You’re cutting the leaves wrong. Horribly wrong, so wrong there’s no doubt the both of you’ll get an awful grade on this lab report if she doesn’t say anything soon.
Faced with no other alternative, she frowns, then takes a deep breath. YOU CAN DO THIS, GIRL, says her subconscious. Or something. God, she’s such a nervous wreck, she doesn’t even know what’s happening anymore.
“Hey, um.” Good start. Inwardly, she pats herself on the back. “Is that how we’re supposed to be cutting it? I — I don’t think our lab manual says to do it like that.”
“What.”
“Never mind! Maybe it does say that! I’m not sure, what d’you think?”
“I don’t know,” you declare intelligently. You don’t stop what you’re doing, seemingly concentrated on cutting the leaf even after being told that you’re wrong, but you nod your chin at her lab manual. “What does that say, again?”
“It says to cut a thin slice off of each leaf.”
“Okay.”
Yachi frowns. “…Those look like hearts.”
“Aw, really? That’s crazy. I didn’t realise.” You grin down at your heart-shaped cutouts, scratching your head as if you don’t know what possessed you to do such a thing. “Sorry about that.“
Yachi waves both of her hands frantically. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise! It’s my fault, I should’ve said something earl—“
“Hey, don’t stress yourself over it. Since I messed up, I’ll just get two more leaves and start over.” You nudge her elbow with yours playfully. “Hope you don’t mind spending extra time with me on this lab. Unless I stink.” Your face turns solemn all of a sudden. “It’s okay to tell me the truth. I know I’m sweaty.”
“You don’t smell bad at all!” she splutters as you walk away. Nonetheless, all is well after you return with two lettuce leaves, both of equal size this time around.
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“That was your attempt at getting my attention? By doing everything wrong?”
It’s several years down the line, and your girlfriend seems to be in disbelief as you recall the fondest memories of you and her before your relationship. With a smile tugging at your lips, you gently take a wisp of her hair, twirling it around your finger before tucking it into the crevice behind her ear.
“Duh, I was totally into you. Wasn’t that obvious?”
Yachi looks at you with such incredulity, you could almost laugh. “No!”
“Come on, you’re only saying that ‘cause you thought I was some low-life delinquent,” you say, trying to convince her. “I made you hearts out of lettuce leaf. Isn’t that so romantic? Call me a flirting connoisseur or whatever.”
Her nose scrunches up. “I’ll pass.”
You clutch your chest and let your head fall onto her shoulder. “You wound me severely.”
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whattraintracks · 26 days
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2. Revenge - TMNT 2012
Raphael gets revenge for a fallen brother.
Raph stands over Leo's fallen form, heartbreak and fear in his eyes, and Leo almost gives up right then. But Raph steels himself just as fast. He turns to their enemy, fists clenched, the picture of righteous fury. He has always been their protector.
And with every ounce of force in his body, he boldly declares, "Don't worry, Leo! I'll revenge you!"
Leo really tries not to giggle with Mikey at that for the sake of the game and the fierce little five-year-old holding fast above him.
Predictably, Donnie's head pops up from behind the couch cushion barricade. "Actually, Fai, it's avenge—or, wait. Maybe both are right? You'd usually say—"
His impromptu grammar lesson cuts to a screech when he gets a face full of little turtle. The two of them tumble into a tight ball, Raph struggling with all his might and Donnie striking that careful balance between fight and play they've all had to learn the last few days to protect a brother much smaller than usual.
Leo rolls onto his plastron, pillow-induced death forgotten, to keep an eye on them. Raph's always been pretty rough and tumble, and even at 5, they could take some good hits in a spar. But it's still a little scary to wrestle with him when he's this small, to check their strength, to remember that your partner doesn't remember all the steps to your lethal dance.
Game forgotten, Mikey romps off to help Sensei carry in the tea and snacks Raph had adorably insisted on before his afternoon nap today.
"Man, Sensei, were we really this much work as kids?"
Leo rolls his eyes fondly at Mikey's moaning. All he'd done was crouch behind couch cushions. Meanwhile, Leo and Raph had fought for their lives to overtake Donnie's masterfully built pillow fort. Leo fought with honor and fell valiantly, thank you very much.
Splinter hums thoughtfully, "Yes. And no."
Mikey groans again, more playfully this time.
Leo can picture the twinkle in their father's eyes. Raph is laughing so hard he can't possibly be breathing, so Donnie's hands cease their tickle assault to hover anxiously over him.
"The four of you were certainly a lot to handle," he hears Sensei continue, "But you could usually be counted upon to care for and entertain each other."
Leo looks over just in time to catch Mikey's broad grin.
Splinter beckons Leo, and Donnie's not far behind, lugging an enshelled Raph.
"He's alright," Donnie preempts, "Just hiding from the nefarious tickle monster." Echoey giggles emerge from the little shell in agreement.
Leo basks in the comfort of taking tea with his family, of Donnie and Mikey doting on their little big brother, of Sensei watching over them with fondness and pride. They all try not to laugh at Splinter's disgruntled expression when Raph dunks his animal crackers into his teacup, suppressed snickers turning to full-bodied laughter at Raph's sly grin.
Then Mikey announces nap time, and Leo can't help the feeling that something important is slipping away from him. Raph lifts his arms sweetly, all sleepy and sated, to be bundled and whisked away. He calls I love yous and good nights over Mikey's shoulder.
Leo's heart hasn't stopped clenching since Donnie's panicked shout drew them all to the lab and revealed his much-shrunk brother, but it twists painfully again when he returns that call.
A furred claw settles on his shoulder. "Something troubles you, my son?"
"He's just," and Leo's not even sure he can put it into words, "so much more, Sensei."
And he doesn't mean it like Mikey did. Sure, the little guy needs a lot of care and attention, but Leo could never be frustrated about that. All he ever wants is to care for and attend to his brothers, and that Raph isn't pushing him away out of some sense of teenage pride fills him with warmth and sweetness.
What he really means to ask is, where did it all go?
Where did this happy little turtle go? The one who had bouts of hot anger but could be soothed with hugs and kisses. Who cried fat tears when he thought he'd hurt his brothers even accidentally. Who shrieked with joy at the sight of a beloved toy, or movie, or treat. Who said I love you as easy as breathing. Who felt so much so loudly and so brightly.
Sensei nods sagely. "Raphael has always been a sensitive child with large emotions. He has better control of them at your age." But Donnie's looking right at Leo, something fragile in his eyes. Guilt, probably, and understanding.
And Leo wonders sometimes after things go back to normal. When Raph is big again and still himself, always himself, but closed off in his anger, quieter in his fear and sadness and guilt, secret in his joy and love like they're a weakness and not the strongest parts of him. He wonders if maybe there's a part of Raph who still just wants to be hugged and held and loved when his emotions get too big for his body.
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remwrites · 1 year
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i'd love to see any hotguy/cuteguy scarian stuff from you!! doesn't have to be like a superhero au or whatever just whatever strikes your fancy :]
i had VERY different thoughts for this so i'm giving you these two pieces
[]
"That was too close." Grian said, heart in his throat. They'd taken more hits than Grian was really comfortable with, but Hot Guy had kept his cool the whole time.
