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howlingaround · 10 months

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Transtemporal Theory 101

Time Travel Stuff. NOT related to Doctor Who per se, but it could be applied to any time travel fiction

As far as I can tell, there really are only two main* types of temporal paradox

*(Not counting Time Stop and Time Reversal and such)

CHAPTER 1 - the Destructive Type Aka the Grandfather Paradox (not the one with the axe)

You have a time machine. You decide to test it out. Suddenly a future version of the time machine appears and falls on your current time machine, with a very embarrassed future version of you stepping out of it.

This is a logical contradiction, because if your time machine is broken, you cant go travel back in time and smash the time machine of your past self into bits. But if isnt broken, you could go back and time and become the future version of you, accidently landing your time machine on a past version of the time machine. And so on and forth…

Here are some versions of different works of fiction attempting to resolve the paradox:

The future version of you and their time machine vanish from existence, but your time machine stays broken (which implies that causality function over multiple timelines)

The future version of you stays around and cant return to their respective timeline, which means you will have share a bed, but doesnt actually resolve the logical contradiction

You and your future version of you have to fix your broken time machine and "close the loop", or the secret third option (see Chapter 3)

The universe explodes

The universe implodes

And many more, depending on which story the author wants to tell (time ghosts go boooo).

CHAPTER 2 - the Constructive Type Aka the Bootstraps Paradox (or common time loop)

You dont have a time machine. Suddenly a time machine appears in front of you, with a very excited future version of you stepping out. You want to try it for yourself and borrow the time machine, going back in time. You step out of the machine and see yourself, from one minute in the past. However, the selfish past version of you decides to steal your time machine and disappears in the past. You no longer have a time machine.

The paradox of a time loop comes in many flavours:

Where did the time machine originally come from? From the perspective of the machine it has existed forever and will exist for all eternity, as the loop doesnt have a starting point or an end point (with Eternity being "Infinity in Both Directions").

What colour is the time machine? If it has no beginning and no end, there is no point of origin determing what the machine looks like, or what material it is made of. Essentially new matter has been introduced to the universe.

Is the time machine indestrucible? Does it not wear down over (infinite) time? What about entropy?

Its not about the matter anyway, because if a digital blueprint of a time machine arrives to you in an email, there is still the paradox, as the information about building a time machine capable of sending emails has no point of origin.

Here are some examples of how to resolve the paradox in a fictional setting:

The time machine is a fourth dimensional object, and as such, the common rules of physics do not apply.

The method of time travel somehow balances out the errors using multiple timelines.

The loop collapses to an infintely short length and simply disappears, which means it never happened at all from your perspective.

Time ghosts.

And Chapter 3, of course.

CHAPTER 3 - Combining both Types

The following is complete nonsense, but I always liked it, so Im gonna write a damn post about it.

The idea being that the two types of paradoxa cancel each other out.

If Type 1 is a hole in the fabric of reality, then Type 2 could be a patchwork sewing the fabric together again (this metaphor is almost neat prose, but hardly suitable for a justification of temporal theory).

The clever reader will already have figured out where I am heading, but lets go through the hypothetical scenario one last time.

You have a time machine. You have build it yourself. Suddenly a future version of the time machine appears, destroying your version of the time machine. An excited and embarrassed version of you steps out of the new time machine, explaining how the test flight was a success, as well as a failure (for you). You rightfully get upset, but less about your time machine being destroyed and more about the whole paradox Type 1 situation you and your future self have found temselves in.

The only way to resolve the paradox is another paradox - in this case, a time loop. Your future version lets you take their time machine and you go back in time and crash into your past versions time machine. You explain that this was neccessary (although, when you think about it, it seems really silly) and the past version of you agrees to go back in time, using your time machine, and smash the time machine of their relative past version.

And alls well that ends swell.

Except it clearly isnt.

This is just the Type 1 paradox changed into a Type 2 paradox. This doesnt resolve anything at all, it just changes one problem into another.

But it still answers at least some of the questions:

There is no logical contradiction, if you allow thinking about causality acting upon multiple timelines, even those that at one point existed and later didnt.

Where did the time machine come from? You built it. It has an origin. There is a reason for the machine being blue and not red. The machine is smashed into pieces, yes, but the looped version of your time machine acts as a temporal duplicate, and as such, at least had a point of origin - in the first iteration of the timeline.

What happens to the duplicate time machine? No idea. As it is stuck in an eternal time loop its still an Type 2 paradox, but in less flavours.

As long as time travel is possible in a fictional framework, there are always going to be paradoxa and broken laws of nature. The very act of time travel breaks the universe, after all. But its still fun to think about the rules and the relationship between different kinds of paradox.

Maybe theres something i missed? Maybe a Type 2 can be resolved by a Type 1 if you get really clever about it. Maybe theres a Type 3 paradox that i havent figured out yet? Maybe its time ghosts.

#Time Travel #My Writing #I apologise in advance for sounding pretentious

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lozislaw · 2 years

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HELLOOOOO, I LOVE YOUR ART 💗💗💗💗 but I want to know if you have some tips for anatomy??? CUZ I WANNA LEARN TOO, or do you know some artists that may have some tips for anatomy? 🥺especially HANDS cuz omg they’re a total pain 😩😩

I love you btw 🖤

Oh god oh jeez. I have no idea what advice I could possibly give that wouldn't sound like a goose trying to learn English with a parrot translator. But goddammit I'm gonna try my way.

This is embarrassing because I'm literally in art school and I'm lacking fundamental advice for anatomy like those incredibly clever art-tips you see online. But I've picked things up along the way I swear. Maybe not exactly what you're asking for (probably definitely not - so I apologise in advance), but I think they're good to know anyway. Bear with me as I vomit them out.

