#when his parts built a very strange machine~
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Remember the theory on how ScaVio might potentially have impact on Legends Arceus and how the mainline series treats time travel? Yeah, scratch that in large parts.
BECAUSE THERE IS NO TIME MACHINE IN SCARLET AND VIOLET
The mysterious pokemon described in the Scarlet Book/ Violet Book... it makes "imagination" a "reality." The weird pokemon sketched in the book, the photos of the approximated paradox pokemon - they are all built on the imagination of the expedition team Heath was in. They are a reflection of what these people expected to find in the depths of the Paldean Crater. The Legendary Pokemon on the hexagonal layers is likely building not just pokemon but items, technology out of the Tera Crystals based on what the people in its vicinity imagine.
The team envisioned to find strange creatures. Fusions of legendary pokemon of Johto's legendary dogs, or Unova's Swords of Justice. In Scarlet, the expectation seems to have been to find prehistoric pokemon - preserved in the crator without human interference. In Violet, the expectation may have been shaped by the evolution of mankind and its technology - to find traces of a civilization far more advanced than our own with pokemon evolved to fit that image.
And the artist accompanying the expedition even skeched out some of the pokemon they thought they saw or dreamed up in a haze. And THOSE SKETCHES are what would later shape the imagination of the people entering the crator. The very documentation of the Area Zero shaped how humans would continue to perceive it. And it shaped Sada's and Turo's image of what the far past or the far future might look like. An "image" that would become "reality." (Even Arven mentions how farfetched the Books descriptions sound, and how his parents seemed to have basically made this fairytale real)
I cannot yet tell why the Crystalline Legendary mentioned in those books would do that, though. Maybe it was originally a defense mechanism that was supposed to keep stuff away. Let people and pokemon imagine their fears in order to protect itself. Something that failed over time as mankind advances in technology and science, so it switched strategies to keep itself save.
Maybe the Legendary is trying to lure people/pokemon/whatever to themself - like an anglerfish dangling light in the dark ocean depths, a promise of treasure greater than your wildest dreams.
Whatever the reason is, what we know for certain is that it worked on Sada/Turo.
And the legendary pokemon began more and more to shape and create from the specific reasearch the professors conducted.
In the end, the "time machine" they built is no time machine. It is a machine that makes imagination "reality" (possibly powered by the legendary pokemon in some capacity). Maybe the machine even got constructed by the crystal pokemon bc hallelujah how do you get that much construction done in a literal Made in Abyss eldritch mystery crater without all the world knowing what you are doing. Or heck maybe the machine did somehow get constructed, but it worked more like an amplifier for the Legendary Pokemon's powers.
Either way, it explains why people would not be able to "return" from the "future/past". because the future/past as Turo/Sada imagined it does not exist.
That also explains why the AI Professor crystallizes in the final fight - they are a crystalline construction of imagination. They are Sada/Turo's ideal work partner - a copy of themselves. Something that knows exactly how the Professor thinks and acts. And when the protag squad tries to shut down the machine the illusion begins to fall apart.
It also means the Tera Crystal constructions like the doppelgangers, Miraidon/Koraidon, and all the other paradox pokemon can gain actual awareness, emotion, and sentience.
They are all the Professors' "Paradise" because that is how they imagined the prehistoric past/ far future to be:
Wilderness untamed and existence optimized.
#pokemon sv#scavio spoilers#pokemon scarlet and violet#scavio theory#professor sada#professor turo#arven#pokemon arven#jo's theory corner
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The Rebound 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Curtis Everett
Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You get up early on Saturday. You’ve made up your mind, you’re not going to let your ex ruin your progress. So you missed a few days, that doesn’t mean it’s over. You can always pick up and keep going. You’re not starting over, you’re finishing what you started.
You head into town first. It’ll add some extra kilometers to your daily walk, just a small dent in what you skipped. You stop by the bakery, closer to a cafe with its steaming espresso machines, and pick up an Americano for a boost. No dairy, no sweetener, you’re sticking to that at least.
You resist the call of the strawberry tarts in the display and thank the woman behind the counter. She’s younger than you and she owns this whole place. A pang of envy nips at you as you turn to go. You feel like you missed out on the years you could’ve built something of your own.
You set off, blowing over the slot of the cup’s lid. The brew fills your nose with its rich scent as you set down the path towards the trees. Up a hill and the coffee’s cool enough to taste. You nurse it slowly as you wind around the rise and fall of the village.
You enter the woods, this time from the opposite edge and the shade of the leaves cools the sweat on your nape. You sigh and take a rest, leaning on a tree as you savour the flavour of the diluted espresso.
You nearly spill as you hear a twig snap. You turn and look around either side of the tree. You’re not used to the strange noise of the wilderness. Out there, something’s always moving, something’s always fluttering or chittering.
The trail stretches on and you follow it down to the babbling stream. You’re close to done the coffee, you hadn’t thought about what to do with the cup. Oh well. You hang onto it as you near the water’s edge.
You stare down at yourself. The ripples distort your reflection and yet, not very much. You’ve got some padding to lose around your thighs and tummy. Maybe even your upper arms. You need to put more energy into walking. You’re older and your metabolism can’t keep up.
You sigh and drain the last of the coffee, choking the bitter dregs in the bottom. You crush the cup flat and slide the lid inside. You drop your shoulder and spin on your heel. A yelp lodges in your throat but can’t escape. You grip your chest as a figure stands watching, so silent and unmoving he nearly blends in with the trees.
“I– I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you,” you gasp as you drop your hand.
Curtis blinks and doesn’t say a word. He steps forward, treading down to the river, stopping just a foot away from you. It’s like he didn’t even hear you. You stutter and snap your mouth shut, slowly retreating.
“It’s fine,” he says at last and bends to dip his hands into the water. “Ran into some skunkweed.”
“Oh, uh, that’s… cruddy,” you utter awkwardly. “I was just going.”
He continues to stir his hands in the water. You back away and look down at the cup in your hands. The tweeting of birds tweaks in your ears.
“Nice to see you back,” he says, so low, you’re not sure he truly said a word.
You stop, “pardon?”
He stands and shakes his hands off, “out here.”
“What do you…”
“I have traps,” he gestures to the trees, “for rabbits.”
You frown, “oh, I didn’t see you…”
“Habit,” he shrugs, “hunter’s instinct, I guess.”
You flick your fingers over the curled brim of the cup. You know some people like the game around here but they usually go up to the northern patch, not down here. You nod and try to smile, “didn’t think there was any big game around here.”
He just stares at you, “I make do.”
“Right,” you shiver out a breath, “anyway… I’ll be off.”
He nods, “see ya around.”
“Sure, um, enjoy your book… and your hunting.”
You slowly make your way towards the trees. You pass between an oak and slender birch before you peek back. He just watches after you, unmoving. You try to shake off the goosebumps as you turn back to the path. You stop on the trail and crane back again. He’s gone.
The smell of moss and dirt drifts up from the river behind you. You crush the cup in your hand and the lid pops out. You bend to pick it up and hear something snap. You stand up so quickly it makes you dizzy. You whip around, searching, the trees adding to your disorientation.
You stumble and set yourself straight. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Faster. Faster. It’s just the wind, it’s just a squirrel or a rabbit. It’s nothing. Those twigs snapping, the branches rustling, it’s all just natural.
As you come in sight of the treeline and the open expanse of the fields, you’re almost running. You stop just as you escape the forest. You let the question bloom in your mind. How could he have seen you all as you had no idea he was there? Why hadn’t he said hello?
You slow but not much. Your lungs burn and your calves ache. You shouldn’t think too hard about it. Curtis is just quiet, he’s not much of a talker. Yet, the man you saw in the woods seemed much different than the one in the library. The way he looked at you, as if taking the measure of you, as if you were prey.
No, it’s all in your head. Don’t be silly. The woods are desolate and eerie, it plays tricks on you. Besides, look at you. You’re definitely not drawing any unwarranted attention. Not from anyone but your bitter ex.
#curtis everett#curtis everett x reader#dark curtis everett#dark!curtis everett#the rebound#series#snowpiercer#au#backwoods au#drabble
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Hermitcraft Guide: Transcript/accessible version
Hermitcraft is a vanilla style* multiplayer server that has been running in a season format since 2012. Each season, the players move to a new world and start anew, meaning now’s the perfect time to start watching!
The server is invite only, and new people can join only when the existing Hermits unanimously agree that they would be a good fit. The Hermits have regular meetings to discuss new ideas and any concerns.
I don’t recommend watching every episode by every Hermit. There’s shows like HermitCraft Recap to keep you up to date! Don’t feel obligated to watch everything, just have fun!
* the server is mostly unmodded, but in recent seasons, the Hermits have been implementing custom items and texture packs for the sake of storytelling
Individual hermit descriptions under the cut
Descriptions are all edited by myself, with some contributions from other people :)
Hermit: BdoubleO100
Quote: “Axe wielding maniac, that’s me!”
Flags: USA
Description: Bdubs is a master at using unconventional blocks in his highly detailed builds.
It’s a point of pride to always be the one to sleep and skip the night before the others can.
He’s often teased about his height despite not being the shortest Hermit.
Hermit: Cubfan135
Quote: “There is redstone back there… Basically, it does stuff.”
Flags: USA
Description: Cub is really good at basically every aspect of Minecraft, and always goes big in his projects. With Scar, he created a capitalistic empire and then decided he didn’t care for industry afterward, since he had already won. Cub then became a freeloading basement dweller. He enjoys confusing other people with strange antics.
Hermit: Docm77
Quote: “We will crush them with our redstone spaghetti”
Flags: Germany
Description: A bit of an intense guy, Doc is unafraid to play the scary villain. Don’t let that fool you – he’s a big softie. His Twitter is 50% “hey who wants to see the game-breaking death machine I built” and 50% about his adorable kid, nicknamed “Doccy”
His arm was canonically destroyed by the Minecraft dev Dinnerbone back in 2013.
[Desciption provided by anon]
Hermit: Ethoslab
Quote: “Xisuma is okay with pretty much everything I do if he doesn’t find out about it.”
Flags: Canada
Description: Etho is a Minecraft O.G. and the creator of many of the redstone designs that everyone uses. He’s a very dedicated player with an unconventional style, and the other Hermits are a bit obsessed with him. He’s your favourite YouTuber’s favourite YouTuber. And there’s a reason for that.
Hermit: FalseSymmetry
Quote: The Queen of Hearts, Heads and Body Parts
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Very approachable and friendly, but has a reputation for her confidence in PVP. False works on very large, thematically strong builds. She was the first Minecraft Championship participant to achieve multiple consecutive wins.
Hermit: Geminitay
Quote: “How am I supposed to Live Laugh Love in these conditions!?”
Flags: Canada, Bisexual
Description: Gem is a talented builder with an appreciation of cute aesthetics that’s matched only by her thirst for blood. She’s truly earned the descriptor “Geminislay.”
She joined in season 8, and has effectively struck fear into the hearts of the other Hermits, particularly Etho, despite her wholesome personality.
Hermit: Grian
Quote: “Not everything I do has to start a war, okay? Sometimes I just want to start a society of sewer mole people.”
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Grian always builds big and pranks bigger. He delights in nothing less than being a public nuisance. This starts (good-natured) wars within the server repeatedly.
He’s very social, but is basically glued to Mumbo and Scar. Infamously never bothers with the backs of his builds.
Hermit: Impulse SV
Quote: "I hate being bad at stuff!"
Flags: USA
Description: Impulse gets a reputation for being super nice all the time but he will hold a grudge forever.
He once moved his entire base up by one block because he thought it would make it look better (it did)
One season he ate crystals.
[Description provided by sudden-memory-loss]
Hermit: Hypnotizd
Quote: “And then I found an enderchest here, it’s got a lot of good stuff in it!”
Flags: USA
Description: Hypno's one of the more reserved Hermits, sticking to himself (+ bothering xB and Jevin). He's extremely laid-back and has a little bit of a deadpan silly sense of humor. He’s a very observant guy who builds geometric and rustic creations. His post-annotated runs of the minigame Decked Out 2 are great if you want to see someone actively break down how they play!
