#((sort of a side step since these aren't actually questions))
Note
The Android!Ghost au you’ve talked about is giving « the guy is actually more of a heavily modified human (probably against his will too) than a complete android » and I’m living for this kind of stuff. Please, let’s keep talking about it.
:3c Ghost in the Shell(1995)-core
You've always been more at home with androids than with regular people. They're not as loud, they don't ask prodding questions, you know exactly where you stand with them. They don't care that you'd rather be in your workshop than... wherever normal people go when they're bored. You work on one of the heavy mechs during your lunch break. The bot hands tools up to you while you sit on its shoulder, its huge fingers delicately holding your rivet gun as you try to avoid breaking out the welding machine. It's not looking good.
"It's really stuck on here XG-9," You tell the mech, listening to the click of its cameras as they adjust to the new information.
"I can wait until yearly maintenance, this issue is not impeding my primary motor functions."
You roll your eyes, bots always say that. You know well enough that just because something isn't hurting now, doesn't mean it won't hurt later. Or, impede function later. You have to correct yourself on that. The mech technically doesn't feel anything, its diagnostic picked up a blip and it asked you to fix it. You scratch your head with a sigh and grab the offered hand to swing down.
Ghost is standing there waiting for you when you land. You take a step back, just a hair too close to the android for your own comfort. He cocks his head to the side. You're struck again by how quiet he is. Not just in the silent manner he regards you, but the silence with which his body functions. Androids aren't loud, not unless they're malfunctioning, but you can hear them. It's, well, ghostly. You wonder if that's how he got the nickname.
"What's wrong with 9?" He asks, there's no concern in his voice, why would there be?
"One of his casings is tight, it's compressing a motor," You report, glancing up at the mech. It's busy setting your tools back into their casings, giant hands careful with your pieces.
"His?" Ghost questions, and you hear his cameras click, dialing in to observe you. It's not a secret on base that you have a tendency to personify even the trash-droids. You don't rise to the bait. Ghost turns his attention to the mech instead. "You good 9?"
"Functioning within parameters Lieutenant," The mech chirps. Ghost nods and looks back at you.
"He's fine."
You sigh and go to gather your tools, grab a bite of your sandwich. You assume the lieutenant needs something fixed or he wouldn't be here. Lieutenant. That's unusual. Not unheard of, but definitely rare. Rare enough you don't think you've ever met an android that has the honor of a rank. Not one still in commission at least. You stare at him over your bread, inspecting him for any twitch in her servos.
He's beautiful machinery. Everything about him moves and flows as naturally as flesh and blood should. You've been thinking about what to use for his musculature since you last worked on him. Looked like some sort of aluminum poly... kev-spring... God you don't know, you're grasping at straws. Irreplaceable that's what it is.
"What d'you need?" You ask between bites. Gotta be something, androids don't come looking for you for no reason. They're not curious, they don't wonder how you're doing. They certainly don't stop to watch you work. Curiosity is a human emotion.
"Back plates need to be realigned, you didn't put them back right." He tells you. You nearly choke on your sandwich, thumping your chest and coughing as he stares down at you.
"Excuse me?" You cough in disbelief. Never in all your years as a mechanic have you been accused of such a thing. You glower at Ghost and set your food down. You twirl your finger to have him turn around, he does without complaint, stripping his zip-up off as he does. You don't know why he needs a jacket, not like he gets cold, but you suppose it helps him blend in. Although if he wanted to blend in he could've opted for a more human face plate.
You push his tee up, fingers skimming his synthetic skin, checking the black plated spine for misaligned pieces. Everything feels in order. You grab one of your micro screwdrivers and tap the tiny flat-head against the seams of his spine, testing for gaps. You push his shirt up higher, lean closer to get a better view. This would really be easier if he was sitting- no, laying down. His chest expands and contracts with false breaths, your working theory is exhaust release, but under your hand it feels like life.
You press the button at the top of his spine, watch the plates disengage and pop up. Starting at the bottom you push each one, manually, back into place. There's a small click that lets you know the plate is engaged, and his T5 doesn't click.
You grumble to yourself, and grab your glasses from your tool set along with a pair of needle nose pliers. It's an easy fix, a little fiddly, but you manage to manually hook the latch into place. You make a mental note to order a spare part. The rest of his spine lays down easily, neat clicks that you monitor more closely now that you've had to fix one. When you reach the top you make sure to press the plate on either side of his spine firmly into place before locking up the whole thing. There's a soft hiss, and a release of steam between the panels when you engage the lock.
Ghost rolls his shoulders with a soft groan as you drop his shirt back into place. "Fuck that feels good," He sighs, his modulator sighs. You frown, replacing your tools. It shouldn't feel like anything.
"Yeah?" You ask, human curiosity getting the better of you.
"Like gettin' my back cracked," Ghost hums, he twists at his waist like he's stretching out his muscles. Beautiful machinery, that looks and acts like a beautiful man. You think you understand why he wouldn't want a human face, he'd attract too much attention.
"Glad I could help," You look away from him, back to your tools, "I'll order a new part, should fix the misalignment permanently." You'll keep this fix off the books for now. It's too strange- Ghost is too strange. He almost feels human, but he can't be you've seen his mechanics. He can't be.
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#simon riley cod#simon riley#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#android!ghost#mechanic!reader#cyberpunk au#this is like sex to me#repairs on an android can actually be so personal
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steve wakes up for the first time that morning on a lumpy couch with sticky red lipstick smeared across his forearm.
there's a pair of lips imprinted next to a glob of red and if he looks closely, eyes squinted in hangover glory, he can make out the ghost of a handful of numbers, something that looks like maybe like a 5 curving around the inside of his wrist. it's hard to tell in the dull morning light, even harder when he can't open his eyes because of the pounding drums of a headache in his skull so he gives up, plops his head down on the well-worn couch cushion, and falls back asleep.
when steve wakes up for the second time, his head is positively throbbing, blurring his vision and making him feel weak. his neck is cricked and pops uncomfortably as he stretches before he forces himself to stand. the lipstick is less sticky now, but it's still very much there, even though steve had convinced himself it was just a dream.
as he weaves around other people on the floor who are still passed out with red plastic cups and bottles strewn between them, he digs his keys out of his back pocket and examines the writing. he can't make out the words written under the jumble of numbers. 'cah nie' is what it looks like, but even hungover steve knows that those aren't real words.
steve's pulling into his driveway when it hits him. oh, he thinks, it says 'call me'; the numbers feel a little more important now.
he stumbles through the front door, his feet shuffling along the floors because he feels too puny and lazy to pick them up properly, and makes his way to the kitchen. while steve may not have a career as a private investigator in his future, he's curious, excited to look at the numbers smudged along his arm to figure out who it could belong to.
and it wasn't like he really even went to parties anymore. between the world almost ending and then the world piecing itself back together and the kids going off to school and making the move to indianapolis and making a new group of friends just to move back to hawkins with a few in tow, he didn't exactly feel like the partying type. too much had happened between high school and now.
but lori had convinced jimmy to throw a rager to celebrate moving into their new apartment that they got for cheap on the outskirts of town, out near a lake that steve won't step foot in anymore. then came the gin followed by tequila followed by dancing and joints and laying on his back in the dewy grass to look at the stars with curly hair tickling the side of his neck as he-
curly hair. that's it, his first clue.
steve grabs a notepad off the kitchen counter and jots out every combination he can think of from the numbers on his wrist. the only thing he can clearly see is that the first two numbers are 42 and the last is definitely a 5. everything else in between is guess work, a jarbled combination of maybe 8s and 2s, but he has nothing but time to kill and he won't be able to let it go until he gets the bottom of the mystery number.
he makes call after call to random numbers, switching 7s and 2s and 3s and 8s hoping for any sort of a hint. there's a sort of hope blooming in his chest that someone could have liked steve enough to leave him a message written on his arm like they were staking a claim. it's been a long time since he's felt like this. like he's wanted.
it's when he gets to a number near the bottom of his list that he gets someone to actually answer the phone. it rings once, twice, three times until it's picked up, steve's stomach tied in knots that he wants to write off as lingering hangover nausea even though he knows it isn't.
"yeah?" a gruff voice responds, and if steve concentrates, really concentrates, he thinks it sounds familiar.
"uhm, hi?" he squeaks out and pulls the receiver away from his face so he can cough around the dryness in his throat. "this is probably a weird question but-"
"whatever you're selling, i'm not interested."
and there it is, it clicks in steve's head who he's called. he laughs a little bit to himself and slumps down further into the chair he was sitting in.
"eddie?" he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face now that he knows that this is all either an elaborate prank to make him look stupid or a way to make sure steve makes good on his promise from the party last night to call eddie about when they could hang out next.
there's a sound on the other end of the line, something between a huff and a groan, before the line goes dead. the dial tone blares in steve's ear and it's loud enough that he has to yank the phone away to save his hearing. he can feel his face pinch together before dialing the number again.
the line rings. it rings and rings and rings until it clicks off.
steve calls back.
it rings a few more times and steve has half a mind to drive over to the munson's new place and see eddie in person until finally, there's a voice on the other end of the line.
"the voicemail box you have reached is currently-"
steve sighs. "eddie, i know that's you, come on."
"what, i thought i sounded pretty convincing." eddie's voice is deep, albeit a tad scratchy, and steve's memory brings him back to the night before. the two sat on the porch and smoked cigarette after cigarette while they caught up, thighs touching and fingers brushing as they traded them back and forth.
"it would have been if i didn't know that you guys don't have a voicemail."
"touche," eddie responds. steve can hear the smile laced in his voice and he can vaguely make out something in the background, maybe the tv or a record, and he can't help but picture what eddie might be doing. his brain supplies flashes of eddie standing around the sound system the night before, his hair wild, smile even wilder when he looks up at steve as he convinces ray to turn on tears for fears for him and-
something flutters around in his stomach for a second before settling and it has steve blushing. he wants to slap himself back into reality.
"did you get home okay?" he asks, phone cord wrapping around his finger like he's talking to a girl he's sweet on or like a curl twisting over his hand as he plays with someone's hair. "after the party?"
he hears eddie sigh and what must be their metal kitchen chairs scraping across the linoleum flooring. "yeah, got back last night."
the hangover from the morning is fading and with it goes the blissful ignorance of not thinking back on embarrassing moments from the night before. steve's no stranger to making dumb decisions during a night out, but hearing eddie's voice is pulling at something like a loose thread on a well loved sweater. he feels like he's unraveling, getting closer and closer to the end of the thread before he's laid bare.
"good, that's good." steve goes quiet as does eddie, uncharacteristically quiet as whatever it drones on in the background. "so why-"
"let's not go there, okay?" eddie cuts him off and it has him frowning.
"go where?" steve asks while his eyes trace over the remnants of the lipstick kiss on his wrist and he fights the urge to see if his lips fit over it, too.
it's almost a minute but feels like longer when he finally breaks the silence. "to why i wrote my number on your arm, that's where we're not going."
"okay but you didn't just write your number... which by the way, thanks for using lipstick instead of pen like a normal person because it got all smudged and you have no idea how many random houses i had to call before i got to you and..." steve takes in a breath to stop himself from rambling any further and hears eddie do the same.
"i didn't have a pen, steve-"
"-and you kissed my arm, at least i'm assuming that was you." eddie chokes on the other end of the line. "i'm not upset or anything, ed, just confused."
there's more silence cut through only by eddie cursing under his breath.
"was it a joke? get me to think someone wanted me to... i don't know, take them out or something?" steve has to ask, feeling a tiny part of his heart ache to ask it.
eddie curses to himself again, this time a little louder. "it's not a joke, i swear. i think i just got a little brave with our good friend mr. jack daniels and... you know?"