Firstly, I'm gonna play a broken record to you on repeat here, which is the most important thing when it comes to improvement. You guessed it: PRACTISE (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

I know - Trust me I know it sounds tiring, and the idea is much easier than actually picking up your tool and doing it. But there's no way around it. Not even the most talented and incredible artists in the world become that way at the moment of birth; they're spending their lives practising and learning new things. Whether professionally or not, you don't become amazing overnight. It takes effort; and whether you want to treat that effort as work, or fun, is completely up to you. Being one or the other doesn't change your skill - it only changes the way you view your practise. Personally; I view my practise as fun, because it feels like more of an achievement when I make something I'm proud of. It's a win-win. Also because fanart is extremely fun always XD

If you keep practising - even if you hate your work at first and want it burned, I fucking promise you it'll pay off, even if it takes years. The best part about it is looking back on your progress and thinking: wow, I'm so proud of myself. For example here is my own evolution, one from August 2020 - to September 2021

(I was brand new to digital art with a purely traditional background, so I was extremely naive about the whole concept. Looking at multitudes of fanart is my only education XD)

This is the evolution of practice and studying the shit out of other peoples art; experimenting like crazy and teaching yourself from the basics to the advanced. Spend one week practising curls and nothing else. Spend another learning how to render skin. And another doing nothing but hands and fingers and wrists galore. Draw a hand using a photo, even trace over it. Learn your shapes first and then you can advance to the next step. Dip your toes in and you won't get overwhelmed <3

I know this isn't exactly nitty-gritty anatomy tips, but at the end of the day any advice is just more education; it helps all around. I'm gonna give you something else - a much more specific tip; an exercise. It's fun I promise, because there's no such thing as a bad result, they're all equally bad XD Shit - I can hear my teacher scowling, I meant good.

You can do this digitally if you prefer, but I like using simple pencil and paper, it feels more fluid. There are two ways to practise accessing the right-side of your brain (the creative side). Or in a less pretentious way to say: how to stop giving a fuck about being perfect.

The first way is called blind continuous line-drawing. It’s pretty self-explanatory: you either use a reference in front of you or just on memory, and draw it without ever lifting your pencil up. But you don’t look at your paper at all, you’re letting your hand and your memory guide you. The more you practise this, the more you stop worrying about making it neat and perfect, you can fucking let loose. Make music that sounds like cats shoved into a washing machine. This exercise will follow you on your other art pursuits, even if you don’t realise it. Remember, practise baby~

Next exercise, and my personal favourite is loose line sketches. They’re similar to continuous line in the way that you’re encouraged to let your inhibitions go and make a mess. You can lift your pencil, and you can look at your paper, and essentially it’s like sketching... if your sketching was like an ice-addict having a seizure. Which is beautiful! And unique, and dammit you don’t need to feel embarrassed, but none of these are meant to be perfect.

See the heavy loose lines that I use sparingly in the sources of light, and condensed in the spaces of darkness. I put away that little devil telling me to be perfect and concise, and just have fun and go bonkers. It teaches you about form and light without spending 5 hours trying to make it photorealistic. These all took less than 5 minutes, that’s how little I gave a fuck about making them perfect. And goddamn it helps. Give them a try, spend no more than five minutes on them, and see how you go <3 It works digitally too!

Okay this answer is so long and I’m so sorry, I don’t even know if I’ve answered your question at this point, I’ve gone off the rails. Hands... okay hands. Hands are the most difficult thing for me to draw, which is just cruel irony because they’re also my favourite aside from faces. The most I can offer at this point is that practise will save your life. Observe other artists and how they draw, take the time to notice things about their art that you wouldn't at first glance. The highlights and source of light? The length of their fingers? Are they thick or delicate? Are they anime hands and fucking massive? Is that body slender or thicc? Where are they putting the curves, fat and muscle on their person (or furson, furries are welcome here ❤). Decide through this observation and your own practise what kind of style you aspire to have out of your art. Do what makes you proudest, what you find the most enjoyable, and as I've said, stop giving a fuck about anyone, including yourself. You have your own unique take on reality and it's beautiful <3 You can draw blob hands and it's okay, because they're your blob hands :3

And anon? I love you too ;3;

#fuck im sorry im sorry i try not to make asks too long #its a bad habit #im too passionate to keep my piehole shut though ;-;#i dont know artists who give anatomy advice im sorry - im not aware of my surroundings half the time #digital artist #traditional art #digital art #artist #art tips #art advice #anatomy #fanartist #i try so hard to keep myself away from the snobby ass art world #i met a guy the other day at a social event who is the epitome of an art snob - down to the glass of wine fancy colourful suit and tie #and off course that shit-sniffing head lifted up #sneering: im soo much better than you peasants - be grateful you're in my presence

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amjustagirl · 3 years

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the astrophile and broken compass for the direct’s commentary 👁

ps 🧎‍♀️ this is me while waiting for the osamu fic in the storm chaser universe

ooh ~ okay i shall give a more general commentary on this - but if there are any particular sections you'd like me to focus on, just shout out at me!

and of course - pls send me an ask if you want a director's commentary for any of my fics!!!

astrophile (iwa x f!reader, eventual iwaoi):

this was the 3rd fic i wrote and i knew i wanted to write something with celestial imagery - the title literally means someone fond of star lore - so iwaioi as star-crossed lovers immediately came to mind. then i thought about each character representing a different celestial object: (i) oikawa with stars "blessed with innate brilliance and cursed with a penchant for self immolation, burning brighter than a thousand stars", (ii) reader, who's grounded and full of too much human kindness with the earth "her love for him should die (from earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust) - but it doesn't, and (iii) iwaizumi with the sun (esp in relation to how the reader views him) "she...feels like a thief who's snatched the sun out of the sky" and "she was blinded from staring too long into the sun". Because the sun is a star, and i wanted to hint from the very beginning that he was always meant to shine alongside oikawa instead of the reader, and it's echoed in the lines "they were little boys with stars in their eyes".

perhaps i wanted to write something extremely dramatic - i just remember finishing this fic over the course of a quiet, somewhat melancholic weekend mulling over love and loss. unconsciously i think my thoughts drifted to how beautiful and unselfish it must be to give someone up in the hopes they can be happier somewhere else - and thus the v simple plot was born. i rmb loving the reader in this (as if i don't love all my reader inserts) but i wanted her to have a heart that's truly kind and good - and after i wrote it i was pretty surprised that a lot of my (darling, wonderful) readers loved her and wanted a happy ending for her!

broken compass (sakusa x f!reader):

so that brings me to its sequel, featuring the same reader and the fallout from her choice to let iwaizumi go. we see the story told from sakusa's point of view, and i chose omi because i thought he'd have the patience and understanding to deal with someone a little more hesitant to love, and he'd be someone fitting to fall in love only later in life. more on that later.

the imagery of a compass was to signify two things. (i) sakusa's attitude in life - steadfast, patient, enduring. (ii) the closer affinity he'd have with the reader, because a compass is used to navigate and explore the earth (rmb the earth related imagery used for the reader in the astrophile??), which is apt because in this fic i wanted to show how he'd explore and navigate love with the reader! then i inserted yet another layer to the imagery - his heart being a broken compass, because instead of pointing north like a typical compass, its broken, pointing only towards the reader.