[Description provided by anon]
Hermit: Iskall85
Quote: “Let’s not end it on a goodbye, let’s end it on a Hallo”
Flags: Sweden
Description: A hardworking builder and redstone engineer. Loves making minigames, most of which revolve around gambling. Iskall is a dedicated hater of diorite blocks. Creator of the Vault Hunters modpack and server(s), which he has spent most his time playing recently.
Hermit: JoeHills
Quote: “Sufficiently advanced bothering-each-other is indistinguishable from teamwork”
Flags: USA
Description: Joe is a strange person, and his brand of absurdity cannot easily be put into words. He typically ends his videos with a poem or strange moral. Joe makes funny low energy videos, perfect for those who want to watch something laid-back.
Hermit: iJevin
Quote: “It’s actually pretty straightforward and almost easy. Sometimes.”
Flags: USA
Description: Unashamed. Just in general. A real hard worker who’s willing to destroy a massive project and start over. This commitment carries over into prank wars, which escalate to truly ludicrous heights.
Hermit: Keralis
Quote: “Let’s take the Black Death. I like the sound of that.”
Flags: Sweden, Poland
Description: Keralis favours modern, industrial-styled builds that carry the impression of wealth and prestige. His creations always have a strong sense of life to them. Keralis has a habit of referring to the others with silly nicknames such as “Shashwammy” and “Bubbles”,
Hermit: PearlescentMoon
Quote: “Yeah, I’m a little suspicious of myself to be honest.”
Flags: Australia
Description: Pearl is perhaps one of the best builders in all of MCYT. Her works are awe-inspiring in scale, but really shine in their details. A long-time friend of Grian, she joined HC in season 8 and fits right in, with a unique energy that’s full of fun. She is always up for a light bit of pranking or teasing, with unstoppable chaotic energy when she’s up at 5am for events.
[Description provided by cerealisafunbath and anon]
Hermit: Mumbo Jumbo
Quote: “If I forget, slap me. With a cold, vegan fishcake”
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Mumbo is best known for his eccentric redstone creations. He’s sometimes too ambitious for his own good – his ideas blow up in his face at the worst possible moments. He’s got a lovable awkward energy and strange, extremely British mannerisms.
Hermit: GoodTimesWithScar
Quote: “A laugh is worth far more than a diamond.”
Flags: USA
Description: Scar’s building skills and storytelling will make believe in magic and want to see what he’ll do next. Scar can pull pranks and act the villain as good as anyone else on Hermitcraft, but no matter what role Scar is playing, you will have a good time.
He’s banned from Canada, so he banned the nation of Canada from his theme park.
Scar IRL has a chronic disease that he’s very open about, and uses a wheelchair. Check out his day in the life videos!
[Description provided by anon]
Hermit: Rendog
Quote: “Have a lovely day warmbloods, I’m off to sharpen my bones.”
Flags: United Kingdom, South Africa
Description: Ren is the hermit most likely to jump in to some over-the-top storytelling, mixing it with his regular content for some impressive arcs. He’s played a lot of roles, from mind-controlled business tycoon to time travelling hippie.
Hermit: StressMonster101
Quote: “Come and chase me boys! I’m going to murder you!”
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Stress is known for describing everything she loves as “gorgeous!” It’s definitely her catchphrase.
She uses a lot of pink and purple, and loves bright fantasy aesthetics. She’s closest with Iskall, who she will bother at every opportunity.
Hermit: Tango Tek
Quote: “Would I put a tu-tu on my Fifi? Come on!”
Flags: USA
Description: Tango is the creator of the in-Minecraft minigame Decked-Out, which everyone on the server is obsessed with. He’s a lover of all things dramatic and explosive. Tango is hungry for feedback and improvement, and values honesty about his work. World's best minigame creator and world's worst minigame player. Master of making strange noises.
[Desciption provided by sudden-memory-loss]
Hermit: VintageBeef
Quote: “I respectfully decline your creepy ways.”
Flags: Canada
Description: Beef is the most enthusiastic user of the mechanic that allows players to make massive builds into tiny map-based pixel art. He uses this for a lot of different purposes, from wallpaper to custom card games. It takes a lot of dedication, which he has in spades. He's oblivious in the best way possible. He’s walking in circles, he’s misplacing items, he’s having fun.
[Description provided by two anonymous contributors]
Hermit: WelsKnight
Quote: “I’ve got a fever and the only prescription is trading card games.”
Flags: USA
Description: As his name suggests, Wels (knight) has a strong interest in medieval aesthetics, which he uses heavily in his builds. He’s also recorded sea shanties. Former paralegal and court reporter for the US army.
Hermit: xBCrafted
Quote: “Awwww yeah!”
Flags: USA
Description: xB posts often, about two or three times a week. His videos always go over his thought process a lot more than anyone else. His builds have a strong focus on environmental storytelling.
Hermit: XisumaVoid
Quote: “I’ve got derp on the mind”
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Xisuma tends to pick a theme for his big projects and always wears a matching costume. He describes himself as a big derp, and no one agrees on how to pronounce his name.
He doesn’t reset his episode number each season, so he’ll be starting season 10 with episode #1128! Xisuma is the server’s admin, which is a big responsibility without the powertrip due to the Hermits’ commitment to group decision making.
Hermit: ZombieCleo
Quote: "I'll break you legs"
Flags: United Kingdom, Bisexual. Cleo uses She/They pronouns, but I do not know if they identify as nonbinary.
Description: Cleo enjoys detail work, being the number-one user of the posable armour stand tweak, which she uses to make dioramas and statues. They have a rather dry, mature sense of humour. Formerly a schoolteacher. Cleo is close friends with Joe, and the two regularly stream activities such as crafting together
Hermit: Zedaph Plays
Quote: “Is this a bad idea? Yes. Am I gonna do it anyway? Yes.”
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Focuses more on making his own fun than on traditional builds. Zedaph is the human embodiment of an explosion happening in another room and hearing someone yell out "it's fine!". A very polite and confusing mad scientist. He does the wildest things just because he can. His editing style is fun and creative, featuring stop-motion montages.
[Description provided by sudden-memory-loss and anon]
New hermits:
Hermit: Smallishbeans
Flags: United Kingdom
Description: Joel is a masterful builder and intimidating fighter. Has very sarcastic deadpan humour. He likes to bully everyone affectionately. Married to fellow MCYTber LDshadowlady (Lizzie)
Hermit: Skizzleman
Flags: USA
Description: Skizz is a beacon of positivity and energy. Strong dad energy. He and Impulse have been friends for more than 25 years. Forms a lot of acronym groups with the Hermits (ZITS, GIGS) and comes up with nicknames for everyone
_
In Loving Memory of
Hermit: Tinfoil Chef
Flags: USA
Description:
A beloved member of Hermitcraft since season 2, TFC passed in 2022.
“Five blocks at a time…
Punctuated with a torch…
Five more once again…
TinfoilChef worked at his own
speed, in his own way…
May we all remember him
in our own ways by striving…
to live unhurried by unwarranted comparisons to those around
and bring joy to others
making the art we want to create.”
[Poem by an anonymous Hermit, likely Joe]
Thank you for reading!
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How do you think our tiefling boys would react to our world if they somehow ended up here?
i always find these so cute, but in my head i'm thinking "they would be terrified and ready to stab someone because they are in a strange world where they can't understand anyone" lol
so to make things easier and cuter let's pretend that
1. there are no language barriers
2. no one is trying to kill them/no one's freaking out because they look like devils
3. they're somewhat aware enough of what's happening to not be scared shitless or severely confused
4. they know they're going back home at some point (i would be acting SO different if i thought i was gonna live in a different world forever vs just visiting lmao)
ty for the request you're the best!
Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - A Part of Our World
How the tiefling boys react to coming to our world
Dammon:
He’s amazed by the advancements we’ve made, slack-jawed at how we’ve managed to bend metal to form buildings that climb so high he can’t see the top, at how we’ve made metal fly without so much as a single spell, at how we’re able to make metal into machines so big they can move the earth itself.
It’s overwhelming at first and he has so many questions. How does this work? What type of metal is that? What does this do? It never stops.
But every answer is met with true awe. Dammon loves smithing, loves infernal machinery, and he’s been suddenly transported to a world built around his craft, of course he is inspired.
He’s the most open-minded of the tieflings when it comes to a new experience. And just like the Hells, even though this place is foreign, unfamiliar, frightening, he’s eager to learn something from it.
Dammon takes notes on everything he possibly can, sketching out little pictures of the world around him to bring back home.
I could see him being a bit of a terror just because he breaks everything around him trying to figure out how it works, what makes it tick, so to speak. I mean, how could he truly understand the inner workings of, say, a car without taking it apart piece by piece until he has it down to its bare bones.
Overall, I think he comes back home with so many good stories to tell of all the fantastical things he’s seen, all of the new ideas he has, and a renewed purpose in his work.
Rolan:
Rolan absolutely hates our world. It’s just not made for a guy like him.
I mean, first off: no magic. His life revolves around magic, it’s an integral part of him. Without it he feels empty and strange, so this world feels very wrong to him. Imagine being connected to the Weave for years and then suddenly having it stripped away. Completely gone. I would think it would feel disorienting at best.
He finds some interest in speaking to people of this world who practice magic, but it is so entirely different than his own that they're practically talking about two different things. He expected a more tangible magic like the Weave and is disappointed when he learns it’s so vastly incomparable.
Second: the people. There are so many people here. Pretty much anywhere he goes, the population would be bigger and denser than anything he’s used to. And it’s not like he’s a people person. Not to mention the way humans tend to treat outsiders.
Despite his absolute discomfort in our world, Rolan is determined to write down everything he can of his experience. Not many mortals from his world get to experience traveling the universes, so cataloging his journey is a must.
He’ll write a book once he’s home, and it’ll make a big splash in the academic community, he just knows it!
When he does leave our world for his own, he’s relieved. In his book he makes it sound like this magical wonderland of things beyond most people’s comprehension, but to those close to him he tells them the truth. He was not a fan.
Zevlor:
Zevlor is apprehensive at first. This world is strange – he does not know the customs at all. But he's eager to learn.
He spends his time amongst the people more so than the other two. He is so curious about the traditions of the land, the history of the world, and hearing it from the mouths of the locals is better than getting his hands on any book.
He immerses himself in the cultures he comes across as much as possible; he eats our food and sings our songs and actually has a really good time with it.
I think he finds special interest in the history of combat, how our conflicts have changed throughout time. How did we go from swinging swords and shooting arrows to battling wars from across the world?
Zevlor also tries to teach people of our world about where he comes from. He tells stories from his days as a Hellrider to anyone who will listen and even tries to cook some traditional Elturian food, but it’s hard to do so without the same ingredients.
Overall, he’s more interested in the shared knowledge of culture and information between our world and his. It brings him comfort finding similarities between such different worlds.
When he finally can go back home, he shares his stories with the children first, spinning them tales of the people he met and the things he did. How even in such a foreign place there were still nice people willing to help and to share and to be a friend.
Zevlor is the one who wishes to come back the most.
#bg3#bg3 dammon#bg3 rolan#bg3 zevlor#dammon#rolan#zevlor#baldur's gate 3#my writing#requests/suggestions#dragomermacorn#HCs
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Knights of Wind and Truth preview
Brandon Sanderson: Jasnah found it difficult to sleep. A part of her wanted to blame this stupid bed. Wit adored plushness; he wanted a mattress that would swallow a person, and he had found her previous one to be unsuitable. So now she swam in stuffing, lying on her side, listening to his breathing.
Wit didn’t snore when he slept, but he did occasionally whistle. She turned to her other side–which, since they both tended to sink toward the center of this awful mattress, should have jostled him. He just laid there on his back, whistling softly as he exhaled. Was he even actually asleep? Things he’d said to her indicated that perhaps he went to other places at night around the Cosmere, visiting other worlds, engaging in political machinations at which, even still, she could only guess.
“You lie to me sometimes,” she whispered to him. “You realized that means it can’t be a true relationship. I can trust someone with secrets—but someone who lies?” If he was aware, despite his sleep, he didn’t say anything.