"... no? know what?"
"i just-" eddie groans, "you were right, steve. someone.... someone does want you to take them out, just not someone you would think would want to date you."
steve's head is still pounding, fragments of his hangover still lingering around. it makes him want to crawl into bed instead of listening to eddie's riddles, draw the curtains shut and wake up when he can wrap his head around things again. he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his fluttering nerves.
"let me get this straight. you wrote your phone number on my arm ruining some poor girl's lipstick and kissed my fucking wrist to go along with it, all because some mysterious someone wants me to ask them out?"
"... yes?"
"so why did you write your number and not that someone's?"
eddie whines and he sounds like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum despite his deep voice from chainsmoking with him the night before and oh.
the curls tickling his neck. the smile he threw at steve from across the room. the way he goaded the makeshift dj into playing his song. the ever so gentle fingers holding his shoulder steady so he could light his cigarette off his own. the stars bouncing off the darkness of his eyes and the touch of fingertips against his cheek when he pulled the blanket up to steve's chin as he fell asleep on the couch and a whispered "g'night stevie" with his breath grazing his ear and-
"oh."
"and he's got it, ladies and gentlemen!" eddie fakes cheers and applause while steve chokes on his own stuttering breath at the realization. "only took him calling half of hawkins to put it together."
"hey, be nice to me, i had to solve your riddle with a hangover." steve laughs along side eddie and he can see it. it wouldn't be like a regular date, not by a longshot, where he takes a girl to some moderately priced restaurant followed by a movie where he gets to hold her hand. it'll be more like eddie, where he gets to laugh and be himself and not worry about saying the wrong thing, like he actually wants steve there and not just his reputation.
the silence this time around is a little more comfortable. a little more light. steve's finger tightens around the phone cord and it isn't all that hard to imagine it as a dark brown curl instead.
"and you better be extra nice to me when you let me take you out on that date."
#this was solely inspired by the opening line to bang the doldrums by fall out boy#but just the opening line not the rest of it cause they're better off as lovers but also best friends too#steddie#steddie headcanon#steve harrington#eddie munson#my writing#steddie drabble#steddie ficlet#ignore any and all typos pls because i wrote this too fast
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sweet calamity | ch 7
Wednesday Addams x Reader
Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.
A/N: This chapter was going to be even longer, but in the end, I thought it was best to split it into two, next chapter should be out as soon as I'm done writing it. Anyway, Wednesday is head over heels in love and I'm not even sorry for it.
Masterlist | Read ch 6 here
Saturday's sun set to what seemed to be an ordinary night, but it was nothing of the sort.
Principal Weems could be seen speed-walking from one side of the big ballroom to another, gesturing wildly to where the fairy lights should actually be placed because someone — Xavier — got her instructions wrong.
The school was royally decorated to the nines; golden lights and a few wooden ornaments contrasting with the white tablecloths set the theme for this year's Rave'n. There were sweet flower arrangements on top of each table too, kindly made by you when Weems told you she wanted something that resembled a new beginning. Everything was ready to receive the students and their plus ones.
While everyone was getting ready, Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter, the sharp sounds of each letter she pressed resonating through the dorm room.
Since last weekend, Wednesday has been dedicating extra time to her writing. It meant she was either really inspired or frustrated, and from the permanent scowl on her face, Enid assumed it was the latter.
The werewolf stood in front of her mirror, her manicured hands adjusting the last details of her white velvet dress to perfection.
"Wednesday?" She started, shooting a side-eyed glance to the back of her roommate's head, "aren't you gonna get ready?"
The typing halted for half a second before it resumed again, "I won't be going."
Enid frowned at her reflection, tucking her hair behind her ears before stepping away. Her heels thudded against the wooden floor as she walked up to Wednesday. "What do you mean you're not going?" She asked as if the mere idea was absurd.
"That I am not going," Wednesday responded sharply, her eyes fixed on her writing.
If this was about anything else, Enid would've dropped it, she knew better than to test Wednesday's patience. But she has been seeing firsthand just how much your absence is affecting Wednesday — and herself, consequently, because living with a moody Addams could be considered torture — even if the girl herself still refuses to admit it.
"So you're giving up?" Enid placed both hands on her hips, knowing very well that her words would get a reaction out of Wednesday. "Just like that?"
Wednesday's frown deepened and she hastily got up from her chair, making it scratch the floor. "I'm not giving up on anything, I never give up."
"You're giving up on your soulmate." Enid dared say.
Wednesday's eyes widened the slightest bit, her posture going rigid. So Enid knows. She didn't know if it was you who told her or if Enid figured it out on her own, but either way, she knew the werewolf would figure it out sooner or later.
Wednesday gulped, trying to keep her features impassive. "I never wanted her in the first place," her voice isn't as strong as she wanted it to be for that line. Wednesday turns around and walks away to look out her window, far down, she could see students already making their way inside the ballroom.
Feelings have never been easy for her. Enid softens as soon as she hears the melancholic undertone behind Wednesday's words.
"But you do now, don't you?" It's not necessarily a question, Enid already knows the answer.
And because of that, Wednesday doesn't say anything. Though her silence is answer enough in its own way.
"You don't need to beat yourself up for it, Wednesday," Enid continues, "it's not a bad thing to have feelings for someone, I mean she is your soulmate."
"That's the problem, Enid!" Wednesday snaps, turning around and taking a few steps closer with urgency.
There's a glistening to Wednesday's eyes that Enid has never seen there before, it gets her own words stuck.
"If I am to-" Wednesday stumbles out, words thick with an emotion she herself can't name yet, "to love her," she tries to take a deep breath, but it turns into somewhat of a sob, "I want it to be my choice."
Wednesday blinks away whatever tears were trying to escape her, "and not some cosmic force pushing us together," she closes her lips in a flat line, the outline of her eyes and the tip of her nose becoming reddish the more she holds everything you've ever made her feel.
She's fighting against herself, against her own heart that beats erratically in her chest. And it was a losing battle from the start.
Wednesday breaks in the form of a single tear sliding down her cheek as a shaky breath comes out. The truthfulness of her own words cutting deep before she even says them; "I want it to be real."
A beat of silence passed and Wednesday finally looked up at Enid, only to see tears shaping her friend's smile and starting to ruin her makeup. The Addams girl scoffed, hastily wiping her cheek, "why the hell are you crying?"
Enid shook her head with a teary chuckle, quickly closing the gap between the two. She circled both arms around Wednesday's shoulders, pulling her in with a strong grip, "how can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time?"
Excuse me? Wednesday thought of saying. She didn't return the hug but did rest her head on Enid's shoulder, though there was a confused frown on her features.
Enid pulled back, resting both hands on Wednesday's shoulders to hold her in place, "just because she's your soulmate, doesn't mean you're gonna love her no matter what, silly."
"What are you saying?" Wednesday asks, and it's the most vulnerable Enid has ever seen her be.
It's endearing.
"I mean, sure your souls are linked and most of the time you're predestined to meet, but your feelings are yours," Enid's smile could be felt in her words, she spoke easily, sincerity overflowing her tone, "they're yours, Wednesday. You're not… predestined to have them or whatever, that would be impossible."
Wednesday keeps silent, her hands balled into fists at her side.
"I've heard so many stories of people who met their soulmates and rejected them, or either tried to be together but the spark was never there," Enid kept going and Wednesday realized she was quite the enthusiast. Not really a surprise; she'd kill for a love story, good or bad.
"Just because you're bonded doesn't mean you'll end up together," Enid shrugged, squeezing Wednesday's shoulders once, "as much as I'd love to believe that everyone who meets their soulmate lives happily ever after, that's as much of a media construct as anything else."
"How did I not find anything about it when I looked it up?" Wednesday asked one of the many questions swimming in her mind.
"That's because you're awful with technology," Enid grimaced, gaining a glare from her roommate.
She took a deep breath in as she let go of Wednesday; "the universe might point your person to you, but it doesn't have the power to control your feelings for them. Wednesday, if you do have feelings for her, they're yours. And they're real."
—
It was with careful steps that Wednesday walked down the stairs that lead to the ballroom, her hands smoothed out the fabric of her black dress and she could already hear the party's obnoxious music.
With much reluctance, she had taken Enid's words to heart and decided she owed it to both of you to at least try.
Because that was it, wasn't it? Somewhere along the way, Wednesday had developed feelings for you.
She closed her eyes, nails digging into her palms and almost drawing blood to try and feel anything besides that. To no avail and she knew it.
The ballroom was already filled with people when Wednesday walked in, it was dimly lit with blinking lights all around and questionable drinks.
Her eyes skimmed over the crowd as they always did, finding Enid dragging Ajax to the dancefloor, Bianca trying to get a hold of Xavier, Yoko and Divina doing a poor job of being sneaky when stealing from the snacks table, and… you. Wednesday's lips parted in a quiet sigh, the scrunch of her eyebrows softening at last when her eyes finally set on you after what felt like ages.
The feeling that you always brought to her chest washed over her, and Wednesday realized that try as she might, it would never go away. You had ruined her, killing her slowly the further away you went; because she knew what bliss it was to have you close even before any cosmic bond came to light.
It was the universe that, for some reason, decided that your light complimented her darkness. But maybe, it really could be her choice to call you hers if she wanted to.
You had a drink in your hands and a smile on your glossy lips — a smile that's directed at a certain boy but Wednesday doesn't think about that. The dress you wore was a dark shade of purple, almost resembling black when the shadows covered your body.
You were enchanting, bewitching.
Wednesday doesn't see beauty in this doomed world too often, but she seems to always find it in you.
And it's a realization that could be the death of her. But she does. She does want to call you hers.
She just doesn't know if it's too late for that now or not.
Shaking herself off of her trance, Wednesday makes her way to the drinks table, taking a glass of the blueish beverage. She raised it to her lips and took a generous gulp, grimacing at the sweetness of it.
What happens now? Wednesday wonders to herself. What's the next step on this?
Murder mysteries are infinitely easier to solve than dealing with feelings.
"Wednesday," Weems' voice caught her attention. "I'm so glad to see you here."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Wednesday stated as she turned to face the principal, her half-full glass held between her fingers, "I can't wait to see what disaster will end tonight's festivities."
Weems chuckles but there's no humor to her tone, "there will be no disasters this year, rest assured."
Wednesday hummed, her gaze focusing behind Larissa's figure to where you were standing; you talked animatedly with Yoko while Andrew had an arm around your shoulders and it made Wednesday grit her teeth, "the night is young still, I can think of a few ideas to make it memorable," she huffed.
"Don't force me to expel you a second time, Miss Addams," Weems warned with a raised brow, but there was a teasing tilt to her tone. She laid a hand on Wednesday's shoulder with a smirk, "enjoy your night."
Weems walked away and Wednesday paid her no mind, because she was suddenly underwater, the more she tried to gasp for air, the more her chest tightened. She was drowning, slowly sinking, going down and down and it's all your fault.
Your hand holds onto Andrew's as he drags you to the dancefloor, silver lights are shaping the curves of your dress as it hugs your body. You're grinning, swaying gently to the song that's playing.
Getting stabbed was way less painful, Wednesday decides, because she could physically feel her heart shattering and it almost made her drop her glass.
Because you're hers. Not his. Not anyone else's.
Your touch doesn't belong to him, your smile doesn't belong to him. It belongs to her.
Her urge is to walk up to you and punch the boy in the face for his audacity. But she refrains — begrudgingly, but she does — for the first time, Wednesday wants to do it right. You deserve as much.
"You can still turn this night around, you know."