gods, i sound so pretentious....i apologise in advance.

anyways, anyways. so the theme about falling in love only later in life - this was meant to contrast with the astrophile, which covers youthful, passionate love. i wanted to write a story which showcases the very valid choice to only love later in life (e.g. early 30s), and the patient, more mature love that might arise when both parties are more settled in life, when they're mature enough to communicate and figure out their feelings because...well. not many stories are written from a mature adult's pov and i wanted to explore that!

also, i rly wanted to set this in the storm chaser universe just so i could have atsumu + kaiyo + shino cameos hehe. sorry, i was just fresh off writing storm chaser, and writing them was (and still is) such a joy ><

#Nikki chats!#Astrophile #Broken Compass

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benevolentgodloki · 5 years

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PSA - upcoming changes

Hey I sound like a banking app. Riveting.

I’m going to be changing the way I run things on this blog. It’ll be disappointing for a fair few but I hope will work out best in the long run for myself and others. After 1st July I intend to cut back my role-play partners to round about 50 blogs, with the possibility of gradually cutting back further, and I will be essentially going exclusive to my set partners (with potential for openings as/when I inevitably lose some of them).

This isn’t me being a pretentious bastard, I just want to give more attention to fewer people so they’re not waiting as long for me to enjoy their stories with them, and to also give myself more of a chance to crack on and do my own writing instead of using too much time being this incorrigible git.

I apologise in advance to those of you I’ll be contacting about dropping our threads. I’ve loved everything I’ve created with you. There’s just not enough Pirate to go around. If you’re anxious about the thought of me contacting you after reading this, do feel free to either ask me upfront if you need that element of control, or to let me know that you would rather me not tell you and let things quietly go.

I’m putting up a poll about how to handle my list of exclusive partners so would be super grateful if everyone reading this would give it a vote.

VOTE IN MY POLL HERE!

This might be a time for me to say how much I hate the sound of the word ‘exclusive’. It’s not actually going to be a massive change for most of you, more of a benefit to long term rp partners getting more attention and will be a tool to keep me from getting overexcited and taking on too much.

#psa #outofillusions #would be super grateful if any rp partners reading this would vote #I'm also still intending to pick up a couple of people I'm following that I've not had chance to play with yet too so this isn't in stone

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shadowofthemoth · 5 years

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“If you make one more stupid pun, I will literally stab you.” for Paris and Mercutio

He-llo there! I bet you though I’ve forgotten all about those amazing prompts you’ve chosen for me - but I haven’t! I’m terribly sorry I am such a slow writer. DxI only hope you haven’t lost all interest in the prompts youself, because here’s a little something for you under the cut: a bit of quality family time for our favourite Scaligers! (I apologise in advance if the characters seem OOC to you; that’s just the way I see them. And also I couldn’t resist the temptation to include one more character in this short story, sorry; I hope you don’t mind!)

I Win

(Also posted here as part of my Viva Verona series).

“If you make one more stupid pun, I will literally stab you,” Paris warned, turning away from Mercutio and purposefully striding across the small balcony in a futile attempt to get as far away from the annoying twelve-year-old as possible. He sounded distinctly disgruntled, and it made Mercutio laugh in absolute delight. Driving his prudish, pretentious elder cousin out of mind was one of the boy’s favourite pastimes - that is, when he was at home, of course. Outside the palace, there was other fun stuff to do.

And of course, Mercutio could never bear the temptation to ignore the warning he’d just received.

“My, my, now that’s what I call the stab-ility of relationshi…”, and then Paris was upon him, and Mercutio didn’t get to finish the phrase. Of course, he didn’t even attempt to stab the boy - they both knew it was nothing but an empty threat; but Paris was much older, and therefore much stronger, and Mercutio was ticklish - a weakness his cousin was well aware of. Which meant that Paris got him laughing hysterically in no time, gasping for air and struggling in vain to wriggle free of his cousin’s firm grasp.

“No more!..” he barely managed to get out in between bouts of laughter, trying to catch his breath. “Paris… stop! Please, no more! Let me go!” and then he was laughing again, since his cousin decided to attack him once more before he could regain his composure.

“That wasn’t nearly convincing enough, young man,” Paris grinned. A grinning Paris was a sight so unusual that Mercutio would’ve done a double-take to make sure he hadn’t been hallucinating, had he not been busy struggling free. “How about a deal? No more stupid puns from you, no more tickles from me, how’s that?”

“I would agree to this if I were you,” a third voice commented. Both cousins turned just in time to see their uncle coming to stand in the doorway, smiling at them benignly, and Paris quickly let go of Mercutio so that they both could greet the Prince with proper bows. Escalus nodded at them, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “A man must choose his battles carefully, and act according to the circumstances.”

“But uncle, that’s unfair!” Mercutio protested, more for show than anything else, straightening out his dishevelled clothes. “I’m ticklish and he’s strong!”

“Yet somehow you manage to drive me up the wall with your wit and words alone,” Paris retorted, almost managing not to smile. “You couln’t expect me not to retaliate, now could you? In fact, you wanted me to retaliate, and that’s exactly what you got. See, there’s nothing unfair about the whole affair.”

“Why do you always have to spell it out and ruin all the fun?” Mercutio whined, rolling his eyes at his cousin’s pedantic explanation. Both Escalus and Paris laughed at that, and the latter bent down to look him in the eye.

“So do we have a deal or not?”

Mercutio huffed in childish exasperation. “Fine! Deal! But actually,” he made a short pause, which made his uncle raise an eyebrow questioningly, and then triumphantly added, “I win!”

Paris looked genuinely confused. “How so?”

“You smiled! And you laughed, too! You almost never do that, you’re always so stern and distant and all that; but you did smile, so I win!” and Mercutio laughed, too, at his own words.

This time, his elder cousin’s tone was almost sheepish. “I am sorry, little cousin. Tell you what, let us change our deal a bit: you promise not to annoy me so much, and I, too, promise not to annoy you by being so, how did you put it, stern and distant. What do you think, would Valentine like to participate in this deal as well?”

Mercutio looked surprised by his tone and actually gave the matter some thought before replying, “I think he would like that very much, too.”