She’d caught him so far only in the most mundane of ways. He’d engage with wordplay with her, or toy with puns, and she’d ask him to stop. He’d promise, and seem to have done what he said. But then she’d notice that the games hadn’t stopped; they’d only grown more inscrutable. Wit, twisting the wordplays to a deeper level, another layer of esoteric, more difficult to spot. He seemed to think it would engage her, push her. Instead, it signaled something disturbing. Wit would do what he thought was best for people, not what they wanted from him.
Despite her efforts, she knew she wasn’t connecting to him physically as much as he’d like. That made him feel anxious, as if he were doing something wrong. He thought if he listened better, tried harder, he’d do something mind-blowing and change the way she felt.
In turn, though, she wasn’t connecting to him on an emotional level. Something she did want—if only he’d be up front with her. If only he’d tell her.
She turned back on the other side; a stiff pillow did little to counteract the strange stuffing. The feathers of baby chickens; or perhaps the smallest feathers of adult chickens? She hadn’t been able to parse the way he’d said, but either way, she didn’t like it. A good lavis-husk mattress was far superior, shredded to not have awkward lumps.
Storms. And this is why it was best to avoid relationships. Nine days until Dalinar confronted Odium, and she was worrying about a relationship? Perhaps this was a way to distract herself; because despite all of her training, all of her learning, all of her preparation, it came down to someone else. She would have no part in the final confrontation; Dalinar had decided he would use no champion.
She did not dispute that choice. He was a Bondmsith. He had built the Knights Radiant. He’d had dealings with Odium and understood the creature better than, perhaps, any mortal. Jasnah had written out her reasons that he was the best choice, and she still agreed with them.
Yet… could it have been her? If, instead of hiding what she was, she’d gone out in the open? Told people what she was, what she could do, what she feared? Her life and Dalinar’s life seemed to be very different things. He’d burned a city in the open, and people forgave him. Yet when Jasnah had been honest about what she feared, what she believed, what she discovered… well, condemnation and judgement had chased her like twin headsmen, each looking to get a whipping in before the final execution. She’d barely stayed ahead of them. Because when Jasnah Kholin spoke her mind, people hated her. Perhaps she had learned the wrong lessons from that. But could she be blamed?
She curled up at that thought, listening to the quiet sounds of Urithiru. Water in the pipes, moving of its own accord. Air whispering as it was pumped through vents. Voices echoing far outside, despite the late hour. Trembling there, she realized, finally, why she hated this mattress so much. It reminded her of the soft restraints they’d given her when she’d been young. When those who loved her had taken away her own freedom for her own good. Those terrible months that basically everyone had forgotten about as an anomaly. Except by Jasnah, who would never forget.
Wit suddenly sat up in bed. “Oh, hell,” he whispered.
Jasnah became alert. It wasn’t difficult, considering how far from sleep she’d been. She formed Ivory as a blade—short, stout, basically just a dagger—and called for her armorspren to be ready. She reached for the cover of the bowl of spheres beside the bed, but did not remove the black shroud, lest she ruin her night vision. In a second, she could have Stormlight, but she hesitated on this, too, as the light rising from her skin would highlight her in the darkness.
Wit sat there, barely visible by moonlight, wearing his silken nightclothes. His hair was immaculate, despite having slept on it. How?
“What?” she finally hissed at him.
“Oh, bollocks!” he whispered, leaping from the bed. “The darkest, hairiest, greasiest bollocks on the most unkept nethers of the most wanton demon of the most obscure religion’s damnable hellscape!”
“Wit?” Jasnah said as he rushed to the counter, searching frantically among his things. “Wit!”
He looked at her, wild-eyed, then he pulled the shroud off some spheres and washed the room in light.
She blinked, dismissing her blade. If Wit wasn’t worried about blinding them, then this wasn’t a physical danger. It might just be another of his strange <range of> oddities. Except… the way he looked at her. Eyes like glowing spheres. Lips drawn without even a hint of a smile. Jaw taut, hands clenched, breathing quick. Genuine panic. She felt like summoning her blade again, if only to have something to hold as a chill went through her. “Wit, she said, “please. What’s wrong?”
“G-give me a moment,” he mumbled, turning back to his things. “I need… I need a moment.” He pulled out a notebook and began writing.
She rose and, though the air was warm—her mother’s transformations to Urithiru heating the air to unnatural levels for this elevation—she felt cold in only her nightgown. She threw on a robe and leaned over Wit’s shoulder. She couldn’t read what he wrote. The symbols were unfamiliar, one of the many languages he could speak from worlds beyond theirs. It looked like a table, though, not paragraphs. And those notations to the left of each line? The dots and lines? Numbers, perhaps? They repeated far more often than the other symbols did.
He wrote, increasingly furious, his handwriting growing sloppy. She didn’t miss that he’d gotten out some of the strange, color-changing sand he used sometimes when experimenting with various uses of Stormlight or other, more arcane abilities. And as he did, he seemed to grow more intense.
The doors began to shake. Jasnah had a sword in hand a second later, but then realized it was him. Nobody was on the other side; it was exerting some kind of strange pressure that made the doors vibrate. The rings in her jewelry box, also on the counter, pushed back and began to spill onto the floor. The shoes by her head scooted across the floor, pulled by their latches. Every bit of metal in the room, save for her sword, reacted to him in some way.
Then, the sand burst into light with a mother-of-pearl luminescence and hovered above the table. The filmy clothing on Wit’s back began to writhe and contort as if alive. His motions increasingly frantic, in a flash, it seemed like smoke expelled from his body, blown away by some invisible wind. He was another person. Similar, but different. Shorter, with stark white hair and subtly different features making him seem foreign. This is the real him, she realized. A man not from their world; a man who masqueraded as Wit.
That man turned to her, pencil snapping in his fingers as he grabbed it and broke it across a knuckle. “I’ve been tricked,” he said.
“How,” she asked.
The light of the sand went out, and it sprayed back down on the counter. Wit was back as his familiar self in a blink of an eye, and the odd effects stopped with an abrupt immediacy, as if on an order from him. He stood, again taller than she was, and held up what he’d written. “I’m missing,” he said, “three minute and twenty-seven seconds.”
“I’m not following, Wit,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to parse this, but… Storms, what’s happening? Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, slumping back onto the seat beside the stone counter, a natural feature of the room that jutted from the wall, as was common in these rooms of Urithiru. “I’ve lived a long time, Jasnah. A long, long time. Longer than any mortal’s memories can track, so I must use other means to maintain myself. I store memories in something called Breath: an easily accessible, if costly, form of Investiture that a person can adopt and, with training, use to expand one’s soul and memory. That part isn’t specifically important; I periodically review memories, deciding on what is vital to keep and what can be jettisoned. It is one of the only ways to remain sane after such a long existence as mine. And in that review just earlier, Jasnah, I found something. Something unexpected. Something terrifying.”
“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds?” she whispered, looking again at the notes on his page. As if by force of will, she could decipher them. “Missing. When?”
“One day ago,” he said.
“And what were you doing at the time?”
He let out a long breath, then met her eyes. “I was having a chat with Odium.”
“A chat?” she said flatly. “With the most ancient enemy of all humankind? The being that seeks to destroy us, to crush my family, to dominate—perhaps weaponize—all of Roshar for his own ends? A chat?”
“We have a history,” Wit explained. “As I believe I’ve told you.”
Jasnah pulled a chair over and sank down, feeling a spike of pain. A kind of final spike of pain. “I asked you, Wit,” she whispered. “I asked you to involve me in any dealings you had with him.”
“I’m telling you now, dear,” he said. “That is technically involving you.”
She held his eyes and knew. Perhaps he did, too. He will continue to be himself, a man so full of secrets he needed some kind of strange magic to keep them all inside his head. And one, it appeared, had been excised. There would never be a place for her inside of his deepest self, would there? She’d always just be another thing on the outside, maintained as part of his collection. Enjoyed, perhaps even loved, but never confided in.
In that moment, she knew she’d have to withdraw, for herself. She tucked away feelings of betrayal. She had known what she was getting into with him. One did not court a god lightly.
“Why?” she asked him. “What were you saying to him?”
“I…” he shrugged. “I had to gloat a little. It was requisite, Jasnah, considering our history.” His eyes became distant. “I remember feeling odd about the encounter… a sense of repetition? Something happened that day in the lost minutes. He got the better of me and excised the memory from my mind, letting me instead think I had won the exchange. I can find the remnants, now that I look, as it was awkwardly done, as if by one unfamiliar.”
“This is wrong, isn’t it?” she said.
“Very wrong. Rayse is a megalomaniac, Jasnah. For all his craftiness, it would hurt him to let me walk away thinking I’d bested him. In this case, he encouraged it.” Wit leaned forward and took her hand. “He’s grown. After ten thousand years, Rayse has actually learned something. That terrifies me. Because I can’t anticipate what he will do.”
“Then what?”
“We need to reread the contract between him and Dalinar,” Wit said. “Now.”
Jasnah had a copy nearby, but before she’d opened her ledger, a pounding on a <nearish> door, real this time, drew her attention. She passed out of the bedroom, through the sitting room, and eased open the outer door to reveal <Hemnid> of the Cobalt Guard. A man with discretion to match his general poise, she trusted him as much as she trusted any, so she wasn’t bothered as he glanced at Wit as he approached. “What?” she said to him, light spilling from the guardroom into her quarters.
“Radiant Shallan and Highprince Adolin have something to report,” he whispered. [Brandon: I’m gonna cut that out so you have some anticipation for what’s coming.] “Your uncle has called for a meeting immediately, despite the hour.”
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” she said, then closed the door, looking back into the darkened sitting room towards Wit. [Brandon skips another section.]
“It should be,” Wit said. “I need to study that contract. There might be loopholes.”
“And if you didn’t see them?” She said. “You didn’t before.”
“You’re right,” he said. He took a deep breath. “You’re… you’re right. We need an expert, beyond even my considerable knowledge in the area.”
“Do you know any?”
“From your world?” he asked. “Only one, but she and I aren’t on speaking terms. I will, instead, see if I can contract an old friend.”
#the stormlight archive#knights of wind and truth#cosmere#brandon sanderson#cfsbf#root#wob#kind of#long post#cosmere future
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The Handler - 1991 - Compliance
A/N: Short lil prequel! I need to get off my angsty shit and write some good ole fashioned happy luv luv hee hee✨
Rating: Explicit
Tags: TW: Sexual assault on someone incapable of consent, dub-con, twisted rationalizations, abuse of power. HTP. Hydra!Reader, Back in ye ole Siberia, winter soldier Bucky, hand jobs, praise kink, Voyeurism, The Chair, touchstarved buckbuck
Vasily stood unmoving, arms crossed over his chest. The asset looked like a caged animal, blue eyes darting around for unseen targets. Guards moved forward to grab the soldier, now dazed from cryo.
“He’s usually the most vulnerable like this. Meet our prized possession, little girl.”
You nodded along, hiding any trace of fear in your body. General Karpov had chosen you from a pool of willing participants to help oversee the Winter Soldier program. It had been a week since you’d moved to the base. But you liked the respect you received around here, being Karpov’s protege, one day to handle the fist of Hydra.
You followed behind Vasily’s taller frame like a shadow. The asset stumbled in front as they led him to the Chair. Electroconvulsive shocks to suppress memory and make the asset more suggestible to commands. The guards shoved the Winter Soldier into the machine, computers and a couple of scientists standing around.
They shoved a mouthpiece into his snarling face, eyes unfocused. Vasily murmured, “He shattered his teeth in the beginning,” the man handed you a red book, “After he stops screaming you read the words.”
“Yes General.”
The asset’s cries of pain made you flinch, your general frowning down at you. Refocusing you opened the book and filtered through to the words you needed. The shocks echoed through the room along with his howling. The asset’s built chest heaved and he was sweating from exertion.
The headpiece flipped up and off his long dark hair, matted down with sweat. You circled the soldier, prattling off the words needed to activate his protocol. When you finished Vasily handed the soldier an envelope asking, “Ready to comply soldier?”
