#iraful

[detectif]

“How did this happen?” /clara seeing a fucked up gavin coming into work/

[ 💢 ] —- - Gavin didn’t get it. He made it very clear to everyone he had a strong dislike of androids. That he didn’t see her kind as sentient, capable of living. To him, they were just like a coffe-maker, or a keyboard. Lifeless, cold tools. Used, to be discarded. And yet, she went out of her way. Every. Single. Day. To speak with him. Greet him warmly. 

Needless to say, it annoyed the fuck out of him at first. Usually, he gave her the cold shoulder; ignoring her as he made his way to his desk. At some point, she’d worn him down, however. Ignoring her turned into sounds of acknowledgement. Sounds of acknowledgement turned into one word responses. Eventually, he’d returned the conversation, even if it was brief. He still had to keep his distance. He liked her, sure. But they weren’t friends. He didn’t have friends.  

Clara was clearly referring to the faint bruising along his cheekbone; the scraped knuckles, and the limping. Chasing down one of his leads didn’t go so well. Maybe on another day he’d be more open to divulging the details. Not this time. 

His voice came out sharp. 〝Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Stay outta my business.〞

[necroticlimb]

@iraful ( Herbert ) / ask prompt / accepting

“ try harder ” 

             his powers are fickle, flickering with his emotional state, a sigh before he looks back at the lifeless corpse before him, something brought up from crypts below for him to practice on, and for Herbert to study his abilities,  ❛ I don’t think i can do it- ❜ 

               he’s done it before, bringing lifeless bodies from the dead, a semi-sentient thing that resemble human, though only ever on accident-  ❛ I’ve only....ever accidentally done it...not really on purpose, i don’t even know how to being this...thing back to life on purpose.❜  maybe the body was too old-- maybe it was that he was distracted-- he doesn’t know, but the thought of never being able to control his abilities bothered him to his core, enough to cause him to step away and sit for a bit.  ❛ I can’t do it...sorry herb..❜

[necroticlimb]

Herbert/ @iraful: doctor hill fuckin sucks  Elliott: kill him  elliott: 

[avocadefense-a]

“peter? what are you doing out here?” foggy had thought he’d heard motion out on the fire escape, and had opened the window to find peter sitting on the metal steps. “you okay?”

@iraful // liked for a starter for peter!

[detectif]

“Hey, it’s cold outside. At least wear a jacket.” /clara bein a Soft/

[ 💢 ] —- - Today was not a good day. Gavin didn’t have many good days. But today was a worse day than his usual bad day. Not for any reason of course; besides his own mental state being in constant flux. Even when nothing was wrong, there was something wrong. It was like a constant blaring noise at the back of his mind that he could never turn off. Sometimes, it’d be turned down low, a soft static; but it was always there. The trauma. The self hatred. The guilt. The memories. 

He always tried to control it the best that he could, but there were days, days like these, where he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t take it anymore.

After a difficult conversation with Hank, Gavin had stormed out of the station, only to be stopped by a certain android. 

Rather than indulge Clara, however, he’d continued on his way, waving her off.

〝Just fuck off, okay?〞The words had come out more choked than he intended them to be. 〝I’m fine.〞

Clearly he wasn’t.

[jeezricksa]

@iraful  worried:  “ you  can’t  sleep,  either? ”

he  can’t  remember  the  last  time  he  did.  

between  rick  stumbling  into  his  room  at  all  hours  and  dragging  him  off  on  some  crazy  adventure  most  nights,  and  him  being  left  in  peace  only  to  toss,  turn,  fret  and  feel  utterly  haunted  the  rest---  yeah...  suffice  to  say,  morty’s  barely  been  sleeping  at  all  these  days.  

rick’s  return  two  years  ago  marked  the  death  of  his  consistent  sleep  schedule  and  ordinary  life,  and  part  of  the  teenager  wishes  he  could  hate  the  old  man  for  it.  confessing  none  of  this  (lest  he  worry  emma  further),  morty  glances  over  as  she  joins  him  and  cracks  a  smile.  it’s  tired,  but  curves  sweetly  enough  across  his  peaky  face  regardless,  ever  genuine.

“  ------  i’m  just  thinkin'  about  stuff!  um,  you  ever---  you  ever  feel  like  your  mind’s,  like,  racing?  y’know,  you’re  laying  back  in  your  bed,  and  it’s---  things  are  goin’  a  hundred  miles  an  hour  up  there,  and  you  just...  ”  feel  completely  overwhelmed?  

he  trails  off  and  rakes  a  hand  through  his  mussed  mop  of  dark  locks,  hazel  eyes  flitting  from  her  to  the  night’s  sky  overhead  for  all  of  a  moment.  soft  starlight  twinkles  down  at  them  from  the  sea  of  infinite  black,  and  it’s  hard  not  to  feel  just  a  little  bit  more  at  peace:  maternal  figure  at  his  side  in  this  moment  of  snatched,  precious  peace  that  doesn’t  come  often...

“  i’ll--  i’ll  head  back  to  bed  soon.  for  real.  i  just  want  to  stay  out  here  a  little  longer ;  there’s  supposed  to  be  some  big  meteor  shower  tonight!  but,  um,  hey,  come  to...  come  to  think  of  it,  what’re  you  doing  up,  mom?  ”