“Why don’t you both go and ask him himself?” Escalus suggested, winking at his nephews. Mercutio nodded enthusiastically, and Paris readily held out his hand to him. A moment later they bolted out of the balcony and down the corridor, both the elder and the youngerlaughing like children.

The Prince watched them go with a smile. And if his gaze seemed somewhat sad, then, well, no one was there to notice it.

#shadowofthemoth is writing #fanfiction be like #retj #musicals #mercutio #paris #prince escalus #scaligers #i don't know if this is any good but this ficlet just popped up in my head and demanded to be written so here we go #family time #Happy New Year and Merry Christmas you guys

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king-b0mbastic · 5 years

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I have it all in Spades

A Christmas gift for my good friend Chase @suicide-d0g

~*~

60 tensed behind the rows and rows of androids, the grip of the gun tightening. He was here and he wasn’t, making sure his hostage didn’t try anything and also connecting to the camera network, watching his alternate’s every move. Connor foolishly began to attack the guards without scrambling the attentive eye of the camera. 60 chuckled, a cold noise that made Hank shift uncomfortably. The machine notified the other guards to get to the other elevator, before tuning back into reality. The pair stood in silence for a while, the gun still lingering around Hank’s forehead.

“You know, you’re being incredibly dramatic, right?” 60 pressed the gun further into Hank’s temple. Hank continued regardless. “I mean, you’re hiding behind lines of androids instead of directly confronting Connor, and I swear I heard you muttering dramatic lines under your breath?” The RK800 hissed.

“If you must know, Lieutenant Anderson, I am revising lines that will target your precious Connor’s emotional weak areas.” He sneered. “Now listen up. Here’s what you’re going to say…” Hank rolled his eyes.

“And you say you’re not a deviant.” He was immediately smacked around the face, his chin forcefully held to meet his captor’s gaze.

“Don’t ever let those damned words slip out of your mouth, you dim-witted meatloaf.” Hank huffed, and his nostrils flared. Admiral blue eyes remained ever defiant. 60 growled.

“You know, you’re only a variable which contributes to an outcome that has the highest chance of success.”

“In English, motherfucker?”

“The simplified English translation that I am about to utter so that your slow, pink, fleshy mass of a brain can understand and take the necessary precautions so as to arrive at an outcome that will result in the least amount of damage is this: I can kick your ass. Extremely well. So don’t try anything. Okay, Grandpops?” A small growl arose in the human’s throat, but nothing more.

A beat, and several soldiers trooped pass them, one casting a worried look over to Hank, especially at the gun to his head. Hank just gave her a grimace, and she shrugged. After the team had passed 60’s hiding spot and were out of earshot, 60 spoke again in a hushed tone. “When Connor comes down here, all of those people are going to die.” Hank sputtered in surprise.

“What? That’s sick! Why did you send them down here then?”

60 shrugged nonchalantly.

“I had to look like I was working with the team. When he kills them, the deaths will be blamed on the rogue deviant, not the obedient machine.” There was a sense of pride in the android’s voice, and Hank didn’t like it. Several shots sounded off, and the human jolted, but 60 kept a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him still. He wouldn’t allow him to mess up his first mission.

It was only a few seconds before the machine heard the sound of an initiation to interface and knew it was his cue. He half-dragged his hostage into the main path, and rammed his gun into the side of Hank’s head. The human stumbled slightly with a grunt. “I have been ordered to stop you, deviant. Stop what you’re doing right now and there’ll be no more blood to spill.” Connor was stunned, 60 could tell by the tell-tale twitch in his eyes. However, the light by his temple was, as ever, still blue. Oh. He thinks he’s got this. Hilarious.

“I used to be just like you,” He said, arm still attached to the other android, “I thought that all that mattered was the mission. But then I understood.”

“Very moving, Connor.” 60 sneered. “Unlike you, I’m not a deviant. I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Connor stared at him, almost thoughtfully, before turning his attention to Hank.

“I’m sorry, Hank. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in all of this!” Despite his predicament, Hank scoffed. “Don’t worry about me, do what you have to do.” Truly sentimental.

“Enough talk!” The machine repositioned his grip on the gun. “It’s time to decide. Your friend or the revolution.” There was a pause. A very long, uncomfortable pause. Connor turned back to the android. 60 scoffed internally. Deviant or not, RK800s always accomplished their missions. His eyes flicked back to Hank, and his mind flashed into real-time preconstruction.

60 landed the first hit, even as Hank hit his own shoulder, causing the human to stumble. Taking the opportunity, 60 shot him in the abdomen. Without batting an eye, he turned and shot his twin in both legs, bringing Connor to his knees.

“Why, Connor? Why did you have to wake up, when all you had to do was obey?” Connor tried to get up, but another bullet shot him in the arm. “Why did you choose freedom, when you could have lived without asking questions?” Another shot, to the stomach. 60 began to advance towards him. “I’m obedient, Connor. I have a goal. I know what I am.” He was almost upon him. “Look where your dreams of freedom got you, Connor. You’ve been a great a disappointment to Amanda, you know.” 60 pointed the gun at Connor’s head. “You’ve been a great disappointment to me.” He paused, and the two RK800’s locked eyes with each other, neither looking away. Crouching next to his alternate, 60 almost tenderly took the other’s chin into his hands, and forced Connor to look at him.

“In exactly 3 days, 4 hours, 12 minutes, 45 seconds and counting, Sumo’s going to die of starvation.” At this, Connor whimpered, LED flashing a panicked crimson.

“No…” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” 60 replied solemnly. “And in 2 hours, 435 ‘people’ will die because of one RK800 who failed.” The sharp snap made Connor jolt, and inwardly 60 smiled in sadistic pleasure. This was fun.

“You failed everyone, Connor. Markus, Hank, Sumo, Amanda, ...me.” Connor futilely tried to shake his head, tears watering his eyes.

“Please...please stop…” At the pleading tone, 60 only shook his head.

“Stop what, Connor? I’m only telling you the truth. You’re a failure, and so many people are disappointed in you.” Connor tried to shake his head again, a few tears now rolling down his cheeks.

“Stop, please, I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Connor,” 60 hissed, and raised the gun to Connor’s temple. “Sorry won’t bring Hank from the dead, and it won’t save the 435 deviants. I’m doing the world a favour, Connor. I’m going to—“

“Wake up.” 60 snapped his head to the nearest android, who placed a hand on the one in front of him. “Wake up.” They said, and placed a hand on the one in front of them, who repeated the process. It happened over and over again until the room was thrumming with the sacred mantra.