Enid had materialized beside Wednesday, taking her by surprise and making her flinch; she curses you for her lack of awareness.
Wednesday scoffed, discarding her drink, "how? She looks sickeningly happy to be dancing with that moron."
Enid bumped Wednesday's shoulder with her own, smiling fondly, "I beg to differ, you don't know how miserable she's been because of you."
It gets Wednesday grimacing, her features falling slightly. "How is that a good thing?" She asks incredulously.
"No, my point is-" Enid shook her head, realizing how badly she had worded her thoughts, "uh I'm pretty sure she would rather it be you and her instead."
Wednesday hesitated, "I wouldn't be opposed," it was quiet, so much so that the music almost muffled the words.
Enid shifted so she was standing in front of Wednesday, blocking her view with a determined look, "then let her know that, ask her for a dance."
"She already has a partner," Wednesday tries weakly, trying to find good reasons to not do it, yet coming out empty.
Enid raises a brow, her eyes shifting to you as the song reaches its last notes. "When did that ever stop you?"
The song ends, and to the many present couple's delights, a slower melody comes in its place.
Your skin is hot and prickly under your dress because of the exertion, it's been a while since you've let loose enough to dance like that. "I could really use a drink," you breathe, pushing your hair behind your ears.
"Sure thing, I'll grab us some," Andrew smiled, his hand going to the small of your back as he leads you to your table before making his way to get the drinks.
You leaned back on the table, your gaze following him for a moment. He's always been nice, and you're thankful to have him with you to take your mind off of things tonight, but try as you might, you can't bring yourself to feel anything for him besides friendly affection. Your heart apparently had already chosen its owner, as much as you wish it hadn't.
Andrew returns, handing you your drink to which you mumble a thank you before taking a much-needed sip. You watch as your friends dance together, dry ice moving with their feet and shaping the lights into something magical. You get lost in it, and in some ways feels like a fairytale.
"Do you still have a dance left for me?"
The sudden voice almost gets you choking on your drink, it's one you'd recognize anywhere and the fluttering in your stomach is nearly instant. You can't decide if you're dreaded or relieved to hear it. You set your glass down, turning to face her.
She has her dark hair up, only a few rogue wisps framing her face; the black dress she wears fits her body to perfection; there's light makeup shaping her eyes and the outline of her lips, it's a darker shade of burgundy than what she normally uses, you think for a moment about how many times you'd have to kiss her for it to wear off. She's hauntingly beautiful, and you think you should be breathing but your brain seems to have forgotten how.
"I thought you said you weren't coming," you managed.
"I wanted to see you," it's a quiet confession from Wednesday, words a little tight because of how much effort it took for her to force them out.
You avoided her eyes, nervously tapping the table with your nails. "Don't do that." You shook your head, "not here, not now."
Wednesday could see your distress and knowing that she was apparently the cause for it brought her considerable discomfort. "Do what?"
An indignant scoff escaped you. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before looking at her; "you have to stop giving me hope for something that's not there, Wednesday." Your gaze roamed over her face, and the sudden tenderness of Wednesday's eyes was so unfair. "Even torture has a limit," you mumbled.
With an annoyed huff, Wednesday cursed under her breath.
What would it take for you to see that, even if she didn't want it in the beginning, there always has been something there.
It didn't help that Andrew had watchful eyes boring into her. Wednesday wanted this moment to be yours and hers only, yet there's a crowd of people around and a parasite attached to you. Oh, she was hating every second of this.
"Please, I want to-" Wednesday hesitated for a beat, "I do want to try this." She extended a hand for you, praying to a god she didn't believe in that this would be enough for you to see.
Maybe you were a fool, but the soft lights were reflecting against Wednesday's dark eyes, and there was no denying the faltering in your heartbeat; trying to mimic her own, trying to tell you what you already knew. You glanced back at Andrew, silently asking if this was okay, to which he responded with a kind nod, and you took the hand Wednesday had extended to you.
No matter how many times you touched her, your skin would always fill with goosebumps when colliding with hers. Her hold on your hand wasn't light, almost as if you could escape her grasp anytime; it was dangerous how well her hand fit with yours though, almost as if they belonged. Touche.
Wednesday took you to the middle of the dancefloor and turned to you without letting go, placing her free hand on your waist; tugging you closer.
Your own hand hovered before settling on her shoulder. This felt too intimate, like crossing an invisible line with no way back.
When Wednesday started to sway your bodies from side to side, following no particular rhythm, you finally asked; "what is this, Wednesday?"
Wednesday's eyes didn't leave your face, the hand she had on your waist squeezed the fabric of your dress there. Your perfume is clouding her senses, something that reminds her of lavender. You feel warm under her touch, alluring; if she leans closer, and you don't pull away, your noses might brush.
For a fleeting moment, she caught herself wanting to.
Wednesday doesn't get nervous, but the twisting of her stomach was something very close to it. "This is me trying to tell you that… though it is true that I never wanted to have a soulmate, it was before I knew it was you." The words got Wednesday closing her eyes for a moment, she hated saying them; she's awful at this and part of her thinks she's doing a terrible job anyway, but words are what hurt you in the first place so they're the ones that also need to fix this.
"I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to, and it's not because the universe said so, it's because-" Wednesday tried to continue. She felt you squeezing her hand and at the same time that it helped it almost left her speechless. "You make me feel… a way I never did before. And though it's not always pleasant, I don't want it to stop. I want to make it up to you, if you'd let me."
Her eyes lazily glance at your lips, and she dares to intertwine your fingers; "and maybe we could start with this dance."
You could cry. You could kiss her. Part of you wanted to do both. But Wednesday's breathing fanning over your lips was worryingly unstable, her eyes couldn't find a place to focus on you, and her hand had a death grip on yours. This scared her. Being this vulnerable, it terrified her. It was a delicate line you were threading on, but you knew you'd never let go of her.
You settled for tentatively pushing those loose wisps of hair behind her ear, letting your fingertips touch her cheek while doing so; the gentle act spoke volumes for itself. "Okay."
———
Sunday's sun was setting to a peaceful night, everyone was still tired because of last night's partying. Nevermore has never been this quiet.
You had your eyes on the sky, appreciating how the usual blue took on shades of orange, pink, and purple; clouds highlighted by the strong colors. It was nice to have the gardens all for yourself; and as you walked towards the greenhouse, you couldn't help but think about last night.
Did she mean it? Did Wednesday really have feelings for you?
You'd be stupid to say she's lying, considering the toll her own words took on her yesterday.
Only the mere thought of it got your heartbeat skyrocketing and your hands sweating. You wished you could dive in head first into… whatever it was she wanted with you, but what if she's not there to catch you when you fall?
Another blow and your heart just might not make it.
The glass doors of the greenhouse opened with a creak and you breathed in the familiar scent of flowers and freshly watered dirt. It was so quiet you could hear the fluttering of the wings of the wandering butterflies if you focused enough. Some lingering rays of sun still managed to seep through the glass walls, molding shadows from the leaves around you.
Parties were cool, but nothing could compare to this.
Walking inside, you first spotted the familiar little orchid you've been taking care of; "hey, you're looking lovely today, miss," you smiled, allowing your fingers to run over its petals and give it just a tad more color.
It was routine for you to give a once over each plant whenever you were in here alone. As you did so, you slowly made your way to the teacher's desk to find what you came to get.
Passing by a cactus, you had to double-check; the poor thing had been neglected of water. "Oh this won't do at all," you grumbled, placing your hands around it, careful to not touch the spikes. The yellowish tone went away, being replaced by a vivid green that got you smiling; "that's much better, you deserve love too."
Finally reaching the desk, you opened the drawer that contained flower seeds yet to be planted. You sorted through the name tags until you found the one you came for. "Gotcha," you whispered, biting your lip as you stashed the seeds in your pocket.
"Y/N!"
The sudden call of your name almost got your soul leaving your body with the way you jumped. You placed a hand over your racing heart, looking up at the culprit.
"Holy shit, Eugene, you almost gave me a heart attack," you exclaimed.
The boy chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, "sorry, wasn't my intention, I'm just glad I found you."
You pushed close the drawer and walked around the wooden desk, stuffing your hands in your hoodie's pockets. Cold, and no gloves again. Very smart.
"What's up?"
"So, I actually came here looking for those lavender flowers you got me last time," Eugene adjusted his glasses, a sly grin coming to his face, "but since you're here, maybe you could grow some for me?"
You smirked, turning around to grab the seeds for him, "so the bees liked them?"
"They loved it, you have no idea how much," he told you excitedly, gesturing around, "even the new ones I rescued are looking chipper already."
Picking up an empty pot and filling it with fresh soil, you placed the seeds on top, easily making them grow and bloom into beautiful purple flowers. "I'm glad they did," you then handed it to him and made to walk outside.
"Thanks, you're awesome," he told you, truly meaning it, he stopped outside as you closed the greenhouse doors.
You shook your head and waved off his compliment, "it's nothing, really, I'm here whenever you need."
Eugene turned to go to his bee shed and you to the quad, but before you went too far, he called out again.
"Oh and, Wednesday was asking about you."
It got you stopping in your tracks, your cheeks instantly warming up, "she was?"
"Yeah," the boy nodded, his eyebrows furrowed as he remembered it, "I think she wanted to see you," he shrugged and waved you goodbye; "thanks again."
"Yeah, no problem," you mumbled, though he couldn't hear you anymore. The thought of Wednesday actively looking for you got your skin filled with goosebumps, maybe you'd find a way to go see her without being painfully obvious.
Reaching the quad, you kneeled down in front of the flowerbed you'd been renovating for the past few weeks. Various flowers were already in place, their colors mingling with each other nicely, one complementing the other; all around a big maple tree you managed to grow in the middle. It took a lot of energy from you and you could still remember the metallic taste of blood on your lips, but it was worth it; the tree was divine.
Burying your fingers on the rich soil, you found the perfect place for the last flowers to go in. And with a press of your fingers, they bloomed. Dark petals standing out amidst the sea of colors.
You could see them becoming your favorite.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Read ch 8 here
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday addams x fem!reader#wednesday addams#wednesday#wednesday addams x you#wednesdayedit#imagine#fanfic#fluff#angst#wednesday addams fanfic#jenna ortega#wednesday x reader#my story
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miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - needles
modern au!
→ she/her pronouns!
miguel needs to hold your hand while getting a flu shot
anti-vaxxers beware! this cup of tea isn't yours to drink
It has come to your attention that Miguel doesn't regularly go to the doctor.
Are you surprised? No. Your husband is unfortunately infamous for have zero sense of self care, staying in his office for literal days at a time, eating the bare minimum on some occasions, etc.
Although you aren't his mom in any way, you wouldn't be a good wifey if you didn't at least care for him. You try your best to remind him to take breaks, bringing him a hefty platter of food from the cafeteria whenever you're off.
Miguel always appreciates it, though your presence seems to be more healing than the gestures themselves. You always find him greeting you with a big hand rubbing circles into your back, or a quick kiss to the forehead.
It wasn't until Miguel told you he hasn't been to the doctor in about four years that you decided to take full action. After bribing him with kisses and date night at your place, Miguel reluctantly agreed for you to take him to the doctor.
Miguel seemed a little tense in the office, you think the scent of rubbing alcohol was unusual to him. The two of you joked around here and there while waiting, though most of it was just you teasing him for his lack of doctor's visits.
The actual checkup was short-lived; as you suspected, Miguel was mostly healthy (physically). He keeps on muscle, does cardio almost everyday, and you make sure to keep vegetables and proteins on his plates.
"Sir, have you gotten this year's flu shot?"
The question makes your husband freeze in place, and you think he tenses up more than necessary.