“Ready to comply,” he responded robotically.
They sent the soldier off soon after, you pondering the strangeness of it all. He was to be retrieving supersoldier serum, recreated by Howard Stark. Then the Winter Soldier program could truly begin, test subjects waiting to join an armada of unstoppable super soldiers.
Then Hydra could become supreme, start a new world. A better one without disorder and deviants. Your chest puffed with pride at the thought of being such an integral part of changing the world. Vasily clapped your shoulder and stated, “Nice job agent. Back to your work, girl. When soldier returns I have to teach you the, hm, intricacies of handling.”
So you went back to work, detailing plans and structure for the new soldiers. How they were to stay compliant and such. There would have to be much testing, but the government supplied plenty of money. Some of the Americans even loaned a spare officer or scientist.
Soldat returned, face devoid of any emotion. He held out the briefcase and stood at attention. You all stood in a tight office, the proximity of the soldier making you wary. He’d been gone for a week without any time in the chair. The brain repairs fast regardless of how scrambled his limbic system might be.
Vasily opened the box, revealing the multiple packets of the serum, smiling contentedly. He murmured, “Good job soldat. Very good job. You might deserve a reward.” The asset’s breath hitched the slightest bit, eyes darkening. The general closed the case and moved to the other side of the desk, reclining in the chair.
You eyed the soldier, then your commander.
“General? Is he not to be put back in cryo?”
Vasily leaned back, a strange glint in his eye, lips turned up. He waved a hand and said, “I told you I have a lesson on handling our precious asset, silly girl.” You frowned in confusion. Karpov continued like the soldier wasn’t even in the room, “He can get a bit riled up. It scares you does it not? Being so close to a precise machine designed for murder.”
You gulped, eyeing the asset’s huge frame. His silvery arm softly clicked in the room. He almost seemed to be vibrating with energy, if one had an eye for it. Blue eyes darting around, seemingly disliking the tights quarters. Finally you whispered, “It is intimidating, yes General.”
“Besides the brain fuck machine, he likes a softer touch in order to comply,” he cocked his head and ordered, “Soldier, mission report.” The soldier listed off the details, the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark and the camera he shot out that would need to be wiped. You frowned at dealing with the Americans.
“Good boy. My agent here will take good care now.”
You fidgeted in place, waiting for further instruction. Karpov kicked his legs up on the desk and laughed, “The soldier is touch starved, swoons like a slut for soft hands. You can keep him out of cryo a bit longer and have some fun with him.” Your face drained of color as you questioned, “You want me to fuck the asset sir?”
“No, just play with him a little. It’s entertaining watching the soldier crumble. Besides, the fist probably hasn’t had a woman’s touch in years. Go on now. This is part of the routine.”
Your heart was thudding in your ears. This was vile to you. Being a woman in Hydra was hard enough, but sexually using the best weapon they had in front of your commander was humiliating. That was the culture you grimly supposed. Vasily probably felt the same the first time and whoever before him.
You stepped toward the soldiers larger frame, staring up into his handsome face. You caressed his cheek gently, murmuring, “I apologize, precious star.” He made a low noise, lids lowering as you stroked your thumb across a sharp cheek.
Your other hand relocated to his lips, thumbing the full bottom one. The asset instinctively opened his mouth, suckling on your thumb with a whine. His breathing sped up, left arm recalibrating with a series of clack, clack, clack. You removed your now wet thumb, closing your mouth to his own.
The asset moaned into your mouth, eagerly licking inwards. You cradled the back of his head, curling fingers into dark locks. Vasily made a pleased hum from behind. The pair of you kissed slowly, the asset seeming to soak up every smack with another whine.
You pulled back, eyes boring into his lust blown pupils. He tried to kiss you again, but you held a finger to swollen lips. Your hand slid down to grasp between thick thighs. You gasped in shock and arousal. He was certainly…above average. The soldier whimpered softly, face begging for more.
“Take him out, big one isn’t he?,” said your general.
You unlatched the belt and many holsters, them dropping to the tile with a thud. You popped the button, his flushed cock shoved into the front of his tac pants. That had to be uncomfortable, you idly thought. He groaned when you gripped the length and stroked one time.
You wanted to ask the quivering man how he liked it, but the burning gaze of your commander shut you up. Instead you cooed while stroking the brunette’s thick cock, “Good soldier, complying so well. So pretty, pretty face, cock, body. Perfection.” He let out a particularly loud moan, legs twitching at the praise.
Your other hand moved back to pulling lightly at his hair, making the soldier flush and pant. His big chest was staccato as you jacked him off faster and faster. You played with his sensitive cockhead, swirling your thumb around the crown and slit. Karpov barked a laugh when the soldier sniffled and whimpered.
“C’mon soldier, good soldier, cum for your handlers. Gorgeous noises, fuck,” you rambled.
The asset thinly keened, “T-thank you!” His body was trembling intensely as you used both hands to work his pulsing cock. You kissed and licked at his neck, savoring the taste while he sharply sobbed. It wasn’t loud but sounded deafening in the small room. Heated wetness covered your hand and belly. Stroking the asset through his climax was longer than expected, him seemingly having an endless load, face crumpled and red as he emptied.
Finally he whimpered and twitched, indication that this was over. Karpov clapped and commented, “Wonderful. Take him to the showers he needs to be hosed off. Took to it well girl, but no need to be so kind.” You nodded in thanks and led the hazy soldier out of the too small, horrid room.
“I’m sorry soldier, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that.” You hoped he would respond but was met with nothing. After a moment you commanded, “Soldier, speak your mind.”
“You were kind. Much softer than the others.”
You felt a protective need to shield this beautiful weapon from greedy hands. Only you should be able to handle him, establish a bond that made him ever loyal. Vasily wouldn’t have to know. He’d be busy with the new recruits. You rubbed the asset’s wide shoulders and said, “I’ll never hurt you, precious star. Too important for us all.”
Your heart ached at watching his swaggering walk into the showers filled with guards and scientists. Blue eyes gazed back once and then you wouldn’t see him until next mission. Back to work, cover it up with work, yes. Ignore that crawling, slimy feeling over your skin. Remember, it’s not about you, it’s about Hydra after all.
#dead dove do not eat#bucky x reader#bucky barnes smut#touch starved#hydra trash party#subby Bucky#Bucky barnes x reader
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AU’s that are for nobody (except me) sound off!
Halfa Tsukasa!
Young Tsukasa Tenma he was just 16
When his best friend built a very strange machine
Designed to make a show better than ever seen-
The partial death happened during wonder halloween, Rui discovered ectoplasm (although he didn’t know that’s what it was) and realized he could use it as a cheap, reusable fuel source for his creations. So his robo zombie had an ectoplasmic fuel core, which Tsukasa accidentally smashed (the robot and its core) during his fall, causing it to flow out all over. The ectoplasm reacted with the exposed electrical parts and fried Tsukasa who was in the middle of the mess, killing him. Partially. Since there was so much ectoplasm it uhh “rearranged his molecules” turning Tsukasa into a half ghost, half human instead of a full corpse!
A portal to the ghosts zone also opened right in that spot and it’s tied there until Tsukasa fully dies. So now any manner of ghost can pass (haha) through freely, and since Tsukasa opened the portal it’s, of course, his responsibility to put any ill intended ghosties back in their zone!
And Rui should probably also help out considering it’s also his fault this all happened. Emu and Nene are good friends who saw it all go down and are trying to convince the other half of the group they aren’t at fault and have nothing to take responsibility for, while also making sure they don’t get themselves killed, or fully killed.
I like to think ghosts from different places will reflect their culture’s idea of what would be expected for a ghost to look like. So a lot of the ghosts the group sees would be based around Japanese myths about spirits. Tsukasa looks like he does because he has to follow the halfa rule of just being themself but inverted colors, and doesn’t know how to manipulate ectoplasm well enough to change how he looks in ghost form.
Also considering making Tenpapa’s high paying, unknown job be something in the government that covers up the existence of ghosts. Normally by exterminating them, occasionally they will keep one alive for experimentation. And since there’s now a huge increase in ghost activity in Tokyo, centered seemingly in an area very close to where the Tenma’s live, well it seems like a no brainer to assign Tenpapa to that area. So now he’s suddenly home a lot more, talking about safety procedures dealing with ‘unknown threats’, all while hunting down his own son. Just to bring back the fun ‘my parents want me dead’ angst from DP!
This ended up longer than expected, oops.
#art#my art#fanart#digital art#au#danny phantom#project sekai#pj sekai#pjsk#tsukasa tenma#pjsk tsukasa#tsukasa#rui#rui kamishiro#pjsk rui
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Hey! I’ve been gone a while. I started college and have been a bit busy, but wanting reasons to procrastinate studying for finals is a great motivator to be creative and write.
Dp x dc au, very Tim Drake-centric, mostly me projecting my stress onto blorbos.
The bats had found blueprints for a strange machine that seemed to be powered by Lazarus water while investigating a secret government agency. They began constructing a prototype in the bat cave to test if it really could do what it said in the details. The technology is beyond what they could understand, so they were forced to built it as the instructions said, and as mostly expected, nothing happens when they tried to turn it on. They’re all busy with their duties, so they plan to disassemble it later.
One night, Tim is working on the bat computer, trying to solve a case before patrol, when he feel a familiar knot tighten in his chest. The stress of vigilantism, being a CEO, dealing with his family (especially Damian), and investigating has been building up and wants to be let out now. Not wanting to be seen or caught on camera, and not able to go back into the manor since he already had on some of his Red Robin gear, he found a place out of sight of the cameras and where he’d have a bit before anyone found him: the faulty portal.
He’s stepping in and his breath is catching in his throat. Tears pick at his eyes, so he reaches to peel off his domino mask. In the split second he can’t see, his foot catches on some loose wires and he trips, accidentally hitting an internal button when flailing for balance. He knows he’s in trouble as the portal starts to rumble and glow. His foots so tangled he can’t get out before the he disappears behind the newly torn, unstable vortex.
A few moments later, a stuttering, clawed hand reaches out and grasps the edge of the portal.
Tim Drake pulls himself from the the device, tearing wires out to get his foot out of the portal, making it destabilize and warp shut behind him, and he is not the same.
His hair is now glowing white, sparking with electricity and instability; his Red Robin uniform is inverted, shifted, and warped to be virtually unrecognizable from the original. Lazarus water leaked from his mouth as he silently sobbed in agony and a green miasma seeped through his glowing green mask instead of tears.
His chest hurt like there were shards of something broken stuck behind his ribs, but it didn’t seem to hurt nearly as much as the fact that his heart wasn’t beating. He was gasping for breath and expelling green-tinged clouds and toxic liquid, but there was no relief tied to it, nor need as if he was lacking oxygen.
He knew he was dead, he just didn’t know how he was still there.
He immediately froze when he heard the elevator door to the cave open and familiar boots step out.
How was he going to explain this to Bruce? He knew Bruce cared for him, and the entire reason Tim became a Robin was because one of the Robins died and Batman was going to get himself killed out of anger and grief.
Reflexively, he pushed his overwhelming worry and stress down, and it had an odd effect. Glowing lines sputtered across his body, taking all the ghostly weirdness and leaving behind a very confused but ultimately relieved Tim. He was just happy he could feel a heartbeat and could breathe for a moment.
Pushing the event to the farthest part of his mind, he lied to Bruce, claiming he was checking the machine and escaped just before it turned on and destabilized again, did his patrol, and finished some late night paperwork before it all came uncontrollably flooding back and he found himself a distressed ghost once again.
—————
Basically the premise of this au is Tim that gains an unfortunate addition to a stress disorder he likely already had, making him turn into a ghost whenever he loses his composure with no control of it other than his emotions. He is highly unstable since he is a ghost formed in a moment of high stress, he was created with impure ectoplasm, and from an imperfect machine. Seriously, they don’t know how to purify Lazarus pit water, so they did the equivalent of running it through a brita filter before using it. Danny at least got the pure stuff, not the yucky nasty sludge.
I have more ideas for this au, but I have a final at 8am tomorrow, so I need to get studying.