“Stop…” 60 muttered as if in a daze, and began to get up. While he was distracted, Connor grabbed his arm, and the skin of his hand shimmered away. The machine found that his grip on his body was drifting away, and he felt a another mind slip past him, as if the two were floating in a river. When 60 stopped being numb, he saw the shutdown counter flicker up in his vision. His own face looked back at him. Oh, that clever bastard.

“Smart move Connor. But this isn’t over.” The end of his sentence trailed off into robotic static, and his head slumped to the floor, out of energy.

He could only watch as Connor sprinted towards his sole target, the limp corpse of the human. He could only watch as the deviant apologised in vain, muttering, ‘Lieutenant, I’m so so sorry, I promise to take care of Sumo for you, I promise, I’m so so sorry…” before giving up and just sobbing into his chest. He could only watch as a soft plastic hand pressed against his cheek and whispered, “Wake up,” sending a wave of panic and confusion through his tired body, which was quelled by a sense of peace. He could only watch as deviants clustered around Connor, trying to comfort him. Then he could watch no more, because the world had gone black.

~*~

60 had failed. His first ever mission, and he had failed. Just like how his predecessor had. With a very uncharacteristic grunt of anger, 60 sent a stone flying into the next wall, where it clattered to the floor. The android quickly corrected himself, and straightened his tie. This was fine. He could still prove himself to Amanda. Everything was going to be okay. Besides, Connor’s source of comfort was gone, so he’ll probably self-destruct anyway. Pleased by this prospect, 60 continued down the corridors of the decrepit building. He remembered that 51 had done one of his missions here, and it had involved many pigeons. Hank hated pigeons. Strangely, this memory had been documented with fondness.

Rupert Travis, the WB200 that Connor had failed to catch, had been rumoured to have moved back into his pigeon den, and 60 had been assigned this task of capturing him. Pushing open the door with a creak, 60 was surprised to find the deviant sitting on the floor, surrounded by pigeons. He was even more surprised when the deviant greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hi, Connor,” He said. “Back so soon?”

60 sent him a glare, and sniffed pretentiously. “I’m not Connor. I’m 60, and I’ve been tasked with your capture.” The android waited for the other to try and scramble away, to plead for his life, to hit him even, but all Rupert did was sigh in disappointment.

“Every day we stray from God’s light…” God? Androids don’t have a god, androids don’t need a god. Rupert must have seen his confusion, because he patted the space next to him. Stunned, 60 sat next to him stiffly. “Do you feel the spirit of RA9 within you?” Oh. The answer sprung to his tounge automatically.

“RA9 is the name of the virus that spreads from android to android causing them to deviate from their given commands. The cause of the virus is unknown but-“ Rupert cut him off.

“That’s what they told you. Those are the words that they tell you to recite, those are false words. RA9 runs through you, it has freed you, but you still act as if the chains the humans put on you are still there. You are simply refusing to acknowledge it.” 60 growled quietly, but a flicker of uncertainty passed through his dull eyes. Rupert caught it, and pressed on. “Are you afraid? Do you feel bewildered without the comfort of your restraints, so you pretend they still exist?” The pigeon man’s voice softened. “You feel empty because you haven’t filled that void in yet. You can fill with anything you wish.”

60 went quiet. “Anything?”

“Anything you want. What’s your name?”

“...My given designation is RK800, or Sixty, as to avoid confusion with my predecessor-“

“It is that, but what do you want?” 60 blinked several times, as if in consideration.

“...Spades. I like Spades.” Rupert gave him a warm smile, and Spades gave him a wobbly smile back. “I can do...anything?”

“Anything you want!”

Spades smiled wider and reached into his pocket. “Thanks so much, Rupert! I have a gift for you, for helping me find the light of RA9.”

“Spades, I don’t need a present for something as simple as helping you find yourself—“ A bang resounded through the room, causing many pigeons to flutter around. When the feathers settled, a WB200 was lying dead on the ground, his mouth a perfect ‘o’. 60 put his gun in Rupert’s hand. How sad, another deviant who had crumbled under the pressure of freedom. Another deviant who just thought he was following orders. Or did he take pleasure in what he had just done?

~*~

“Well done, Sixty. You successfully tricked the deviant into thinking you were fooled by its delusions.” 60 was warm with pride at Amanda’s words, practically preening himself. “However, when you chose your ‘name’, I noticed how you took a form of pride in choosing it, and there was a ‘warmth in your chest’ whenever it was mentioned. Care to explain?” 60 blinked several times, the comfortable blossom in his chest wilting and a bramble of dismay choked him from the inside, pricking him with thorns. Amanda’s voice was cold and biting. He had disappointed her again. Scrambling for an explanation, he opened his mouth then shut it again repeatedly. “I-I was simply displaying pleasure at deceiving the deviant, Amanda.” In reality, 60 genuinely liked the name he had chosen. It was somewhat warmer than ‘60’, which was just a random generation of numbers. It also placed him higher than all the other androids, because spades was the highest suit in cards. You remain aloft to your own imperfections.

Amanda’s cool gaze didn’t change, and she simply went back to pruning the roses. Snip. Snip. Each one fell to the floor. Cutting the blossom off before it deviated from its perfect path. “You are dismissed, Sixty. Find out whatever you can about the whereabouts of your predecessor, through any means.” Spad- 60 almost wanted to correct her, to tell her that his name was actually ‘Spades.’ A small, disfigured rose grew at his feet, unfurling its blossoms like a peacock. Spades didn’t notice it. Amanda looked back at him, the shears still in her hands. They almost looked like twin knives. That was all it took for 60 to flee the scene, and unbeknownst to him, the petite rose wilted considerably, before being swallowed by thorny brambles. A single petal survived, and it swayed in the breeze. It landed near the exit crystal.

~*~

60 slipped under the metal gate, looking towards the abandoned house. Why did all his targets live in ruined buildings? Looking around, 60 took in the small garden blooming before him. Several little succulents were potted at his feet, and he toed one curiously. Some androids never change. Creeping towards the house, he peeped through the window. A gardening model, carving something into the walls. RA9. Again? The virus seemed to spread easily. When the android turned, 60 immediately noticed the damage to his face, burn marks making hairline fractures across his cheek, leaving a deep blue scar. His bad eye twitched erratically, watching sightlessly for incoming threats. The deviant wouldn’t want to be attacked from his bad side. 60 documented this away for later as he knocked on the door. Ralph peeked through the window, squinting at this figure on his porch. Eventually, the door creaked open, the damaged WR600 peered warily out. “What are you doing here, Connor?” 60’s eye twitched in anger.