"We handled it." Hot Guy gave a reassuring smile, just a little strained. "You holding up okay?"
"I'm good." Grian dismissed. He wasn't the one who'd been targeted by their attacker, Hot Guy taking most of the attention.
"No, you're great." Hot Guy said, chuckling.
Grian elbowed him in the side, rolling his eyes. But Hot Guy winced at the action, curling around his ribs.
"What?" Grian said, stepping back to get a better look at his partner. It was fairly dark, but he could make out the blood down his side. "God, why didn't you say anything?"
"I thought maybe it was just your good looks making me dizzy." Hot Guy said, words beginning to slur, and he reached out a hand blindly.
Grian took it, gripping tight and helping to lower him to the ground. "You're such a damn idiot. Don't you dare go unconscious. What happened?"
"Stabbed? Maybe? There was a knife involved but I don't know where it went." Hot Guy mumbled.
"Eyes open." Grian tapped him hard in the middle of his forehead, holding him up and trying to think of his options.
Hot Guy opened his eyes, barely there, and gave an ashen smile, "Hey there handsome."
"Is there someone I can call for help?" Grian said, not sure what else he could possibly do with the much taller man bleeding out in his lap.
"Oh. Yeah. My brother is listening. He'll send someone."
"Help is coming?" Grian prompted.
"Mhm." Hot Guy replied.
Grian surveyed his options and stripped off a layer of his jacket to press against the wound. His hands were shaking. Hot Guy squeezed his eyes shut hard and gave a ragged breath.
"Stay awake." Grian said.
"Who gives the orders here?" Hot Guy mumbled. "I'm going to pass out."
"No, don't--" Grian said, but it was too late, the colour leaving Scar's face and head lolling to the side. Grian cursed colourfully and prayed whoever he summoned would be quick.
[]
Scar really couldn't be blamed, his partner was named Cute Guy for a reason, and Scar was incredibly weak to cute.
Weak, malleable, currently putty in his pink-clad hands, as Cute Guy tugged on his hair while kissing the life out of him. Scar made an embarrassing noise in his mouth, winding the arms tighter around his partner's small waist and deepening the kiss. Mind utterly consumed with the smile on Cute Guy's lips as he fused them closer together.
Cute Guy hummed with appreciation, on his tip toes and bracketing Scar's thigh with both of his own. The brick wall against Scar's back was almost not enough to keep his watery knees up. Cute Guy nibbled on his bottom lip and he went very light headed.
His earpiece crackled. "Your glasses are still on, idiot."
Scar's mind halted, blood going cold.
"I literally went and got a coffee and you're still making out?" Cub lamented, from where he'd be watching from the lab via the live feed of his special tech glasses.
"What's up?" Cute Guy asked, tipping his head back just enough to disengage their eager lips.
"You don't wanna know." Scar said, carefully reaching between them to take his glasses off. "I gotta take these off."
"Oh, are we being watched?" Cute Guy gave an amused smile.
Cub was the worst. "Tell Cute Guy I said hi."
"I'm not telling him you said hi." Scar replied.
"Hello! Your brother is a great kisser." Cute Guy said, leaning closer to the glasses to relay that information.
"I didn't want to know that." Cub complained in his ear.
Scar muffled a laugh and shoved the glasses in his pocket. Then he reached up to hold Cute Guy's stupidly cute face and kiss him again.
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unhappy-last-resort · 24 days
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Wanshi's Report Log
Warning: yandere themes
A/N: another drabble, trying to work out how I want these fuckwads to be written
I got assigned to a scout mission in City 006 to investigate an old research lab. Everything went according to the plan Captain planned out, though he put some emphasis on finishing this quickly... Guess Captain's busy. Hopefully that means I can catch up on my sleep.
Anyway, Me and Camu went on either side of parameters of the lab while Captain and Kamui started investigating inside. Nothing too unusual, other than catching a glimpse of someone scurrying out into the city...they looked pretty similar to that ascendant Roland, the one with the newer frame.
I told Capt about it and he told us to continue investigating the outer areas and keep an eye out for anything else before meeting up in the center of the lab.
We continued investigating and didn't find anything of note, other than some dusty puppets and a makeshift stage in an abandoned apartment. One of the puppets looked like Roland, and the others looked like Alpha, Luna, Lamia and... Uh, I forgot the last one.
I told Captain about the puppets when we met up, though he was acting a little weird. He was smiling to himself and had his hand on his in-ear piece...he's been doing that a lot lately, Kamui even made a joke that Captain must have a partner, but then Capt scolded him about staying focused. Even though it was a joke, he seemed unusually upset about it...
Sorry, this doesn't belong in a mission report. Anyway, we searched through the rest of the lab with only an occasional corrupted impeding our path. We successfully found all of the mission targets and are currently en-route to Babylonia.
-
A soft click of my terminal announces the end of my report log. All things considered, this was relatively easy, especially for something that called the entire Strike Hawk squad. A displeased sigh left my lips as I stared idly at the ceiling of the transport craft. I could've been sleeping in the Gray Raven lounge instead of doing this.
I steal a glance at my teammates. Kamui is playing a game he somehow got on his terminal, Camu is sitting farthest from us seemingly thinking about something, and Captain... He's doing it again. Chrome's sitting across from me and staring at something in his private terminal while listening to something on his in-ear piece, whatever he's watching...it's certainly making him happy in a way I've never seen before.
I look at him for a moment longer in apprehension. In the recent past, I wouldn't hesitate to ask him what's going on... but now, there's something drifting between us. Between all of us that no one seems willing to talk about.
I have my suspicions of course. Like how Kamui and Camu seem excessively clingy to the Commandant, excessively so, and how Chrome always seems to be watching the Commandant like a hawk whenever they're in his vision.
I'm in no place to judge though. I can't say with confidence my weekly visits to their room are entirely pure in nature anymore, I'm also finding it harder to be without them. I look down at my hands for a moment and close my eyes, it's not my fault their room is so much more comfortable than anywhere else and how their scent is so relaxing.
I sigh again and cast a glance over my three teammates again, carefully observing their facial expressions and body language. If it wasn't for them keeping me grounded, I don't know where I'd be. Probably killed by some self-righteous Purifying Force member by now. That's why I can't stand that this is happening. Even if the Commandant finally gives themselves to me tomorrow, if I can't live with Strike Hawk by my side, then what's the point? I'd be dead if it wasn't for them, no way am I letting something come between us.
Maybe I'm too greedy, but I can't help it. I want what's mine to stay mine. I can't let go of either of them.
I inhale deeply as a multitude of ideas and potential outcomes race through my M.I.N.D.. "How troublesome." I mutter to myself close my eyes and ready myself for a nap. I'll need the energy for what I have to do later.
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picavecalyx · 9 months
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DISCLAIMER!! This post includes themes of Child Experimentation, Abuse, Abandonment, Trauma, and other similar themes.