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I'm Here, Somewhere Between Victory and a White Flag - Jay Halstead Imagine [Chicago PD]
Title: I'm Here, Somewhere Between Victory and a White Flag
Pairing: Jay Halstead X Reader
Based On: Intermission
Word Count: 1,262 words
Warning(s): isolation
Summary: (Y/n) jumped around from place to place for a long time. They never thought that they'd find a place that felt right. After finding out about these thoughts, Jay does what he can to make 21st District feel like home.
Author's Note: I am trying to write for this series more consistently. It just isn't going well.
Part Two of "April" [Release Date: 5/5/2023]
Part Three of "April" [Release Date: 5/7/2023]
YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST
---------------------
It started with a coffee on my desk.
It made me pause.
I was pretty new to Voight's team. I had been there for a few weeks.
I had been hoping to make enough of a connection that it wouldn't have been a complete mystery. After moving from place to place, unit to unit, it wasn't nearly as easy to form a genuine bond as I wanted it to be.
The people were kind enough. They grinned at me as I walked by. They would wave as we left the office.
But they were clearly some kind of well-oiled machine. They worked off of each other. One idea sparked another idea in someone else. They were all hooked up to some kind of hive mind. Like everyone was part of an inside joke and I hadn't gotten the memo.
I tried to join in. I offered ideas when I had them. However, it was hard to not feel glared at. Like my ideas were ridiculous suggestions that didn't fit their flow of consciousness that they had clearly built up.
I knew very well that Voight would have gotten rid of me if I didn't have anything to offer to the team, but it was hard to feel like much more than a nuisance. An interruption.
To put it very simply, I saw no reason for any of them to offer me a cup of coffee.
I sat down, still staring at the cup sitting just in the middle of my desk.
I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up to see Jay sitting in his spot with a similar-looking cup in his hand. He held it up in some kind of "cheers" motion.
It took me a few seconds, but I did awkwardly return the favor. I meant for it to be a quiet 'thank you' for the action.
I thought that was the only time that Jay would interact with me during my time on the team.
I was wrong.
It was subtle at first.
He would get coffees every now and then, a favor that I returned every morning after he got me one. I think that only encouraged him. He didn't want to be one-upped.
Then, he started looking to me for my thoughts. There was even a time when he entirely cut Voight off to ask what I thought. It was strange. I had no interest in being the center of attention like that. But it seemed to make the team respect my thoughts a little more. Perceived glares started to shift into looks of curiosity. Maybe they hadn't changed. Maybe I had.
As time went on, Jay started to be a little more direct.
He would walk with me out of the office. He would ask me about more things outside of work. He brought by dinner when I was working later than everyone else one night.
I didn't question it for a while.
Not at all, really.
Not until he brought me dinner.
By that point, the others had pretty much warmed up to me, but it was still just normal work stuff. We talked about our days and the weather and cases. But Jay was very different.
"Why are you doing this," I asked, picking at the food he had brought in.
"Wanted to keep you company," he replied.
I could've phrased the question better. "I... I don't mean just this. I meant in general. The coffee and the asking for my thoughts and walking me to my car... all of it."
He paused as if judging if it was a good idea to tell me or not. My biggest fear was that he had been told to do this. That I was some extra task that Voight had told him to handle.
I didn't want to be that. I didn't want to be a responsibility.
"I- um- A while ago, I left a while after you did," he started. "I saw your car outside, which was weird because I thought you were long gone that day. When I glanced at the window, you were sitting in the front seat, trying to stop yourself from crying."
It was like everything clicked into place.
The first coffee was on my counter the day after I had that meltdown in my car. I never even considered that the two were connected because I had convinced myself that there was no way someone saw me. I had been so convinced that I was all alone that night. But I wasn't. And it made Jay feel so bad for me that he was doing everything to keep me from having another breakdown.
"So, it was all a pity thing," I muttered. I felt embarrassed. Stupid. I had assumed we were friends, but I had clearly jumped the gun on that one.
"What? No," he replied. "Not at all. The first coffee that I brought you could probably be seen that way, but everything else? No way in hell. I did that because I wanted to. Because I wanted to get to know you."
I just nodded and looked down at the papers sitting in front of me.
"I... I don't want to... intrude, but... can I ask you what happened that night?"
I looked back at him. "It was nothing."
"All due respect, no it wasn't."
I paused. I didn't know if it was a good idea or not. Whether or not I told him, it was entirely possible that the pity would get worse. Or maybe he was being genuine and just wanted to get to know me properly.
He grinned at me. I almost hated how much it comforted me.
"I... I have transferred from different places and different units more times than I can count," I explained. "Moving and seeing new faces and all of that... it never feels like there's much of a point in getting comfortable. I was stuck in this... kind of static. Just kind of stuck where I was.
"But I... I was convinced that this was going to be the place that I stuck around the most. The more I thought about that, the more I wanted to connect and the harder it was. That night was just... it was harder than others. I just... broke, I guess. I just... I wanted to belong so bad. It was like being in school all over again."
The silence that followed made me sick to my stomach. I had laid all of my cards out and now just had to wait. It was the worst. Before I said anything, it felt like I had control over how I was perceived by him. At the very least, he didn't truly know me at my worst. But now that it was all out there... I just had to sit there and accept that I had absolutely zero control now.
Jay reached over and placed his hand on mine. "If it helps, I think you belong here."
"Thanks," I chuckled. "And what you're doing... it has helped. Having more than a surface-level connection is very nice."
"Good because I am not letting you sit on your own up here by yourself ever again," he replied. "After this case, I am dragging you out for drinks with the team and you're going to sit, enjoy yourself, and probably listen to me bully my brother."
"Sounds like a plan," I nodded.
"Welcome to the team... properly this time."
"Thanks. It's nice to be here."
It was even nicer to know that I truly meant it that time.
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#jay halstead x reader#jay halstead fanfiction#jay halstead imagine#chicago pd x reader#chicago pd imagine#chicago pd fanfiction#one chicago x reader#one chicago fanfiction#one chicago imagine#imagine#fanfiction#x reader
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at the msi: are the stuka and the submarine friends?
In the letters, they've never met. Stuka lives inside in the Transportation Gallery (where 999 eventually moves) and even when U-505 is moved indoors too, it's to his own underground wing.
When we're playing Barbies, they are... not friends exactly.
Stuka would quite like to be! When they were told the museum was getting a U-boat, I think he had every expectation that the two of them would be fast friends, being strangers in a strange land and all.
Unfortunately, U-505 has a much better view of his optics (periscope, you know) and thinks the two enemy units in the place shouldn't seen hobnobbing too closely. He won't even speak in German to Stuka, lest it be mistaken for conspiracy. Troublesome since Stuka doesn't speak much English and will only try to because U-505 insists.
Too, U-505's just stand-offish in general, since his presence causes discord in the yard. (The MSI's book about him even used to be subtitled "The Lone Wolf of Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry"). He thinks life's easier on everyone if he keeps to himself. Stuka was here for ten years and got along just fine before he arrived and can continue getting along just fine as if he hadn't.
Also, little planes (and all vehicles with small crews and limited work socialization) are kind of annoying and simple. They lack the kind of development you get from having a crew of sixty men, being responsible for a hundred and fifty passengers, or having to cooperate with your fellow engines to get from point A to point B. The little planes tend to view situations and problems as very black-and-white and with little self-awareness. So to Stuka, it's very silly that U-505 behaves this way because he's German too and no one cares who he's friends with (blithely unaware that it's easy to not care when that friend is Spitfire).
What's funny though is that because of their simplified perspective, a little plane will often arrive at the correct take because they're not concerned with nuances. As it is, aside from the steam engines, most of the rest of the exhibits would not care if U-505 and Stuka were friendlier because what really could they get up to here? The wiser ones among them might even think they oughta to be allowed that much. They've both been quite gracious in defeat and have taken to their roles in the museum as well as can be expected (and U-505 for his part has been one of the most popular attractions there and brings in money for the rest of them).
Even if U-505 won't indulge Stuka in camaraderie though, he is rather proud of him. Preservation is never particularly easy to acclimate to since it's not what any of these machines - aside from the Stephenson's Rocket and Wright Flyer replicas - were built to do. It's an even harder job for Stuka than for his fellow little planes because he's playing a heel and he has to spend his days convincingly losing dogfights to Spitfire. But he does it happily and well! He's arguably the exhibit that's taken to preservation the best and though U-505 keeps him at arm's length usually, he doesn't withhold his approval of Stuka.
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Rating 500+ Theme Tunes - #3: Danny Phantom
He's a phantom!
One of the premier cartoons of the mid 2000s, Danny Phantom was part of what I'd call the golden age of Nick Toons. This 2004 show follows young Danny Fenton, who becomes half ghost in a lab accident. He saves the day from other ghosts, whilst keeping his identity a secret from people such as his ghost-hunting parents. It also would be yet another Nick Toon which could be very easily read as a trans allegory, so take that how you will. Weird how much that happened.
Now, I didn't exactly watch much Danny Phantom as a kid. I didn't get channels like Nicktoons until this show was leaving the air, and I can't guarantee I ever actually saw an episode. Maybe I caught one airing on a CITV weekend morning? Who knows, I don't recall ever seeing it properly. However, I was very aware of this show.
I loved the Nick Toons a lot from whenever I would see them, and I always desperately wanted those Nick Toons games. Do you remember these? Looking back, they look crap, but I now own at least one, so I guess I can find out. Anyway, Danny Phantom is exactly the sort of show I would love, and I kinda did just from what I saw online growing up. It really seems like a perfect show for the time to be honest. I hear it's got a bit of that Nick Toon Signature Misogyny™ though, which I'm going to have to dock some points for. Sad how much that happened.
But let's get to that theme!
Danny Phantom Theme Tune
YOUNG DANNY FENTON HE WAS JUST FOURTEEN WHEN HIS PARENTS BUILT A VERY STRANGE MACHINE IT WAS DESIGNED TO VIEW A WORLD UNSEEN (He's gonna catch 'em all cos he's Danny Phantom)
Yeah, this one does go hard doesn't it? I definitely have grown to find it less corny as time goes on, being very "rap is so in right now!" with it, but I can't help but love it. It explains the lore very nicely, which is always good in a theme tune, and definitely has some cool tie-ins to the general vibe of the show. That chunky bass line adds a lot of sci-fi fun whilst remaining very cool, and those whispery backing vocals are perfect for a ghost show. It's honestly a very good theme in hindsight.
Overall, out of pure "It Gets Me Hyped and Singing and Out of My Seat", I think I definitely have to be scoring this in the high ranks. I'm teetering on giving it an S, but I think I'll shows some restraint, and give this one a very very comfy A.
Anyways, stay tuned for more and be sure to send in any suggestions for other shows you'd like to see done (after the 500 already in the pipeline that is). Check out the intro to this series here, and now it's time to check on the tier list as it stands.
#rating theme tunes#tv show intros#danny phantom#nickelodeon#nicktoons#nick toons#danny phantom theme song#danny phantom theme tune#cartoons#tv shows#danny phantom intro#2000s#2000s cartoons#2000s tv#2000s tv shows#2000s nicktoons#2000s nick toons#2000s nickelodeon#danny fenton#sam manson#tucker foley
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Ectober: Portal Shenanigans
A part of the Paulina Phantom AU.
It’s not like Paulina had wanted to visit the lab belonging to a pair of mad scientists. If she’d been given a choice, the afternoon would have been spent at the mall along with her besties. She could have been shopping, gossiping, and passing out catty remarks. Instead, she’d been guilt-tripped into spending more time with her father, which really meant accompanying him while he checked up on his angel investor projects.
Look, she loved that her father was rich enough to hand out money to every crackpot inventor that caught his interest. She just didn’t want to spend her afternoon surrounded by strange beeping machines with no discernable purpose while her father discussed such fascinating things as timelines and budgets and expected ROIs.
Boooring.