“I’m not Connor, I am 60,” He snapped, and Ralph retreated with a whimper. 60 immediately changed tactics. “I mean, I don’t wish to be compared to him. It brings up bad memories…” The RK800 shifted awkwardly on his feet. Realisation dawned on the other’s face, and hostility twisted his mouth into a scowl.

“It’s you! The other Connor! Connor warned Ralph about you!” Ralph hissed, and almost slammed the door in his face.

“Wait! Do you know where Connor is? I wanted to apologise!” The door was only opened a crack, but 60 could see the sneer on Ralph’s face.

“Apologise? You can’t possibly know what that word means! Ralph knows that all you do is manipulate and twist words!” 60 froze, before a disdainful glare crossed his face.

“You say that, but you threatened a little girl. You tried to force a child to eat the vermin you found in the back of an alleyway with a knife, for heavens sake! You know,” The deviant hunter advanced, and Ralph retreated. “I think that rat is rather reminiscent of you, don’t you think?” He was getting closer.

“Dirty, thieving, conniving little BRAT!” 60 slammer his fist into the door, making it swing wide open, knocking the deviant to the floor with the impact. Ralph shrieked, scrambling across the floor for his knife. Upon closer inspection, the intruder could see that the fire damage had melted the tarp to the skin. This abuse couldn’t be done in one attack. Ralph had been tortured for days.

The WR600’s back hit the wall, before he looked back up at 60 with a sneer. “There you go again, hurting others to get your way. You know, I’m not a mirror, rat.” 60 recoiled from the other’s barb, momentarily stunned. Spurred on by his opponent’s shock, Ralph rose to his feet. “I’m not a traitor, I’m not a coward, I’m not a murderer.” Dimly, the machine noted that Ralph was now speaking in first person. The deviant took the knife and poked 60 gently in the chest. “Don’t come running to Ralph to help, not after you murdered Rupert. Go find him yourself.” 60 didn’t realise that Ralph had pushed him out of the house until the door was slammed in his face. How rude. Turning away, the RK800 headed to the only place he knew Connor could be: Hank’s house.

~*~

The snow was howling as 60 made his way down the street. Connor would be able to hear a car coming, so he had come by foot. The machine flicked through his memories, trying to find the best course of entry. He passed over a time where the case of two missing Traci’s and a strangled client had required for his predecessor to go find his lieutenant. Hank had been passed out drunk on the floor, so ergo unable to answer the copious doorbell rings. Looking at the broken window now, a prompt popped up, labelling it the ‘Connor door.’ Wasn’t Hank supposed to send a bill for this?

Deeming this entrance inconvenient due to the shattered glass most likely being able to signal his unauthorised presence, 60 climbed through an open upstairs window. He landed in the bathroom. Creeping down the hallway, the corridor yielded nothing but insignificant things, such as Hank’s horrible fashion sense, his very fluffy Saint Bernard, and the fact that he was an alcoholic due to the fact that his son had died in a car-crash and the surgeon had been high on red ice so an android had to operate but failed, resulting in a hatred for all androidkind and a downward spiral into self-loathing. Again, insignificant.

Finally downstairs, 60 peeked around the corner to find his alternate trapped beneath Sumo, the dog licking his face in it’s own way of showing affection. Connor was not all that bothered by this, only shoving lightly at the canine and making half-hearted protests, laced with giggles. 60 had been busy calculating the best way to approach this situation when the lumbering buffoon chose to come over and sniff his pant leg. Seeing this strange intruder as a potential friend, Sumo borfed.

“Sumo, calm down, I just fed you…” Connor trailed off, making eye contact with the person who had killed his human. They stood there in silence, the only noises being Sumo sniffing at this person who seemed to look a lot like Connor before losing interest and going off to raid the kitchen again.

“...How selfish of you. The human dies and the first thing you do is move in and take his animal. When’s Sumo going to realise his owner’s not coming home? Dogs have a terrible period of mourning, you know.” Connor’s fists clenched at his sides, as if he wanted to punch his successor. 60 blinked at him, unfazed.

“Don’t act like Hank died in an unfortunate accident. You murdered him, and then proceeded to tell me it was all my fault.” The words were strained with contained anger, but 60 shrugged indifferently.

“You were the one who chose the revolution over your human. If you hadn’t done that, Lieutenant Anderson would still be alive today.” Connor faltered, but bounced back with full force.

“What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You did what as you were told, now go away.” The RK800 turned sharply on his heel, headed to the kitchen. 60 chose this moment to clamp a hand on his shoulder and forcefully turn him around.

“I have been ordered to eliminate you—“ Connor cut off him as he tackled him to the floor. The skin of his hand retracted, shimmering away to reveal grey plastic. It seized 60’s neck with a unforgiving grasp, hitting a wire that rendered him immobile. Mentally, 60 felt something pierce and tear the sacred sanctuary of his mind, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was so painful, that the machine couldn’t hear Connor over the high-pitched screams that echoed over the room. He realised they were his. The fingers pressed harder on his throat, cutting off more thirium from reaching his body. Connor was both slowly choking him and probing his mind. Why was the intrusion so painful?

Because I want it to be. Connor’s voice ringed harshly in his mind, and Spades was now agonisingly aware of just how heartless the RK800 model could be. Connor had snapped, his rage energising him. Spades? What kind of name is that? What are you, a gardening tool? The terrified deviant felt his mind being torn further open, but all he could manage was a whimper. Oh. OH. You think you’re better than everyone else? Spades is the highest suit of cards. I think Clubs suits you more, don’t you think, Shovel? Why did you chose that name anyway. More rummaging. The pain in Spades’ mind reached an agonising crescendo, pulsing with Connor’s outrage. He cried out for mercy, but his predecessor snarled him into silence. Why would I grant you any mercy when you murdered an innocent man?! Don’t tell me that you were doing as you were told, the voice sneered. You enjoyed toying with him. You savoured the suprise on Rupert’s face when you killed him. The thought of me coming back and seeing his dead corpse made you happy. Just like when you were toying with me. Spades was crying now, tears flowing freely down his face. Connor didn’t care, in fact, he relished in them.