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PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE ( information everyone can know )
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Silva can hear the hearts and voices of Pokemon. This applies to all types, from Ultra Beasts to Paradox Pokemon and anything in between. Silva does not hide this fact.
Silva has the dream to befriend and help as many people as she possibly can. Above all, she wants to make people happy.
Silva's full name is "Bagatella Silva."
At age six, Silva was found by social services and taken in by Lysandre Labs.
In Kalos, she is a semi-public figure.
Silva has been to every region at least once.
Silva only has one eye, lost before she went missing.
Silva's "disappearance" is public knowledge. There were multiple broadcasts over the course of multiple months in Kalos about her going "missing." The case has never quite gone cold, after a year, it was once again brought to the public eye.
Prior to Silva's disappearance, she was known to have a Shiny Amaura named Boreas, and a Klefki named Keyley.
According to Silva, Keyley is "mute" as they don't speak at all, nor do they really jangle.
Silva uses a custom blue Holocaster.
Prior to being found and taken in, Silva was known around Snowbelle City--and in some cases as far as Anistar City--to be a "cryptid" or "mysterious creature" living in the Snow coated forests. Many believed she wasn't even alive, to the point where some thought she was the spirit of a dead child.
Silva can make Pokepuffs, Poffins, and Pokeblocks.
Spottings of Silva a year after her disappearance have reported her having horns and a tail that bare a striking resemblance to the legendary "Yveltal." Whether or not they're fake or not is up for debate.
Silva's scars are grey splotches with bright red vein-like streaks across them.
Silva is extremely technical apt. In another life, she could have possibly been an inventor, but currently uses her skills for things like hot wiring and hacking.
Silva has the bird smell.
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SEMI-PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE ( information lesser know )
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To escape Kalos, Silva used the train from Couriway Town to Nimbasa City in Unova.
Silva knows of Team Flare's existence, but not what they actually want. The reason Silva gives those that ask for why she 'ran from home' is because she needs a break from home and her family.
Silva was experimented on to some capacity. She emits an aura that often makes other pokemon confuse her for a legendary or powerful pokemon.
Silva's Amaura and Archen were both revived by Team Flare.
Keyley was originally owned by an Admin in Team Flare
Silva lost her eye during a procedure.
Silva escaped Kalos a month after she lost her eye.
During Silva's time running in Kalos, she wore a fennekin mask to keep her identity concealed. She would wear this mask again while she was in Paldea due to how close it was in Kalos.
Silva can communicate with crystals, being able to hear their "hearts." This goes the same with even being able to communicate with supposedly "living areas." She can essentially communicate with the "essence" of an object or location.
Silva's main partner is "Murder," a murkrow she found during the first month on the run.
Silva is easily startled by loud noises such as gunshots and fireworks, to the point where it borders of fear of them.
Due to Silva's ability to talk to pokemon--and in turn Ultra Beasts--she has the capacity to understand Ultrahumans a lot easier than Humans, she even hear Ultrahuman's hearts, unlike most humans.
Silva believes that "going to a lab to be put under for hours on end on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis" is normal.
Silva has narcolepsy.
If you were to put a pokedex up to Silva's scarring, tail, or horns, it would identify her as an Yveltal.
All pokemon items work on Silva. As do things such as the shadowing process, ranger gear, and even R Gas.
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PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE ( information only specific people know )
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When Silva is forced unconscious or injured, her unconscious body will collapse and drain any and all life around her, leaving permanent marks where she was collapsed. The marks resemble her scars, with pink-red. She has dubbed this "setting off."
Silva has some form of dissociative disorder after the accident occurred.
Silva is extremely paranoid, though she usually hides it behind being extremely positive.
There are multiple locations that Silva refuses to go back to due to occurrences involving Flare that have permanently traumatized her from going back to. She blames herself for those such events, as if she was not there, nobody would have gotten hurt.
Silva is the biological daughter of Amil and Andre Lacroix.
Silva was Conditioned(Pavlovian/Respondant) by Team Flare as a child. Keyley was used as the stimuli and can still be used as stimuli.
Boreas was purposefully given to Silva as a control factor to test the capabilities and potential of connection she could have with another Pokemon. Basically a prep for Yveltal.
Silva was experimented on initially to form a connection to the legendary pokemon Yveltal to assist in it’s use for the Ultimate Weapon. These experiments were largely successful, she now has a permanent artificial bond with Yveltal and is slowly turning into an Yveltal herself. Although her energy potential is beyond the original.
Silva knows the locations of every single Team Flare and Lysandre Labs settlements within Kalos.
Silva has hacked her holocaster so that she would could not have her information tracked by Lysandre Labs.
Silva knows basically every Team Flare scientist that was around prior to her running away, she knew them by name basis and even learned little facts about every single one of them.
The incident that caused Silva to lose her eye was a complete accident--later dubbed "The Accident" by Silva as well as a few members in Flare itself. This was the first time Silva "Set Off" and caused many Flare scientists to be turned to stone. This was the inciting incident that caused Silva to begin to think about running away.
Silva is incredibly unstable. She has little control over her life draining ability and any injury has a chance of causing her to set off.
Silva has the capacity to use pokemon moves, most commonly using "Phantom Force" as a form of teleportation.
Silva is not technically a "pokemon-human hybrid," she is a clone of Yveltal, her body is simply used as a "cocoon" that will eventually fully shift into an yveltal.
Silva's internal systems are almost liquid. She resembles the inside of a cocoon or chrysalis. It's a miracle she can still walk around.
Silva's blood is clear iridescent, and touching it will cause one to be imbedded with life energy. If too much makes contact, it could possible injure or even be lethal.
Silva has nightmares and night terrors. These aren't actually nightmares OR night terrors, but instead her accessing the mind and memories of the hibernating Yveltal.
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COMPLETELY PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE ( information not even silva knows )
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Silva's biological parents live in Anistar City, aware of their daughter still being alive, but never outright meeting her.
Amil Lacroix gave up his original name 'Bagatella Amil,' to further separate himself from his lineage and in turn, his daughter.
Silva bares an uncanny resemblance to the old matriarch of the Bagatella family a few centuries prior to the present, Bagatella Vasil. Most records of Vasil have been deleted or pulled out of public knowledge, however.
The reason Silva can talk to pokemon and hear their hearts is likely due to Vasil’s influence on connecting to the Sundial. It’s implied that Silva has a stronger connection to the ‘cycle’ itself, though it is unknown how far this connection goes. Silva is effectively immortal and is incapable of staying dead.
The name on Silva’s birth certificate is “Bagatella Ninette Azalaïs-Silva.”
Silva was abandoned in the woods surrounding Snowbelle City when she was around a month and a half old to die due to being thought to be “a demon” or the “reincarnation” of old evils within the family. Later, she was publicly reported missing and then a year later labeled dead as an assumption after the case went cold. 
Silva has no soul. Or "heart," as she would put it.
Silva used to have a tracking chip imbedded in her neck. She still does, although it's broken and cannot withstand when she "sets off." She technically had two, one prior to the accident, and then another that was used as a replacement. This second one broke the second time she set off--soon after she ran away.