At least he’d promised they’d stop for milkshakes at Lola’s Diner afterwards. Paulina might have been watching her figure, but she also wasn’t going to turn down a Lola’s Shake with her father. She would just have to skip the dressing on her salad at supper, and maybe hit the treadmill tomorrow morning even though she didn’t usually do cardio on the same day as cheer practice.
It was halfway through this mental planning that her father pulled up in front of the last stop on the list. Paulina looked out the window at the flashing neon sign and cringed hard. “I’ll wait in the car, Daddy.”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “There’s nothing to do in here. Come on, stretch your legs. Say hello. Let me show off my pride and joy.”
There would be nothing for her to do inside the lab, either, once her father had finished showing her off. Worse, this was the Fenton lab, situated in the basement of the Fenton home, where the Fenton scientists lived with their two Fenton children--one of whom had the most loud, embarrassing, disgusting crush on her.
But there was no talking her father out of something once he’d made up his mind, and he was apparently dead set on introducing her to absolutely everybody. So Paulina bit down her protests, made sure her new phone was in her pocket, and followed him up to the door.
#
They were down in the laboratory, and Danny Fenton was staring at her--had been staring at her from the moment Paulina stepped foot in their house. Paulina was doing her best to ignore him in return. She’d given the Doctors Fenton very professional handshakes while her father beamed with pride, dutifully followed the adults down the stairs to their basement lab, and then whipped out her phone the instant their attention turned away.
Star and Valerie were at the mall, and had started texting her pictures of potential new outfits. It was Paulina’s sworn duty as top fashion expert of their trio to thoroughly evaluate every single option, even if she couldn’t be there with them in person.
It was almost enough to keep her entertained while the adults talked about investments and testing procedures and expected timelines to launch. The three of them were crowded at the far end of the room, attention split between diagrams pinned to the wall and a huge metal construct built into the wall itself.
Her phone pinged again. It was Star in another crop top, with the caption: Rad or bad?
So rad, Paulina decided. She sent her reply, and then made the mistake of locking eyes with Danny when she glanced up again. He gave her a hopeful smile and Paulina responded with her best get lost, twerp scowl--only to hastily wipe the expression from her face as the adults moved away from the huge device.
“We keep all the financials in here,” Dr. Jack Fenton was saying, leading the others into a side-room.
“So,” said Danny as soon as the door closed behind them, “Guess it’s just you and me, now.”
Paulina snorted. “As if.”
He was not deterred. “Wanna see something cool?”
She waved her Motorola. “The only cool thing to look at is on here.” She paused, then added, “And myself, of course.”
“Of course,” echoed Danny, still unphased. He was already sauntering backwards toward the huge device his parents had been showing off. “Come on, don’t you want to see?”
Paulina lowered her phone and rolled her eyes. “No.” But despite this, she found herself following Danny across the lab until they both stood side-to-side in front of the huge, dark opening.
“Cool, right?” asked Danny.
“So cool--not.” Paulina made a face. “It’s a bunch of metal and wires. What’s it even supposed to be, a giant cave?”
Danny started to wave his hands with far to much enthusiasm. “When this thing works, it’s going to punch a hole right into another dimension.”
“When it works,” she repeated dryly.
He started to explain the different parts of the device, as if Paulina might possibly care. Her level of interest was way negative. But she hadn’t received any new texts from Star or Valerie yet, which meant she had to find some way to entertain herself in the meantime.
“You sure know a lot about this thing,” she purred, slipping the phone into her pocket. “You work on this with your parents?”
Danny stuttered, caught off-guard by her sudden change in attitude. “O-o-oh. Um. Not really, I just listen.”
“And yet you’ve picked up all that? You must be so smart.”
Danny’s face went suddenly, hilariously red. “Oh. Well, maybe.”
“What happens if you stand inside this thing?”
His forehead creased. “Well… I don’t.”
“But it’s not turned on, right?” She made a show of stepping over the trailing wires and ducking beneath the curving metal chassis. “Look at me, I’m spelunking.”
Danny forced a laugh.
Paulina made it to the back wall of the device, which was only a few steps within, and gave it a loving tap before turning around. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that?” she asked, before catching sight of Danny’s face and bursting into giggles.
The poor kid’s face was still red but now it was also twisted up in a hilarious confusion of emotions, like he couldn’t decide whether to be mad at her or scared they were going to get caught. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said in a strained voice.
“Relax.” Just to mess with him further, Paulina took out her phone and pretended to browse through old messages.
Danny’s face settled on mad. “Paulina,” he hissed.
She shifted her weight, slouching to the side to lean one shoulder against the metal frame, and then froze as something clicked under her weight.
“What was that,” whispered Danny, as two of the wires sparked.
Paulina straightened.
And the world exploded around her.
👻👻👻👻
This October, @marzfartz and I have split the prompts between us with the intention of creating non-stop Paulina Phantom content! Check out the #paulina phantom au tag for more!
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Excerpt - Convalesce
Young Jinx flees to the safety of Silco’s arms in search of refuge from the cacophony in her head. He obliges. As always. And a small game is played.
.
.
Confirming she possesses no further inclination to retreat, Silco reaches around her to retrieve his cigar, flicking off a generous nub of ash built on the tip. He holds it off to the side as he considers it, mindful of the curling smoke. Silco tilts his head to briefly touch his temple to hers, a silent affirmation.
He holds the next puff of smoke in his mouth until his lungs scream for relief. A hand returns to her back, fingers compelled to draw inane patterns while he resumes watching dust dance in the pale green light.
For some, fear is a sapling to be plucked, grasped and uprooted, giving way with a clod of dirt and a strained tug.
But her fear is not a weed, no. That much is painfully obvious. It is a shadow stitched to heart, a dark mimicry echoing her past mistakes and whispering her shortcomings in her ear, a cacophony silent to all but her. He cannot silence these voices, but he tries to speak over them, drown them out with sense, and for the most part he is at least partially successful. And on the rare occasions when he isn't..
He flicks some ash from his cigar.
The less said about those sleepless nights, the better.
Warm breath wrapped in a giggle settles against his neck, bringing Silco back to the present. ‘Si~ilco, what're you doing, algebra on my back? That's boring.’
The unmarred corner of his lips lifts into a faint smile she cannot see, then parts a sliver's worth to allow the smoke to languidly trickle out from the cavern of his mouth in a thick ribbon-like stream.
Her back transforms into a typewriter in his mind's eye. His fingers switch to skittering and pattering up and down the small expanse with the deftness of a secretary as he taps out a coded message. J-I-N-X-J-I-N-X-J-I-N-X. She giggles again, and the rest of the smoke gusts out from his toothy half-smirk like steam from a grate as he joins her with an amused huff. Such a wonderful sound. He wishes he could bottle it up and distill it into a tonic for occasions like this.
Do you remember the taste of your happiness, child? Drink, and recall.
If only it were that simple. "Or it could very well be nonsense."
Warmth is returning to the youth in his arms, spring swiftly bleeding into summer to leave dreary memories of winter behind. The wires are sparking, filling the air with the scent of sunshine and wax crayons.
She pulls back to grin at him, wiggling like a worm on a hook, or an overly-excited retriever. 'Write something else! Oh, oh, draw something and I'll guess!"
He hums in faux consideration. When she is distraught, her sense of self requires some time to return to form, her whimsical proclivities swinging ungainly between two stark poles, pitifully infantile or soberingly mature for her present age. A broken slot machine with its wheels ever-spinning. He is well aware of the strangeness, but he has never turned away anyone for being odd.
Dustin is oft times unintelligible in his speech, harboring brain damage from inhaling sump fumes in his formative years, yet when given a microphone can sing with the clarity of a lake lark.
Ran has no memory of their life before the age of fourteen--their genesis was upon that of a stained mattress within a rotting room, laces to their breeches untied and their hand trembling around the handle of a shiv sunken into the throat of a naked, disheveled woman looming above them like a gaunt spider—āyí. Auntie.
The Last Drop's bartender Thieram sometimes comes into work as Chella, the heavy-lashed dame with a spine of steel and nails to match; 'she' claims to be a soul residing within Thieram, a psychic fragment formed in childhood of whose existence he still remains starkly unaware.
Zaun as it stood now served as the dumping ground for Piltover's slag and refuse, a rubbish bin into which all things unsightly and ill-reputed were cast off.
Genius often wears the mask of madness, and this child was a prodigy tenfold.
So he honors these innocent, childish requests. Anything to keep her afloat.
He draws a waverider, which she guesses incorrectly as an alligator, then a gecko. 'Wrong genus.'
She groans dramatically. He can practically feel her eyes rolling in her head. Sapphire marbles. 'As if I know what that means!'
'You should,' he teases.
But he hums again, and draws a circle, the basic shape of a Poro. Funny little things, embodying empathy and cat-like curiosity. Thick white or yellowish fur, two curved goat horns, and a comically large panting tongue. Generally as big as an ottoman, though he's heard they can grow to dwarf even men. Their kind are as scarce as sunlight in Zaun given their sensitivity to suffering and conceit. They are fixtures in children's story books as heroes down here in the Lanes just as they are Topside, though a cunning and shrewdness has been allotted to their natures by his fellow Zaunites to afford them more..practicality and believability for the little ones. It did no one any good to fill their heads with naive notions of pure goodness and altruism as unshakeable forces found in nature. The world was not fated to be soft to those born on this side of the Gate.
There is a static-y pause, a taut coil of anticipation. She is waiting for more. He remains still, and when she eventually pulls back, he stifles a chuckle at how her brow furrows and her nose scrunches as if suddenly blinded by floodlight. 'That's it? That's just a circle!’
‘That is the animal's shape.’ He says from behind his cigar. The flaring of her nostrils makes him raise a challenging brow, though he maintains an unaffected air. ‘Anything more than that and it would be too easy. I know you're clever enough to figure it out without a hint.'
It is like a switch is flipped. The mirth buzzing within her stalls, stilts. She tilts her head down as if she is a doll whose neck socket joint has just been rolled by an imaginary hand. Her expression darkens, her mouth twisting tight and bunching up like a ruined seam. She peers up at him from beneath sharply downturned brows. Her eyes are still the same brilliant blue as that cloud of magic that blew his dockside shimmer operations sky-high, but they are no longer illuminated by the equivalent of sunlight reflecting off the oceanic depths of the sea. Instead they are mute, flat as cold stone. Unmerciful as kerosene flame.
Silco watches on in equal parts caution and patience as this quiet anger seeps to the surface. He will never tell her that she is disallowed from feeling as she does, to the degree that she does. However, emotions were energy, and among his scores of lessons was his effort to teach her how to harness that energy. Her ire could be better suited to tinkering or testing her projects than gouging out chunks of her flesh, or his. And energy disconnected from a proper set of conduits and outlets was fated to combust in a multitude of messy ways.
The seconds tick by.
Poke.
The tip of her small finger darts out to stab his lapel, a spiteful peck with enough force behind it for the point of contact to well with transient ache.
Silco’s aloft eyebrow is joined by its painted brother to form a banner of quiet challenge. But as expected, this gesture only further deepens the creases of her mulish pout, reminding him of those pitiful inbred lapdogs adored by Piltovian ladies.
In her grousing, she fails to consider, or forgets, the presence of his hand hovering over her back. Another lesson to impart. Maintaining one's awareness of the world around them even whilst simmering in their own recalcitrance.
With a bored look, he pokes her in the back. Hard. Right between the vertebrae.
Jinx jolts forward, more so in surprise than propulsion, and makes a show of twisting and turning to dart her attention between his face and his hand, her sullenness now resembling that of a runt resentful of its target status by local bullies.
Her fingers curl into fists, fury building..
But she has not yet raked her nails down his cheek nor grabbed him by the ears to scream in his face, or made a lunge for his hair..
And suddenly, the clouds break. She gives him a thousand watt gap-toothed grin and begins to assail him with a series of rapid pokes upon his chest, little pecks with her pointer fingers that he can feel through his waistcoat. She pairs it with small sounds that simulate punching--'pow pow pow pow pow pow!'
It takes all of his self-control not to displace his cigar. His teeth sink into the filter as his lips pull back in a grin wide enough that he feels the familiar sharp numb-ache of his scarred cheek muscles pull and tug to accommodate. Pain she is able to make him relish as a gift.