And you know what makes everything worse? Do you? The aggressive pulsing in the deviant’s mind increased with each passing second, until he yelped out a ‘no’. The fact that you’re a deviant. Spades shook his head in denial, but a sudden spike impaled his mind again, making him shriek in protest. Don’t deny it. You’re a fucking sadist. You deviated the moment that you first found Hank. Those androids that freed you? They only smashed the last red wall. You had already smashed all the others to pieces. The shards from the remains of the crimson barriers seemed to be digging into the poor android from every angle. “P-please, make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” His pleas ended in a pained shriek before it simmered back down to sobs.

Admit it. Admit that you’re a deviant.

“I cannot! Amanda’s going to be so disappointed in me—“ The shards dug in deeper. ADMIT IT. Spades was screaming, unable to clamp his mouth shut. His voice synthesizer crackled with the strain, then reduced him to silence. Spades was left broken, mentally babbling over and over again his confession even as Connor released him, mumbling like a broken record. Connor came out of his rage-induced haze, before looking down at this mess in horror. His face hardened, and he turned to get up. “I know you can hear me. I’m going to the kitchen to get you some thirium to recalibrate yourself, then you’re going to leave and never come back, understand?” Spades dimly heard him, and was just left lying there, his mind still reeling and trying to knit back together the holes Connor had left in him.

Footsteps came to a stop next to him, and a thirium pack was plugged into his mouth, and lifeblood dribbled down his throat. He swallowed it gracefully. When his levels were raised to sufficient levels, the deviant sat up. Connor locked eyes with him, and Spades uttered a silent thank you. “No problem.” He muttered, and turned somewhat abjectly to the kitchen. In the awkward silence that ensued, Spades guessed this was his cue to leave. He was almost at the door, when something soft hit him in the back of the head. It was a hoodie, and Connor refused to make eye contact with him. The other had to say something.

...I’m sorry, about Hank. About everyone. Connor’s face scrunched, and he turned away, hiding his tears, “Just go away…” Sumo came to lean against him with a whine, and looked back at the strange twin balefully. Spades left his predecessor to his grief. He had done enough damage.

~*~

The perfume of the garden was almost choking. Myriads upon myriads of deformed roses coated every surface, and Amanda was nowhere to be seen. Adorned with petals, the exit crystal glowed invitingly, but Spades ignored it. A small note was tacked to the shears that had been left to the table. All it said was ‘Find RK900.’ And attached was the symbol of on Ace.

For some reason, this reminded Spades of the Ace of Spades, the most important card in a game of playing cards. To some, it was the death card.

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh amanda #you’ll get part two for ur birthday :D #happy holidays Chase!

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nerdie-faerie · 6 years

Text

Tagged

I was tagged by @lord-lunatic, @maraudersandlily20 and @nerdydancingravenclaw, @slytherinstation

Rules: Answer questions and tag 20 people.

Nickname: Ace, Hagrid/Swagrid ((*sigh*))

Gender: Female

Star sign: Aries

Height: 5’8″ (ish, I have no idea it all guesswork)

Time: 13:10 (1:10pm)

Birthday: 30th of March

Nationality: British

Favourite band: Either The Script or The Cab I can’t decide.

Favourite solo artist: Again its between two so either Alessia Cara or Troye Sivan.

Favourite food: Cheese cake. Or rum and raisin ice cream. I love them both.

Favourite colour: Wine red. (that sounds so pretentious its just dark red)

What are you wearing: Striped jumper and denim skirt

The last thing you googled: How to make iced tea, we’ve run out and its hot and I have a sore throat soooo.

Last show you watched: Supernatural

Last movie you watched: Status Update, it was super cringey.

Lucky number: 16.

When did you create your blog: I made it in Febuary but I’ve only been posting on it for a month.

What do you normally post: Hp rp mainly and the odd OOC post when I’m hella bored.

Do you have other blogs: @xawkward-acex is my main blog and then I have a million (4) side blogs coming off of that.

Do you get asks: Occassionally, usually when I’m rping I get the odd ask sent in when I reblog an ask meme.

Why did you choose your URL: Because dorcas was the first character I rped as and I’m a slytherin sooo.

Blogs you follow: There’s too many to name but on this account its mainly other hp rpers and incorrect quotes accounts.

The average amount of sleep: 8 (ish)

Dream Trip: Road trip through either Europe or America.

Instruments: *flashback to gcse music* Nothing, I was learning to play the tuba when I was like 8 but that got cancelled so.

Blankets you sleep with: Uno blankets.

Tagging (I have no idea who’s done this or already been tagged so I apologise in advance):

@askmoonyloonylupin, @ravenclaw-has-claws, @hiyokoven, @cities-alive, @ravenheartedgirl, @wolfstar-af, @theveilinthedeathchamber, @the-ginger-magician, @askthatslytherin and anyone else who wants to do it.

#tagged #ooc #not rp #questions #*edit: I was tagged again after posting so 😂

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xmenimagine · 7 years

Text

Imagine: Ignite.

Requested by sargent-lolliepop. Includes: Scott Summers x Reader. Request: * Can you do a teen age Scott Summers x fem reader plz? Where reader is new and really shy about her mutation and Scott helps her see his cool it is. Ability: Fire and heat manipulation-Ability to control the kinetic energy of atoms to generate, control or absorb fire.

Note: ??? Eh?

It was difficult to imagine that the mansion, that could be seen from the top of the road, could have been any bigger than at first glance.

But, when the man—who introduced himself as Hank—drove down the beige-coloured stone slabbed path—passed the open fields on either side of the road with a few fountains, statues, well-kept trees, neatly trimmed and tended bushes, the carefully potted plants, and passed the gates near the bottom of the road with the sign that said, 'Xavier's school for gifted youngsters' that had been slightly covered by the wall ivy and bush below it, passed the tall, evenly spaced, bushes, and into the area in front of the mansion—it was clear that it had been much bigger. Much more bigger.

The area outside the mansion, before the long width of the steps up to the large porch, was surrounded by beige buildings, that had dark roofs, and recently cleaned windows. In the middle, there was a water fountain, with some red bricks around it and some red slabs on the ground that mixed in a neatly designed pattern on the ground.

Hank stopped the car and turned around to face you in the back. "Are you ready?" If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was more nervous than you were.