Area Zero--and what lies beneath it--are things that "draw" Silva closer. She has an almost obsessive need to go deeper and deeper, to the point where she has little choice but to go deeper with little thoughts to resist.
By the time she is done running, Silva has stored an incredible amount life energy inside her body. She could charge the Ultimate Weapon herself if placed into an absorber.
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evanox · 5 months
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Rime, elowen, lord of shadows
The easiest one would be Elowen as my employee trainer bc I'd rather be berated by her than either of those two 💀
Now the other two are tough bc I feel like if I got stuck in an elevator with LOS he'd either be pretty awkward or try to strike up conversation that'll start out chill then eventually evolve into some incel "debate me bro" bs, while with Rime I feel like he might not talk much but he'd radiate murderous intent for all 10 hours and I don't know if I have the mental fortitude for either....
As for the lab partner... they're both nerds and pretty smart.. but depending on whether this is pre or post timeskip Rime I'm not sure how willing he would be to help.. but then again I think both Rime and LOS are liable to going "oh my God you're SO dumb just let me do it" so hm...
I think I'll settle for LOS as my lab partner and getting stuck with Rime in the elevator.. Still not sure about that decision though 💀
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caelenath · 8 months
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UsaMamo Week 2023 - Day 4: Beach
For @usamamoweek2023 day 4, my contribution is a preview of this untitled WIP that I thought would be done by now. Foiled again! 😅
Big shoutout to @random-mailbox who both inspired this piece and is helping with the pro photography tips (and is helping to run this wonderful event). 👏💖
~ * ~
Summary:
The whole situation was any red-blooded man's dream—nine gorgeous women in swimwear, a dreamy sunset, and a legitimate excuse to ogle them from every angle.
But he had eyes for only one...
~ * ~
Even before he arrived, the gig was pretty ideal–short, paying double his normal rate, and it gave him an excuse to go to the beach. He felt a little guilty for charging the extra money since he wasn't exactly a pro, just a guy with a hand-me-down camera trying to pay his tuition. But it was the client who had insisted because she was trying to book him so last minute, and university tuition wasn't cheap.
So he accepted the job even if it meant having to get Kobayashi to cover his TA session in the evening, and he was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal of gratitude that nearly blew his eardrum over the phone. She told him to "look for the one wearing black and white", then hung up before he could ask her to be more specific.
He arrived on the beach in the late afternoon, and was greeted by a brilliant, soul-soothing cobalt blue sky. Wispy clouds in the distance along the horizon promised a dazzling sunset backdrop in a little over an hour. Fifty-six to eighty-four minutes, to be exact, depending on what color sky his client wanted. He had a disturbingly accurate internal clock when it came to the sun's movements.
Feeling the heat of the day captured in the sand, he wished he'd been able to arrive earlier to have some extra time to enjoy the getaway. He had tried, but unfortunately, his lab partner chose this day to forget the boiling chips, and instead of accepting a lower mark for the failure, they chose to stay after class to repeat the experiment. Or rather, he chose to stay after, and his partner grudgingly followed suit to avoid looking inferior by comparison to their professor. It had been a risky decision, but with a little help from another disturbing ability of his, one that controlled the heating far better than boiling chips or the isomantle, they were able to redo the work in time for him to catch the train to Atami.
The cloying smell of artificial banana finally left his nose as he inhaled deeply the briny air. He couldn't wait to chuck his shoes and dig his toes into the warm sand. He needed both hands for now to carry his kit, but once the shoot was underway, he could happily traipse barefoot wherever his client wanted to go.
The beach wasn't as crowded by this time of day, and all along the water's edge, he could see the divots and partially melted sand castles left behind by families who had already gone home. The people who remained were mostly couples making eyes and PDA.
His client had said this photoshoot was for her and her friends, a celebration of their last year of high school, but gave scant specifics besides that. None, in fact. Still, as he looked up and down the beach, he discovered he needn't ever have worried about not being able to spot them. Rather, he knew them instantly.
Fifty paces or so to his right, beneath a cluster of palm trees, nine of the most beautiful women he had ever seen were gathered together, arranging each other's hair and swimsuit straps and chatting gaily like they didn't have a care in the world. They were such a striking group that he stood rooted in place for at least a minute, slack-jawed and unable to tear his eyes away. What were the odds they were a mirage? 
After the initial shock wore off, he was intrigued by how different they looked from one another. Tall, short, light hair, dark hair, sporty suits and sexy cutouts–their individual looks ran a wide gamut.
With that unavoidable ogling out of the way, his recovering neanderthal brain finally noted something useful. The two blondes in the group were the ones wearing black and white suits while the rest of them wore mostly black ones. Some had accessories, also in black. They must have agreed on that being the theme in their photoshoot. The contrast against the sky would be stunning, like them, no matter what moment of dusk they caught.
He adjusted the strap of his kit bag on his shoulder nervously…and froze. He'd had every intention of just walking over to them a millisecond ago, but it suddenly caught up with him how intimidating it was to approach nine drop-dead gorgeous women, even if they were the ones who had hired him in the first place.
He admonished himself that this was a professional engagement and strode forward using a silly mental game that was childish, but nevertheless worked. In moments like this when he needed confidence he didn't have–and those moments increased relative to the number of people around him–he pretended he was someone important, someone who had reason to walk around with their chin held high and their shoulders square. A victorious superhero, a successful CEO, a powerful leader of a nation. 
He would die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out about his game because he was the absolute opposite of those people–a struggling college student with no family and one shot at making something of his life. He didn't see any prospects outside of academics, and that was why he'd lived and breathed his schooling since he was a child. His camera had been an unexpected gift, a castoff albeit a very nice one from his friend's little sister when she decided she wanted to upgrade.
As he neared the group, the blonde in the center turned around, and all breath left his lungs as surely as if someone had punched him. She had huge blue eyes, wide azure pools that he found himself drowning in instantly, and not quite unwillingly. She seemed similarly shocked by his appearance, though for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why. Just a moment ago, she had been talking loudly and very animatedly, but now she stood stockstill, looking back at him as if he were a ghost.
Those enormous eyes blinked at him and he mirrored the reaction reflexively. They were getting close to the time when it would be considered rude to stare at someone for that long, but he was overwhelmed by the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. It wouldn't have been so strange considering how big and populous Tokyo was. Maybe they'd passed by each other somewhere, on the metro, in a conbini, at the library. 
Except, if that were true, he would have remembered her. Aside from her breathtakingly perfect face, she had funny hair. Her almost knee-length golden locks were arranged in two pigtails that flowed from two, perfectly round odangos on top of her head. They were weird, but fitting somehow.
No, he was sure he had never seen before in his life. Yet he knew her. How was that possible??
After much too long, he was finally able to drag his eyes away from her face and look at the rest of her–which, in retrospect, was probably even less polite. But she was wearing the two colors he'd been instructed to look for. Specifically, a tiny white bikini with tiny black straps and tiny black trim. Everything about it practically begged him to look at her, from the way the pure white emphasized her creamy peach-pink skin to how the black edges formed triangular outlines that pointed at things he really shouldn't be looking at. 