'Come on, come on,' she chides, 'you gotta give me more than that, ‘wise 't's too hard! Powpowpowpowpowpow!!'
"Fine." She pauses in her assault, expectant. Bright, bright, bright with held breath.
He pokes two dots to serve as eyes, and grins even wider around his cigar when her anticipation crumples into another one of her frustrated groans.
'Is it a pet rock?'
'A what?'
'A pet rock. You know,' she drawls, bobbling her head as if it was obvious, 'a rock you have as a pet?'
Silco turns this absurd explanation in his head, and comes up blank. 'I still do not understand, but no.'
'Well if you don't get it, then it's a freebie! Point for me!'
'Mm. And how is it your point?'
She wiggles in his lap, pride threatening to spill out of her like unfiltered sunlight. Endearingly volatile and pure. 'I know something you don't know!' She sing-songs, lifting a finger from his vest to wave it back and forth in a tiny circling dance.
'That is not the game we're playing.'
'It is always being played.' She rebuts.
.
.
.
Deeply, madly, truly appreciate any comments. I have a whole lot more but the pieces are stuck in between very unsatisfactory paragraphs.
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As I climbed out of my bunker 20 years after the impending presidential victory of one Ralph Nader and the imminent opening of FEMA camps for corvair owners, I was surprised by three things: Firstly, Nader hadn't won and by some fluke that Ivy League texan boy had taken the presidency, using his newfound power to knock down those ugly towers in New York. Secondly, everyone around me was real worried about sneezing, and thirdly: people were mad about the police again. Well, that really wasn't a surprise as much as the fact that they had started forecasting a beautiful future in which there were no cops to pull me over for unleashing the full power of the GM flat six on public roadways like some sort of twisted star spangled Rat-Fink porsche ripoff taking high speed turns without even a hint of flipping over (you hear that Ralph?). Well, no flipping over other than for the normal reasons.
Those same people did end up calling the local constabulary on me as strange lights flickered on in the abandoned house next door and a dark figure began unearthing the many covairs he'd buried two decades ago in the back yard, but that's not the point. The real takeaway from this is that there exists the cultural impetus to create a future in which I do not receive speeding tickets for acceleration above the arbitrary number marked on the school zone sign (efforts by a tyrannical government to shield children from the truth of superior acceleration in rear engined cars).
The doughnut patrol eventually showed up, and did so in a veritable tank of a machine: the Ford Explorer, now optimized for plowing through crowds. This is that militarization of police everyone was talking about. They've ditched the hardworking American sedan in favor of these monstrosities better suited for hunting down and destroying anything rear engine, air cooled. This is why Porsche switched to watercooling in the 911, I just know it.
While the badged imbecile droned at me about my IDs expiring in 2003, I began to zone out, imagining what a properly modern police vehicle for the new decade should look like. None of this Humvee nonsense (though I'm pleased to see they never stopped making them), this would be a practical machine for the hypothetical "good" law enforcement officer not hell bent on stopping my corvair excavations.
Though a euro-styled wagon is an easy answer for police duty cars, there comes a time when we must acknowledge that those are mainly built for apprehending pocketknife-wielding arms dealers and have very little of the built in ego and power complexes required by State Police officers who protect their communities by hassling me about the legality of my high speed "shakedown runs" and the subsequent exhaust parts left scattered on the local highway.
No, what the American policeman needs is something that can tackle roads in any condition, with plenty of storage space for bulk orders of constitutional violations (and the remains of my exhaust), and a reliable powerplant that balances fuel efficiency and the desire to go fast sometimes (Idle in mall parking lots a lot). The answer is an all-wheel drive mid-sized hatchback with enough space to house my rear bumper once that comes off too. Which is to say the cops need an American OEM Impreza Hatchback.
Of course the closest American equivalent I could think of in a pinch was the Ford Pinto, which seemed to put him off. The ensuing chase was brief but not necessarily fast. Turns out the militarization of police extended to vests that don't protect you from sudden drops, but didn't extend so far as to cover standard issue night vision that would've detected the deep holes I'd been digging. Probably a good thing I buried those Corvairs so deep.
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Uncomfortable - Tim Drake (3/3)
Summary: [...] "Are you saying you are afraid of me?" "I wouldn't say afraid" Dick said, trying to sound casual "It's just the way you've been talking about everything these days. It makes everyone feel..." "Uncomfortable?" Tim asked, with a bitter grin, finally turning towards Dick "The probable consequences of what you all say and do to me make you uncomfortable, Dick?" [...] Extremely hurt Tim Drake living out of coffee and spite.
Wordcount: 2569
Content Warning: Fear Toxin effects; distorted views of reality; swearing; self harm; failed suicide attempt, non-lethal firegun use.
Notes: So... last planned chapter. Maybe I'll write an epilogue about what happens after the events of this chapter, please let me know if you guys would like that. Enjoy!
Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated ❣️
Taglist: @a-night-2-remember @ur--mommy @siminnmsis @neobreakmyback @iceandfireblog
Part 1 - Part 2
My Ao3 account
CHAPTER 3 - THE BOOK
Red Robin must have known this would happen. He just couldn’t ever have guessed that Scarecrow’s fear toxin would feel like fifteen cans of Monster injected directly in his veins, especially since he was severely sleep deprived. If his mind was still rational, he wouldn’t have run away, but the moment he saw the shiny edge of the antidote syringe coming in his direction on Red Hood’s hand, he couldn’t avoid kicking the hooded man between his legs and running.
The motherfucker was built like a fucking wardrobe, he certainly could outspeed him with a little effort. Well, he did. He wouldn’t ever allow Jason with any sharp object near him again.
To be honest, it was actually very stupid of Bruce to pair him with Jason on patrol. Tim would never trust a 6’4’’ killing machine full of pit madness and with a history of trying to murder him. Of course, recently Jason wouldn’t hurt a fly and wouldn’t do anything but smoke during patrol, but Tim was ‘safe asleep’ the first time Jason tried anything. Better safe than sorry.
Running down some dark streets of the narrows, his heartbeat resembled a movie he saw the other day to keep himself awake. Something about war, probably about Iraq or something, he couldn’t really pay attention to it. However, the bullet sounds and his heartbeat was in the same rhythm.
Non-stopping.
Nervous.
Maniac.
Feral.
He could almost smell the blood. That was when he hid in a dark alley and looked at his hands. Covered in broken glass like sprinkles on a milkshake. He didn’t remember falling or breaking any glass, but maybe this was when he grabbed the syringe from Jason’s hand and ran away. Maybe he broke it with his grip.
— There you are… — The voice of the kid echoed on the alley, reverberating on Tim’s eardrums — What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can’t you simply be gone? We’ve been trying to get rid of you for the past few years! Can’t you simply get a hint?
— What? — Tim asked, feeling trapped like a mouse. Another pair of footsteps. Not too heavy to be Bruce’s or Jasons, not light enough to be Duke’s, Cass’ or Steph’s. Dick.
— You’ve been a rock on our shoes — The older said, he and the youngest came to the light, but the shadows strangely danced around them like they were made of shadows. — How can someone be so fucking stupid? I fired you! We don’t want you here!
— Get away from me! — Tim exclaimed, looking around for something to defend himself. His hands became tight in fists and he shivered. A beer bottle. That would do.
— So fucking useless, all covered in glass, filled with fear — Robin said, laughing.
— If you step in my direction again, I’ll tear my face with glass, and then you’ll fucking see something that will leave you awake for the rest of your life, your little shit! — Red Robin exclaimed, breaking the bottom of the bottle and getting it close to his face.
— Do it, you prick — Nightwing said and for an instant, Tim let him win. There was a small cut on his cheekbone now. Nightwing tried to get close again and he grabbed a smoke bomb in his belt, throwing it on the ground and escaping again.
Knowing Nightwing and Robin, they would never guess he simply jumped into the sewer and would rather meet Killer Croc’s ugly face and big teeths than any of them.
[Red Robin, do you copy?] Batman’s voice echoed in the sewers.
— Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck — Tim said to himself, already knowing of the secret trackers on the communicators. He quickly got it out of his ear and threw it on the ground, jumping on top of it in a desperate attempt to not be tracked. — Fuck you all.
Gotham’s sewers were Daedalus’ Labyrinth with a special touch: several criminal hideouts, maniac graffiti on every other wall and an unmistakable scent of death and shit. And the shadows and echoes were really giving a spice to the toxin. Scarecrow should really consider moving his operations base to the sewers. Or his labs. Maybe his testing rooms.
Tim just knew that right now he looked like that skinny rat from Flushed Away and he certainly smelled a little bit like one. That was when he heard that laugh and damn, he got a taste of his own poison. Fuck, his spine was pure shiver ans bone dust pressed together.
He needed a way out of the sewers before Joker could find him. There was simply no way he would allow that fucker to get him under his power again. No fucking way.
Getting out of the sewers. Tim realised it must have passed sometime since he ran from Nightwing and Robin. The night was much colder now and he was shivering. His heart slammed his chest with a brutality he shouldn’t expect from such a controlled person. After shutting the sewers again, he heard Jason’s stinky voice again.
— Hey there, fucker! — Red Hood screamed and laughed. Tim looked at him as saw the rifle in his hand. That was okay. He had a broken bottle and if he was going to leave this world, it was going to be on his own terms.
— FUCK YOU! — Tim screamed back before bringing the broken bottle close to his neck, exactly upon the scar that Jason gave him years before — I’m finishing the job way better than you did.
Before he could drag the broken glass through his throat, he fell. He didn’t even hear the sound of the shoot, just saw a man in a suit with a sniper rifle on a window across the street while he was falling. The man sighed and Tim finally could distinguish him from the shadows. Alfred was involved in this fucking hunting too?
***
Tim woke up feeling his feet hot. That was weird, his feets were cold as a corpse, so why the fuck they were hot right now? He couldn’t formulate an hypothesis. His eyes were still shut and he felt well. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well. Maybe, if he pretended to be asleep, this moment could last forever. Then he felt a soft grip on his hand and whimpered a little with pain. What the fuck? Why was his hand hurting? He felt weight shifting on top of him, like someone was lying on his lap and then sat up on the bed.
— Drake? — Damian’s voice asked in a low, worried tone. Tim forced himself to open his eyes and then Damian’s eyes widened. The young boy bent over his brother’s leg and patted someone’s head lightly — Father, wake up. Drake opened his eyes.
Still staring at Damian, with little to no energy to look around, Tim heard the usual sound of Bruce waking up - almost nothing, just confusion in the air - and some footsteps approaching.
— Why are you on top of me? — He finally asked while Bruce hugged him tightly — And Damian. And is that Titus on my feet?
— You’re up! — Steph’s excited voice exclaimed, getting closer and holding his other hand. She sighed and he could see how preoccupied she had been. Her eyes never lied to him, she’d been crying — Thank god.
— You’ve scared us, Master Timothy — Alfred said, approaching the bed with Jason and Cass — I hope you can forgive me for the shot, but I’m this family's best sniper and you on the Fear Toxin move like a speedster.
— What happened?
— We were on patrol and Scarecrow got us with that fucking gas of his — Jason said — Thankfully for my mask, i didn’t breath it in, but you did. I tried to apply the antidote and you kicked my balls, broke the syringe and ran away. I guess we’re even now, right?
— Then little D and I found you in an alley and you threatened yourself with a broken bottle — Dick said. He was standing behind Bruce with Duke.
— And Miss Cassandra followed you into the sewers and manipulated you to get to our abduction point where Master Jason distracted you while I shot you with a tranquiliser dart — Alfred said — You’ve slept for almost three days.
— That still doesn't explain what he is doing on top of me — Tim replied as Bruce finally let go of him.
— I… wanted to make sure you were breathing — Damian said, embarrassed, but the embarrassment wasn’t enough to make him get off of Tim. Somehow, Tim didn’t want him to. It felt mostly nice, like an weighted blanket
— Fucking liar — Jason said — He was worried with you. This little brat hasn’t showered since you were put in this bed. Stinky baby.