"No."
You peer at him questionably, noticing his frozen state.
"Well, would you like to now? We have the shots available, all you need is to sign paperwork."
Words seems to want to spill out of Miguel's mouth, but he seems too flabbergasted to speak. Quickly, you place your hand on his arm, smoothing it down.
"Can we discuss this together in private? We'll have an answer when you come back." You say, and the doctor nods, grabbing their stack of papers and stepping out of the small room.
As soon as the door shuts, you turn to Miguel, who stares shyly off to the side. There's the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks, which you fight the urge to chuckle at.
"What's wrong, Mig?" You ask, taking his hand.
Miguel scratches the back of his neck, running an awkward hair through his chestnut hair. You spot him lick his lips a few times.
"Amor, I'm embarrassed to say..."
You raise an eyebrow, and Miguel sighs, peering to the ground.
"I'm scared of needles."
You can't help but let out the biggest sigh of relief, thankful that your husband wasn't against vaccines or anything like that. (why not talk about these things before getting married, hm?)
You pat his arm, taking his bigger hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckle.
"It's okay, Mig. How long has it been since your last shot?"
"You'll be mad at me if I tell you." He mumbles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.
"Tell me."
After a moment of silence, Miguel spills. "Six years."
Your eyes immediately widen, your mouth gaping open. A gasp sputters out of you, and Miguel almost seems to curl more into his comically tinier seat.
"Honey- now you have to get those shots!" You whine.
"No lovie, please. I hate it..." Miguel groans, lightly shaking your hands for emphasis. "It scares me..." He seems to turn away like a pouty child, averting your gaze.
You sigh, leaning against your chair for some sort of divine plan with your lips pursed.
"We can do it together, y'know? I haven't gotten mine yet." You offer.
When your husband hears 'together' he whirls around in his seat, his chocolate eyes brightening only the slightest bit. You almost want to giggle at the sight of his excitement, seeing his back straighten.
"You can hold my hand, hug me, do whatever you'd like." You offer teasingly, just to sweeten the deal up. The things you do for your husbands health.
The clock on the wall seems to tick as you watch Miggy in his seat, thinking for a moment about the makeshift deal. His foot is tapping, but he still seems meek. You glimmer your best 'please get your vaccinations baby' face one, fluttering your eyelashes half-jokingly.
Reluctantly, Miguel says yes, but you think it's because you flirted with him a bit.
The doctor arrives 5 minutes later with paperwork to fill just in case, which you willingly fill out. Miguel, on the other hand; you can see his obvious unease in the way his back stiffens.
You try to comfort him with a few pats to his thigh. It's very rare to see Miguel like this, you feel like usually it's you who's nervous, which Miguel is the one who goes out of his way to comfort you. Today, you can feel what it's like to be in Miguel's shoes, and be able to return the favor in the slightest.
The needles are brought in on top of a crystalline plastic tray, along with alcohol wipes, band-aids, and cotton balls. The sight of the vaccines sends Miguel racing for you touch, gripping your hand as tight as a woman in labor.
As the nurse prepares for your turn, you roll your sleeve up, trying to appear as much of a role model as you can for your husband. Miguel can't help himself from sliding his hand onto your back; an instinct he can't restrain. (a reference to my earlier works hehehe)
With your relaxed arms, the shot is over as soon as it started. You were lucky to have a good nurse, they went through the procedure insanely quickly. It was funny for you to watch Miguel tense up for you, his hand jolting on your back.
"All done!" The nurse happily exclaims, already on the move for Miguel's turn. He frantically reaches for your hand, subconsciously pulling you into him. You giggle a little as Miguel hesitantly rolls up his polo shirt sleeve, all the while he pins himself to your side.
Miguel turns to you, whispering in your ear to lighten the mood of his obvious anxiety.
"I'm kinda scared, lovie." He mutters, squeezing your hand once.
You nod. "I know, Mickey. But, it'll be over really quickly."
"Are you sure? I have two."
You smooth your hand down the veins of his arm. "Yes, at the most, it'll be a little pinch. I think you've felt worse pain anyway."
He sighs. "Yeah, like the guy we had to kick out of the office."
You chuckle into your hand, squeezing his hand tighter.
"Pfft, I know. He was so mean."
For a split second, Miguel eyes the nurse, flickering his gaze back to you. He leans into your ear, making it clear that he has something to say privately.
"Does prep take this long?"
You can't keep yourself from smiling. "They're already done!"
Your husband's mouth runs agape, and his head swerves back to his shoulder, complete with two circular band-aids. The nurse is just there, peeling off their gloves onto the tray.
"I didn't even feel it." He says, half-shocked.
You both give your thanks to the nurse, who gives you the full clear to leave. You cheer, standing up to give yourself a quick stretch.
"You're supposed to rub it, y'know?" You say, Miguel opening the door for the both of you. His hand lingers on your nape, guiding you through the hallways of the doctor's office.
"Whad'you mean by rub?"
You start kneading your shoulder where the shot was, rubbing it in circles.
"You gotta rub it so it spreads the medicine around."
Your husband nods, placing his hand on your shoulder behind you. He starts gingerly rubbing your band-aid clad arm, rubbing it too gently in circles like he would your back. You aren't surprised when he presses a kiss to the top of your head, resting his chin up top your head as you walk to the car.
"Not me! You!" You exclaim, Miguel retracting away his hands with a frown.
© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.
#atsv#atsv x reader#across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse fluff#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara fluff#fluff#romance#spiderman#reader insert#seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
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Hey Esh :) I'm replaying changeling again (500+ hours, one of my favourite games of all time) and just finished reading through the lore book. I completely forgot the bits in there about Adrien as a love interest! I love him as a character and he's an extremely sympathetic antagonist, so I find myself really wishing for more Adrien content. Can you give us some headcanons on what he'd be like as love interest? Would his route have been fast-paced or slowburn? Do you think you still would have included the fairy-fruit aspect of Nora and Spencer's life force in the lore? Where would he rank among the other vampires for jealousness? How would they have gotten around the Vitae restrictions, and how would the rest of the club feel about them getting together?....Is he a top or a bottom? [eyes emoji]
I can give some thoughts but maybe not as detailed as you'd like as I didn't really plan out a full route for him, so some things I'm not sure about.
I think his route would have been sort of moderate in terms of the romance pace. I don't think it would have been fast or slow but somewhere in the middle. Like all Vampires, Adrien would be very, very devoted once he fell for Nora. And I think, in that regard, we'd have been able to explore a really sweet and gentle side of him we don't actually see in the game at all.
The Faerie fruit aspect probably would never have come into play because it was the result of an accidental situation that occurred in Marc's route. Adrien didn't know Spencer was human, he wasn't wearing his gloves around him, and that resulted in him stepping across a line he wouldn't have crossed if he'd had more information (which he would have had in his own route - because he would have learned that they had involvement with the Fae and that Spencer was not a Cryptic).
A lot of Adrien's behaviour is out of character for him because he's being influenced by Fae magic. And that probably would not have occurred in his own route.
I suppose it's possible it would have needed to be addressed in some way so it didn't become a problem for their relationship though. So I'm not sure how I'd have resolved that or how I'd have handled the Vitae restrictions. Part of the romance development and conflict would have, most likely, revolved around those things.
I'm sure they'd have found a solution or partial solution by the end of the route - either through Adrien or Nora learning to control that aspect of their abilities.
In terms of jealousy/possessiveness...probably on par with Marc, really. I don't imagine he'd be worse but I can't imagine him being less possessive than Marc either. I do imagine him being more...clingy I guess - but in more of a puppy dog than annoying sort of way.
In general I think the club members are probably non-judgemental about relationships among the Cryptic student body. I mean, they get that there really aren't a lot of available options. None of them know Adrien well since he keeps his distance so, more than anything, I think they'd have been surprised - and surprised to see him get more involved in things as he got closer to Nora.
Hope that answers some of your questions! 💖💖
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mafia!au + “i don’t want you to leave me alone”
"Hoseok..?" You call unto his name with a slight hesitation as you peek in through the door to find the man sat on his armchair. He has his head hung back into the seat, eyes closed as they face the ceiling.
He lets out a hum to let you know that he's heard you, so you take that time to walk closer to him. "Um...why did you kick those people out? They looked rather frightened when they walked out."
"I wanted to be left alone," he says simply, voice a monotone as he sits still in his chair with no will to look up at you. "Why're you here?"
"No particular reason," you quickly say. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I'll be going now-"
You feel his hand on your wrist before you can take a step away. "Don't," he commands, and you look back at him, blinking in confusion.
"Huh? But you said-"
Hoseok sighs as he sits up on his chair and finally looks your way. "I don't want you to leave me alone."
"O-oh." It isn't uncommon for them to have their bad days yet still allow you by their sides. You've come to realize that on most days when things aren't going well for them, they actually appreciate your company.
Even if it helps just a little, you decide you'll remain by Hoseok's side when he isn't in his best moods.
Hoseok doesn't let go of your wrist but he does take the silence to look you up and down, his brows creasing when he realizes you have a jacket draped on your shoulder.
"What're you wearing?" He asks as he brings you in to stand between his legs. He touches the jacket, eyes narrowing with suspicion at the material. "This doesn't belong to any of us. Who gave you this?"
He knows it can't be a new jacket you've gotten either because this doesn't really fit your style. Not to mention the size is rather big on you.
"Oh, I sort of underestimated the weather today when they brought me over. One of your men saw me shivering so he offered me his jacket," you explain gently. "I was going to give it back, I promise, but when I saw those men leaving your office, it totally slipped my mind."
Hoseok flicks the jacket off your shoulders without a word, letting it discard to the floor without a care as he takes off his blazer to let it drape around your shoulder before he pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you in order to give you his warmth.
You let him engulf you in his warm embrace, smiling against his chest as you nuzzle against him. "Mm..warm," you say, and he takes your legs to adjust you over his lap so that you're now settled right against him.
"Jungkook and Jimin bid me goodbye this morning for a mission they were leaving for. Do you think they'll return by tonight?"
Hoseok shakes his head. "It'll take at least three days for them to return."
"Ah." You sound a bit disappointed but you don't question it any further. Hoseok may know the extent to where the mission lies but even you understand that asking about it won't do you any good. "They'll be fine. Taehyung said he's been watching over them since this morning."
"You've come to accept these things much easier nowadays."
"If I don't trust you, life will be much harder to deal with."
"That's right." You like hearing the chuckle that leaves his lips, lets you know that your presence has helped him and that he's beginning to loosen up.
"Ah, I almost got in a fight with Namjoon."
"Did you now. What did he do?"
You grin at the fact that he automatically accuses Namjoon as if you could ever do anything wrong in his eyes. "Well Jin told me he was overworking himself and disregarding his sleep so I had to scold him and in doing so, I guess Namjoon might've not been in the greatest moods so I told him not to take his tone with me and talk to me again when he woke up from his twelve hour needed sleep and hung up on him. Um..." You think back on the conversation, a lips pressing into a thin line. "Maybe we did get into a fight."
"Good on you," Hoseok hums without a thought. "Namjoon doesn't usually lose his cool unless he's sleep deprived or someone really messed up."
"That's true. Yoongi told me the same thing."
"Gives us a lot of work to keep up with his slack though."
"Sorry for that." You look up at him with sincere worry, a hand resting on his face. "You look really tense."
"I'll be alright," he smiles sweetly your way. "As long as you're here, babygirl, everything will be alright. Just give me a few more minutes, I need to recharge my battery."
You chuckle lightly and snuggle in closer to him. "Take all the time you need."