Luckily she recovered first and offered him a dazzling smile. It was full of unreserved welcome, something that was foreign to him, and he wondered how much confidence that took. The only word he could use to describe the glow around her was love, but that was preposterous because they were total strangers.
He searched hard for his tongue so he could stop being such a deer in headlights and speak. "Minako?"
The bright look on her face fell, and he winced inside at having done that to her, with the very first word he ever spoke to her, no less. He'd only been hoping she was the one who had called him. If she wasn't Minako, then he owed the real Minako a great debt for having created this opportunity for them to meet. Even if he had already screwed it up.
Keep it professional, his brain scolded him again. He was here to do a job, not meet a girl.
"No, that's me!" a voice chirped to his right, and he turned to the other blonde. She was wearing a bikini with broad black and white stripes, as well as a black hat and sunglasses with thick white frames, which she slid down her nose before introducing herself. Like all her friends, she too was incredibly beautiful, but something about her look said "drama" to him. Or at least, something less innocent than the odango girl.
"I'm Minako. Thank you again so so so so much for doing this."
"It's nothing," he said, feeling a little embarrassed by her effusiveness. It took more than a little effort to ignore the glint of gold hovering in the corner of his eye. "Where should I set up? Did you have particular shots in mind?"
"Yes!" Her response was instant, but from the way she paused afterward, he guessed the real answer was no. "Sunset? Is that too generic?"
"Not at all," he lied. "Your timing couldn't be more perfect. You'll have your pick of lighting for it, assuming we can get set up fast enough." He was glad for the excuse to look out over the water again, to regain some equilibrium as he stood in the midst of any red-blooded man's dream.
"We're ready to go," Minako said, sweeping a stern look across her circle of friends like a captain surveying his battalion.
"This isn't one of your volleyball games," the tall brunette said with a roll of her eyes. "You could at least introduce him if we're going to be working together."
"Fine, all right." Minako accentuated her words with a dramatic huff, and he was gratified to know his instincts about her were right on the nose. "Everyone, this is Chiba Mamoru, who is an absolute darling for agreeing to do this at the last last minute."
The two dark haired beauties in the back of the group leaned in to confer about something together, and from the glances they threw at him, he guessed that something was him. His face warmed a little from the attention.
"I'm pleased to meet you all." 
Minako clapped her hands. "Great, now we all know each other." Someone in the group snorted, but he didn't catch who. "Let's get some gorgeous pictures taken!"
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Note
May I request the Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu with a s/o that insists on wearing a gas mask. Like they never take it off, and spend their lei on filters, and they swear there is something wrong with them. Then one day, they get lucky and their partner just walks up to them without it on and they are breathtaking?
Birb and vambire.
Mother Miranda and Alcina Dimitrescu with an s/o that is never seen without a gas mask walking up to them one day, maskless and breathtaking.
(Gender neutral).
Warnings: n/a
Masterlists here!
Mother Miranda
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Generally speaking, Miranda hates not knowing things. Unanswered questions? They won’t be unanswered after she sets her sights on them. You are one of few exceptions. 
Don’t think she’s never tried to ask anything, though. 
“Why do you wear that thing?”
“Why do you wear that?” you countered, pointing at her bird mask. 
...Because it looks pleasing with her robes and adds to her bird aesthetic.
Miranda wasn’t going to say that, though. All you received in response was a stare that would make most villagers quiver in fear. So...  touché. After that, for the most part, she doesn’t ask you something more than once.
How do you manage to eat right in front of her without removing your mask? Miranda will just have to theorize. 
What does your face look like? She’ll have to give her imagination the exercise it never gets.
“Why do you insist on wearing that mask?” Miranda asks again one day while you’re walking beside her.
“There’s something wrong with me,” you answer vaguely. And you don’t say anything more. 
Months after that interaction, you enter Miranda’s lab like you would any other day. 
She looks up briefly, returning your greeting. Emphasis on brief. She doesn’t notice that the straps of your mask are missing from the back of your head. 
“I brought you coffee,” you tell her, setting a mug down in front of her. But also away from her important papers and equipment, of course. 
The fact that your voice is significantly clearer ought to be a better indicator that something is different, but Miranda is so engrossed in her work that the difference doesn’t process. 
“Thank you, darling.” 
You continue to linger.
“Is there something you need?” She picks up the coffee, then tips her head up to look at you properly.
Now, Miranda carries herself with poise (sans that one time you got her to dance with you) (and also when you first started initiating physical affection with her) so she doesn’t spill hot coffee into her lap upon managing to miss her mouth, but she gets closer to doing that than she has in a long, long time. 
Not only can Miranda actually see your face, but your face is one that’s utterly striking. She’s intent on taking in every aspect of it. 
"The straps broke." You hold up your mask, seeming uncharacteristically nervous. "Do you know where I can find something to fix it with?"
Miranda doesn't say much of anything while the straps are being repaired, but she's certainly going to bring up the incident again later.
Alcina Dimitrescu
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Did Alcina ask you to take off your gas mask not long (aka almost immediately) after first meeting you? 
Yes, she did.
Did her tone make it seem more like a demand than a request? 
Yes, it did.
Did the way you flatly declined sort of surprise her? 
Also yes. 
Early on, it drove Alcina nuts that you always have the thing on.
But since you mean so much to her, she just comes to accept it. 
Further fueling that is your insistence that you need to wear it.
Alcina’s offered more than once to get you a nicer gas mask but you’ve never accepted.
She semi-frequently buys filters for you even though you can definitely afford them with your own Lei. 
One day, Bela finds your mask draped over the helmet of one of the suits of armor. She presents it to her mother simply because she runs into her first.
Your gas mask and no you nearby worries Alcina. You sleep with it on. She, your partner, has never seen even a glimpse of what lies beneath it. Something must have happened to you for it to be left in such a random spot.
Before Alcina even gets the chance to finish telling Bela to start looking for you, footsteps begin approaching.
She turns around.
Surprise crosses her features for only a second, but the sight of your face is something that she instantly wants to try and commit to memory. You're absolutely stunning.
"Alci, one of the maids stole my mask. I don't—"
"It's right here, dragostea mea."
Please say that you know the name of the maid so she can be... taken care of.
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hi! would you be able to talk a little more about what it’s like to work with gaboon vipers? they’re one of my favorite snakes and i’d love to hear a little more about what their snake personalities are like
Of course! I've loved them ever since I started interning with venom labs, and at the lab I still partner with the one there is probably my favorite snake in the whole lab. His name is Hot Sauce for reasons I no longer remember, and he's just a delight, but I've never worked with a gaboon viper I didn't fall in love with!
In general, gaboon vipers are the most chill snakes in the world. They're like blood pythons in that they don't move a lot, and they're good at rolling with the punches when you need to move them somewhere.
They're so heavy that most labs will have special heavy-duty hooks just for them. They're not huge snakes in terms of length, but they're so girthy that they usually weigh a lot. Hot Sauce weighs about 35 pounds. Gaboon hooks are made specifically to support their weight and girth without bending or folding.