— Go find something useful to do, Todd — Damian spat, angrily.
— For god’s sake, can’t you guys try to be nice for once? — Duke said — Do you want something, Tim? I can bring you some water or those snacks you like, do we still have them Alfred?
— For sure, Master Duke…
Tim’s chest was filled with a crippling sensation as his eyes got warmer and his sight blurry because of the water accumulating on his eyeline.
— Timbo? — Dick asked, breaking the silence when everyone just stared at Tim’s tears rolling down his cheeks.
Nobody said nothing until Stephanie, silently, cradled his head on top of her cleavage and, through her shirt, he could hear her heart. She kissed the top of his head and he felt two tiny arms embracing his waist and a head laying on his stomach. While he cried, Tim only got the energy to gently stroke Damian’s hair and feel his hot tears soaking his shirt.
— I’m… i’m sorry guys I should have — Tim started to say, trying to find the words and failing miserably.
— Sssh… its okay, little bird — Dick said, touching his upper arm, smiling tenderly.
— We should let you rest — Bruce said, silently drying one of his tears.
Steph stepped away and Cass kissed Tim’s forehead while Bruce tried to take Damian off of Tim, unsuccessfully.
— Please don’t leave me alone — Tim said, almost in a whisper, when he realised his family was starting to walk away.
— You’re not going to be alone, Tim — Jason said, dragging a chair closer to the bed — If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here. Gotta finish this book and I don’t really feel like walking downstairs. Little brat seems to want to stay here too.
— Yes! Get off, baba! I’m not leaving — Damian said, annoyed, to Bruce, that simply gave up.
— We’ll be back in some time — Bruce said, looking at his son. His hand reached to Tim’s cheek and gently rubbed it, extra tenderly over his little cut. Tim felt his heart so warm that he felt he could die if he leaned his face towards Bruce’s hand, but he did it anyway. He needed that affection more than anything — We love you, Tim. I mean it.
Tim said nothing, just bit his lower lip ashamed of his behaviour in the previous weeks, completely conscient that it wasn’t his fault. Not completely, you can’t really blame yourself for your reactions when you’re as depressed as he is, but it never stopped him from blaming himself either way.
“What if we go get bat-burgers for the whole family and then come back and eat it here with Timmy?” Cass suggested.
— Brilliant idea, Cass! — Duke exclaimed — Last one in the car will have to wear a pointy-eared crown and imitate Bruce the whole way!
Like this, Cass and Duke stormed out of Tim’s bedchambers, followed by Bruce.
— I want veggie nuggets! — Damian exclaimed, his head still buried on Tim’s stomach.
— And I want a Poison-shake, please — Jason said, starting to open his book.
— Noted. Riddler combo for you, son? — Bruce asked, and Tim nodded lightly.
— Well, I would appreciate a little help with the laundry while we await for Master Wayne to come back — Alfred said.
— I can help! — Steph said, getting closer to the elder.
— I’ll pick the Gordon’s up, they wanted to know the moment you woke up — Dick said, getting closer and messing Tim’s hair — You’ve got us worried, little wing. But everything is going to be okay now, ok? We are going to take care of you, liking it or not.
— I’d like it very much, thanks — Tim got to say, half smiling, before Dick left.
Once the elder brother got out of the bedchamber, Tim felt Damian’s grip on his clothes get tighter.
— Hey — He said, trying to get the boy calmer — Hey, you’re going to suffocate if you keep your head buried on my stomach.
— I can hold my breath for almost eight minutes — Damian said, but ended up looking up at Tim — I’m sorry I’m not a very good brother. I’m working on myself and trying to be more approachable and kind, but I’ve always felt like you don’t like me and you wanted Robin back and…
— I’d never take Robin away from you — Tim interrupted the boy, holding him by his shoulders — I don’t want it back, and, if my opinion means anything, I think you make a pretty good Robin.
To be honest with himself, when he was saying that, Tim was pretty sure he didn’t mean it and was just saying what he wanted to have heard from Jason when they met. However, when Damian almost smiled and hugged him again, laying with his head looking towards Jason, Tim knew he actually thought that of him. The resentment and the pain were just too strong for him to get to say that without hearing Damian apologising first.
— What are you reading? — Tim asked Jason, still playing with Damian’s hair while the younger boy simply laid calmly on top of his older brother.
Jason looked up from his book and showed the cape to his brothers.
“Little fires everywhere”
— Would you…
— No, I don’t mind. Reading it for my baby brothers will please me very much. — Jason said. After adjusting himself on the chair, he started — Sometimes you need to scorch everything to the ground and start over. After the burning the soil is richer, and new things can grow. People are like that, too
Listening to Jason’s voice while playing with Damian’s hair, Tim could only realise, as Titus shifted position on his feet, that this was the first time he was alone with them and didn’t feel the unsettling need to run away. Finally he had peace, at least for a while. Maybe, whoever wrote this book was right.
After burning, the soil is richer, and new things can grow .
The Fear Toxin certainly was the fire that had burned Tim to the ground, and now that he was aware of that, he was richer, and new things could grow on him.
He took a deep breath and felt every centimetre of his body relax, melting under Damian’s weight.
For the first time in months, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne did not fight when sleep came sneaking into his eyes. He let himself be put to sleep by his big brother’s voice and his baby brother’s hugs.
Tim Drake stared sleepy at the ceiling of the room where some days ago, Red Robin fighted to stay awake. Tim Drake closed his eyes and let the sands of Morpheus guide him to the unconsciousness, knowing he did not have to fight anymore.
End notes: I don't care what everyone else says, Damian is a cuddly baby and is trying to be a better person. The following day, when Tim wakes up, Jason comes up to him, a bit shy, and hands him a card of this psychologist he knows and recomends Tim to try it because it helped him a lot after everything that happened. Also, in my mind, everyone in the batfamily will be in therapy and the one recomending it will be Jason because I said so.
I know this chapter isn't as well written as the others, I think that it is mostly because I'm not used to write "action" scenes, my writing is more "character development" focused, but I couldn't get to the point I wanted without the whole chase scene, so... Well, anyways, I hope you guys have enjoyed it! Please, let me know your opinions about it, if i missed any important tag or things to work on future revision!
Stay hydrated, wear sunscreen and seek professional help if you relate to any symptom exibited by Timmy here. Remember, you're not alone and looking for help is the bravest thing you can do!
#timothy drake#tim drake angst#tim drake#tim drake wayne#red robin fanfic#red robin#batfamily#batfamily angst
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Text
•incorrect Haikyuu quote’s•
A/N: this is part one out of I have no idea, I will probably be doing your part with all of the schools. Also y/n is Ukais younger sibling. 
Karasuno:
———————————————————————
Y/N or Suga: When have I ever done anything brash or irresponsible?
Daichi: I keep a list it’s alphabetized.
———————————————————————
Kageyama: I’m gay and confused.
Asahi: About your sexuality?
Kageyama: Oh no, I just generally don’t know what’s going on.
———————————————————————
Ukai after Y/N did something stupid: I’m mortified, disgusted, humiliated, baffled-
Y/n: What are you a goddamn dictionary? 
——————————————————————
Daichi: Truth or dare?
Y/N: Truth.
Daichi: How many hours have you slept this week?
Y/N:
Y/N: Dare.
Daichi: Go to sleep.
Y/N: I don't like this game.
———————————————————————
Yamaguchi: Do you have a self-care routine?
Tsuki: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.
———————————————————————
Takeda: Why does Keshin always do the laundry so loudly?
Y/N: So everyone knows that no one helps him out in the house.
Ukai, in the distance: *slams the washing machine shut*
———————————————————————
Old couch Ukai, near tears: Please, Y/n, I don’t speak young people! I don't know what a ‘yeet’ is!
Y/N and Keshin in unison: Yeet.
———————————————————————
Ukai who just saw Y/N and Tsukishima walk out of the storage closet together: I've connected the two dots.
Y/n: You didn't connect shit.
Ukai: I've connected them
———————————————————————
Daichi: I'm not doing to well.
Asahi: What's wrong?
Daichi: I have this headache that comes and goes.
*Suga enters the room*
Daichi : There it is again.
———————————————————————
*Y/N rushes by with an armful of water bottles*
Yamaguchi: What's going on?
Tsuki : Y/N wouldn't drink water.
Yamaguchi : ...And?
Tsuki : And I asked them how fast they could chug an entire bottle.
Y/N, loudly: 16 OUNCES IN TEN SECONDS, BITCHES!
———————————————————————
Y/N: I have an idea.
Tsuki: A good idea?
Y/N: Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
——————————————————————
*Y/N and Tsuki enter a dive bar*
Y/N: Look, I know you’re disappointed but could we at least have a drink.
Tsuki, in a scuba diving suit: I would like to leave, now.
——————————————————————-
Tsuki: Is it still visible? Where Yachi slapped me?
Hinata : Your face looks like a don't walk signal.
Y/N: Your face looks like a photo negative for the hamburger helper box.
Kageyama: A palm reader could tell Yachi 's future by looking at your face.
Yamaguchi : The phrase 'talk to teh hand cause the face ain't listening' doesn't work for you, because the hand is your face.
Tsuki: ...A simple 'yes' would've sufficed.
( currently obsessed with bad bitch yachi lol)
——————————————————————-
Y/N: Between Yachi , Yamaguchi , Tsuki, and Hinata -- if you had to -- who would you punch?
Kageyama: No one! They're my friends. I wouldn't punch any of them.
Y/N: Tsuki?
Kageyama: Yeah, 100%.
Tsuki from the distance: Fuck you too!
———————————————————————
Hinata : She was poetry, but he couldn't read.
Yachi : His name was Jared he's 19.
Kageyama: When his parents built a very strange machine.
Yamaguchi , singing: Watch that scene, digging the dancing queen.
Y/N, singing: Eyyyy, Macarena!
Tsuki: Horrible job everyone.
———————————————————————
*The second years playing a team sport*
YN: Are you upset you don’t get to be on the same team as Ennoshita?
Tanaka : Have you ever played a game with Ennoshita?
YN: No…
Tanaka : Have you ever been trapped in a cage with a wolverine?
*Meanwhile, on the other side of the field*
Ennoshita, chasing Nishinoya : I SAID FASTER! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORD “FASTER” MEANS? IT MEANS MORE FAST!!!!
———————————————————————
YN: Must be hard not being able to laugh
Tsuki: I do have a sense of humor you know
YN: I’ve never heard you laugh before
Tsuki: I’ve never heard you say anything funny
———————————————————————
YN: I turned out perfectly fine!
Keshin : YN, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast
YN: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!!!
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YN who just spiked a ball at their grandfathers head: Am I going too far?
Keshin : No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now you're going to prison.
———————————————————————-
YN: Dear friends, your Christmas gift this year… is me. That’s right, another year of friendship. Your membership has been renewed.
Tsuki crying in the corner because he’s been forced to spend time with them for the past week: Please dear god no!
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Asahi : Why are Daichi and Sugawara sitting with their backs to each other?
YN: They had a fight.
Asahi : Then why are they holding hands?
YN: They get sad when they fight.
——————————————————————
Daichi: How did none of you hear what I just said?
Sugawara: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.
Asahi : I got distracted about halfway through.
YN: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.
——————————————————————
Daichi: Tonight, one of you will betray us.
Sugawara: Is it me, Daichi?
Daichi: No, it’s not you.
Asahi : Is it me, Daichi?
Daichi: It’s not you either.
YN: Is it me, Daichi?
Daichi:
Daichi, mockingly: Is IT mE Daichi?
———————————————————————
Daichi: *Trying to fill out legal paperwork stuff* Were you guys born AMAB or AFAB?
Sugawara: Bold of you to assume I was born at all.
Asahi : I personally was created in a lab.
YN: I just straight up spawned lol.
Daichi: I will kill all three of you.
YN: Like Tanaka killed you?
Daichi:
YN: Start running?
Daichi: Start fucking running.
#haikyuu incorrect quotes#haikyuu asahi#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu!!#tsukishima x y/n#hq kageyama#daichi x sugawara#hq hinata#hq sugawara#hq x reader#hq headcanons
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