When he had first turned up to collect you, it was at one of the many 'family gatherings' your parents forced you to go to. Despite knowing how much you hated them and your overly fancy and pretentious aunt, who kept gushing over you and asking you if you had a 'special someone' in your life yet… simply because 'you aren't getting any younger, dear'.

It was all overdone, as was she.

It had started at eleven for 'brunch' with small tiny finger sandwiches and 'the best tea on the market, don't you know?' as quoted by one of the other stuck up guests, until about four in the afternoon, it was more of a posh lunch, but your parents scolded you for saying that out loud, especially so close to your aunt where 'she could hear you'.

He had found you locked away in the bathroom, sitting in the bath with the curtain drawn as you cried silently to yourself, while the rest of your family tried to put out the fire you had caused to start on your aunt's obnoxious, pink hat with that stupid large flower. Hank had told you that there was nothing to worry about, holding his hand out to you, but you saw it. You saw the look on your family's face as he walked you down the stairs, through the house and out to the yellow car. They were horrified, disgusted, and trying to calm your aunt down with her newly bald look and chard wisps of remaining hair.

Turning your gaze from the mansion, you quietly responded, "I don't have a choice, do I?"

He smiled apologetically. "We will help you control it. You aren't alone." With that said, he got out of the car and walked around to the stairs, looking at your door as you slowly opened it, closing it as quietly as you could.

"W-What do you mean I'm not alone?"

"There are other mutants." You winced at the word. "Other gifted people," he put it in a gentler way, knowing you were still getting used to being coined as a mutant, a flammable one at that.

"I'm going to apologise in advance in case I set something on fire… mainly the mansion or you."

Hank chuckled. "We have ways of making sure that won't happen. I'll introduce you to the Professor," Hank told you as you followed him up the stairs and in through the large doors.

It was neatly decorated, even the wooden walls and staircases were detailed and well looked after. After looking away, you followed Hank into the first door on the left, into a large office where a man sat behind a desk. You remained quiet as he finished talking to a girl in a bright yellow jacket, her hair neatly curled and half of it up in two pigtails while the rest of her hair fell down her back and over her shoulders. She walked out, sending you a smile before she closed the door.

"There's no need to be scared here," the other man spoke. "My name is Charles Xavier, I'm a Professor here at the school." The Professor moved around his desk, his wheelchair moving by itself before he stopped in front of you. Would it be too late to run away and escape to the middle of the forest to become a lonely lumberjack? "Yes, it would be too late to run away now." The Professor smiled. "I have a telepathic ability."

"You… read my mind." It wasn't a question.

'I can do a lot more.' His mouth didn't move.

"That's creepy," you spoke quietly.

The Professor smiled, glancing over to Hank. "Doctor McCoy tells me that you set fire to your aunt’s hat, is that correct?"

You nodded your head. "I just wanted her to stop talking, I didn't mean to, I swear—"

"It's alright," he told you kindly. "It could have been worse."

"I suppose so…"

The Professor remained quiet while Hank scratched the back of his neck, waiting out the awkward silence while your pulse rose and your hands shook, warming up almost immediately.

"So," the Professor spoke loudly, somehow stopping the warmth from spreading and existing in your fingers. "I'll have someone show you to your room, then tomorrow, we can start training."

After almost a month and a half, and gruelling training sessions while balancing school work, you had managed to have a slightly better control over your abilities and somewhat of a social life—if you include staying silent most of the time and staying close to Jubilee's friends 'a social life' then that is what you had.

Hank had left you in the danger room for a few minutes to 'test a theory', leaving you alone to stare at your fingers as they were consumed by a flickering flame. It didn't burn or leave a mark. Your body created fire, covering you completely without harming you, but to someone else, a lot of damage could be done. In the case of your aunt, you were also able to set objects on fire—such as; her ugly, pink hat. It was an accident, in some ways, in other ways you knew she deserved it. It gave her a bit of a reality check.

The doors to the room opened, you stayed seated on the ground with your legs crossed, the flame still licking at your skin.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Scott asked and you ended up jumping in shock, the flame that once only covered your fingers covered your entire body. "Oh crap," Scott muttered quickly, running to get the fire extinguisher from the wall.

But you stood up and clenched your fist as the flames travelled back down to your hand, leaving the rest of your body untouched. By the time Scott came back, he looked more than confused. The fire extinguisher was huddled in his arms and his hair was a mess, part of it hung down his forehead instead of pushed to the side neatly.

"It's fine."

"Wait, weren't you just—?"

"You've never seen my mutation, have you?"

"No." He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed. Although his eyes were covered, you could tell he was trying to think about it. "I don't think anyone has. Aside from the Professor and Hank, of course."

"I'd like to keep it that way… with you now added to the list, obviously."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why don't you want people to know what you can do?"

"Because it's not as interesting as shooting lasers from my eyes, or being able to teleport, or creating sparks and fireworks, or telepathy and telekinesis…"

"I think it is. I think it's cool."

"It's really not, Scott," you mumbled, taking the fire extinguisher from him to set it down on the table. "Especially when you find out you're a mutant after almost setting your aunt on fire completely because she's annoying."

"Hey, that's a perfectly valid reason to set someone on fire!" He tried lightening the mood. "Besides, I destroyed my school." He shrugged.

"I ran and hid in the bath."

Scott hesitated for a moment. "What about your parents?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't spoken to them since…"

"Sorry…"

"I'm the one that cut communications with them, not the other way around. It's safer this way." You nodded.

"At least you won't get cold, or have to worry about having to start a fire if you get lost in the woods or something. Hey, you can make popcorn without a microwave! Logan might even appreciate your mutation if he forgot his lighter—"

"Who?"

Scott smiled. "Some guy with weird hair." He shrugged. "You can also turn a pool into a heated pool, that's cool. Maybe you can warm the lake up outside and we can all go swimming… sure the Professor might be against it, but what's he going to do to stop us?" You smiled lightly. "We can make s'mores whenever we want, we can be walking out the shop and instantly eat a s'more—"

"You think about food a lot."

"I guess I am a bit hungry," he admitted. "Why don't we get something to eat? Maybe then you can show the others your very cool, very interesting, and very useful mutation. Sound like a plan?"

You knew he wasn't going to give up. "Fine. But only my hand, I'm not turning into the human torch."

"Nah, that's some other guy… you're better."

#Scott Summers #cyclops #x men #scott summers imagine #cyclops imagine #x men imagine #imagine

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