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They can move surprisingly fast for their size, and it's especially shocking when paired with their generally sluggish personalities! At venom labs it's often standard practice to only let the interns feed the gaboons after they've seen someone else do it so they know what to prepare for. Even among snake people, their strike speed can take you off guard!
They're usually super easygoing snakes and are usually great sports about the whole venom milking process. When they start getting annoyed, they'll huff and sigh (again, like blood pythons do!), which is incredibly endearing. They have a very loud hiss, and if you pester them they'll toss their heads around (imagine a hognose's bluff strike, just in every direction), but I've never seen one in a venom lab ever attempt to bite anything other than food or the funnel.
All that said - they may be generally chill, but they're still wild venomous animals. I don't want ever imply that gaboon vipers make good pets. They have huge fangs and very strong venom, and should never, ever, be treated like pets or handled without a hook.
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toyybox · 7 months
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Spiderwebs #1: Heartless
Masterlist
content: lab whump, kidnapping, gun violence
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
The fact of the matter was that Heather required a human heart, and those weren’t easy to come by. She knew that there were ways to buy one, but where would she start asking? It was a waste of money, in any case. Of course, she had considered asking the butcher for a pig’s heart, or simply abandoning the experiment, but that would mean giving up. That would mean cowardice. Heather was not a coward. She would acquire this heart through any means necessary, legal or not. 
To get into specifics would kill her plausible deniability, but that was doomed from the start. The heart would stop beating as soon as it left the body. The experiment simply tested whether certain drugs could replicate those electrical impulses that kept it moving. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, and she had mulled over this for long enough. 
It was not particularly noble, or even helpful to the human race, but it would be interesting. Perhaps it would help some people, those who could not be implanted with pacemakers. And if that failed, like she mentioned, it would be interesting. Heather was getting bored. Bored of testing on parakeets and hamsters, or on the occasional dog. Bored of animal anatomy, of moral limits, of common sense.
These thoughts circled on and on, like a fish in a bowl too small, as she watched the stranger attempt to light a cigarette. Lucky Strikes, she noticed. He clearly had never smoked before, or he was just an idiot, because he fumbled with the lighter for five minutes before giving up. Smoking would impede her results, so this only reassured Heather that he was the perfect candidate. 
She had been following him around for a while now. Watching for a month. Stalking was the correct word, but it was undignified. Stalking was for vexed lovers and private investigators, not chemists. Then again, not many chemists kept a pistol and a length of rope in their coat pocket, waiting behind a gas station like a fox by a rabbit hole. That’s what it felt like, at least—flushing rabbits. Waiting for a flash of fur, of beady eyes. 
In the air seeped the dense smell of gasoline and rain, hot and rubbery. The sky loomed over, a mottled gray only a few shades lighter than the concrete. Was this a bad omen? Oh, what was she even thinking? Omens were for indecisive ingrates. She would do this now, or she would pull her own heart out, God damn it.
She stepped closer, then closer, then close enough to see his face. Close enough to notice chipped black nail polish, his black boots, the dark color of his eyes, the curls of his hair. He was young, perhaps the same age as her, perhaps fresh out of college. Maybe still in college. Or university. He was wearing a varsity jacket, but it was store-bought and not tied to any institution. His clothes weren’t particularly expensive or new. His boots were scuffed on the sides. 
As far as she had observed, he wasn’t much of anybody. He lived alone in a small apartment. He was friendly to his neighbours, but they replied with only the necessary politeness. He had not gone to work this week. He was using his vacation days, she figured, or he was recently unemployed. He came to this gas station every Friday, usually only for bread and eggs. He had no close family, no nearby partner. His disappearance would go unnoticed. That was all the reassurance she needed.
“Hey, lady, do you want something?” 
She blinked. “Yes. I—” He really seemed like a nice guy. She felt bad. But feeling bad was for philosophers, not chemists. “I need help with my car. I’m out of town. It’s my husband’s car, and I don’t drive a lot…” She clasped her hands together, made her eyes go wide, mimicking the gentle feminine vulnerability she’d seen in movies. “I can offer money. Fifty bucks?”
Just as she’d rehearsed. The stranger pocketed the lighter and cigarettes. “I’m not a mechanic, but I’ll take a look. Keep the money, by the way.”
She led him to her car. The trunk was open. She let him walk in front of her. She reached into her pocket, feeling for cold metal, feeling for rough twine. He let her keep the money, too. She could have gone after a criminal instead. But the public would notice if a criminal went missing, especially in a neighbourhood with so many families. It was too late to change her mind, she told herself, too late to back down. Now or never. It was now or never…
“What’s the problem, anyway? Does it not start, or—” 
“Don’t move.” The barrel of the gun hovered inches away from his head. That cold, heavy steel. What turned a normal Friday afternoon into a crime scene. “Hands up, or I’ll shoot.”
He froze. “What?”
“You heard me. Hands up.” She made an effort to keep her voice soft. Polite, even. Nice and slow, just like that, and she’d get him hook-line-sinker.
He lifted his hands in the air, his motions slow and steady. “I don’t have any money.”
He used pocket change to buy the cigarettes. Money wasn’t a concern for her, though. “Get into the passenger seat.” 
With her free hand, Heather reached into her other pocket and unlocked the car. The noise set her on edge—she needed to be as quiet as possible.
“What…?” He hadn’t understood a word. Blanked out like an actor without a script. Hadn’t moved, either. Smart guy. That’s what they always said—don’t get into the car. Don’t let them get you trapped. Heather never imagined being on the other end of that exchange. The figure in the black ski mask. The girl with the gun. What a strange thought.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
“No?” He really looked at her now, searched her expression for rhyme or reason. 
“Fine. Just don’t make any noise.”
But he braced himself instead. He was going to scream, Heather was sure. He was going to yell, or call for help, or otherwise foil her brilliant plan. He was going to ruin the whole thing. All with a loud sound, a few words. 
The handle of her pistol quickly took care of that issue. She advanced, and he staggered back, but she raised her weapon before he could bolt. With the first hit to the side of his head, he merely fell off balance with a small noise of surprise, and by the second he was unconscious. He fell ungracefully across the pavement, head slumped against a tire, limbs sprawled out.
Heather had a good aim, and a strong one at that. She had been on the baseball team way back in university. If that didn’t kill him, it definitely gave him a concussion. Indeed, as Heather put her finger to his neck, she could feel his pulse. But that was only a concern until she could retrieve his heart. He would die anyway.
She didn’t have time to think about that. She needed to keep the momentum going, keep herself moving, or the whole plan would fall to pieces like a wet biscuit. Where would that get her? Jail. And how could she do her experiments from a jail cell?
Heather leaned forward and searched through his clothes. Keys, scraps of paper—there, a wallet. Identification. She scrambled to open it. Inside were some receipts, a five dollar bill, a penny, and a driver’s license. She read his name. Jackie Rockwell. 
With the rope, she bound his wrists behind his back. Then, she dragged his body off the ground and rolled it into the trunk. As she glanced behind her, there was nothing and nobody to witness it. No other cars in the dilapidated parking lot. Not a sound or a single bystander in sight. These were early hours. Nobody could be bothered to check.