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Hello! It's me again, here with another Mikell x Reader request lol
I had this kinda angsty idea about Mikell finding out his partner is anomalous, and I think it would hurt even worse if his partner's anomalous abilities aren't actually dangerous or anything.
If you don't feel like writing or have any ideas feel free to just ignore this.
You got it!!
Time for some more Mikell stuff !!
(As always Ambrose replaces the Bright/Shaw family)
(And whenever i write these i usually follow my own au! So some things in these may not be canon to the actual lore so yah!)
You and Mikell had been married for a couple years, the both of you meeting during work. You had just been given a promotion, going from a Jr researcher to an actual researcher. Finally you wouldn't have people looking over your shoulder while you try to do your work (or slack off like another doctor). On one faithful day as you were taking a stroll, finally being allowed to have a break after two whole weeks of work work and some more work. Sure you could relax during the night but you'd usually crash every night never being able to do what you want.
As stopped in the hallway to grab some water from a little water cooler, another person was walking down the hallway separate of you. The man was too busy looking down at his phone to not notice you right in front of him. The man bumped into you, and if looks could kill you already would've been dead. But as you quickly got up and looked at him his look got softer. You didn't apologize though, instead you glared at him "watch where you're going." You said rudely. But he didn't seem hurt, he just laughed a bit before walking off. Little did you know what door had opened up to you.
Every since that day he seemed to appear more and more, annoying the utter shit out of you. The albino man was just somehow always there, you wondered if he was the same as you. What do I mean by that? Well you're anomalous, nothing dangerous. Your body was just different, your cells healing much faster than the normal human. A broken limb that would usually take months to heal would only take a week for you. Sicknesses also avoided you, you had no feeling what it felt like to get sick and you were thankful for that. And since your ability was so simply it was extremely easy to hide. No researcher ever really asked if their fellow colleagues were okay unless they were friends or in some sort of relationship. You usually kept to yourself so no one ever asked when you got a paper cut how it just seemed to vanish.
As this man began to appear around the places you'd usually be, eventually the two of you became acquaintances. Learning that his name was Mikell and later on learning he was the elder brother to Dr. Ambrose. You two began to get along, you had made your first friend in the entire foundation. And slowly your relationship began to grow, it first started with flowers appearing in your office. Next it was lingering hugs, and finally the two of you began to sneak kisses in areas where no cameras could see them. Mikell always knowing the perfect spots, eventually you two took the next step becoming official.
The both of you dated for a good couple years before he popped the question during y'alls break outside the facility. Such a romantic sight, he had rented out a park and hired a few people to string up some lights in the trees and put up a banner asking you to marry him.
You of course said yes and your wedding happened next month at his home. A ranch that had been passed down through the family, the wedding was semi empty. Your [family members] being the only ones who showed up on your side and Mikell only had his parents and a few work colleagues show up on his. But the wedding was beautiful nonetheless.
A beautiful two years of being married, you had learned he was an 05 specifically he was the 6th one. Which did make you tense up a bit with the thought of him finding out you were an anomaly. You had also learned of his past being the legendary agent cowboy, and learning how he had been married before with a son. His son now despising him, you both were still young enough to try for kids. So you had both planned to have one eventually. Whether through adoption, surgency or just some way.
Until that night.
Mikell had come home early to see you trying to clean the top of a cabinet, your feet on their tippy toes under you a small ladder. As you tried to balance yourself you slipped back, falling back and hitting the back of your head on a corner of a table. You could hear Mikell gasp before rushing into the kitchen throwing his suitcase possibly on the couch. "Y/N! Shit hold on darlin'" he sat you up, blood covering the table corner and dripping onto your back. You held your head, your head hurting so badly you didn't realize what was happening. The headache stopped after a minute though and you could hear Mikell trying to find your wound. Your eyes widened as you tried to get away knowing what was about to happen "I'm okay Mikell! I swear!" He'd only respond with "what are you talkin about. There's blood everywhere, shit how are you even al-" then he paused his searching. He found it..he found the wound that was probably already healing. He slowly let go of you and sat back still on a knee. He starred at you, a look full of confusion, anger and worry. He looked around at the blood as if making sure you had actually gotten hurt before he looked back at you.
You sat against a cabinet looking down avoiding eye contact with him, he took a breath "Y/n." You glanced up at him, he could see the tears in your eyes "you're..you're an anomaly." He said as you slowly nodded your head "I..I thought I could keep it hidden..I just wanted to live a normal life" you cried as he stared at you like a deer in headlights. He didn't know what to do now, he knew his job required him to bring you in..but then you'd live the rest of your life as an SCP if they didn't grant you an allowance to be a staff member. You spoke again "you're gonna turn me in now aren't you?" Even though he had been thinking about it, hearing you question that he'd do that broke his heart. It filled his head with memories of his old family. His son who had been born anomalous and the awful things he did to protect his son from the SCPs gaze. He shook his head sitting next to you "no." He put an arm around you "*we* can keep this as our secret. You're my partner, I'm never going to betray you like that." He rubbed your arm as you leaned against him.
The night had been filled with him reassuring you, and after you were satisfied the two of you cleaned up the mess. Mikell already being used to cleaning up blood from his work inside the foundation it was done quickly.
To say your relationship with Mikell didn't change after that would be a lie, there were some awkward moments when you'd get hurt and he'd try to help just to watch the wound heal up slowly. He'd also question you at times asking questions like "were you born with this?" "Do you have any other abilities?" "Are your parents the same way?" And you'd always answer it. Even through this time though Mikell still loved you, he always slept in the same bed as you, always kissed you whenever he could, always planned dates with you. He loved you and nothing would change that luckily.
Hope you enjoyed this!! I tried to make it a lil angsty but also wholesome!
#scp#scp foundation#scp fandom#scp fanfiction#scp x reader#scp mikell ambrose#scp mikell ambrose x reader#scp mikell bright#scp mikell bright x reader
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7, 23, 27, and 33 for the Star Trek ask meme?
Thank you for the ask!
7. Who would make up your crew dream team?
You know, this is something I've thought about before (shoutout to @fancy-a-dance-brigadier for always asking the real questions lol) - but I could never quite find an answer I was satisfied with! Because I don't think taking all my favourites and smushing them together works, they just aren't as interesting together as mixups between characters who have bigger ideological differences. Like, he might be my fav captain but I don't want to choose Sisko over Janeway and Picard, I want to see him interact with Janeway and Picard, you know? So here's a sort of half-cooked, this-would-change-every-time-you-asked-me answer:
Captain: Ben Sisko
First Officer: Michael Burnham (I wanna see them interact!!)
Chief of Operations: Data
Chief Xenoanthropologist: Chakotay (I know this is not an actual position in Star Trek but it should be!! The dude who makes sure dealings with alien cultures are being handled with respect, basically)
Chief of Security: La'an Singh (trying to mix and match here)
Chief Science Officer: Jadzia Dax (ft. Harry Kim always giving her ideas)
Counsellor: Deanna Troi (ft. trainee Ezri Tigan)
Chief Medical Officer: Julian Bashir (ft. Kes starting graphic and unhinged conversations about autopsies with him)
Chief Engineer: Geordi La Forge (ft. B'Elanna on staff. Drama!!!)
Helmsman: Ro Laren
Communications: Hoshi Sato
Also There: Kira Nerys (recurring character who works with them when it's relevant), Guinan (bartender), Admiral Picard (recurring character that makes Sisko do the iconic "Kai Winn is boarding the station" facepalm), Jake Sisko (son), Garak (local menace), and Admiral Janeway (temporal menace)
23. Favorite tropes?
Character's past comes back to haunt them. Character is forced to confront their inner demons in a way that blurs the line between imagination and reality. Member of an alien society seeks asylum. A peek into the world from the "outsider" character's eyes. Two people from opposite sides are forced to spend time together (and the guest character SLAPS). Captain is out of commission and the unlikeliest people are forced to step up. Oh no the holodeck isn't shutting down and the only way we can save everyone's life is to LARP through this thing fully committing to the bit. Here is a spacial anomaly that makes everyone act weird one by one (either revealing important hidden truths about the characters, or just letting the actors have too much fun). ALL of us have to go back in time together for some stupid reason (and it's amazing)
27. What do you wish they had handled differently?
SO many potential answers- but since it's always on my mind, I wish they'd followed through on the thread of Jem'Hadar dissent. In 'The Abandoned' we find out they're genetically engineered to (rapidly) grow very strong, be dependant on drugs, and loyal to the Founders while demanding no individual rights, which frames them as tragic victims. Then we get a Jem'Hadar character who not only broke free of the Dominion's hold on him, not only expresses but also acts on the dream of freeing his fellow soldiers- and a lead character (Julian) risks his career for him! Sisko tries to get through to them in 'Rocks and Shoals'. They're so clearly complex beings with unique thoughts & personalities & feelings & needs, and are constantly fighting this inhumanely imposed programming that tells them they're just killing machines who live to serve their masters. Even in lighthearted episodes like 'One Little Ship' we see conflict between the Gamma and Alpha Quadrant soldiers, for example. We could've had this be relevant to the Dominion War's resolution! We could've had a defector Jem'Hadar as a recurring character! We could've had Julian finally make that breakthrough & help start a Jem'Hadar revolt!! It could've been so much more interesting (and so much less racist)
33. Whose twitter feed would you most want to follow?
My first instinct was Dax, but I'm leaning more towards Jake Sisko- I feel like because he's the son of a Starfleet officer (but not in the service himself) he'd have absolutely zero fear of authority & he'd just post the most savage things about prominent Starfleet officers and blow up incredibly unflattering pics of all the admirals lol
#thanks again for the ask! unfortunately I am terrible at choosing things (notice how many characters I crammed into that first answer :D)#but this was a great brain workout <3#ask game
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Post-ep c3e25
It's so great getting back to the Bells Hells! (This is not a knock on any of the wonderful things we've seen over the past month, but oh man I'd forgotten how much I missed these losers.)
Thoughts:
--Fearne's parents! Oh shit!!!
--No really, oh shit, because this is Fearne's quest. This is Fearne's quest and she's getting it answered in episode fucking 25 and that is absolutely impossible unless it's about to go south for her in a complicated fashion. (God, how much does 'my grandma told me that they had to leave because they were doing Something Very Important' sound like a little girl very seriously and sincerely explaining about the farm upstate that her parents told her about where the old dogs live? How much does it sound like a line? How much does it sound like Ashley knows or at least suspects it's a line, and Fearne has no idea?)
--(What I'm saying is, did Fearne's parents fuck off because fae have no sense of time and they specifically had no sense of commitment, and they're delighted to hear that Fearne exists now that they're hearing from her but they'd otherwise sort of forgotten about her for a hundred years while grandmama told fairy stories? Because that feels like the next step.)
--Side thought: obviously D&D characters so rarely have living parents, but between Fearne and Imogen we've got a trend of missing parents who left for unknown reasons that may or may not have been good at the time and then stayed mysteriously gone. It doesn't seem like anyone else falls into that category in the party so far? But it's a cool parallel that I'll be keeping an eye on as we find out more about the Calloways OR Imogen's mom.
--Ok yep time to have feelings about Imogen and Laudna and their beautiful mess, let's gooooo
--It's such a perfect storm of conflicting personal issues, is the thing, and it's not even JUST Imogen and Laudna, it's both of them spiraling out through who did they actually pick to talk to and how are they writing their own narrative about this disagreement in ways that keep folding back on themselves, right, because
--The actual reality of the situation is that Laudna felt a protective and inquisitive urge which seemed natural and normal to her, chose to give into it without further interrogating where that impulse came from, and then experienced a loss of bodily autonomy which led to something very important to Imogen getting broken. Since I have less than no desire for fandom's umpteenth round of Who's In The Wrong (and fuck Bowlgate), I'm much less interested in making declarations about how the argument Should Be Framed, and rather more interested in looking at how it is framed, and what that means for the characters involved. Because right now, both Imogen and Laudna are framing it as Laudna's fault, and nobody around them is actually questioning that, and that is not the only way this could have gone. And that's interesting.
--For Laudna, it makes perfect sense. She feels responsible, because Delilah Briarwood is an abuser who makes her bad shit somebody else's fault and Delilah Briarwood's been living in Laudna's head for decades. She feels responsible because Imogen is upset with her, and Imogen is the one person in Laudna's life, up until very recently, who believed anything good about her ever. Laudna is a people-pleaser, and we're starting to see some of the complicated ways that interacts with her whole everything, because it's not just that she's cheerfully oblivious to how people are afraid of her. It's that, with a few people -- with Imogen especially! -- on her side, she is cheerful enough by nature and by self-preserving design that she doesn't worry about the rest of the world. But that means that so much of her self-worth rests on Imogen's shoulders, and now that that relationship's been challenged, Laudna takes all of that blame onto herself.
--And it makes so much sense for Imogen, too, who's going through a whole slew of things that are and aren't about Laudna at all. She's cracking under ten kinds of pressure, and she was doing so well before this incident. Tonight we saw her not just mad at Laudna, but defensive as well as jealous. She said herself that she's not ready yet to admit that maybe it's good that the rock broke. She's also not ready to admit that maybe holding Laudna fully responsible for everything Delilah Briarwood does through her is a little unfair, or to deal with the thought that Laudna also suffered a violation and a loss in that moment.
Which, good on Imogen for knowing what she isn't ready to deal with! Imogen has so much shit going on right now! Sleeplessness and tension and stress and also that damn rock all pushed her together towards cruelty, which because she's a decent person added layers of guilt, which added to the stress, which just keeps pushing and compiling. She wrecked the competing mercenaries in the museum and loved her horse and was full of compassion for a massive desert octopus. She'd rather talk to a massive desert octopus or cross half a city and buy a ring by herself without the rest of her party because she can't always handle being at the center of their mess. She is still having horrifying nightmares of her own death! She still doesn't know what's wrong with her! Being Imogen presumably really sucks right now, in that depressive episode way where she's protectively self-isolating and doesn't necessarily have the energy at hand to be fair about other points of view and other people's pain, because she's too swamped with her own. So yeah, defensively blaming it on Laudna, even as she admits that maybe losing the rock wasn't all bad, even as she stews in jealousy because she wants Laudna back so desperately -- of course it makes sense.
--But! Orym and Ashton and FCG! Their reactions are really meaningful too, and like all good reactions, say way more about the characters having them than about the situation at hand!
--FCG is Being Helpful, but tonight I think I really put my finger on something essential to him, which is that FCG does not understand the concept of an unreliable narrator. He is immediately 100% on board with helping and supporting Laudna. He also doesn't for one second question Laudna's assertion that she fucked up, that she's entirely at fault. In the words of some recent 4-Sided Dive or another, it's the undergrad freshmen psych major response; he takes Laudna entirely at her word, because he doesn't really understand the idea that somebody could absolutely be sure they're telling the truth about themself and their own experiences, and still be wrong. He doesn't have the context to ask the questions about, 'hey, why might Laudna be predisposed to take on more guilt and responsibility for things than is entirely her share?' He's aware enough to know that whatever is going on, it's going to have to be Laudna and Imogen who handle it, but he wants to fix things, and Laudna has offered him something to fix: she fucked up, she broke things, and now she wants to apologize.
--Orym is actively being a good friend here, which is great. He notices that Imogen and Laudna are off, and he asks Imogen about it. He notably doesn't try to fix things, but willingly listens, and encourages Imogen to let it out as she needs to. He assigns no blame, on either side, while making it clear that he's there to support Imogen as her friend. The fact that he doesn't take the opportunity to go, "hey, maybe Laudna didn't actually do what you think she did!" is the completely reasonable and correct choice. Orym isn't here to Fix This Relationship, he's here to support Imogen who is, again, having a godawful time of things right now and currently doesn't even have Laudna's support in it all. He's not taking sides in an argument, but he is firmly situating himself in Imogen's corner, as a person she can rely on, when she feels she has far too few of those in the world.
(--And there's something to it, the dynamic where your own mental health issues are such a mess that, when something goes wrong with your oldest/closest friend, you turn to a new friend instead because that relationship is too new to have all that impossible weight, because you haven't fucked that one up yet, because it's still shiny and not full of flaws yet, and maybe you'll do better this time, maybe you'll get luckier. It's a complicated sort of emotional moment, and very real, and that's without even glancing at the oblique tangle of romantic undertones that may or may not exist.)
--And Ashton! Ashton who's checking in partially because, for all he scoffed at it, he's honestly been working really hard at the whole I Guess I'm Sort Of A Leader Now thing, if only because he's the crew's local guide while they're in Basuras. There's a weird interpersonal thing! He should check in! And then of course Laudna collapses into sobs, which is very much not what he was expecting and oh boy now he's in way over his head whoops.
Ashton also doesn't really question the way Laudna's presenting the situation, aside from the incredibly pertinent, "Does she know it was an accident?", and what's interesting is he does it for almost the opposite reasons as FCG. FCG doesn't ask because he assumes Laudna's relaying things accurately and he thinks he can help fix it. Ashton doesn't ask because he's real clear on, oh boy, Laudna is not particularly coherent on anything right now, she is probably not thinking at all straight, and I 100% cannot fix this so I do not even want to touch it. Laudna is, Ashton will maintain, a grown-ass adult, albeit a somewhat dead one. If she's claiming responsibility for a fuckup, he's not going to argue with her about it. He's not her therapist.
He pushes back against some of her wilder self-flagellating plans, and tries to nudge towards a more situation-appropriate apology that actually addresses what she did wrong -- and maybe there's some subtle hinting in there about, hey, Laudna, pay attention to the reality of what you actually did wrong. He lets himself be used as a handkerchief for goo. In a lot of ways, he's doing the same thing Orym did, being a support post and a listening ear for a friend who needs one, without trying to pry or fix; it's just a somewhat wetter job from this side.
Honestly, I think watching the Laudna-Ashton interaction was my favorite conversation of all three, because Ashton is so clearly still walking the line where he tells himself that, no, of course he doesn't love these people, are you an idiot? They're his coworkers and maybe, sigh, friends or something, he guesses. But meanwhile he's letting a zombie lady ooze black tears all over his shirt and telling her it's fine and not even getting annoyed about things, and being nice about it all, because what, is he going to be mean? THAT'S not very punk.
But Ashton doesn't push too hard against the 'it's all Laudna's fault' narrative because that's not who he is either. It doesn't seem at all like a useful argument to have, and also they've got to deal with an armed military fort and a missing quokka and seriously he was just trying to make thirty seconds of conversation how did he end up in this mess.
--It's going to be SO INTERESTING to see where it all goes, and I love the impact Dusk is adding to the story! I love that Laudna is so bereft over Imogen that she hasn't even noticed them outside of group shenanigans, while Dusk is completely into her and Imogen is fuming. I love the way the party split worked out for the stakeout. I love the fact that they're clearly both hurting badly and want to have each other's support again so clearly. They both have regrets. I appreciate that.
--Nothing big on the shenanigans portion of tonight, although it was extensive and glorious (oh my GOD the Taste of Tal'dorei afternoon lunch theater). I missed these kids and their wacky antics during the grimdark pain of EXU Calamity. I'm so glad to be back.
And lastly:
--Every time somebody mentions Imahara Joe, the tinker and mechanic, my heart cracks absolutely in half, because you will never convince me this NPC we haven't met yet isn't named after Grant Imahara and that's beautiful and also I thought I was done being sad about that two years ago but nope, guess I've still got some sad left.
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Sharp Dressed Man | Bruce Wayne x m!reader
@satan-incarnate-666 asked: "Always running to my defense, aren't you?"
summary: you and Bruce both hate public events, but if he's to keep up appearances, that unfortunately means dragging you along to a few here and there.
tws: swearing
Bruce grumbled as he unfastened and fastened the buttons on his waistcoat, frowning as he looked into the mirror and asked himself whether or not the red tie he had chosen was a bit too much colour; a dark grey blazer, a dark grey waistcoat, dark grey trousers, black leather shoes, a white shirt. Maybe the red tie was a little too much, maybe the red tie was just a bit too overboard.
You sat impatiently waiting for him, bouncing your leg as you kept your hands between your legs, able to feel the soft golden coloured silk duvet cover grace your fingers as you checked your watch every now and then; he was impossible when it came to public events, always unsure of what to wear, unsure of whether or not what he was wearing was actually the right thing - maybe it was too formal, maybe too casual - and you were growing a little impatient.
"Bruce," you grumbled. "You look great."
"Are you sure?" He asked, looking at you through the mirror.
You nodded, coming up behind him and getting your arms under his, watching the movements of your fingers as you sorted his tie. "You look great. You'll be the Belle of the ball."
Bruce scoffed, shaking his head as he relaxed against you, a heavy sigh coming from his lips; he always hated public events, he always hated the fact that he had to make an appearance just to keep his mask from slipping. He would have preferred to stay at home with you, cuddled up on the sofa wearing nothing but boxers and maybe one of your shirts, watching horror films that weren't for the faint of heart; those were the kind of events he looked forward to most, not some fundraiser for fashion. He didn't even know what designer he was wearing, he didn't care.
"Always running to my defense, aren't you?" He chuckled, his breath hitching a little when your hand grazed against his stomach through his shirt, working quickly to get the buttons on his waistcoat done up.
You shrugged, kissing his cheek as you gently patted his stomach. "We can chuck on some Rammstein in the car on the way, if that'd make you feel a little bit... I'd say willing but I know you fucking hate these bullshit things."
Bruce nodded, turning around and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he gripped your tie in one hand, pulling you a little closer as his other hand rested on your hip. "Rammstein sounds good... are you sure you're ready, though?"
"I'm ready," you told him gently, your hand going to his chest as you flashed him that all too charming smile. "It's been a while since I made an appearance as your boyfriend in public."
He hummed, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before he dared to take a step back and to look at how you were dressed; he couldn't deny that you looked a little too handsome, he wasn't sure if he would have the strength to keep his hands off of you throughout the night. "I think you'll be the most handsome guy there, y'know."
You grinned at that, daring to undo the top button of your silk shirt as you tilted your head to the side. "Yeah, but you know what they say."
"What?" He questioned with an obvious amusement.
"Everyone goes crazy for a sharp dressed man," you chuckled, daring to close the distance again.
You had one hand at the side of his neck, the other on his shoulder, and by mere instinct alone, Bruce grabbed your tie in one hand to keep you close, his other hand dipping into your back pocket as he let out a soft growl.
"If that's the case, then I might have to keep my eye on you," he joked. "Make sure no one tried anything."
"I don't think you'll have much trouble doing that," you laughed. "Do you?"
"No," Bruce shook his head, daring to rub the tip of his nose against yours. "It'll be the easiest part of the night."
if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - do not just leave a "like", REBLOG IT. you may also leave feedback in the form of asks, tags, etc which is greatly appreciated, but you SHOULD reblog it regardless.