Well, Jackie, she thought just before shutting the trunk, you’re going to be put to good use. Congratulations.
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stormxpadme · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023 No. 6 - "Made to Watch."
READ THE FIRST SCENES OF THAT STORY ON AO3.
It was Logan's worst nightmare come true all over again, this time only with the difference that he was around for the big show and forced to watch.
He took only a nanosecond, before moving, to call himself a goddamn fucking idiot upon waking up in what his senses let him know immediately could only be one of Essex' usual underground research centers. That combination of moldy walls, copper on his tongue, and the sharpness of an endless variety of drugs, he'd identify from a thousand stenches at once. He should have known the bastard wouldn’t lose any time once the universe was safe, to get back to his favorite obsession. Scott and he should have stayed at Stark Tower for a couple of days, for fuck's sake, to get those security measures at Mutant High and in Logan's room in particular updated that had no longer been necessary after his lover's last demise. Or they could have just fucked off to the Canadian wilderness for a while until Logan could have been sure, his new partner would stand half a chance even against someone outmatching both of them so easily. Too late for regrets. If he didn’t want history to repeat itself, he couldn’t waste even a second on grief and regret, neither with regard to the past nor concerning his latest fuck-up of negligence. Logan had always been a far bigger fan of correcting mistakes. With a suppressed growl on his lips, he forced himself to ignore that horrible tug of some thick hooks best as he could, that he'd immediately felt upon waking were piercing several locations of his back, and the back of his arms and thighs, keeping him suspended from the ceiling of what sounded and smelled like a pitch-black solidary cell. A chance that begged to be used. Clenching his teeth, Logan craned his neck away from where an unforgiving bondage of pure adamantium cuffs was keeping his crossed arms, his knuckles, pressed to his own throat. Just one of Essex' usual perversions, nothing he hadn’t seen – or experienced – before, and nothing he couldn’t beat if he was quick enough though it would be anything but pleasant. No matter. Stabbing right through himself was the only way to cut those chains behind him that were keeping him in the air. To get his arms free, somehow, and get the fuck out of this room, to find out where that psycho motherfucker had taken his partner this time … Another groan came from Logan's lips when a bright neon spot right above him was suddenly turned on, the glaring light stinging in his eyes and making him too dizzy for a moment for the precision of the required strike. So much for the hope of being unwatched.
"I strongly advise against that, Howlett, unless you're eager to find out how fast you can dig an inhibitor bullet from behind your guts with a severed windpipe and torn jugulars." Essex didn’t even turn to him at where he was standing, in the middle of a cluttered lab on the other side of a bulletproof glass wall Logan had been demonstratively draped in front of as he could finally make out once his sensitive eyes had adjusted. The eager way the asshole was pacing there, with sickeningly greedy stares at his other prisoner who was tied to a metal examination chair, was a crass contrast to the absolute ignorance almost bordering on boredom that he had to spare for Logan's threats and curses his way. Logan had never been someone Essex had had a lot to fear from, not when he set up one of his perverse little scenes with enough preparations. And after Logan had ruined his day back at the time so often, and with a couple of years gone by that the bastard had been forced to stop his experiments on his favorite subject for good, there was no mistaking how much he was looking forward to his victim waking from unconsciousness. "Why do you still bother?" Essex sighed at Logan's useless, agonizing attempts to rip himself free from those hooks with sheer force. "You know the drill, Howlett. You two will be home by nightfall if you don't give me any trouble. If you're being a good boy now and shut that big mouth of yours so I can concentrate, I might even add painkillers to the mix this time. You deserve a little treat, for bringing me back my most precious gift." While busy with invisible hands, programming the lab's main workstation to fill injections and infusion bags and clean a whole myriad of scalpels, saws, retractors, and clips – the sight of which alone had Logan's stomach turn –, Essex reached to brush one sleazy, spidery fingertip along the bare, haggard curve of Scott's unmoving shoulders. A gesture of tenderness almost, enough to very damn near make Logan throw up in his mouth. "Can you imagine my surprise when I checked my usual observation screens of your school and saw that beautiful face back between those tasteless halls? I don't know how you slept with to score yourself such an excellent variant to keep, Howlett, but I have to admit, you might be good for more than I used to think. One day, I'll make you two part of my army just yet. Great job indeed." His blood-red eyes glowing with sadistic anticipation, Essex came to stand next to that damn patient chair, holding a few first sterile clothes and a far too sharp-looking knife, looking like a child in front of a Christmas tree. "An almost unmarred canvas for me to work with. This will help me finally discover the missing pieces of the puzzle. How about that, Howlett: You tell me in which dimension you found this particular specimen so I can reap some more useful objects from there. Then I might let you two out after just a couple of samples and pricks today."
"Does this guy ever shut up?" Only at that particularly terrifying development, of his new arch-enemy threatening all that Scott had been forced to leave behind not too long ago, Scott gave up the cover of alleged unconsciousness of which Logan had long sensed that his lover had left behind by now. Unlike Logan, Scott wasted no energy, putting up a useless fight against bonds a thousand times stronger than him or with a gift rendered useless thanks to the lazily red blinking collar around his neck. Instead, he chose the only tactic possibly able to stall the horrors waiting to unfold, ever until they might be found by the people Logan knew were already looking for them. Stalling a man whom he'd never consciously met before, with something more interesting to Essex than even his thirst for knowledge and torture being instantly quenched.
If Logan hadn’t been out of his mind with worry and rage right now, he might have been proud of his lover. "Oh please, don’t encourage him. Dude's only real superpower is the huge fucking boner he has for himself." Somehow, he managed to force a grin of his own onto his raw-bitten lips, Scott's and his gaze meeting for a brief look of wariness, of warning, of anxiety. Even that split-second was enough for Logan to fall in love all over again with the sky-blue ocean that was this verse's Scott's pupils. The next moment, a hoarse scream tore from his lips when current was suddenly flowing those implements in his flesh, causing him to arch up involuntarily against the cruel restraints which left even deeper gashes in his flesh that for the moment couldn’t close. "Motherf…"
"Want another taste? If not, keep that trash-mouth of yours shut." Essex demonstratively held up a little remote he'd plucked from his belt and turned back to Scott with a satisfied nod when Logan only bared his teeth at him. "Allow me to introduce myself in a more civilized manner. I gather from what little your file in Westchester says about you that we have not had the pleasure before at where you come from. Name's Mr. Sinister. The two of us have a lot to catch up with. How about I give you a rundown of our common history while I get a few first readings and souvenirs of that beautiful body of yours?"
"No need, doctor," Scott replied flatly, his face unmoving in spite of the cold sweat beading at his neck that Logan could detect even without his enhanced senses, at the sight of all these stainless steel instruments on the table behind Essex. But if there was one thing, this newly emerged Scott didn’t need to learn first, it was keeping his emotions under the same adamantium lock and key as his predecessor, even in the face of a mighty adversary. "I have long acquired all the information on you that I need." When Essex backed away with a confused frown for a moment, pulling away the blade that had been only a few inches from below Scott's bare ribcage, with his head tilted in curiosity, the cynical smile curling on Scott's lips only deepened, his tense posture not relaxing in carelessness even for a second. He was lurking. Two minutes in, and the guy was already playing Essex like a damn fiddle.