#mlem writes#bruce wayne one shot#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne fanfcition#bruce wayne fanfic#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne#christian bale imagine#christian bale x reader#christian bale#batman imagine#batman x y/n#batman x you#batman x reader#batman#the dark knight trilogy#the dark knight
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Submitted via Google Form:
I was wondering about how can I have primitive (like stone age? or maybe further a long if required) cultures in my story build large or tall structures. My idea is that a structure like what you see of Stonehenge would actually be remnants of 200m tall towers or something. Would love to go as high as possible, so any ideas on that? Also I suppose what sort of rock type would be needed? It's an entirely fictional place so earth stuff can be changed, but perhaps not drastically - I mean it's still an earth like planet.
Addy: The first question I have is the societal pressure that is pushing them to build up instead of out. Generally speaking, walkable cities without elevators top out at around 5 stories, since going up a lot of stairs takes time and is pretty annoying, especially if you're having to do so consistently throughout the day. Let's call it 15 meters, or around 50 ft. If that's carved into rock (ala Mesa Verde or Derinkuyu), you can get that kind of height out of stone, but anything with multiple stories is generally going to require either A) some kind of woodworking capability or B) pyramid structures. Put simply, rock is heavy, and it does not do well in long, flat sections like floors. That's why we put rebar in concrete, and why we have supporting beams underneath concrete floor systems. Woodworking lets you build a more sophisticated structure (more interior space), while a pyramid structure gets taller.
One thing that building up does is it allows for a higher population density, which is excellent for cities. Cities (and permanent buildings in general) mean agriculture, which means that we're looking at the Neolithic period (or later). That's also going to give you organized labor to pull from, as well as possible written records (not always, but usually).
We see plenty of two-story buildings in the Neolithic and Bronze Age periods, such as the Palace of Nestor (Bronze Age) and Çatalhöyük (Neolithic). Looking beyond that, ziggurats get us even taller. Chogha Zanbil is a wonderful example of a large ziggurat. It had five levels and was ~53m tall by ~105m wide. A ziggurat is made by creating an artificial platform of mud brick, and then building successively smaller platforms on top of that. They're a form of step pyramid, and got to be quite tall.
The largest (and tallest) buildings are, by far, the pyramids of Egypt. The Great Pyramid of Giza (aka Pyramid of Khufu) was originally ~146m tall and ~230m on a side.
Often, when looking up settlements, we see mentions of settlement layers or levels. Çatalhöyük has 18, I believe. These aren't multiple stories of buildings, but are instead closer to bulldozing a site and just building right on top of the old stuff. That's how you end up with, say, Roman ruins under various European cities. They just got built over. Since you're looking at height, I wanted to go ahead and clarify that for you.
Overall, 200 meters is a lot. The Burj Khalifa is five times the height of the Pyramid of Khufu, and weighs about ⅙th of it. Stone is heavy, and building with it is, frankly, a lot of work. They had the advantage of canals and boats to bring up all the stone to the site, and it still took them 20 years. Now, mind you, many ancient structures were built over the course of generations. Ziggurats, temples, offices of administration… things are and were built over a long period of time (la Sagrada Familia is a good modern example).
If you want there to be minimal remains, well, free stone is free stone! Many ancient structures have been taken down that way.
I don't have a solid answer for you, but I hope this gives you a few ideas to think about.
Feral: If you want tall and ancient, look to the mountains. Literally. Raqmu, now known as Petra, in Jordan, is partially carved into a canyon. Probably not in its known form until the 3rd century BCE, it could still serve as inspiration for your worldbuilding. The cliff-dwellings of the Pueblo peoples in North and Central America could also act as inspiration for you. Although probably not built until the 12th century CE, caves are probably some of the first humans ever inhabited given the natural shelter they provide.
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george russell is interviewed on media day, monaco - may 25, 2023
(transcription under the cut)
Interviewer: "…doing. Obviously we have the sad news of all the flooding and the devastation in Imola. It was absolutely the right thing not to race there.
Did you have a sort of weird kind of rhythm within you in Saturday and Sunday, knowing that I feel like I should be racing this weekend…"
George: "Yeah, absolutely. It was…"
Interviewer: "…and how to sort of dissipate that slightly."
George: "I'll always remember Australia, when the race got canceled in the Covid year, of when you put all that effort and work in. In Australia we was already there at the event, getting the news that we're not racing. It's such a strange feeling.
Obviously Imola is a little bit earlier. I had actually just finished my sim session, the morning on the sim prepping for Imola, when we got the news, but it wouldn't have been right at all for us to be there, with everything that was going on in the region.
And it was also… Let's say in a selfish perspective, it was a bit annoying for us not to see how the updates performed on a more normal circuit. But, nevertheless, we got them here. We'll probably wait until Barcelona to get a true picture, and just try and maximize this weekend."
Interviewer: "Okay, so just explain… It was impossible to go back to the old car that you know, 'cause they'd already changed all the internals and stuff…"
George: "Yeah, it probably would have been possible, but from our side I think if we had a strong weekend here with the old car and we were half a tenth away from pole, for example, we'd be kicking ourselves knowing that we've got more performance on the table. So if you've got performance there, you've gotta use it, and I guess it shows the trust the team have in us as drivers, but also I'm happy to know that the team are pushing forward.
Maybe we'll sit here on Sunday night saying that was a stupid decision, or maybe not. We'll maybe say we were right to be bold, but we wanna get on with our season and yeah, so what?"
Interviewer: "Which, of course, begs the question: how much performance /is/ on the table, then? A second? Half a second? Six-tenths?"
George: "I don't think any update in the history has been six-tenths, or…"
Interviewer: "The car's got sidepods on it for the first time since the Barcelona test in 2022. It's got some sidepods on it."
George: "I hope I'm proved wrong, but the sidepods aren't the magic, so it sort of… Putting that on the cards just to tick a box, to say that is a question that's been answered and there's no more question marks over the sidepods. The magic happens elsewhere, so…
No, let's see. It'll be a step in the right direction. We know that Monaco's difficult. For example, Ferrari in the last ten years, probably they always exceed their base performance here in Monaco. They're always very strong in Monaco. Mercedes generally struggle a little bit more in Monaco. Even during the glory years, Monaco was a bit of a difficult circuit for us as a team, as in Singapore, those types of tracks, so we're not expecting wonders this weekend.
So we'll focus on this weekend, go into Barcelona, new baseline, and see then."
#george russell#f1#formula 1#monaco gp 2023#fic ref#fic ref 2023#monaco#monaco 2023#monaco 2023 thursday
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Splatoon headcanons
first and foremost it should be readily apparent that I care severely about splatoon and feel very very strongly about octolings. I kin Acht and Eight very heavily and they're severely important to me.
Eight has an extreme amount of trauma. in general. She's extremely extremely extremely self defensive and would sooner die than be told what to do. She feels naked without some form of weapon actively in her hands and as a result typically refuses to go places where open carry is banned. All of her weaponry is customized and obsessively cared for, she has no interest in turf war as a casual hobby so is unbothered by standard protocol that would ban these sorts of changes to weapons.
Eight hates being referred to as 8 (As in the number, rather than writing it out as the word Eight), and hates being referred to as an Agent- for obvious reasons, she strongly opposes Cuttlefish and the Squidbeak Splatoon- seeing them as solely working to further Cuttlefish's questionable ideals without actually being interested in Stopping Octavio.
For obvious reasons, Eight hates Octavio and the Octarian bourgeois in general. Her ultimate dream is to tear them apart and many tantrums are spent in feverish rage fantasizing the idea. Eight has a severe amount of anger under the surface but can manage it well enough on a daily basis not to hurt anyone. She takes a lot of time on her own and knows when she needs to step away to isolate and vent. Socializing takes a lot out of her, especially as she feels very strongly about inklings and the amount of privilege they experience.
Eight deeply appreciates the ability to choose her own clothes and has a strong sensory fixation on soft things, but her needs/desires for her clothes shift on a daily basis. On some days she needs to wear tight clothing and on others she refuses to wear anything less bulky than a hoodie.
Eight does not have pronounced claws. Eight is firmly on the short side for Octolings, and roughly average height compared to inklings. She has a stout figure and is generally confident in her appearance. She's proud to be an Octoling and generally feels much more comfortable being around other Octolings, especially Octarians, than anyone else.
Acht, similar to Eight, hates being referred to as Dedf1sh. Sanitization was a brash mistake that severely damaged her psyche and body, which she did out of a desperation to escape her life as an Octarian and out of the perception of her past life as useless. Since escaping the NILS statue, Acht has outgrown the latter mentality, and feels deep remorse for what she perceives as what she did to herself.
In the same breath, Acht makes a point to avoid feeling ashamed of being sanitized. It still happens, but she makes an effort to avoid this mindset. Acht, since before her sanitization, struggles with severe anxiety.
Acht is severely physically strong despite heavy nerve damage and a generally unhealthy physique. She tires quickly from movement and experiences severe aching. She frequently attempts to traverse the city on her own, but takes very long with how slow she moves and how often she stops to rest.
Acht is extremely large for an inkfish in general, with a towering height and a very broad build. Combined with her claws and, of course, her state as being sanitized, Acht severely intimidates the average inkfish and frequently feels guilt/rage (depending on the day) over the clear discomfort others have in her presence. She frequents non-inkfish-heavy locations, having little trouble physically fitting in spaces intended for larger species such as crustaceans.
Sanitized octolings were rescued in an effort funded by Pearl, at the behest of Marina. Sanitization functions like a parasite- given the extremely advanced medical technology typical to the world, most existant diseases that aren't shortly cured by medicine exist in the form of parasites. This is primarily a coincidence in the case of sanitization rather than a result of evolution. Sanitization ceases the bodily functions of the host, while supporting the body and fulfilling biological needs itself, preventing necrosis of the body. The "parasite" doesn't seem to be a biological entity unto itself, but exists as a sort of tumor on the brain of the host. Despite common public opinion, Sanitization is not infectious- the average person is either unaware of what sanitization is [as inkfish with off-colored skin exist], or presumes that they are essentially vegetables.
Unfortunately, this comes from the fact that Sanitization is a difficult condition to treat. The most well known trait of sanitization is the effect on the brain, numbing individuality and sharply impacting the docility of the afflicted. As an affliction that affects the brain, it behaves differently on a person to person basis- and many come out with little of themselves left, and this idea of a "zombie sickness" naturally pervades public perception more than the reality that many sanitized octolings, with care, have recovered much of their individuality.
How Sanitization affects Acht on a daily basis varies. Some days are better than others. On worse days, Acht spaces out for very extensive amounts of time, at times even in the middle of activities. Acht hates this stalling out but often struggles to pull herself out of it. Sanitization naturally impacts her existant troubles with anxiety, often leaving her mentally locked if she grows worried.
Acht stims frequently as a means of keeping herself from locking up like this- she has a sensory fixation with her claws, and clawing things helps her feel better. She'll often claw at things when she's feeling very strong emotions. Acht's claws are extremely large for an Octoling.
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The Christmas Kids
Summery:
It's been four years since Craig Tucker stepped into South Park. After a nasty, one-sided breakup at sixteen with his long-term boyfriend, Tweek Tweak, Craig has been on a downward spiral with seemingly no end. With a new assignment from his therapist, Stripe #10 and enough medication to kill a small village, Craig is returning to the source of all his problems. Things have changed in South Park and some people don't know how to leave well enough alone. With new friends, old friends, and something in between, Craig just wants to disappear out of the lives of everyone
Parings: Craig/Tweek, Kyle/Stan, Kenny/Butters/Marj
“I dream of you in every waking and sleeping moment and its the sweetest and cruelest form of torture.”
Day one.
My name is Craig Tucker.
I’m twenty-two years old.
My therapist is making me do this assignment where I have to make an entry for a whole year. Three hundred and sixty-five entries. He told me that it was okay to skip a day or two if I forgot or didn't have the energy to write anything down. I don't mind this if i'm being honest, it's better than wallowing in my own self pity like I have been the last few years.
I think it would be rude to not introduce myself to you, even if you are just a leather bound book filled with empty space.
So.
My name is Craig Tucker and I'm depressed.
I was first diagnosed when I was sixteen when my boyfriend of six years broke up with me. Then a lot of stuff happened and I got the free upgrade of having MDD- major depressive disorder, a few years later. I’m gay, I’ve known since I was fourteen. You’re probably wondering, “Craig, how did you have a boyfriend for six years if you didn’t know you were gay until years after you started dating him?”
That, my friend, is the question, isn't it? I grew up in South Park, this fucked up little town in Colorado. The adults were insane, there was one fat kid who was a menace to society (his friends were too, I still hate them for Puru) and then there was Tweek.
Tweek Tweak was this neurotic little blond kid whose parents ran the only coffee shop in all of South Park.
We even fought once because of the fat kid I mentioned earlier. We’d played superheroes together (I was Super Craig and I beat the shit out of other kids, I loved it) and before we “dated”, we were doing some medieval shit with this new kid who farted. Like, a lot. It was a weird time.
Then the Asian girls started making yaoi fanart of us and the whole town had decided that we were gay, dating and that was that. We “broke up” shortly after and Tweek had decided to make me sound like a cheating bastard with some dude named Michael (srsly what the fuck, im still mad about that).
But I guess we just sort of stayed together after that. We fake dated for the town but we actually became really good friends and eventually the line between friends and being something more just… blurred. I was the only one who could calm him down and he was the only one I could stand touching me.
That's sort of my thing. My family never believed in coddling their kids and it was rare to be touched in a way that wasn't violent (I got into fights a lot) or those posed two second family pictures. I even remember flinching away from his touch in the beginning because it was so foreign.
I haven't let anyone else touch me since.
The thought makes my skin crawl, like having any one else’s hands on me but his made me want to throw up.
Sorry, I'm rambling aren't i? It's been a while since i've talked to anyone that wasn't the therapist.
I'm gonna be honest, book. I’m not okay.
I’ve been in love with my ex for nearly ten years and I don't know how to get over him. No one else clicks and a part of me is so, so tired of getting drunk and high to feel something other than misery and self pity that I just want everything to end. That sounds bad doesn't it? Who feels that way over some guy?
Everything feels heightened now because I'm going home to South Park for the first time in four years and I'm scared out of my mind. I was a complete mess that last year and a half of high school after Tweek broke up with me and I spent most of that time high, drunk or both on the first set of meds that made me feel numb enough that I could barely think and when i could, i was so fucking miserable i wanted to die.
If I'm being honest, I don't even know how I graduated. Despite what everyone thought about Kyle Broflovsky and Wendy Testaburger being the smartest in our grade, I had been on track to be valedictorian, which I hid from everyone as best I could. Sure, I had sucked at school when I was younger but the teachers had been able to tweak (ha, jokes) how I was taught and boom, smart as hell.
Honestly, I think my teachers felt bad for me and just passed the depressed gay kid who was dumped by his long term boyfriend for a fucking girl.
Ugh.
Book, this entry is making me want to jump so I’m gonna end it here. So see you for entry two, maybe I won’t be so miserable the next time we talk.
-Craig.
He flipped the book closed and flexed his fingers, which had cramped from the amount of writing he'd done. A part of him had almost felt bad for trauma dumping through the pages and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face because how fucking stupid is that? It's a book.
He hadn’t been lying as he wrote and he’d even felt like the slightest bit of weight had eased off of his shoulders for a moment. He looked around his barren dorm room and wished he could make time stop moving; graduation had come and gone and now he was heading back home to South Park for the first time in years. Apartments were too expensive in the city and he was completely wiped out from paying tuition.
So home it was. Tricia was about to be in her senior year of high school and he’d felt guilty for missing so many events the last few years. His mom was excited he was coming home and he had no doubt that every single miserable person in town knew the Gay Kid was coming back home.
Being out of the cold shadow of the mountains had done him good, his voice had finally let go of the lispy rasp he’d had for so long and he'd let his hair grow out so it stuck out from under his hat.
He looked towards the desk in his room and stood from his perch on the bed. Stripe #10 had been changed to his carrying case and he’d protested it, his angry weeks expressing just how he felt being in his tiny enclosure.
“Dude, chill. You’ll be in there for only a little longer and I’ll give you treats later.”
Stripe let out a huff in response.
“Don’t sass me young man, it's hard being a single mother dealing with your tantrums.”
Damn kids.
He shrugged his bag on and lifted the cage, leaving behind the dorm he’d occupied for so long. He left the key by the RA office and put Stripe in the front seat of his car, buckling him in and throwing the bag into the back seat.
“Don’t expect to see your deadbeat dad anytime soon bud, just because we’re going home doesn’t mean you get to see him.” He said to Stripe, who didn’t respond.
Teenagers are so ungrateful nowadays, he thought to himself and started the long journey to South Park.
this is also posted on A03
<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/
#south park fanfiction#creek nation#craig x tweek#craig tucker#craig tucker is depressed#college au?#technically it’s not but whatever#they’re the same ages anyways#south park angst#angst with a happy ending#angst with comfort#it’s gonna hurt#i’m sorry#at least the Style hurt won’t be so bad#maybe#hehe#kenny x butters#butters is gender-fluid#i love marjorine#their dad fuckin gets it#stephen stotch hate club#craig tucker is in therapy#tweek breaks up with him in high school#stuff happens
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18, 23, 27!
Hello lovely anon! Thank you for your submission to the Fell A Marsh Memorial OC Ask Zone. Apologies for my lateness getting back to you; I saw this ask and was very excited for it, but then I went to sleep and forgot it existed.
I'm mostly going to answer these for characters from Hierarchy of the Unseen since it comes out tomorrow (!!!) but I'll probably throw in a couple other characters too.
18. which ocs will bend the rules as much as possible without breaking them? which do it to get what they want, and which do it just for spite?
Bending the rules as much as possible without breaking them is very Kor, specifically when he's still part of Mant's legion. His whole deal is he does not want to have to work any more than possible, but he also doesn't want to get in trouble (the consequences would be very bad for his continued existence). And while he mostly does this to get what he wants, there's definitely an element of spite to it. The demons believe that their god sent them to torture humans as punishment for some transgression in the spiritual realm, and Kor very much does not buy into this - he hates the gods (and/or does not believe in them) and the vampires that carry out their supposed will, and does whatever he can to not go along with them.
23. which ocs have the most book intelligence? which have the least?
In HotU, Mant is maybe the one with the most book intelligence - Mitzli definitely has some practical training as a demon hunter but I don't know that they've read a lot, while Kor actually struggles with reading (he hasn't gotten to do much of it in his life). One of the things that set Mant apart from the other vampires are his many books; Kor catches him reading or writing multiple times in the book.
Even if he had the chance to do so, I don't know that Kor would read much; if he thought he could find some interesting secrets or something immediately useful in a book he'd probably skim through it, but otherwise I don't think he'd be interested. He has things to do. Also he is very stupid.
Being able and willing to read isn't necessarily what I would consider "book intelligence", though - so stepping outside of HotU, Fae (from Both Sides of the Moon) is by far the (major) character I have with the most education. He went to magic school and managed to graduate despite not having any magical talent himself, and (minor BSOTM spoilers) he's able to puzzle out the workings of some very ancient vampiric technology in... less than ideal circumstances. He's also very stupid in his own special way (all of my characters are lol) but he's definitely book smart! There's arguably another character in BSOTM who's smarter but they aren't in much of the story (though they're very important) and their existence is kind of a huge spoiler so. I will not be discussing them further lol
27. which ocs put lots of care into their physical appearance? which ocs could not care less?
This is a great question for HotU because I think both Mitzli and Kor care a lot about their physical appearance but in wildly different ways. Kor is a shapeshifter, so he's put lots of thought into how he looks as a rule, but he also has a sort of go-to human form (who he often names Linna) that he's refined over the years, and is his preferred presentation among humans. The demons are kind of gender essentialists, so Kor keeps himself masculine around them in order to not get misgendered, but he loves to play around with his gender expression when he's among humans. He's also very full of himself and thinks he's very attractive; I think if he somehow managed to get like, stuck in a form he considers less than ideal he would immediately throw the world's biggest, babiest, most pathetic tantrum.
Mitzli cares about their appearance in general a lot less than Kor, but they do put a lot of thought into how other humans perceive them. They're half-vampire and have a bit of a guilt complex going on, so they refuse to disguise their vampiric traits, mostly their red eyes; but they're in a position where they're meeting lots of new people and need to gain their trust. As such they are very careful about wearing their demon hunter uniform around people, and consider what sorts of expressions to use and how to speak when they're entering new villages, to the point that they often rehearse their own introduction on their way there.
Aaaanyway thanks again for the ask mysterious anon!!
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Hi! Can I get 2, 6, and 43 for the fanfic ask game!
2. I want to say from God and leave it at that, but I guess I'll delve into the details of it anyway. XD But I am inspired off of prompts, random ideas, music, requests, ideas my friends like, etc... I truly believe that God is the one inspiring me, hence why I almost left it there, because ultimately, an idea won't always be interesting, as in I won't feel like I should write it or even want to write it, so I believe God steps in and helps me out. :) Sometimes I am just reading something, and something jumps out at me and so, I try to capture why it does. I do this a lot, and when I reread it, and it doesn't spark that desire to write something based off of it, I know I wrote all that I could for it. This is fresh on my mind, because I've been trying to write an original poem since yesterday, because I was in the car and had this amazing book on iconography or rather praying with Icons and, it's by Henri J. Nouwen, who writes very simply (for lack of a better word), and when I was reading his meditation on an Icon of Christ, I was struck by a short sentence in a beautiful paragraph, and yesterday, I wrote a short poem that just wasn't working, I was in a bit of a hurry too while trying to write it, and I wasn't pleased with the poem. (There is one metaphor in it that I actually did like, and as far as my own attempt at expressing this, was the closest I could get.) And I came back tonight and finally wrote the poem, don't know if it's perfect, but I don't feel that spark anymore. When a spark leaves, I miss it, but I know writing was the right thing to do. (I guess this is just tonight's example as to where my inspiration comes.) I do try to read a lot, and lately, I haven't been reading fiction (other than every now and again, a new fanfic appears in front of me that I want to read and do; to be fair, I have about four or five fanfics by people that aren't me saved as reblog drafts right now, because I want to read them and haven't yet.) XD
6. By golly, I guess you get fanfiction version, since this is a fanfic ask game, but also original version, though that part makes me nervous.
ObiYuki oneshot that I wrote yesterday but posted today: "So, Shirayuki leans against him, trying to let him know that she'll be a strong pillar at his side no matter what, and that one day, those words will become his confidence even though he's still a bit nervous yet."
Original poem: "than when humanity was just human"
(None of those make much sense without reading the whole things, but oh, well.) XD
43. I guess I'll go back to how I answered a similar question that moonstruck-writing asked back towards the start of the year? I mentioned really wanting to write a Love Potion bonus chapter fic for Yona of the Dawn. (I'm blanking so bad on tropes right now, that I can't think of a good example.) XD As far as idea goes, I have an Algira fic I want to write eventually; it's an Algira and Vold friendship fic/sort of relationship study in a sense from Algira's perspective? And other than that, I want to write a RajiYuki baking fic! (A sequel to one of my RajiYuki Weekend fics!) (I probably shouldn't be answering this so close to Midnight my timezone, but oh, well. Maybe that's why my mind's blank.) :)
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