If somehow, they would be lucky enough to make it out of here in one piece, Logan would spend all day tomorrow with his mouth on his lover's cock, he decided.
"Really. What is it that they say about me in your world?" Staring at his instrument undecided, Essex put it away again with a shrug, obviously not in a hurry.
Scott raised his chin a little higher and let out a dry chuckle. "Nothing, doctor. Nothing at all. Where I come from, no one knows your name and no one ever will. Charles Xavier has made very sure of that. And from what I'm seeing of your adolescent torture porn fantasies in here, I don't think that's a loss for anyone."
For a moment, Logan was absolutely convinced that Scott had taken his diversion gamble too far, that in his wrath, Essex would punch right through him when their enemy lost it, not entirely unexpected, bringing his supernaturally strong fist down on his prisoner's unprotected midsection.
But Scott only reared up in his bonds with a breathless, tortured gasp and then started coughing and retching so violently, so exaggeratedly, that Logan's panicked brain finally caught on to the plan. In fact, even before Essex rolled his eyes at his prisoner's troubles to keep breathing through those contractions and obstacles in his throat, and reluctantly let the shackles tying Scott down open with an impatient telekinetic movement.
If Scott kept this up, Logan would end up bottoming voluntarily for the guy for a whole month.
Essex was none the wiser for the moment, watching impassively as Scott was writhing on the ground after collapsing from that chair, dragging desperate breaths through his lungs between spitting out the rest of last evening's celebration feast. "Maybe I spoke too soon. He's a breakable one, that variant, isn’t he, Howlett? You might want to look out for your new bedside entertainment if you don't want to scrap his corpse off my laboratory ground in a month as well."
The waves of blood red rising higher and higher behind Logan's increasingly blurred vision, along with the bottomless black pit that was his grief, exploded in his soul in an instant, bursting the chains of weak restraint with which he'd tried to stop such an outburst exactly. In the most dangerous of all places, going berserk always could mean his own death just as much as his friend's and family's, especially with his powers temporarily eliminated … But none of those warning considerations made it past that one horrible image in his head that his enemy's provocations conjured, of a bloodless body cradled in his arms, the echo of his own anguished screams in his mind drowning out every voice of rationality. Rearing up against his chains once more, he tore free of four of those fucking hooks, the rest ripping easily through flesh and muscle, no longer able to hold his weight, before he crashed to the ground covered in his own blood, with the air pressed brutally from his chest, too much even for voicing the agony wrecking him.
Instead, someone else was screaming.
For a moment, Logan was absolutely convinced that he had fucked up, again, had made the worst possible decision in the worst possible moment. That Scott would be paying the price for that before Logan would even somehow manage to stumble to his feet, could at least try and fight his way through to his lover, through all the usual deadly traps that all of Essex' places were rigged with …
Only belatedly, he realized that he'd mistaken the voice yelling there, thanks to the loud ringing in his ears. Scott had used the second of distraction wisely that Logan's crash had offered. The scream turned into a gurgling sound of damaged airways, not much unlike the fate his enemy had threatened him with earlier, choking sputtering following, the heavy thud of something massive hitting the ground … Then it was silent, right before Logan finally managed to push himself to his feet.
"You look like shit," Scott told him dryly, looking up with a grin from where he'd only just finished, driving an inhibitor dagger even deeper into Essex' throat that Scott must have brought up from his own damn stomach in a move as brilliant as desperate. Promptly, Logan remembered seeing his lover reach for something under his pillow when they'd been attacked, in that only split second they had had for such a decision. And it had been exactly the right one. "What? How do you think I survived in the streets after Mom and Dad crashed? When you start to deal with drugs at 14 or so in the most patrolled alleys of Hell's Kitchen, you quickly learn how to swallow and vomit stuff at will."
"You are a lunatic. You know that, right?" For seconds, Logan could just stare at that smart bastard he happened to call his partner, too perplexed even to think of getting that damn inhibitor out of his own body so he could stop painting the damn floor red, or find something to cover himself up with. First things first. There was something he'd avoided last night in his damn stupidity and emotional constipation, and fuck him if he'd risk even for one second longer, not getting a chance to say it at all. "For some damn reason, I love you anyway."
Scott granted him another long moment of looking at those beautiful eyes AS they were promptly glistening with a hint of salt, of seeing that broad, touched smile on his lips, before he bent down to his enemy's corpse again, for a certain key and his VISOR safely tucked away in Essex' belt, to get rid of his inhibitor collar. "Right back at you, Claws. Looks like we make a pretty good team in every verse."
Logan impatiently punched the damn glass between them to pieces, ignoring both the shards between his knuckles and new drops of red splashing on the ground in favor of pulling his lover close and kissing him senselesa. That was all the answer needed anyway.
*******************************************************************************
Please note that this was once a preexisting oneshot based on a prompt, to which I added the above scene to make it a legit Whumptober-entry.
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@whumptober | @whumptober-archive
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driftwithme · 7 months
Text
Pacific Rim worldbuilding details:
The only one in-world PPDC videogame was created during the golden era of the jaeger program. It was shaped as a mini games type were you could fight kaijus with your chosen jarger, solve puzzles as a j-tech or escape from a collapsing lab as a k-scientist.
The number of teens applying for the PPDC was always high. Especially kids left orphaned. Most of those candidates would end becoming j-techs or part of the strike force or some other thing. It's why Raleigh and Chuck are the favorite of the young public.
There are a few jaeger movies made to promote the PPDC and the jeager effort. That was not even their idea, but some directors got too excited about it.
The amount of songs name dropping j-pilots and jaegers is insane. Back at the golden age of the jaeger program there was a betting pool about it. It became common again after Pitfall.
The PPDC never gave consent for any movie or anything else explicitly made about real life j-pilots. Even during the rockstar era it felt too invasive.
The influence of Mako Mori's blue bangs hairstyle post-Pitfall is and always be a cultural changing moment. You bet that everyone wanted to be the rookie raised by the Marshall himself that shut the breach and piloted with Raleigh freaking Becket.
Kids growing up post the kaiju invasion would forever remember the kaiju drills and evacuation protocols. They would hear people talk about a world without kaiju and feel robbed, feel mistreated and abused. They could never imagine a world without kaijus --or jaegers.
There's an insane amount of pets named after kaijus.
There's also an insane amount of cars modified to have a kaiju-look.
Back school kids would literallt bully others over hypothetical drift tests and compatibility. That was a very serious thing that happened. Nerds would suffer hearing they'd probably be compatible with a kaiju or find a "kaiju partner" and kids would get called "kaiju girlfriends or boyfriends" and such.
There are whole ass game shows based on testing the "drift compatibility" ofna certain duo or group, where the people involved had to guess what an individual is thinking or about to do.
Kids calling principals "Marshall" is, as you might think, very common.
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